#need someone to help me look through the code

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Primal (Part 9)

Summary: Brock's arrested, Teddy's getting the help he needs and our crew can finally take some very important steps forward in their lives, as individuals and a family...

Primal Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!reader

Word Count: 10,400ish

Warnings: language, angst, violence, drugging, serial killers, death, kidnapping, smut

A/N: The finale's finally here! I know this was a bit different but I had so much fun writing this mystery and the science behind it all. Please let me know what your favorite part was!...

Y/N POV

Three Hours Later

“Well good afternoon, sunshine,” you teased. Tim grumbled as he woke up, taking one look around the hospital room and the padded restraints on his wrists before flopping his head back down. “How you feeling?”

“If I could stop waking up tied down to something that’d be great,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

“Should have chosen a different omega if you didn’t want that to be in your future plans,” said Lucy from the table by the window. Tim pointed a finger at her, smirking as she grinned. 

“Well, with a certain someone I have an entirely different opinion on the whole situation,” he said, becknowing her over. You rolled your eyes and took a seat at the other end of the bed, Lucy sitting on the edge, taking one of his hands in hers. “I’m so sorry for putting you through this.”

“Hey, it’s alright. I don’t mind if my Alpha is a damsel,” she teased, Tim laughing quietly. You pretended to gag when he arched up to kiss her, getting a kick in the leg for it.

“We sure all that primal shit is out of you yet?” You slapped his leg, Tim narrowing his eyes like you’d pay for it later. “By the way, where’s my apology?”

“I don’t owe you shit,” he scoffed, making a face when you went wide eyed. “Oh, you were fine with Teddy. Clearly, Beau and Lucy were going to save the day.”

“You were turned primal. Again. Just a tad traumatic,” you said. He shook his head with a tsk.

“Well if this is how you’re going to be, I’m revoking your badass title and giving it to Emily. I mean, she took down a serial killer. All you do is get kidnapped,” he smirked.

“I spoke in code that there was a bomb under a car!” 

“She stopped a serial killer. An untrained seventeen year old girl. You’re never going to win.” 

“Hun,” Lucy smirked. “Emily told us everything. She hit Brock with the car after he snuck up on you. You tied him up and tossed him in the backseat. You cuffed yourself and got in the trunk before you went full primal so you wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Nope, Em still gets the title over this whiner,” he said. You rolled your eyes and stood up, going to him and bending down, wrapping your arms around him. A shaky breath betrayed you, Tim’s head tilting to lean against your own. “Sh. S’alright. Lucy’s got me. Go let that hunky sheriff take care of you and make sure Em’s okay.”

“He’s busy,” you mumbled, a strong scent filling the room.

“Nah, it’s been a slow day around here actually. Pretty boring,” said Beau from the doorway. You smiled, releasing Tim as Beau walked inside the room, tucking you under his arms. “You’re just always getting saved by omegas, aren’t you, Barclay?”

“What can I say? I’m progressive like that,” he said, Beau ruffling reaching out to ruffle his hair. Tim growled quietly, Beau cocking his head. “Do that again and see what happens.”

“I’m shaking in my boots,” he said, messing it up even more, earning a louder growl. Beau grinned hard, sending strands all over the place that had Tim testing the strength of his restraints. 

“I’m going to find a way to dye your hair pink, Arlen,” he gritted out, Beau finally taking pity on him.

“I’m sure you will. Lucy, give us a call if you need us. Otherwise I’ll leave your angry puppy in your hands.”

“Bye, guys,” you said, Beau leading you out of the room. You glanced through the window in the hallway, smiling as Lucy laid down beside Tim, a gentle look crossing his face while she smoothed out his hair.

“She’s got him,” said Beau, your arms wrapping around his waist, his own tucking you in tighter to his body. “I need to find a way to thank him for saving Emily.”

“He won’t accept it,” you said quietly, nudging him down the hall to give them their privacy. “He’ll probably blame himself for Brock attacking them at the rest stop in the first place.”

“Well, he’s a moron if he thinks that. Brock put a tracker on their car too,” he said, pausing at the end of the hall. “Brock is up in intensive care. I don’t know if you want to see him or if not. That’s all fine with me.”

“Brock can rot in hell. If it’s okay, I’d like to see Teddy before we go home though.” He kissed your temple and hummed, guiding you to the elevator where you traveled up to the eighth floor. It was quieter up here, Beau holding your hand as he took you past a security checkpoint. “What is this place?”

“Even criminals need medical care. When it’s too much for local jail or prison, those people go to the hospital like everyone else. Teddy’s being held back here.” You followed him closely, stopping outside a guarded room with a one way window. Teddy lay in a bed, strapped down just like Tim was, apart from the IV with a green liquid flowing into his veins.

“What are they doing?” you asked, Beau nodding when Dr. Olson came into view and slid onto a stool, patting Teddy’s arm. The two men exchanged a brief pair of words before Teddy smiled and nodded.

“Under the law, a primal Alpha is technically not in the right state of mind to be aware of their actions. Teddy guided us to his journals but his Alpha has forbidden him from speaking about anything we want to know answers to. Your mother has clammed up but Boston PD doesn’t believe she is primal. Just…batshit crazy.” Dr. Olson adjusted something on the IV, the two men chatting, laughing even as you watched. “Springs is telling her team to review the journals closely. They can’t say for sure right not but initial findings is Teddy was telling the truth.”

“Dr. Olson is trying to make him not primal,” you said. Beau hummed. “Is that even possible for an Alpha that was turned so young?”

“The doc believes so. Emily said Brock was talking about how he’d have his children back soon, how Teddy would bring you to him. But Teddy didn’t take you to Brock. We think maybe he tricked his own mind into technically complying with his Alpha’s orders by taking you but he delayed bringing you there. Same thing with the journals.”

You leaned against Beau’s arm, sighing to yourself. “How will they know if he’s no longer primal?”

“Blood test, same as Tim.” He pulled you in front of himself, arms wrapped around your shoulders. “You don’t have to have anything to do with Teddy anymore if you don’t want to. This can be it. Or you can have more. You don’t have to decide anything right now.”

“Jenny Hoyt should be given this same course of treatment,” you said. Beau nodded, kissing the top of your head. “Do we know how either of them were turned?”

“Teddy’s journals indicate Jenny went on a solo camping trip in Washington when she’d just finished the police academy. She twisted her ankle and another older hiker helped her for the night. We believe Jenny was targeted. Brock was one of her instructors at the academy apparently. He likely drugged her, injected her when she was passed out and she woke up none the wiser that she had a new Alpha. It would have been before her first heat.”

“Her stabbing Tim in the gut was most likely her attempt to follow the order but still save him. She could have shot him in the head if she actually wanted him dead,” you said, closing your eyes. “And I busted her leg and nearly bashed her skull in.”

“If this works, I think Hoyt will be thanking you for that broken leg for the rest of her life. Teddy was getting older. Hunter was his new killer and I expect Jenny was about to start being told to do that too.” He squeezed you tight when you gripped his arms, lowering your head. “Primal Alphas haven’t been a thing for centuries and using them to control other Alphas to commit murder opens a can of worms I won’t even pretend to understand.”

“Teddy’s probably going to jail for the rest of his life when he was a victim too,” you said quietly. “It’s not fair.”

“Let’s see if we can get the primal out of his system first. If we can do that, Carla’s a hell of an attorney. Maybe we can do something.” You hummed, turning around in his hold. “Let’s get you home, ‘mega.”

“Beau. Don’t you have to go back to work?” you asked a few hours later at your townhouse, stepping out of your bedroom in a pair of pajama shorts and his hoodie you’d stolen back in Boston. He looked up from where he was unpacking a box of plates in the kitchen, freezing in place while you shook out your damp hair. You looked down and back up. “What?”

“Just uh, seeing you in my clothes and uh���” He wasn’t shy about raking his eyes up your bare legs, biting his bottom lip. A noise from the front hall had you both turning your heads, Emily coming into view with her hands on her hips. “Need help, honey?”

“I need you to stop being so horny on main.” He scoffed, Beau crossing his arms while you stifled your life. “Give me your car keys.”

“Uh, what?” he asked. She held out her hand, making grabby hands. “Technically these are keys to a Helena PD car-”

“Go make out with your girlfriend,” she said, stalking over and taking them off the counter, spinning around quickly. 

“Emily,” you said, jogging over quickly, catching her arm. “You had a long day. I think your dad wants to keep an eye on you. He’ll behave, I promise.”

Just then the front door of your new townhouse burst open, Tim carrying Lucy inside, their lips locked as he fumbled with the door. Emily held out her hand, making a face. “Well hey there! If it ain’t the other horny on main couple.”

Tim nearly dropped Lucy, the two of them scrambling apart as Emily crossed her arms, looking back at her father. 

“H-Hey guys,” said Lucy, tucking her hair behind her ear, Tim’s face sporting a nice pink blush.

“Why are you people here?” he asked, giving you a long glare. You shot it right back, flipping him off.

“I live here, jackass. Do we have to have the talk about making out in common areas again?” you asked, Tim rolling his eyes.

“We’ll come back later,” said Lucy, dragging Tim by the hand by the door. “Six? We can all have dinner?”

“Sounds great,” said Emily, walking past and shaking her head at Tim. “I still expect to see you at therapy today, Barclay.”

“That’s in like twenty minutes,” he scoffed, Emily shrugging and heading out the door. “Emily. Emily whatever your middle name is Arlen!”

“It’s Louella and you promised me, Barclay. Get horny on your own time,” she called back, Tim’s eye twitching as Lucy laughed beside him.

“That little shithead,” he grumbled, Lucy patting his back. “But we were-”

“Go to therapy,” she murmured in his ear. “I’ll wait in the parking lot for you, okay?”

“Alright,” he mumbled, Lucy spinning him around, walking him out the door. “Later guys.”

You locked the door after them, Beau padding over on bare feet and a smile. “Remind me again why I didn’t just move in with you?”

“Because we said we’d be adults about the whole situation and re-evaluate in a few months. You haven’t had a steady home in nearly a year and the past month has been a lot on top of the whole mate thing on top of the whole I have a teenager thing and we both need to figure out dating with that and-”

“Sh,” you said, pressing a finger to his lips. “We have the place to ourselves. Let’s enjoy it, hm?”

“Well when you put it like that, what are we waiting for?”

Beau, Emily and Lucy left late that night after a long dinner, leaving you and Tim to do a bit more unpacking around the place. It was past ten when you were in your room reading, a light knock on the door. “S’open.”

The door cracked, Tim standing there in a pair of black joggers and nothing else. You frowned at the bruises covering his abdomen, Tim holding up a tube of cream and bandage.

“Can you uh, change my bandage?” You hummed, washing up in your bathroom as he sat on your bed cross legged, fisting his shirt in his hands. You unpeeled the bandage by his shoulder, a long red slice there from a knife if you had to guess. There were no stitches at least so it couldn’t have been deep. 

You worked quickly, discarding the old and putting on the new, patting his back gently when you finished. You washed up and then walked around to the other side, helping him put his t shirt on. 

“All set,” you said, ruffling his damp hair. He nodded, head lowering. The room suddenly smelled like fresh rain and you let out a deep breath before crawling up onto the bed behind him. He got up, walking quietly to the door when you sat up. “Why don’t you ever let me see you cry?”

“Don’t take it personally. I don’t like to let anyone see me upset,” he said quietly. 

“How many times have I sobbed all over you? When my dog died when I was a kid? When my first boyfriend broke my heart? When I thought my parents were getting a divorce? When I got laid off? When I blamed myself for you and Mika breaking up cause I thought she didn’t like me? If you want to be alone, okay. But you don’t have to be. I know I’ve said it more than once over the years but-” You shut up when he turned and plopped down on the bed, wrapping his arms around your hips and burrowing his face in your thigh. 

“I broke up with Mika because she didn’t like you. She cheated on me a few times but it was finally over when she was real nasty when I said we had to delay our date so I could pick you up from a frat party.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” you said, letting him hide his face. He shrugged in response, breathing shakily. “Tim-”

“If she couldn’t wait thirty minutes so I could make sure no one took advantage of you, then she could get the fuck out of my life.” You bent down and wrapped your arms around his shoulders and back, closing your eyes. He shivered, squeezing you tighter. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of protecting you. Teddy picked me to be that person for you and I screwed up so many times.”

You pushed him off of you, Tim laying back on the bed, staring up with a red face, like you’d just slapped him. You peered down over him, getting right in his face. “Stop. Just stop with this bullshit. It’s me. Just say what you’re scared to say. I know that’s not what you really are trying to say so just for once, trust me.”

He closed his eyes, his face scrunching up. “My dad hurt your dad. He destroyed Teddy’s life. Brock turned me so I’d attack Emily. Beau could never forgive me for that. He’d kill me. Back in Boston I believed you when you said you’d always be there for me but after today? I’m scared you’ll blame me for everything.”

“Why on earth would I blame you?” you asked, eyebrows sky high.

“Because Brock told me you would before he turned me and I have a very hard time getting the shit that man says to me out of my head,” he said, sitting upright, putting his back to you. “The man is a serial killer that gets his kicks by torturing omegas. He psychologically, physically abused me everyday for eighteen years. I thought I was better, that he didn’t affect me anymore but I’m still scared of that old man. He got the jump on me because I got scared today. I’m an Alpha like he is. What if I’m as fucked up as he is deep down?”

You scooted over to him, wrapping your arms under his arms and around his broad chest, legs going around his waist before you dropped your head to the space between his shoulder blades.

“I’m a Barclay too. Am I fucked up?” You inhaled his scent, still rain like, still tense. 

“You’re not like me,” he said quietly. “You’re normal.”

“Brock hurt omegas. You protect them. You’re developing quite a collection of them in your life that will gladly tell you how much of a monster you are not.” You nuzzled his back, his hands grasping your forearms. “Do you remember the first time I stayed over your apartment? How awkward we both were? We’d only met twice before that and suddenly my dad drops me off at your door for two days because their friend bailed on watching me for a weekend.”

“I remember,” he said softly. “You lost all that bravado and turned into another person. I had no idea how to take care of a kid.”

“You could have hurt me. But by the end of that first night, we were best buds.”

“What’s your point?”

“You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me more than anything in your life because I’d just be another person to hurt you. Yet here we are, twenty years later. Your annoying, brat, kid sister and my stubborn as hell, gentle, kind, good big brother. An Alpha that bears his omega’s mark. So go ahead and freak out because your family will be there when you do.” You rested your chin on his shoulder, the rain scent fading, replace with flowery vanilla. 

“I made a standing appointment with that therapist. Tuesdays at 3,” he said quietly, resting his head against yours. “Thanks for making me go with Em.”

“FIgured it wouldn’t be so scary if you went with her at first,” you said.

“Would you come to my session sometimes?” 

“Of course,” you said, lifting your head up, kissing his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, kissing your temple. 

“Sleepover tonight?” you asked. He groaned but plopped down on his side, taking you with him. “Too late. You’re getting cuddles.”

“Jokes on you, I always liked your cuddles,” he said. You squeezed him tight, Tim wincing. “Easy there Sarah Connor. I was in a fight today you know.”

“A man in his seventies hit you with a crowbar and stabbed you one little time. I mean honestly, Timothy, you should have kicked his ass.” 

“He hit me in the back of the head ya little fucker.”

“Just saying, I got kidnapped today and talked my way out of it. You got your ass handed to you by a man that lives in an assisted living facility.” He sat up, twisting around to stare down at you. You sighed, holding up your hands. “Tim, it was a joke. I’m sor-”

“It’s not that. You’re right. Brock lived in a facility but today, he swung that crowbar hard. Way harder than a seventy something year old should be.” You sat up along with him, pursing your lips. “My father’s a bastard. Why would he voluntarily live in a place like that?”

“Access to drugs? I know to turn an Alpha primal you need to be injected with another Primal Alpha’s saliva.”

“But is Brock primal?” he asked, reaching across you to grab your phone from the nightstand. “I thought they said he wasn’t.”

“He’s not,” you said, Tim starting to text on your phone as you rested your chin in your hand, elbow against your knee. “So how does a normal Alpha make other Alpha’s primal…”

Tim lowered the phone, a stupid grin growing on his face. You raised your eyebrows, Tim smirking. “You don’t know? For once I’m the one that paid attention in biology class?”

“First off, you sucked ass at biology. Second, I have read every book, paper, and journal on going primal that Dr. Olson could find. There’s nothing in there about this.”

“Because it wouldn't be,” he said. He smiled, watching you give him a bitch face. “This feels good. Is this what it’s like being a know it all all the time?”

“I’ll tell Lucy you’re being mean to me,” you said, reaching for the phone, Tim catching your wrists in one hand and keeping you away from it.

“I’m always mean to you, it’s how we say we love each other,” he said, smiling when you growled. “You going to keep being a brat or let me explain?”

“You’re the one being a brat,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes at him. “Fine. What does the old man know that I don’t?”

He gently smacked you in the face with your own hands before dropping them, tossing your phone back in your lap. 

“Up until a few hundred years ago, pack leaders were a big deal. They were always naturally chosen based on physicality, birth order, all that crap. Then as we got a little more aware of things, society decided we no longer needed pack leaders and the practice of having them fell out and eventually they were banned. But, genetically, our bodies can still be pack leaders. Brock comes from a very strong line of Alphas and he was an only child. He has those genetic details that make him a pack leader. I think he activated them and after doing that-”

“A pack leader can make pack members go primal by instructing them to go after an omega but not allowing them to physically go get the omega,” you said. Tim hummed. “Teddy was his first turn, right? Let’s assume Hunter and Jenny were turned from Teddy’s saliva. How’d Brock turn Teddy when Teddy wasn’t in his pack?”

“Same reason…” He sighed, closing his eyes. “It’s the same reason…”

“Same reason you started to smell like Beau a bit after meeting him. The whole you can indoctrinate pack members when you form a bond.” Tim didn’t speak, only inhaled deeply. “You both were so protective of me, it was only natural you formed that brotherly bond.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m ready to call him…that but same principle applies. Brock formed that older sibling relationship with Teddy. Didn’t you used to say your grandpa was always so confusing cause he was sweet to you and a dick to your dad?”

“They did fight a lot when my dad was young,” you said. “So Brock found him when he was young and vulnerable?”

“Probably. We should ask Teddy how Brock got to him if that primal cure stuff ends up working.” He flopped back down on the bed, letting out a long sigh. You finished off a text to Beau with your theory, getting a quick response back he’d look into it in the morning. After tossing your phone aside, Tim rolled over, jetpacking you and letting out a small yawn. “Can I ask you a question about Lucy?”

“What’s up? I mean we were friends in college but fell out of touch when we graduated so we’re still getting to know each other again.”

“I know that. Just…if my life hadn’t been on the line, do you think she would have gone for me?” he asked quietly.

“Do you remember that week you went to California for some urban tactical training seminar? You got to play paintball for a week in the woods?” you asked.

“If you mean the week I went to a very selective stealth rescue training activity, then yes.”

“Like I said, paintball in the woods.” You could feel his eye roll behind you as you hummed. “Well, I threw a little girls only party at our place that week. And my friends may have seen your picture on the walls.”

“Lucy thought I was hot?” he asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

“All of them did but I kept catching Lucy smelling your blanket. She kept saying she was just cold and that her nose was but if I think about it, I think you scent-marked her without being there. She broke up with her boyfriend like three days later and we all thought she was going to marry him. So. Do with that what you will.”

“Doesn’t mean she likes me, just my scent.” You groaned, slapping his behind. “Ow!”

“Timothy, I know you’re revolting and a dickhead but you really have no idea how good of a guy you are. Trust me, as an omega woman, there are Alpha men that treat us like we should be grateful for the chance to carry their pups. Then there’s a guy like you. We like when guys stick up for us. But you, you’re the guy that makes us feel supported when we stick up for ourselves. I’m half your size and you have never, ever, made me feel weak or like I can’t protect myself. You did a pretty good job of raising yourself and me. Be proud of that.”

“I’m trying to,” he said quietly, his breathing slowing behind you. “Y/N.”

“Mhm?”

“Want to watch something scary?”

“But I have to stare at your face everyday already. Don’t I suffer enough?” He squeezed you tight, rolling straight off the bed with you, your feet off the ground. “I’m in danger, aren’t I.”

“You have five seconds to say something sweet or we’re watching The Strangers.”

“No! That gave me nightmares,” you said as he carried you out of the room and down the hall. “Um…”

“You were literally just nice to me. How is it this difficult?” He stopped in front of the couch, holding you over it. “Three seconds.”

“Uh.”

“Two.”

“Uh.”

“One,” he said, his arms holding you out further. You looked over your shoulder at him, his gaze unreadable. “You giving up?”

“Can we watch Alien?” you asked, jutting out your bottom lip, putting on your puppy dog eyes. “Please? I get murder and you get Sigourney?”

He groaned, dropping you to the cushions and going to stand under the TV, pulling out the DVD. “Someday that’s not gonna work on me.”

“Sure, sure. Same day your crush on her stops too I bet.” He flopped down beside you after a moment, tossing you the remote. “Ready?”

“Whenever you’re ready, kiddo.”

Three Weeks Later

“Father,” Emily proclaimed when you got out of the rental car at his parents place in Houston. You spun around, Emily storming away from the second rental car behind you that Tim and Lucy were exiting. “That was cruel and unusual punishment forcing me to ride with them from the airport.”

“Oh, they aren’t that bad,” he said, smirking as Lucy grabbed Tim’s waist and pushed him back against the side of the car, the pair sharing an intense kiss. You watched them with a raised eyebrow, their kiss turning PG-13 and then some fast. “Uh…”

“I think they finally mated a few days ago,” you mumbled, getting out a backpack, handing it to Emily. 

“Great. Now I have four of you randy fuckers,” she grumbled, Beau flicking her ear. “Hey!”

“Your grandmother hears that language and she’ll give you a time out.” She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead and try her.”

“I’m so glad I’m staying with mom tonight,” she mumbled, trekking up to the door. “No one wants to see your boner, Barclay!”

You and Beau shared a grin when he and Lucy broke apart, Tim coughing as he walked farther down the driveway to adjust himself. 

“I’m so happy we have a sassy child to torment them with,” you said, laughing to yourself.

“We have a sassy child, eh?” He said, setting down his carry on. Your cheeks heated, Beau smirking and stroking his thumb over the crest of it. 

“I-I didn’t mean…there’s no way I’d ever try to replace Carla or be Emily’s…” you trailed off, Beau tilting your chin upwards.

“Emily’s old enough to understand that you’re a permanent member of this family. Now, I’ll trust my two ladies to figure out what they want that relationship to be but, and you didn’t hear this from me, a certain sassy child despite her constant digs on the grown ups, would greatly enjoy another maternal figure in her life. If that’s something you’re okay with.”

“Really?” He hummed. “But she already has a mother.”

“She hasn’t quite forgiven Carla for what happened last year with the camp and her former stepfather. I don’t know that she’ll ever forgive her. Her stepdad let her down and put himself first whereas you? You saved her dad. She all the shit she gives them, she adores Tim and Lucy. You don’t guilt trip her for her feelings like her mother does sometimes. She respects the respect you give her. I don’t say that to pressure you but if you want more with her, you should go for it.”

“Thanks Alpha,” you murmured so quietly only he could hear. He pulled you into his side, giving you a hug. “I don’t know that I’d be very good at it though. My own mom was never the most maternal and that was before I found out she was a psychopath.”

“I think you ought to give yourself more credit. All you gotta do is love ‘em and protect ‘em and you got plenty of experience with that,” he said, Tim and Lucy sharing a laugh from the end of their car. “Now that I’m about to introduce you to the Arlen clan and be interrogated by them, I’m realizing we probably should have had a few more grown up discussions about certain things.”

“Hm, well I’ve never met a boys family before so this will all be new to me,” you said, Beau’s hand gripping your waist. “While I’d love to say it’s none of their business, if we get questioned, marriage eventually and perhaps a pup down the road?”

“I always wanted to give Emily a sibling,” he whispered, brushing his lips over yours. “And what do you do for work, Mrs. Arlen?”

You smacked his chest, Beau grinning back at you. “I got a job with Dr. Olson at the university hospital overseeing-”

“You got the job?” He picked you straight up off the ground, squishing you tight, a round of giggles escaping you. “When did you find out?”

“When we landed. I’m nervous but excited,” you said, Beau grinning. “It’s a boring office job, Beau.”

“Um, excuse me but aren’t you getting a serious pay bump, it’s not full time and you get to go find funding for oh, an actual cure to Primal? Yeah, just a wee little old office job.” 

“Exactly,” you hummed, Beau pressing his lips to yours.

“No body wants to see that nastiness,” said Tim, Beau flipping him off without breaking away. 

“Boys,” you and Lucy sighed, Beau reluctantly peeling away from you. You took your backpack and carry on, waiting a beat before you followed Beau up the drive to the the front door, hands interlaced. 

“Ma, we’re here!” He called as you stepped inside the foyer area, Beau telling you to leave your bags in the adjacent dining room for now.

“I took that you were based on Emily devouring my gingerbread cookies in the kitchen,” said a gentle voice. A shorter woman with light brown hair rounded a corner, wearing a big smile. “Oh are these the girls? You boys have outdone yourselves.”

“Hi,” you said, setting your backpack down. “I’m Y/N and this is Lucy, my brother’s girlfriend.”

“I know who you two are. I’m Bridget,” she said, all smiles, wrapping you both up in hugs, Lucy giving you a look over her shoulder during hers. She lingered with yours, leaning back with a soft look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so smitten.”

“Literally right here, ma,” said Beau behind you, Bridget rolling her eyes.

“Mhm,” she hummed, ignoring him before grinning over at Tim. “Oh and you must be Timothy!”

“Tim’s fine,” he said with a brief smile, Bridget wrapping him up in a big hug. 

“Well I know you kids had a long flight. Beau, Tim and Lucy are in Declan’s old room and I have you and Y/N in yours. Why don’t you show them around and when you kids are all set, we’ll head over to Declan’s for dinner,” she said.

Five hours later you were back at Beau’s parents after an easy going dinner at his older brother’s place nearby. You and Lucy helped prepare the dining room table in your pajamas for Thanksgiving the next day while the guys helped his parents in the kitchen.

“Okay we’re all set. What next?” you asked rounding the corner of the kitchen. 

“Time for a drink,” said Jock, Beau’s father, ushering you and Lucy to take a seat at the kitchen island. He mixed you both old fashioned’s as you watched Beau mash a giant pot of cooked potatoes while Tim sprinkled marshmallows over mashed sweet potatoes in a casserole dish. “The girls finished their tasks boys. Just waiting on you is all I’m saying.”

“Perfection cannot be rushed,” said Tim, carefully rearranging the marshmallows. Beau tried to smack his elbow to throw him off but Tim dodged it, a loud whistle coming from Jock.

“Beau, stop being a little shit and let him finish. I’ve been dreaming of that casserole ever since Y/N said Tim offered to make it.”

“My sister does not have the refined palate some of us with taste do,” said Tim, popping one last one in. He spun around with a grin. “More for us.”

“Last time I ate your magic potato casserole I spent the night throwing up,” you said.

“That was from eating undercooked chicken, not my wonderful creation. She never appreciates my cooking,” he said.

“Yes I do, just not your nasty casserole,” you said, Lucy shushing you. “Oh, don’t take his side.”

“But his food is yummy,” she said, giving him a soft look. “I am looking forward to it tomorrow.”

“Y’all crazies can have it,” you said, smiling when a slice of chocolate pie was set down in front of you and Lucy each by Bridget. “Beau, have I mentioned how much I love your parents yet?”

“We’re just glad to have a noisy house again,” she said, cutting up a slice for Tim and handing it to him after he set the casserole in the fridge. “Oh! Let me get the whip cream. I know that’s your favorite, Tim.”

She grabbed the can, squirting a big helping on top for him before ushering him over next to Lucy.

“Annnnnd done,” said Beau, holding out the pot ready to be heated tomorrow. “Pie please, mother.”

“He always did have a sweet tooth,” said Jock, setting a drink down for Tim as Beau got his plate and hopped up on the counter, sitting cross legged. Bridget excused herself as the four of you devoured your slices and started to eat straight out of the tin, Bridget returning with three white boxes. 

“So I’m sure you noticed we already have the tree and stockings up. We like to decorate a little ahead of time,” she said, handing a box to each of you apart from Beau. “These are for all of you.”

You set your fork down and opened the box, smiling as you pulled out a baby blue stocking with a doe on it and your name stitched into the top.

You glanced to the right, Lucy holding up a light green one, also with a doe, albeit in a different position. You peaked around her, Tim holding a rich dark green with a large stag wearing a scarf. He thumbed over his name, smiling to himself.

“Okay, go hang up your stockings on the mantle and I’ll find you more desserts you can devour,” she said, shooing you off. You ducked into the next room over, hanging yours besides Beau’s navy blue with stars and a stag. 

“Here’s good,” he said, patting a spot next to your name, Tim tucking his up there along with Lucy’s. 

“Why’d your mom make us these?” he asked quietly, Beau cocking his head. “And are being so nice? Did you ask them to be nice?”

You and Lucy shared a sad look behind his back, Beau clasping Tim on the shoulder.

“Timothy,” he sighed. “Those people are going to give you weekly phone calls from now on and you’re going to answer. You’re going to go to holidays and family reunions and on big vacations. Mom will get you a cake every year on your birthday no matter where you are and dad will come up every spring to watch you in your first intramural baseball game of the year. Don’t resist it. It’ll be a good thing, I promise.”

“But why?” he asked quietly, Lucy closing her eyes, your arms wrapping around her.

“Trust me?” Tim sighed, nodding once. “Good. Now take a seat people. Time for the annual Arlen watch of Trains, Planes and Automobiles.”

Three Weeks Later

“Hey,” you said, bumping into Tim as you were walking out of the front door of your townhouse. “I’m spending the night at Beau’s so you have the place to yourself.”

“I know, Beau gave me the heads up as I was headed out.” You adjusted your overnight bag, Tim tossing his backpack through the open door. “You got a sec?”

You followed him back inside, closing the door behind you to keep out the winter chill. He kicked off his snow boots and set them in the tray, lazily hanging his coat and beanie up on the rack. He ran a hand through his fluffy hair, the strands sticking up.

“You need a haircut,” you said, Tim rolling his eyes.

“I’ve only been a wee bit busy lately,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. He looked you up and down, your eyebrow raising. 

“Spit it out, Barclay. I got a handsome man making me a home cooked meal in a childless house to get to.”

“I wanted to give you a Christmas present early,” he said. 

“Are you dying?” He scoffed. “Oh come on, you never give me gifts early. You’re 45 so I mean you could be dying. You would tell me if you’re dying, right? If you are hiding-”

He covered your mouth with his hand, chuckling to himself. He slid it away when you stopped talking, a light flush to his cheeks. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a envelope carefully, handing it to you.

You slowly opened it, wide eyed as you pulled out a card.

World’s Best Aunt!

Your eyes flickered up to him, a stupidly shy smile on his face. “You’re gonna…”

“Be a dad? Yup. That is a thing that will be happening next year,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Are we happy about this?” you asked gently, Tim nodding fiercely, a grin breaking out over your own face. 

“I’m fucking terrified. But happy. Lucy told me a few days ago and she’s only a month in but she wanted to tell you and Beau. I figured-” You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing his warm cheek. 

“You’re going to make an amazing father,” you said, Tim picking you up and hugging you tight. “And when you start to freak out, remember you guys aren’t doing this alone.”

“I know,” he mumbled, setting you down. “It was a little sooner than we were expecting but nothing about our relationship is normal so why start now.”

“You going to marry her?” He rolled his eyes with a smile. 

“I was hoping you could help me pick out a ring before we head down to Jock & Bridget’s for Christmas. Lucy’s folks will be there too and then they’re making plans to move out here to be closer to us in the spring and Beau said he’d abuse his power as sheriff to get us a wedding venue in a few months before she starts to show and why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Because you’re happy.” You squeezed him tight, Tim’s scent relaxed and cozy. “So Lucy’s moving in here, right? Her place is so small and this is three bedroom so you got room for a nursery and an office-”

“Uh, yes Lucy will move in, after the holidays most likely. But we got time for all that,” he said, tilting his head. “I don’t want you to move out. You and Beau are taking things slow and Lucy and I fully respect that.”

You looked up at him, smiling softly. “How many nights a week do I even sleep here, Tim?”

“Okay but I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you out the door to Beau.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” He sighed, your hand clasping his. “I will move out when I am good and ready. So. Why don’t you run to the grocery store, make Lucy dinner, and talk about baby names tonight?”

“Alright, go be with your boyfriend,” he said, tugging on your braid. “But when you two start getting serious, that boy better ask my permission if he wants to marry you.”

“Are you asking Lucy’s dad?” 

“I don’t need to. She’s her own woman,” he said, crossing his arms. 

“I see, I see,” you said, nodding your head with a hum. “But Beau needs permission.”

“I ain’t letting any schmuck marry you,” he said, lifting his chin. You smiled, shaking your head. “I’m serious. I need to know that boy’s got good values.”

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you.” He put a hand to his chest in shock, feigning innocence. “I can’t wait until you have a child you can annoy instead of me.”

“It’s cute you think that will save you.” 

“Later, Timothy,” you said, flipping him off as you opened the door. “Love you.”

“Love you too. Careful driving.” 

Ten minutes later you were stepping into Beau’s house, kicking the snow off on the front rug. It smelled like sugar cookies and something delectable in the warm house.

“I’m here!” you called, hanging up your coat and boots, carrying your overnight bag on your shoulder and ditching it in it’s usual spot by the bottom of the stairs. Beau had the fireplace going and through the back windows fat, fluffy flakes fell down against the black sky. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. You spun around to spot him working over the stove in a dark green flannel and long white sleeve henley, the sleeves pushed up on both. You came up behind him, ducking your head under his arm, inhaling deeply. 

“Fuck, that smells so good.” He chuckled, kissing the top of your head before you pulled away. You went to the table where an unopened bottle of wine and expensive bourbon sat. “What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion is Emily is at a sleepover tonight and Tim and Lucy have graciously offered to take her Christmas shopping tomorrow and let her spend the night at your place with them. We got two whole nights to ourselves.”

“How’d you swing that?” you asked, opening the bourbon, pouring a glass for each of you.

“They did offer honestly. But they’ve been bugging me about wanting to work a case together. I’ve refused cause of their relationship but I said I’d give them a test run and if they work well, I’ll consider doing it again. Otherwise I’ll delegate them back to their respective office corners.”

“Have you picked out a case yet?” you asked, handing him his glass before you sat up on the counter nearby with your own. His eyes raked down your body, taking in your cream sweater, maroon skirt, and lingering on your black tight coated legs. 

“I’ll see what comes across the desk next week. I’d like to push them both a bit, see what they’re made of.” He stirred the creamy sauce in the pan before him, using a smaller spoon to taste test.

“I’m sure they can handle it,” you said, taking a sip of the smooth bourbon. “Tim tell you anything particular today?”

“He did,” he said, turning a burner on low, quickly checking the oven. “Twenty minutes and dinner will be all set.”

He picked up his glass and hummed around the lip, stepping over in front of you. “He’ll make a good father and husband.”

“I know he will,” you said. He pressed forward, your legs widening before wrapping loosely around his hips. “Funny they were going to take it slow and a month after sealing their bond they got their whole lives planned out.”

“Is my omega jealous?” he teased, your head quickly shaking. He chuckled, setting his glass down before resting his palms on either side of your thighs, leaning in close. “I guarantee the only reason those two are already expecting a pup is because they were so randy, they couldn’t remember to use protection. An Alpha’s brain gets all…twitchy when they smell their omega in heat.”

“This is true,” you said, Beau smirking. “You think we’ll have that kind of…reaction my next heat?”

“I have that kind of reaction with you every time we’re together.” Knuckles grazed over the top of your leg, trailing inwards before retreating away. You inhaled deeply, Beau’s green eyes locked onto the way you bit your bottom lip. “Talk to me, ‘mega. What’s going through your head?”

You glanced down to your lap, a gentle hand tilting your chin upwards to face him again. His eyes were gentle, so full of care. You swallowed, placing your hand over his in your lap.

“Tim and Lucy are moving a million miles an hour even when they wanted to go slow.” He didn’t speak, didn’t interject as you gathered your thoughts. And your heart fell for him a little more for him for that. “I know we’ve talked, about all the big stuff. Kids and marriage and I love how mature you are for that and how you’ll give me whatever I want. But dammit Beau, you’re so damn considerate of me all the time. I need you to take for once.”

“Alright. Here’s what’ll happen,” he murmured, pressing his lips to under your jaw. “I’m going to feed you a magnificent dinner. I’m going to fuck you raw in front of that fireplace for hours until we both fall asleep. In the morning you’ll take a shower while I go get your favorite coffee and pastry. I’m going to hold you while we watch Christmas movies on the couch and go for a few more rounds. By the time we’ve worked up an appetite, I’ll be taking you out to dinner at Blackstone’s where you will be wearing the little black number I may have stolen from your closet and is currently hiding in the back of mine. When we finish, I’m going to bring you back home where I will be biting into that bonding gland all over again while you squeeze my knot bare.”

He suckled over your mark, sending chills down your spine.

“You know what happens when an Alpha does that?” he purred.

“Triggers a heat and a rut,” you breathed out, closing your eyes. 

“Now tell me if you want that and I’ll gladly do it. But if you’re not sure yet, then we’ll wait.”

“Beau-”

“You were on the run for a year. You deserve to pick what you want and when you want it. If that means I’m moving slow, then I’m moving slow, and you’ll have to accept that about me.”

“Why don’t you demand more? Why are giving me all the control here?” you whispered. He lifted his head, staring you dead on.

“I’m respecting you, not giving you control.” Your breath stayed caught in your through, Beau leaning his forehead against yous. “Sarah Connor this shit, omega. Don’t be scared and tell me.”

“Your idea for next few days sounded pretty good,” you mumbled against his lips. 

“If I do that last bit, odds are Emily gets a sibling,” he whispered, hand cupping the back of your neck, thumbing your mark. 

“I didn’t take my birth control this morning.” He stilled, your hand pressing against his chest. “I don’t want to use condoms anymore either.”

“What else do you want,” he breathed out, his heart hammering in his chest.

“You.”

“You got me,” he said, pressing your lips together, soft and slow, lingering together. His heart calmed under you, arm wrapping around your back to pull your body flush to his. “Always.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Six Months Later

Beau POV

“For the love of god tell me why we agreed to this shit,” Tim said beside me. Lucy and Y/N were sitting on the back porch with Emily while Tim and I tried to wrangle an arch made of green and gold colored balloons.

“Because when your little girl graduates from high school, if she wants an obnoxious ballon arch tunnel entrance, you give it to her,” I said, Tim grumbling from the other end as we adjusted the ground anchors. “You’ll learn these things someday.”

“Yeah well my little girl ain’t getting balloon arches like her spoiled cousin,” he grumbled, wiping sweat off his brow. He glanced over at Lucy who was holding Emily’s hand over her stomach, all three girls giggling. He shared a quick glance at me, catching my smirk, before rolling his eyes. “Fine. I’m wrapped around that girl's finger and she ain’t even born yet. You’re the same way you know.”

“Hey, I don’t know if I have another girl coming.”

“Emily told me.” I groaned, Tim’s eyes widening. “You bought that? It’s actually a girl?”

“Keep your mouth shut,” I said as I walked over to him, pulling him around to the front of the house. “We were going to do a little cake later tonight with a gender reveal. Act surprised.”

“I will, I will,” he said, holding up his hands. We walked into the open garage, Tim going to the beer fridge along the back wall and pulling two out. He handed one to me before cracking his open. “So we’re going to have two little girls around here soon. We’re both screwed.”

“Oh for sure. But hey, we’ll be able to have a joint graduation party for them and being a girl dad is kind of amazingly life changing,” I said, Tim giving me a high five as we chuckled. “I uh, heard you’re not pressing charges against Jenny Hoyt.”

“And?” he said, taking a long drag from his bottle. I shrugged. “Her bloodwork shows she’s no longer Primal, she told the investigators everything about Brock turning her when she was younger, the orders he gave her, attacking me. She’s a victim and her life’s hard enough without me sending her to jail. I never want to see her again but when she gets out of rehab for that leg, she should be able to start over again somewhere. You got a problem with that?”

“Nope.” I set my beer down after a sip, picking up a pile of plastic table cloths stacked on top of folding chairs. “Your daughter will be lucky to have a good man for a father.”

He didn’t say anything, only popped his beer on top of my tool bench and picked up four chairs at once. We carried them to the back, making a few more trips to get everything into the large tent set up out there.

“Boys,” Y/N called, walking over on bare feet across the grass. “Take a break. We called in reinforcements.”

“We only got a few hours before the party starts,” I said, Y/N putting her hand on her hip, the bottom of her shirt riding up around the swell of her belly. 

“Exactly. A long ass party where you two will be drinking, cooking and I’m totally sure not getting competitive with a bunch of highschoolers when they decide to play volleyball over there. Sit your butts down in the shade for a few.”

“But-” She crossed her arms, her shirt riding up even more, my eyes drawn downwards towards it.

“You have a huge ass family sitting in hotel rooms and Air B&B’s right now. They can help. I already talked to your mom and people will be here within thirty to help. You can boss them around when they get here but until then, sit down.”

“I for one know better than to argue with a pregnant woman,” said Tim, holding up his hands as he slipped past, gently rubbing her belly as he went. “Tell your momma to take it easy on your pops, little nugget.”

“And you?” she asked when we were alone, my hand reaching for hers. 

“Technically I’m in the shade,” I said, pointing to the tent above. She narrowed her eyes, pushing me to sit down in a folding chair. “Am I getting a repeat of my private bachelor party?”

“Later if you behave for me right now,” she said. I kicked my feet up on the table and put my hands behind my head, Y/N smiling before sitting in the spot next to me, throwing her feet into my lap. I rubbed them gently, her eyes fluttering closed. “If my feet feel like this at six months, I can’t imagine how it’ll be when I’m ready to pop.”

“We’ll have to get you some easy slip on shoes for the house, give you a bit more support.” I worked her sore feet for a few minutes, Y/N letting her eyes open after a bit. “Remember to take some breaks and go cool off in the house today. You keep doting on Lucy and you’ll push yourself too far.”

“So we should get our husbands to dote on us?” she teased. “Yes, yes that’s an excellent idea.”

We both turned when we heard Emily shriek, Tim instantly by her side, holding her arm. Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket a few moments later, smirking at her screen.

“Lucy says she got stung by a bee,” she said, shoving it away as Tim went inside with Emily.

“Girls,” I said with a tsk, Y/N slapping my arm playfully. “Don’t get me wrong. I love girls but y’all are silly.”

“It’s a good thing we’re having a girl then,” she said, my smile growing. “But we are not buying a bunch of girlie shit.”

“I’m not much of one for pink for girls, blue for boys,” I said, Y/N grinning. “Oh was that a test?”

“No but I like the sentiment. I totally bought the cutest little blue onesie with yellow elephants on it yesterday and I don’t care at all if it was in the boys section.” 

“We got to raise a badass after all and there’s nothing more hardcore than yellow elephants,” I teased. She cocked her head, sliding her sunglasses down over her eyes before getting to her feet. “Where you going?”

“Oh, I was just thinking there’s no way on earth you don’t know how good you look sitting there in that backwards baseball cap and sunglasses.”

“No, I don’t. Tell me more,” I said, pulling my feet down and resting my chin in my hands, grinning up at her.

“I think you ought to go…lay down for a few minutes. Get your…rest,” she said, voice low, a hint of roughness to it. 

“You mean you want to go…”

“Yes, Beau,” she said, tickling my bonding gland for a split second, making sparks shoot through my body. She pulled away too fast though and was stepping away. “I’ll be waiting.”

She’d barely gotten a step away before I was out of my chair, following in her footsteps. Less than a minute later we were upstairs, Tim and Emily thankfully having retreated outside to continue decorating.

Y/N locked the bedroom door after herself, spinning around with a smile as she pushed me to lay back on the bed. “You know, Omega, we got ten minutes at most before we need to go back.”

“Mr. Arlen, you need to learn to delegate,” she said, pulling her shirt off of her head and shoving her loose running shorts down to the ground. Her underwear went with it and with a quick reach behind her back, she was dropping her bra on top of the pile at her feet. “But if you want to be put to work, I have some ideas.”

I sat up on my elbows, eyes drifting up as Y/N crawled over top of me, straddling my hips and staring downwards. I swallowed when she reached between us to undo my belt and with one helpful shove, my shorts and boxers were at my knees, my feet working to kick them off. She traced a finger under my chin, sitting back on her heels to give me room to rip off my shirt, my hat and sunglasses going flying in the process.

“Mmm,” she hummed, planting her hands on my pecs, sliding her body downwards, both of us grinning when my cock slid through her folds. She suddenly froze up, eyes fully of worry.

“What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Your back? I can-”

“Fuck, I want your cock in me but I want to be careful too. I don’t want you in me right now,” she said quietly, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry-”

“Sh, sh. We can have plenty of fun without penetration,” I said, gripping her thighs. “Rock back and forth and rub yourself off on me.”

“Are you sure that’s enough to get you there too?” she asked. I chuckled, my hands sliding to her waist, pushing my cock through her folds, the head of my cock hitting her clit and earning a sharp inhale of air.

“My hot pregnant wife rubbing herself off on my dick? Oh yeah, that’s not sexy at all.” I moved her body again, Y/N relaxing more. She bit her bottom lip, grinding against me. “That’s it, nice and easy.”

We fell into an easy rhythm. She slid back, I pulled forward, smirking as she bit harder when I hit her clit.

“Love to get you off, omega. Can’t wait to put another baby in you.” Her lips parted, my hands grasping her harder. “You like that? You want another baby?”

“Fuck, ask me again in six months. Until then don’t stop talking like that,” she said, voice deep and whining. I rolled my hips as I yanked her forwards, Y/N joining in and giving us both more pressure. Back and forth, back and forth.

A thin layer of sweat broke out over my body, Y/N panting atop me. I was close but she needed more time. I forced my body to relax as I moved my hand, rubbing my thumb against her clit as we rocked together. Her thighs flexed, locking my hips tight.

“Come on, darlin’. Come on,” I said, encouraging her. 

“Talk dirty, please,” she gasped, moving faster, looking for her end.

“Can’t wait to put that next baby in you. Watch you ride my cock like last time. Remember how you milked my knot so hard you nearly passed out? Feel my knot? Fuck it wants-“

I wasn’t prepared for Y/N to reach behind herself and wrap her hand around it, giving my knot a firm squeeze. I came hard, rubbing Y/N until she was tensing up, squeezing my arm with a soft moan.

She rolled to the side, my eyes closed tight, heart pounding in my ears. 

“Beau,” she said, shaking my arm. “Beau, are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” I mumbled, my body flooded in post orgasmic bliss. I turned my head, forcing my eyes to open. She smiled, running her hand through my sweaty hair.

“Did I break your brain?” I hummed, smiling lazily. She reached a hand over my cock, giving the knot the tiniest of squeezes. I came over her hand, Y/N wide eyed as she gently milked me through it.

An incoherent garble of words spilled past my lips, Y/N’s hand working my knot like her pussy would have. I’d have sworn I was floating if not for her other hand on my head to ground me, praising me through it all.

“Good boy,” she murmured when my knot finally deflated, my stomach and her hand a mess. “You ever do that before?”

“Get my knot milked by hand? No, it’s too sensitive but damn, when you do it…” I made an explosion sound, Y/N giggling into my shoulder. “You have fun?”

“Always,” she said, turning her head up and kissing me. “Want to make out in the shower before we go back out there?”

“You always have the best ideas,” I said, sitting up, scooping her up in my arms.

“Dad!” Emily shouted from what sounded like the bottom of the stairs.

“What?” I called back, stopping near the door, double checking it was locked. 

“When you’re done being a horny teenager, grandma and grandpa are here!”

“Give us five minutes!” I shook my head, Y/N smiling in my arms. “Children. Are you ready to deal with another one of her in eighteen years?”

“I can’t wait for it.” I smirked, kissing the tip of her nose. She looked so innocent, so light and happy unlike on the night we met all the months ago. What I wouldn’t give to tell that girl just how wonderful life would be for her soon enough, how she’d turn so many of our lives around. 

I carried her into the bathroom, holding her tight, excited for what the future would hold.

“Me either, omega.”

A/N: Well, that's all folks! What'd you think of this one? Would you ever want to see more of this world in the future? 🤔

[tazuransi]

wow vgen sounds cool i wonder if i can make an accou- oh it works like toyhouse never mind

[casualshrimp-but-undertale]

WTH THIS JUMPSCARED ME ON MY FEED WHA- WHAT— HE SAID THE THING HE SAID CHOO CHOO!! (SHAKING /POS)

Doodle comic based on THIS

Seems the phrase has grown on him, just a little

Code sans by @callmeherry

Elated sans by @knobe07o

[fushitoru]

i don't wanna lose this with you a spiderman gojo fic

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ an amalgation of misunderstandings and stress lead to a very big fight between you and satoru, but you certainly don't expect the way he wins you back.

warnings ⸺ college au, spiderman!au, angst, hurt/comfort, i warn you reader might infurate you, but she's just a woman in stem :(, tooth rotting fluff bc he's a loser for his gf, not edited sue me

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n you'll probably need to read the first installation (nsfw, so mdni) to understand this one :3

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

you've blocked gojo on all platforms.

you don't really remember what caused the "break up" (you didn't really break up). maybe it's the fact that you've been stressed about grad school admissions, your dorm's floor was covered in his boxers, and he's never been able to visit you pre-3am these days. somehow, the city's criminals are determined to keep your boyfriend away from you, and maybe it was your pms, or maybe it was truly just because satoru is annoying. regardless, it's when you guys have plans that's not an impromptu healing-gojo's-wounds-in-your-dorm-at-3am sesh and you're waiting at the coffee shop that you explode.

because he was supposed to arrive ten minutes ago, and when you move to go to the bathroom, you see him. through the window, his white hair is never not noticeable, and who you see next to him makes you falter.

he's standing next to a girl with blue tinted silver hair that you recognize as mei mei, and she's gripping his upper arm as she smiles while looking at his face, his lips with such fuck me eyes that you could tell they were having some sort of intimate conversation.

and if it were an ideal day, you would know that it's all a misunderstanding, you would know your boyfriend is someone you trust. but, again, the cards were stacked against you, and the only things that go through your mind all make your eyes all glossy. he's late to the one date that you planned because you and him were finally free at the same time and you've been busy because you've been desperately applying for internships because unlike your boyfriend you don't have a plethora of papers and coding experience and you've been getting four hours of sleep on average this week and ugh you've heard a rumor that satoru used to hook up with her and fuck now your tampon is poking at you in the wrong way—

great. now tears are fully streaming down your cheeks. in public.

as you rush to the table where your stuff is your vision is so blurry that you also almost fall flat on your face as you stumble over the legs of chairs and tables. blurting out a ensemble of choked up sorry's and excuse me's you hurriedly gather your laptop and notebooks in your backpack and book it for the exit.

the biting cold stings at your face, but you nevertheless determinedly move in the opposite direction of where satoru and mei mei are situated, praying your boyfriend doesn't recognize you. however, it seems that the heavens are working against you because you hear a yelled "baby?"

you don't look back because you know a new set of tears will leave your eyes, and with it being finals season, you're not very hydrated to being with. but you hear footsteps running towards you and fuck your boyfriend's long ass legs because he quickly catches up to you. then, he grabs your hands, attempting to stop you from running away and face him.

"baby," he breathes, baby blue eyes looking into yours as he moves to kiss your forehead. you stay silent, pinning your gaze to the ground while shivering. "where are you going? aren't we supposed to hang out right now?"

look, you and gojo have a good relationship. but recently, things have gotten...strenuous lately. you guys haven't been communicating, and it might not help that half of your calorie intake was from energy drinks. or perhaps what lead you to say what you said next was driven entirely by the brain eating mold on your unwashed dishes, but dumb excuses aside, you sneer. "shouldn't you be busy doing that with mei mei, instead?"

a small part of you--the part that knows you shouldn't be like this--feels relief that hurt doesn't immediately flash across his eyes, only confusion. but lack of sleep has not only stripped away at your sanity but also your people pleasing and overthinking tendencies, leaving you only as a girl frustrated, even irrationally angry, with her boyfriend. so you only avert your gaze when he dumbfoundedly asks, "what?"

"what do you mean, "what?"" you scoff, wrenching your hand from his grasp. "you were ten minutes late to our meet-up, gojo." it is at your use of his last name, instead of your sweet my love, that the hurt you've been looking for flashes across his eyes. he moves to speak but you cut him off, no longer wishing to be here with him. "if you're so busy talking to bitches you hooked up with before, why did you even bother saying yes to hanging out with me?"

he looks at you in confusion, eyes quickly flitting back and forth across you. then, slowly, as if he's still processing the weight of your accusations, he says, "i don't exactly know what you're referring to, but let's calm down---"

and you see red.

"calm down?" you snap, voice sharp and icy, just like the wind stinging your cheeks. "did you seriously just tell me to calm down? you were late again, gojo, and i find you chatting it up with her?" you practically spit the word, arms crossing as a flimsy defense against both the cold and the ache building in your chest.

satoru blinks, his confusion genuine, but you’re too far gone to care. "wait—mei mei? is this about mei mei? she's not—"

"don’t you dare finish that sentence," you cut him off, your voice rising as your blood boils hotter. "i don't want to hear how she's just a friend, or how it's not what it looks like. i’m so tired of hearing the same bullshit excuses."

"baby, you're jumping to conclusions—"

"and you’re jumping at the chance to look like an idiot in public," you snap, your hands trembling now, either from the cold or your rising fury. "god, what do you even say to her? let me guess, you go around telling girls you're spider-man to get into their pants, huh? bet that works like a charm."

the accusation hits like a slap, and for the first time, satoru looks genuinely stunned, his mouth falling open slightly. "what the hell are you even saying right now?"

"am i wrong?" you let out a bitter laugh, one that echoes in the frosty air. "you’re late to the one date i actually planned, and i see you with her, all cozy, like i’m not even waiting for you. like i don’t even matter."

his eyebrows knit together, frustration mixing with something softer. "you seriously think i’d—"

"i don’t know what to think anymore, satoru!" the words burst out of you, your voice cracking as hot tears well in your eyes. "all i know is that i can’t keep feeling like this. like i’m some afterthought while you’re out doing—whatever it is you do. swinging through the city or flirting with your exes or—" you choke on the words, wiping at your cheeks furiously as the tears spill over. "just forget it. i’m done."

"wait." his voice is quieter now, more desperate as he steps toward you, his hand reaching out. "baby, come on, we can talk about this—"

"no," you say firmly, jerking your hand away before he can grab it. "i’m blocking you. on everything." then, mockingly, "you can figure out how to save the world without me."

his eyes widen, his mouth opening like he’s about to plead or argue, but you don’t wait for him to speak. you turn on your heel and storm away, the cold wind biting at your skin as the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you don’t look back. not when he calls your name, not when you hear his footsteps falter. you just keep walking.

it’s 3 a.m., and you don’t know if you exist.

well, you do, but after how light you feel after you’ve cried a disgusting amount, you just lie down on your floor staring at the ceiling and contemplating the meaning of life. or more specifically, the meaning of your life, which right now feels like it’s revolving around nothing but stress and a breakup you don’t even fully understand.

you wouldn’t be having these problems if you were a childless cat lady.

but alas, you’re just a college student. in the few days where you haven’t seen satoru, you’ve finished all your finals—miraculously, considering the fragile state of your emotional wellbeing—and now you’re finally on break in your dorm. you’re supposed to go back home in two days, but the thought of packing feels like trying to climb a mountain barefoot. you can’t summon the energy to do anything except wallow in your self-pity and selfishness, letting it wrap around you like a weighted blanket that’s somehow comforting and suffocating all at once.

you’d like to say this is rock bottom, but truthfully, it’s worse than that. because rock bottom implies a kind of finality—a place to push off from. this? this feels more like you’re sinking in quicksand, the weight of everything dragging you further down.

in your stress and impulsiveness, you’ve managed to kill your entire grind for internships. deadlines have slipped past while you spent hours doom-scrolling job boards and second-guessing every application. the ambitious, career-focused version of yourself feels like a stranger now, buried under the weight of your own doubts and insecurities. and on top of that, you may have potentially lost the love of your life.

it’s laughable, really, how thoroughly you’ve managed to self-destruct in such a short time. the worst part? you can’t even bring yourself to check your socials. if you unblock him and see there aren’t any messages, you think your heart might shatter completely. which, if you’re being honest, isn’t exactly fair to him. you’re the one who had the meltdown. you’re the one who blocked him on everything. he probably doesn’t even know what he did wrong because you didn’t even communicate anything.

your stomach twists at the thought, guilt mingling with the ever-present ache of missing him. he was supposed to be the one person who made everything feel a little less impossible, and now you’ve pushed him away.

there has got to be a taylor swift song for this.

so you make your way to your spotify account to listen to afterglow, putting in your airpods while somberly looking at the ceiling once again as the lyrics fill your ears. tears well up as soon as the lyrics start

i blew things out of proportion, now you're blue⸻

tears well up before you can stop them, hot and heavy as they trail down your cheeks. god, you’re a mess. and yet, as much as you hate it, you can’t seem to stop the flood of thoughts that follow.

you miss him. you miss the way he made you laugh even when you were on the verge of tears, the way his ridiculous confidence somehow made you feel like everything would work out. you miss how he’d stay up late just to facetime you when you were overwhelmed with schoolwork, how he always seemed to know exactly when you needed him most.

and now? now you’ve gone and ruined it. maybe he’s angry, maybe he’s hurt, or worse—maybe he’s just done with you entirely.

the thought makes your chest ache, your breaths coming in shallow and uneven as the lyrics hit their crescendo.

i need to say, hey, it’s all me, in my head—

then, suddenly the song changes. you frown as you hear early 2010's pop blast through your ears.

i threw a wish in the well, don't ask me i'll never tell⸻

why the fuck is call me maybe playing?

annoyed and rubbing at your eyes, you move the change it back to, now, the sad girl hours playlist spotify curated for your and assume your dead fish position on the floor once again.

however, it seems as if your spotify is genuinely tweaking, like it's realized it’s gotten your attention. when call me maybe starts playing again, you groan out loud and move your phone. but before you have a chance to switch the song again, it seems to switch.

baby by justin bieber.

call me, blondie.

i love you, i'm sorry, gracie abrams.

letstalkaboutit, aminé.

i don't understand but i luv you, seventeen.

please please please, sabrina carpenter.

and then, once more, as if to really drive the point home: call me maybe, carly rae jepsen.

again, it's 3am, and you're stuck in a surreal mix of grief and confusion, staring at your phone as your spotify queue seems to have gained sentience. each song feels like a pleading nudge, an unmistakable pattern forming, and your blood runs cold when you remember one very important fact.

you share a spotify account with satoru.

"carly rae jepsen," you mutter under your breath, a mix of exasperation and fondness bubbling up despite yourself. he's hijacking your queue. right in the middle of your emo songs.

you sit up abruptly, tossing your airpods onto the bed, and hover over the call button on your phone. there’s a split second of hesitation—your pride battling with your longing—before you give in and press it.

the line rings twice before his voice comes through, breathless, like he’s been pacing. "baby?"

the sound of his voice sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, sharp and raw like an open wound. the sound of his voice makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, equal parts relief and guilt. "satoru," you say, barely above a whisper. "why are you messing with our spotify?"

"why am i messing with our spotify?" he echoes, his tone incredulous. "why did you block me on literally everything? what was i supposed to do—send you a letter by carrier pigeon?"

you wince at the edge in his voice, your earlier anger wilting under the weight of his hurt. "i… i don’t know," you admit, the words tumbling out before you can catch them. "i was upset, and i wasn’t thinking straight. i shouldn’t have done that."

"yeah, you shouldn’t have," he says, still sounding a little indignant, though there’s something softer beneath it now. "do you know how many songs i had to go through to make my point? do you know how hard it was to resist the urge to rickroll you instead?" then, there’s a pause on his end, the line suddenly feeling too quiet. then he sighs, his voice softening into something that feels too much like an apology. "i didn’t know what else to do. i hate not talking to you. i hate knowing i made you upset, even if i don’t entirely understand why."

you close your eyes, the lump in your throat returning with a vengeance. the silence stretches between you, thick and unbearable, until you finally break it. "i’m sorry," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "i shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.” and now that the dam has been broken, it all comes rushing out as you start choking up. “i’ve just been so stressed, and i’ve been missing you and then i saw you with her and then got irrationally angry when i really should’ve trusted you and oh my god i’m like a possessive tradwife husband that doesn’t let you leave the farm i’m sorry and i didn’t even communicate before i blew up at you like that—”

"hey. hey, hey, it’s okay," he says immediately, his tone filled with an earnestness that makes your chest tighten. "i know things have been hard for you. i should’ve been better, too. more present. i hate that you’ve been feeling like this while i’ve been...doing spider-man things." then, he lets out a dramatic sigh, the kind that’s equal parts exasperation and playfulness. "but wasn’t fair,” and you can hear a whine in his voice, “you blocked me and then ghosted me like i’m some kind of random tinder match. do you have any idea how insane i felt when i couldn’t even check to see if you were okay? i thought you hated me."

your breath catches at his words, guilt twisting like a knife in your chest. "i don’t hate you," you say quickly, the words spilling out in a rush. "i could never hate you. i was just… stupid, and emotional, and i didn’t know how to handle everything piling up. i’m so, so sorry, satoru."

there’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, a little more vulnerable. "then why did you say those things? about mei mei, and… and me using the spider-man thing to get into girls’ pants."

you bite your lip, the memory of your harsh words making your throat tighten. "i didn’t mean any of it," you whisper. "i was just lashing out, and i know it wasn’t fair to you. i know you’d never do something like that, and i trust you, satoru. i just… i let my insecurities get the better of me."

"wait," he interrupts, his voice laced with amusement that shouldn’t make your heart ache the way it does. "you actually think i’d use the spider-man thing as a pickup line? that’s...wow. that’s genius. i should write that down."

"satoru!" you exclaim, half-laughing, half-crying, your emotions unraveling all over again. "i’m being serious!"

"i know, i know," he says, but you can hear the smile in his voice, warm and teasing. "and i’m being serious, too. i’d never do that to you. mei mei’s just...she tripped in front of me, i was just helping her up. i didn’t even realize how it must’ve looked, but i’ve never done anything with her. you’re it for me, okay? always."

you sniffle, wiping at your cheeks as your heart swells and aches all at once. "you mean that?"

"of course i do," he says, his voice soft and sincere in a way that makes your breath hitch. "i love you, even when you block me on everything and make me resort to spotify warfare." he sighs again, but this time it’s softer, the warmth in his voice breaking through his remaining irritation. "i’m not mad. i mean, i was mad, but mostly i was just upset. you really hurt my feelings, you know?"

the lump in your throat grows, your guilt threatening to choke you. "i know," you say, your voice cracking. "i’m so sorry, satoru. i’ll make it up to you, i promise."

"oh, you will make it up to me," he says, the teasing edge returning to his tone. "i want a week of boyfriend privileges—no complaining when i steal your fries, no making fun of my movie picks, and you’re buying me snacks for at least three of those days."

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. "deal," you say softly.

there’s a pause on his end, and then his voice comes through the line, quieter but no less sincere. "you really mean it? you’re not still mad at me?"

"i’m not mad," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "i was never really mad at you, satoru. i was mad at everything else, and i took it out on you. but i’m not mad anymore. i just… i miss you."

"i miss you too," he says, and the raw honesty in his voice---the subtle way it chokes up, as if he had been crying and missing you too---makes your chest ache. "so, can i come over? or are you going to make me keep hijacking your playlists to get your attention?"

you laugh softly, the sound tinged with relief. "just come over already, you dummy. and bring snacks. good ones."

"done," he says, his grin audible through the phone. "i’ll be there in twenty. and for the record, you owe me at least a whole playlist dedicated to how amazing i am and you sucking the absolute soul out of my dick---."

"don’t push your luck," you reply, but there’s no heat in your words, only warmth (and you’re absolutely going to suck his soul out of his cock). regardless, for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest starts to ease, replaced by something lighter, something whole.

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

a/n he's so cute :( i'll keep on writing stuff for them whether it be small fics like this or long ass fics. i think my next one is gonna be freaky if you guys are nice to this one

TAGLIST im really sorry if i missed you if you sent an ask asking to be tagged pls feel free to remind me again im afriad ur ask has drowned in my shitposts and other asks

@chilichopsticks @livelaughloveisagiyoichi @moonchhu @k0z3me @seobluv

@m1gota @celloccino @satxoru @fishrene @myahfig4

@watermelonmuntchers @bxnfire @ayumilk @venussdovess @michelleeveline

@bochichi @applepi25 @6xillaa @almostdifferentstudent @mugamoo

@iv-vee @jaemissso @wil10wthetree @localartisttttt @rirk-ke

@backinmyphase @novaisbebita @heiejdhdh @blueemochii @helloalex80

@gojodickbig @kyon-cherri @nikkissecretlibrary @omg-its-rdj @isleqt

@suguruscousin @idkwhatursayinh @yourfavbabigirl

[bnnysweets]

CUTENESS AGRESSION

streamer!ellie x fem!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. soooo i saw this video and i couldn’t help myself! maybe i’ll turn this into a smau idk.

warnings: reader is shy! loser!ellie coded. ellie just start to kiss r! during live and they’re the cutest ughhh. reader is called wife, sweetheart, babe and babygirl.

you and ellie had been dating for over two years but only recently she started to post and talking about you. it was your choice. you were very afraid that people would judge you. so when you told ellie she was good to post you, the girl was delirious.

every chance she got, she did it. her instagram feed was practically only pics of you and you two together. and she started to talk a lot about you on her streams, like A LOT.

she was playing the sims because EA sent to her a invite to promote the last expansion pack. she usually would play more dynamic games. she was making herself and she started to playing:

“guys this is not right…my wife is not here with me.”

“this count as cheating? like if i’m going to a club without tell her?”

“fuck i’m going to call her.”

and her fans met you through the speaker:

“hi baby.”

“hi sweetheart, so if i would go to a club alone, without telling you, you would be mad?”

“all alone?”

“yep.”

“i would be worried babe. why are you alone in the club?”

and she started laughing so hard that you couldn’t help yourself too. the chat just kept laughing more adding the funniest comments. this little moment went viral. her fans found your socials, the next day you had 5k new followers.

after this, ellie talked more and more about you and sometimes you would even appear on her lives, only to say hi to the chat really fast and maybe answer some questions. but they always wanted more. they wanted to get to know you! you seem to be a cool girl, your instagram showing how pretty you were and how you have a great life, they wanted to know how ellie pulled a baddie.

a little after insistence, you complied to participate. you both would answer some questions, react to some tiktoks memes about your relationship, nothing very complicated.

someone asked about your makeup and you were answering, “…you know the mac’s pallete? the new one, yeah! i know it’s pretty expensive but looks so good!” you got closer to the camera to show your eyeshadow. and while this, ellie was enamored with you, looking at you with two bigs red hearts on her eyes. “y’all can see? it’s so so so pretty!” you readjusted yourself on your seat and answered more about your makeup, but mid sentence ellie grabbed your face and started kissing you.

“ellie!! sto-“

“no” smooch. “fucking” smooch. “way” smooch. “babe.” loud smooch.

you were smiling so hard while ellie attacked your face with kisses. your blood rushing to your cheeks when you remembered you were on live. with thousands of people watching you. you tried to escape but ellie just hardening her grip.

“i love you so much babygirl. so so so much. you look fucking adorable talking. you look adorable doing anything, fuuuck, i need to marry you.” she said very softly, only for you to hear, but the good mic picked all.

this little moment of you blew up. like, she posted the clip on her tiktok and it got 16 million views. and apparently, everyone liked you.

[cuntyji]

PANT0NE 6969 ❤︎‬ VARIOUS JJK MEN X FEMALE READER

Synopsis: A bold color choice, a little too much free time, and way too much devotion. One question: is that really the shade they think it is?

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, MDNI. Smut & crack. Established Relationship. Geto has not deflected, Toji is a DILF/older than reader (can be just by a couple of years, but feel free to read it how you'd like), Sukuna true-form is not implied since he only has one cock, but feel free to read it as such. Reader has a vagina + bush/fem-bodied. Hair pulling, doggy-style, P in V, dirty talk, creampies [implied], oral (seperate f. and m. receiving), riding, 😺 referred to as "her", dom! Nanami, top! Toji and Geto (seperate), sub! Choso, power bottom/switch! Sukuna

Note: From @nkopurin and I with love 😍 Thank you for helping me brainstorm this idea hehe <3

✶⋆.˚ Ao3  

GOJO SATORU

It started with a need.

Not a hair-related one, not initially. It began with something far more sacred and carnal. You were in bed one night, Gojo passed out like a very tall, very dumb angel after an equally dumb but impressively athletic session of “babe, let’s try standing up this time” — and your eyes, glazed but focused, landed on the thing.

Not the thing. His thing. Your phone, really, but more specifically, a photo of his dick. It wasn't anything risqué; in fact, it was borderline artistic. Backlit like a renaissance painting, his hand casually wrapped around the base like he was offering it to a museum. It was… majestic.

And pink.

Not an obnoxious pink. Not bubblegum, not fuchsia. It was a warm, flushed, expensive pink. Like blushing porcelain. The kind of pink that made you understand why entire cultures assigned gender to colors. This one? This was the tip of Gojo Satoru pink. A pink that made you feel cherished, cursed, and absolutely deranged all at once.

So you screen-shot it.

Uploaded it to a color picker site. 

Hex code #F7A5B3. 

Suspiciously gentle. Suspiciously perfect. Definitely suspicious, considering the site immediately tried to sell you 400 crypto coins and an NFT of someone else's nipple. But you took that code and ran.

Now, you couldn’t just buy that color in a bottle. No one in the hair dye industry had taken the noble, godly risk of bottling Gojo Satoru's dickhead hue. Cowards. And so, Saturday morning, armed with seven different pinks from a local store, a bowl, and a wildly misplaced sense of purpose, you began to mix.

“This is what God made me for,” you whispered, wrist-deep in dye, adding a smidge more ‘peach dazzle’ to your cauldron of horny alchemy.

The end result? Perfection. If a cherry blossom had an orgasm, this would be the aftermath. You smoothed it into your scalp, grinning like a lunatic as your bathroom mirror caught the glint in your eye—the kind of glint that only comes from knowing your hair now looked like your husband’s dick tip.

When Gojo walked through the door that evening, adjusting his blindfold with one hand and tossing his bag with the other, the first thing he did was stop. Blink. 

And then blink again, which was impressive, considering he was blindfolded.

“Oh?” he said, already walking toward you with the cautious reverence of a man approaching a shrine. “New hair?”

You didn’t say anything. Just angled your head in the light so it caught that very specific pink, glowing like divine foreskin in the golden hour. Gojo's brows lifted, then furrowed, then lifted again. 

He leaned in.

“Is this… me?”

You nodded solemnly. “Tip-inspired,” you clarified. “I color-matched.”

He said nothing for a long moment. Just took your chin gently in his hand and peered at your hair like he was identifying a long-lost artifact.

“…Baby, that’s so fucking hot.”

You snorted. “I figured you’d like it.”

“Like it? I feel seen. My dick feels celebrated.”

He kissed you hard, and somewhere between the makeout session and him half-carrying you to the bed, he muttered:

“I should return the favor.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding seriously. “Solidarity. Pubes.”

“No.”

“C’mon, I could go pastel! Lavender balls! Romantic!”

“Satoru, no.”

He was already halfway to the bathroom. You heard drawers opening. Things crashing. You had to throw a towel at him to stop the chaos. He caught it, grinning.

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, clearly half a second from ordering glitter dye off the internet.

“You’re not dying your happy trail. That’s the hill I'll die on.”

“Fine. But next time you do highlights… might I suggest the undertones of my shaft?”

You slapped him with the towel.

Your hair, though? Flawless. Divine. Blessed. And every time Gojo kissed the top of your head afterward, you could tell he knew exactly what he was kissing.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

It started with the nails.

Well—technically, it started with Toji giving you a lazy grunt of “go treat yourself or whatever” and sliding over a thick roll of cash like he was paying off a hit. And you did treat yourself. Just not in the way he expected.

Toji didn’t ask many questions when you came home, freshly manicured, tapping your newly adorned fingers against the countertop just loud enough for him to notice. You watched him squint, suspicious already. “The fuck’s that color?” he muttered.

You gave a tiny smile, tapping the pad of your thumb against your ring finger for emphasis—the ring finger that had his initials done in dark, bold lettering, sharp and crisp over the muted pink polish. “Oh, this?” you said sweetly. “Just something inspired by you.”

He blinked. Then looked again. His brow creased. 

“That’s my—wait. That’s my fuckin’ d—”

“Tip,” you offered helpfully. “Yup.”

Toji clapped a hand over his face and groaned like he’d aged ten years in a second.

“You’re despicable,” he mumbled through his palm. “Absolutely insane.”

And you just shrugged. because he hadn’t not given you the money for it. And anyway, it was a lovely color—rich, dusky, masculine in that very specific flushed way. The shade that only existed when he was half hard and half annoyed and half threatening to fuck your brains out for misbehaving, which was often. But then, of course, the nails weren’t enough. Because what’s a set without a matching main event?

The next time he saw you, it was in the evening light, your freshly dyed hair catching the low amber glow. And you swore you saw his soul leave his body.

“You didn’t,” he said flatly.

“I did,” you grinned.

He stared long and hard. The color was perfect. That dusky, raw pink, slightly darker at the roots. You’d even toned it to match that exact heat-flushed, post-shower hue he sported when he was about to fuck you against the nearest surface. He didn’t ask how you explained the shade to the ladies at the salon. He refused to. The possibilities alone were giving him a headache.

“Y’need therapy,” he grunted.

“Probably,” you chirped.

He dragged a hand down his face. Muttered, “...Fuckin’ hell,” and shook his head.

Still—when the lights were out, and your ridiculous little tribute of a hairstyle was bouncing under his hand as he pounded into you from behind like he had something to prove, he didn’t complain. 

His grip was punishing in your hair, the strands twisted tight around his fingers, just enough pressure to keep your head arched back perfectly so he could see your expression melt every time he shoved in deeper.

“Look at you,” he grunted, his voice ragged, his thrusts brutal and steady, “Wearin’ my fuckin’ cock like a badge.”

He tugged harder, yanked your head back until your mouth parted and your eyes fluttered. His hips snapped forward again, loud and wet and obscene. 

“Crazy fuckin’ woman,” he rasped, biting down on your shoulder now, lips dragging against sweaty skin, “—gettin’ salon dye to match my dick, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Everything,” you choked out, nearly delirious. “I’m so gone for you, baby, fuck—”

And he laughed. Full chest, low and amused, filthy even in his exasperation. His hand smoothed over your scalp for a second—like he might show you tenderness—and then he pulled again, drove in with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

“You’re gonna have to go back to that salon with a limp,” he growled in your ear, “Let ‘em see what happens when you walk in smellin’ like my cum.” You moaned, shuddering, knees almost giving in.

Toji was too old for this. Too grizzled, too tired to understand your generation’s brain rot. But that didn’t mean he didn’t fuck like he was born for it. Didn’t mean he didn’t leave you twitching and trembling and ruined by the end of it.

And when he finally collapsed next to you, panting, sweat-slick and sore, he rolled over just enough to look at your hair again.

“…It is a nice color,” he muttered reluctantly.

You smiled against his chest. “I'll get the matching lipstick next.”

He groaned again, reaching over to slap your ass, hard. 

“Despicable.”

“Yep.”

“…Fuck, I love you.”

“You'd better.”

CHOSO KAMO

Choso is agitated.

Not angry—no, that would’ve been easier to deal with. Choso doesn’t really do anger the way others do. He just gets… tense. Quiet. Eyes narrowed, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he’s watching a very slow train wreck he’s emotionally invested in. He's standing at the edge of the bathroom now, shoulders stiff, gaze locked on your hair like it personally offended him. 

“You didn’t tell me it would be permanent,” he says, voice calm but too calm.

You blink. “It's not?”

His whole body jerks like you just threw a bucket of ice water at him.

“...What?”

You laugh, a little confused, a little charmed. “Baby. It’s not permanent. It's semi-permanent. It’ll fade in, like, six weeks.”

He's silent. Comically silent. His eyes dart back to your hair. 

Then to your face. 

Then to your hair again.

“…Oh,” he says softly.

And then—

“Oh.”

He sounds heartbroken.

You watch him slowly sit down on the edge of the tub like you just told him you were dying.

“It’ll… fade?”

You nod.

“But—" he gestures vaguely at your head. “You did it for me.”

“I can touch it up,” you assure him, walking over, hands light on his shoulders. “You can even help.”

He brightens subtly. Barely. But it’s there.

“…Okay. Okay. But I wanna be there when you do it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “To help?”

“To supervise.”

“Supervise what?”

His voice drops to a mutter. “The accuracy.”

Which is how you end up here, two weeks later, with a towel around your neck, gloves on, dye ready—and Choso already pantless, sitting obediently on the closed toilet seat with his dick in his lap like a willing participant in some sort of medical study.

“You sure you’re okay like that?” you ask, flicking open the dye tube.

He nods. Quickly. “I don't wanna interfere with the process.”

He's already a little hard. You try not to giggle. Try.

You crouch, squinting, face inches away from his flushed, semi-erect cock. 

“Hmm. Looks a little warmer in tone today.”

He shivers.

“C-could be the lighting,” he says, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

You tilt your head. “Or blood flow.”

He inhales through his nose, thighs twitching. “Possible,” he says weakly.

You bring your face even closer, inspecting from another angle. Your breath ghosts over the tip and he whimpers, hands flying to his thighs like he’s trying to pin them down from shaking.

“Stop me if this is too much,” you murmur, not moving away at all. He nods quickly. Too quickly. “No, n-no, ’m good. I'm—I'm fine. I wanna help.”

You hum, pressing a kiss to the underside, featherlight. Then lick a slooow, curious stripe up the length.

He chokes. “N-not during the dye,” he says, voice paper-thin and trembling. “I-it’s not safe—what if the chemicals—”

“I'm careful,” you murmur, already taking him in. He breaks. Visibly. One hand reaches for your shoulder, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t pull—just holds, clinging like he’s about to float away.

“Oh—fuck,” he breathes, already leaking, already shaking. “Fuck, you can’t—you c-can’t focus on the color like this—”

“I don't have to,” you whisper against the head, lips slick with him now. “I already got it memorized.”

He lets out a noise so soft, so pathetic, it makes you suck harder just to hear it again.

By the time the dye’s halfway through processing in your hair, he’s slumped back, completely undone, flushed all over and breathing like he just got resuscitated. His thighs are twitching, his hands are useless, and his eyes are glassy, blinking at you like you just changed his worldview.

“That wasn’t supervising,” he mumbles, dazed.

“It was quality control,” you reply, deadpan.

He groans.

“...When’s the next touch-up?”

You grin, leaning forward to press a sloppy kiss to his lips.

“Four weeks. Mark your calendar.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

Sukuna is, at first, appreciative.

He’s lounging on his throne, fingers lazily tapping against the armrest as he watches you strut in with that smug look on your face and new hair on your head. The color hits him first. Soft, almost sugary—like the inside of a bleeding peach. Not quite natural, not quite real. A pink that seems too whimsical to exist in his world of blood and ash. He hums, raising an eyebrow as he gestures vaguely in your direction. 

“An offering, is it?”

You grin. “More like a tribute.”

“Hmm,” he muses, and you can see the faintest curve of amusement on his lips. “A show of worship. How very devoted of you.”

But then he really looks at it, tilting his head as he squints. 

“…What the fuck kind of color is that.”

You blink.

“It’s the color of your cock.”

The silence is immediate and violently loud. Sukuna stares at you like you just announced your intention to marry Gojo Satoru instead of him. His eye twitches, something deep and ancient inside him glitching. And then:

“What the everloving fuck does that mean, you insolent little—”

“You’re loud for someone whose tip looks like a cherry blossom, Suku.”

“It does NOT—”

He's on his feet now, pacing, hands in his hair, swearing in languages the Earth has long since forgotten. The sheer rageful fluster radiating off him is so intense, the walls tremble. He points at you, points at your hair, then points at his own crotch like he’s about to hold it up as exhibit A.

“What part of me—what part of that—makes you think it looks like that color?! Have you lost your mind?! Are you blind? Are you mocking me?!”

You’re nearly doubled over, wheezing with laughter, half in awe and half terrified that you’ve managed to turn the King of Curses into an angry little ball of embarrassment. He growls, bare-chested and barefoot and furious, stomping back to his throne with his arms crossed.

“You’re never allowed to speak again,” he grumbles, sulking. “Blasphemy. Absolute heresy. You should be punished—”

“Say less,” you chirp, tossing him a wink.

He sputters.

Later that night, the punishment is you straddling him on his throne, bouncing on his cock with your pink-stained hair swinging wildly around your face—and it turns out, for all his complaints, he has not stopped staring at it. His head’s tipped back against the throne, jaw clenched, trying to focus on anything else but the way your hair bounces perfectly with each slam of your hips.

“Fuck—quit movin’ like that,” he rasps, voice strained.

“You mean riding you?” you ask sweetly, snapping your hips a little harder, watching his hands twitch at his sides like he’s barely holding back.

“No—the hair. Your fucking hair.”

You grin.

He grabs your waist suddenly, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and slams up into you, making you squeal.

“You gonna do it again?” he huffs against your throat, panting. “You gonna keep it that color just to drive me mad, you little slut?”

“Yup,” you whisper, biting your lip, rolling your hips just right. His hands shake as his head drops to your shoulder. You feel the smallest, most pitiful groan leave his chest.

He’s losing it. Completely. Eyes hazy, body shuddering under yours, trying desperately to focus on the feel of your cunt and not the goddamn glow of your cursed hair in the dark.

“Never been more disrespected in my life,” he groans, dragging his tongue across your throat. “I hate you. Fuck, I hate you—”

“You’re gonna cum inside me again, aren’t you?”

He whimpers.

And it’s the prettiest little sound you’ve ever heard him make.

NANAMI KENTO

Nanami is speechless.

Not the stunned, dazed, jaw-dropped kind. No—this is the quietly judging, emotionally restrained, deep sigh echoing from the depths of his tired soul kind of speechless. Glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, brow twitching, card bill in hand.

“You spent how much on what?”

You sit innocently on the couch, hair freshly dyed and glowing with that faded, strangely warm blush-pink hue, scrolling on your phone with the nonchalance of a criminal who thinks they've pulled off the perfect heist.

“...I had to match it perfectly.”

He rubs his temples. 

“With my—?”

“Yup.”

He closes his eyes, breathing through his nose as he reconsiders every life decision that led him to this moment. Not that it’s entirely surprising. You’ve always had the most questionable taste in financially irresponsible love languages. This isn’t even the worst of it. 

No, the worst was that one time you used the card to commission a hand-stitched, button-eyed plushie of him from a niche artist in another country. He found it tucked under your pillow one night, arms outstretched like it missed him. He didn’t say a word. Just...sat down and took a long sip of his whiskey.

But this? This has his hands in your hair more often than he consciously intends. Long fingers carding through it when you're curled up in bed beside him. Resting on your shoulders while he's driving, letting his knuckles brush the strands of your hair absently as he shifts gears. Sometimes even during mundane moments—while you’re reading, eating, brushing your teeth. He's obsessed in spite of himself.

The problem is, he notices the fading.

“Have you not been using the sulfate-free shampoo I bought you?”

You pause mid-bite of your snack. 

“...There’s special shampoo?”

His eye twitches.

And now you’re here—kneeling on the bedroom floor, blinking up at him as he stands tall, sleeves rolled, belt long forgotten somewhere on the bed. His cock is heavy in his palm, leaking against the curve of your cheek, and he’s dragging the tip slowly across your flushed skin like he’s painting strokes on a blank canvas.

“Hm,” he muses, low and annoyed. “The pink’s uneven.”

You whine, shifting closer, trying to suck him in—but his other hand tightens in your hair and pulls.

“Ah-ah. Not yet. I'm still inspecting.”

“‘Nami,” you whimper, thighs pressed together. “Please—”

He swipes the tip across your cheek again, purposefully slow. “I give you a card. I tell you to be responsible. And you blow hundreds on a dye job you didn’t even bother maintaining.”

You’re panting now, needy, humiliated, as you try to squirm closer for a taste. But he’s holding you exactly where he wants you—on your knees, burning up, mouth open and empty.

“You know,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, “Maybe if you showed me how sorry you are… I'd consider booking the touch-up appointment myself.”

Your eyes sparkle. He scoffs. “Not for free, sweetheart.”

And then finally, finally, he slides the head past your lips, slow and deliberate, watching your lashes flutter and jaw slacken like you’ve just taken communion. He doesn’t fuck your mouth—no, not yet. He holds you there, just the tip resting on your tongue, sighing deeply like he's indulging your little obsession only out of obligation.

“If the color’s still uneven tomorrow,” he mutters, stroking the crown of your head with firm, possessive care, “We're going back to the salon.”

His hips shift just enough to press deeper, and you moan around him.

“After you shampoo. Twice. With what I tell you to use.”

He smiles faintly as your eyes roll back.

Finally. Some accountability.

GETO SUGURU

Geto is trying. Really, truly trying not to laugh.

He walks in, drops his keys in the bowl by the door like always, and greets you with that same low, warm “I’m home” he always does—but then he sees you. Sees the way you’re standing there, all proud and glowing, doing a little turn in your socks like you’re unveiling a whole new self.

And then he sees the hair.

He freezes.

You beam. “Surprise!”

He stares, tilting his head a little as he walks a bit closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s analyzing a cursed object.

“…You dyed your hair,” he says eventually, in that careful, measured tone he uses when he’s trying to piece together a truly confusing curse puzzle.

You nod enthusiastically. “Guess what the color is?”

He squints. Then he blinks.

Then he looks you straight in the eye and says, completely flat:

“My dick?”

Your smile turns so wide that he groans immediately and drags a hand down his face.

“Baby…”

“Don’t you love it?”

“It’s not that I don’t—I mean, the color’s nice, but… that’s what you chose to color-match?”

You puff your cheeks out. “It’s a soft, warm tone with pink undertones! It's romantic!”

“It's the color of my tip.”

“Yes!!”

And that’s when it hits him—just how absurdly hilarious this is. And how absolutely you. He tries to keep it together, he really does, but a smile breaks across his face, tired but amused, and he’s shaking his head like he’s going to lose it. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, wiping at his eyes. “I can't believe you spent money on this. I can't believe I'm involved.”

“You’re the inspiration!” you say defensively, fisting your hands by your sides like you’re presenting a noble act of sacrifice.

He loses it again.

But hours later, when he’s on his knees between your legs, the teasing is far from over. His tongue drags up your thigh slow and indulgent, and he hums like he’s appraising a piece of art. “So... she got the full treatment, huh?”

You moan softly, head falling back. “Mhmm.”

But then he pauses, finger resting just above your mound as he raises a single brow.

“Then why was she left out?”

You blink, dazed. “...What?”

He leans in closer, kisses just above your clit, right at the edge of your bush, and whispers, “She didn’t get a dye job too.”

You slap his shoulder.

“Stop calling it that!”

“Why not? She’s the one who got snubbed,” he says with an exaggerated pout, kissing lower now, slow and taunting. “All that love for my tip, and poor baby down here didn’t get a single brush of attention.”

Your thighs twitch as your face burns. You’re whining now, hips shifting, trying to chase his mouth, but he pulls back just enough to keep you squirming.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he coos, dragging a finger along your slit. “I'll make sure she gets a little pampering tonight.”

“Sugu—”

But you’re cut off by your own gasp when he licks a stripe up your folds, groaning like he’s tasting a five-star meal. His grip tightens around your thighs, spreading you wide, burying himself between your legs like he’s trying to eat the embarrassment right off of you. You’re squealing now, every moan mixed with some mortified whimper as he talks to your pussy like she’s got her own name, her own needs, her own complex about being left out.

“Mmm, she’s being shy,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue with practiced precision, “but I know what she needs.”

You buck against his face, legs shaking, trying and failing to close them around his head.

“Stop making me blush you—fuck—”

“You’re the one who dyed your whole head the color of my cock,” he says, eyes glinting as he looks up, mouth shiny and smug. “You don’t get to be shy now.”

And that’s how your plan to be sweet and romantic ends with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his tongue fucking you open while you babble apologies and try not to die from the sheer secondhand shame of being verbally roasted by your own pussy. And Geto? He’s never been more in love.

a/n: hello !! it has been many a moon since i have written smut....i even pulled out the fancy layout i used to use back in the day :PP (i post smut panels/headers on @cuntpress if you're a writer btw <3) be nice please

[tedmustache]

Reader x Robby or Abbot your pick but reader who's dating Abbot or Robby who becomes a mother figure to the newbies, they start calling them Ducklings so that sticks, and Whitaker ends up calling reader mama duck, so she runs with it despite his embarrassment, so at one point spring the day reader yells our "I need my ducklings cmon over!" And the newbies flock to them and they give their ducklings a peptalk and jack or robby are like "fuck now I have a bunch of adopted kids:

Mama Duck

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Robby's relationship gets a chaotic twist when the newbies start following his girlfriend like ducklings... And the nickname sticks.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

It started small. Quiet. Barely noticeable.

You weren’t trying to be anyone’s mentor. You just knew how to get things done and the rookies? They noticed. They started asking questions, following your lead, sticking close. You offered advice, snacks, and a sharp glare when someone was about to do something monumentally dumb.

And without meaning to, you became their mother figure.

You patched up Whitaker’s scraped knuckles after his third fall in drills. You helped Delaney remember his locker code. You lent Freya your hoodie when she forgot hers in the rain. One by one, they fell into orbit around you. Loyal, messy, eager.

They started calling themselves your ducklings.

The nickname “Mama Duck” came from Whitaker.

He didn’t even mean to start it. You were leading them across the yard, newbies clumped together, tripping over each other when he muttered, “Alright, alright, Mama Duck’s on the move. Everyone waddle up.”

You stopped walking.

He froze.

“What did you just call me?”

Whitaker’s ears went pink. “Nothing. It was a joke. I—I rescind it.”

You smiled, slow and wicked. “Too late.”

And that was that.

[...]

Spring Training Day arrived hot and unbearable. Everyone was tired, sun-drunk, half-melted. The newbies were flagging. Sloppy in drills, low on morale. One wandered off. Another sat down mid-sprint and declared she was “emotionally cramping.”

You clapped your hands, loud.

“I NEED MY DUCKLINGS! C’MON OVER!”

The reaction was immediate.

Whitaker nearly tripped over his water bottle getting up. Mel shouted “Duck Squad, ASSEMBLE!” and within seconds, they were all around you. All sweaty, breathless, and grinning like idiots.

You looked them over like a general inspecting your troops.

“Alright, my little disasters. This isn’t the day we fall apart. You’ve got this. Push through. Head high, water bottles up, and if I catch any of you fake-limping to get out of drills again, I swear I’ll revoke snack privileges.”

“Yes, Mama Duck!” they chorused.

Robby, watching from nearby, groaned.

“This is getting out of hand.”

You turned to him, smiling. “Jealous?”

He walked over, arms folded. “They’ve been calling me Papa Duck, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“For days. It’s a whisper campaign.”

You grinned. “Fitting.”

“Don’t start.”

Santos, still catching her breath, popped her head up. “It’s better than what we were calling you before.”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “Which was?”

“Stepdad Robby.”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

Robby just stared at the sky. “Why do I even come here?”

You bumped your shoulder into his. “Because deep down, you love having a flock.”

He looked back at the ducklings. All of them looking like a mess

And then he looked at you.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’ve got a flock.”

You kissed his cheek. “Yeah. And I love you for it.”

[pettysreverie]

Kinda really obsessed with the idea of him becoming super obsessed with you after fucking you…

CW: AFAB!Reader, stalking, obsessive behavior, yandere-esque behavior (if I missed something, pls kindly let me know!)

Like, I imagine that maybe he’s just come back from deployment? Would explain why he’s so starved for a good fuck, ya know?

Probably meets you in a pub (bc duh) and after a few drinks between the two of you, you both decide to go back to his place.

He figures it’s gonna be nothing too big of a deal. Certainly nothing he hasn’t done before.

Who hasn’t taken a bird back from the pub for a good fuck?

But the moment he slides into your cunt, he knows that he’d been wrong.

Whatever he’d been doing before was not fucking. Was not having sex. Because sex with you—with your slutty cunt and those heavenly sounds you make—is bewitching.

As if your cunt is putting him deeper and deeper under a spell with every twitch and clench.

A spell he gladly welcomes.

Your body is so soft and beautiful. And you…you’re so pliant and willing—batting those pretty lashes at him with that dazed, fucked out look in your eyes.

And that’s when the spell cements.

When a flip switches inside of him.

When something…changes.

He grips your ankles and hoists your legs over his shoulders to drive his cock even deeper inside of your quivering heat.

Your back bows off the bed and your hands grapple the sheets, moans tumbling from your kiss swollen lips as your eyes nearly roll all the way back.

“Yer mine. All mine.”And there’s a stutter in his breath as he moans, his hips momentarily stuttering in their otherwise relentless movements. “Say it fer me, love.”

But with the way he’s got you practically folded in half—knees all but bent to your chest with your legs draped over his back—replying to him is the furthest thing from your mind right now.

He angles his hips, driving long and deliciously thick cock directly into your sweet spot over and over again—seemingly determined to drive you insane with pleasure.

Seemingly determined to fuck you positively dumb.

“Say. It.”He grits out, his voice taking on an almost animalistic, growling tone.

There is something so primal about his command. Something about it brings out such a fundamental instinct in you that you cannot help but to comply—to submit.

“Y-Yours…”You manage to utter amongst your incoherent babbling and moaning.

One word.

You only speak one word.

But one word is all he needed to hear.

He fucks you well into the morning. The sun rises, its light shining through the cracks in the curtains by the time he turns you loose and allows you to rest.

And rest you do.

When you wake up, it’s practically evening!

You’re quite embarrassed. But like the gentleman he is, he assures you that he does not mind. In fact, he even offers to pay for your transportation home.

You decline, too embarrassed about your faux pas.

And for you? You assume that, while this was an amazing experience, it was a one time thing. You don’t expect to see him again.

But you do.

You run into him again and again and again.

At the market. At the park. At the coffee shop.

It’s fate! It’s the universe! It’s gotta be something, right?

It’s…him.

You really thought he was going to let you go after that world altering fuck? The way you blew his mind? The way your cunt hypnotized him?

Silly, beautiful, stupid woman.

Just the thought of someone else having you like that…no, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

How could he let you get away?

No, he had to hack your phone.

Not like it was hard…sure he’s more of a “field” agent. More used to having a gun in his hand and his boots on the ground, but he’s no stranger to some lines of spyware code.

Besides, you made it quite easy for him by sleeping in as long as you did…not that he minded of course!

You look so peaceful while you sleep. So beautiful, actually.

And really, he was so very glad he’d hacked your phone. How else was he supposed to know where you lived when you rejected his offer to pay for your transportation home?

But now that he’s in your phone, he’s practically in your life already.

Every contact you have saved, he knows.

Every place you go, he knows and can go there too. (How do you think your two have been running into each other so often?)

Every post you like. Every pin you save. Every song you playlist. He knows it all.

Not that you know it…not that you ever will.

He’ll let you believe it’s fate. Or the universe. Or whatever. Doesn’t matter to him, really.

Besides, you’re already his.

You even said so yourself…remember?

(Oh you don’t? Then why doesn’t he just remind you?)

[science-hoes]

Guilty Pleasure

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+, arm riding, biting, deepthroating fingers, language, filth, the worms in my brain told me to write this

Jack Abbot Masterlist 💕

——

Your boyfriend stared at you, mouth agape at your request. His arms were crossed over his chest, forearms flexing as he unconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists. The low glow of the lamp in his bedroom was the only reason he could see that you were actually serious. “You…what?“ He questioned.

Usually, you knew better than to avoid Jack’s gaze. But after a 12 hour shift, finally in the comfort of his home in the early morning, you unashamedly stared at your guilty pleasure. Freckled muscles threatening to bust through the fabric of his well-fitted black t-shirt. But who could blame you?

Every shift, you had to stare at those arms. Fuck, they stared at you. They were so big, they could have their own zip code. And they distracted you. The way Jack worked diligently with his hands on a patient, tendons of his forearms rolling with each flexion. The way his arms corded with bulging veins after helping move a patient or heavy equipment. The way his beefy hands guided yours during a procedure, making yours look dainty and frail. It sure made it difficult to concentrate during the pre-shift huddle, the way your boyfriend loved to move his hands as he spoke, flashing those gorgeous arms in all their glory.

“I want to bite your arms.” You repeated for him.

Jack looked down to his arms, trying to figure out what the fuck you were seeing. “You know, I’m into whatever you want, love. But cannibalism?” He teased, flicking his whiskey eyes up to you, craning his neck like a turtle, that silly move he does when he’s questioning someone.

You rolled your eyes, closing the distance between you. You unwound his arms and massaged one of his aching wrists. “Oh, please. I don’t want Kuru.” You joked.

Jack shook his head, but smiled nonetheless. “Good girl. You’ll ace that board exam if they ever ask about spongiform encephalopathies.” He continued to mock.

You jabbed him in the sides with wiggling fingers, and he laughed. “Don’t change the subject. I want your arms.” You redirected.

Jack just continued to stare at you with bewildered amusement. “Why do you like my arms?” He questioned.

You shrugged, manhandling the arm you held, examining it like an ancient artifact. Your hands dwarfed in comparison to his engorged muscles. “They’re so sexy. They’re so…big.”

He huffed a laugh. “So? Your boobs are big, and I don’t wanna…” He trailed off as he recalled the previous night and how long he spent suckling at your breasts. “Oh, I guess I get it.” He conceded.

You smirked, kneading your fingertips into his bicep. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Jack was about to come up with another witty response, but you pushed him back toward the bed, making quick work of removing his black t-shirt. The dominance that he allowed you to hold in that moment made him chuckle. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, letting you stand in between them. His fingers slid under your scrub top, ghosting over the skin of your waist.

“You want something, doll?” His voice was graveled with sleep but there was a twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

You pulled your scrub top over your head, tossing it over to where his shirt ended up. “Can I ride your arms?” You asked.

Jack’s lip twitched, the foreign request sending a chill through his body. “What?”

You pulled the drawstring of your scrub pants and let them pool at your ankles, stepping out of them. “Can I ride your arms?” You repeated, firmly this time.

He still wouldn’t let up, and his lip began to deepen at the sides, dimples morphing onto his face. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

You narrowed your eyes, but they were no match for his steadfast stare that bore through you with desire. “Can I drag my pussy across your fucking massive arms?” You gritted through clenched teeth, blushing at the vulgar words leaving your mouth.

A low rumble left his chest as he began to lean back on the bed. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He praised. “All yours, kid. Have at it.”

You crawled onto the bed, perching beside him on your knees, and lowering your head to his arm. You pressed a single, innocent kiss against the freckles of his bicep, and you could’ve sworn those freckles kissed you back as his muscles pulsed underneath your chapped lips. Your mouth began to open more as you moved along his bicep, trailblazing down to his forearm, tongue dragging in tow.

Jack studied the way you worshiped his limb, curiosity peaking when your teeth began to graze against his flesh with your kisses. The first sensation of your hardened enamel sent a jolt of electricity through his entire arm causing his shoulder to spasm. You flicked your eyes up to him and smirked.

“You like that, huh?” You purred against his skin.

The muscles in his neck strained as he swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, kid.” He muttered, reaching a hand to his crotch to palm away some new pressure. “But it ain’t bad.”

You smirked and continued your expedition. The sun-worn skin against your tongue and teeth stretched just slightly as you licked a stripe down his forearm, from elbow crease to wrist. A shudder escaped his nose, and he bit the inside of his cheek to maintain his composure. As you worked your way up again with sloppy kisses, you opened your eyes just enough to see the indent of the long and short head bicep muscles. You dragged your tongue to massage the just-noticeable valley, mouth watering far too much. Your drool dripped down his upper arm, down to his elbow.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack mumbled, eyes riveted on your mouth. “Getting what you need, baby girl?”

His voice was sweet but too condescending. In retaliation, you bit down hard on the chunk of muscle, digging your teeth into his flesh. Not enough to break skin, but enough to satisfy your primal appetite. Jack let out a startled but aroused groan at the sensation. The muscles flexed in your jaws, writhing under your tongue. You sucked on the skin, a last attempt to leave a mark, before releasing his arm from your mouth.

Teeth marks indented in his bicep, claiming it as yours as the area surrounding it began to swell into a warm magenta. You admired your work and pressed a soothing kiss against your mark.

“You like marking me up?” Jack mumbled through dazed eyes. “Want people to know I belong to someone?”

You smirked before taking another chomp at his muscles, this time on the forearm. You sucked greedily at the cephalic vein that was permanently visible through his skin, always taunting you when he wore short sleeves. Your tongue lapped at the skin that grew saltier by the second with sweat, indulging in the savory taste.

“If you leave too many bruises, people will ask questions.” He warned, still palming himself through his scrub bottoms. “And I promise, I will mark you tenfold what you leave on me.”

You just hummed in acknowledgement to his threat before releasing the patch of skin, secretly hoping that he would hold true to that promise. The blotch grew darker as it adjusted to open air again, and you smiled with content. But then something caught your eye. The way his fingers twitched slightly, curling down to his palm as his arm rested on the bed. Those fingers spent a lot of time in your pussy, but not enough time in your mouth. That needed to be fixed.

You delicately grasped his wrist, lifting his hand. His fingers brushed against your cupid’s bow, tracing the outline. You met his eyes, and without breaking contact, you swallowed his meaty index finger. Jack let out a vulgar groan as he felt the smooth back of your throat against his fingerprint. You held him there for a moment until your gag reflex forced you to withdraw.

“Oh, fuuuuck.” He hissed, brow furrowed in bliss. “You know, you’re gonna-“

You cut him off by shoving his index and middle finger down your throat this time, somehow going deeper than before. His voice cracked as your pharynx constricted around his fingers. A wet gag forced them out of your mouth again, freeing your airway. A strand of beaded saliva connected your mouth to his hand as he reluctantly pulled away.

Jack wanted to fuck you senseless in that moment. Being such a good girl for him, taking his fingers so deep, face flushed and eyes watering. But he knew what you wanted, what you had asked so nicely for. So he extended his right arm away from his upper body.

“Wanna take a ride, baby doll?” His face was smug, mouth pulling to one side to show off his adorable grin.

You smirked in response. “What’s that saying? Save a horse, ride an ER cowboy?” You teased.

Jack chuckled, stretching his arm further to you. “Saddle up, cowgirl.”

You hovered above his forearm, the heat of his skin matching the radiation from your pussy. Your thighs trembled as you lowered closer and closer and closer.

Until Jack let out an unexpected groan as your juices melted against his skin. “So wet for me?” He sputtered. “Just for my arms, baby girl?”

You were a little embarrassed at his questioning, but you couldn’t help the euphoria speeding through your neurons. Every vein against your clit was electric. You placed a balancing hand on his broad chest, stabilizing yourself to slide up and down his arm.

“If you answer me, I’ll make it even better. I promise.” The look in his eyes was unrecognizable. Almost possessed.

You couldn’t look away from his powerful gaze, mainly because you knew if you did, he would force your jaw with his hand to meet his eyes. “Just for your arms.” You finally whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” He nearly growled.

You whimpered as you slid against him. “Just for your arms.” You verified, much louder this time.

He smiled with satisfaction. “That’s my girl.” He cooed.

Then he flexed his forearm under you, rippling the muscles and veins against your pussy. Just like he was pumping his arm before giving blood. Your eyes rolled back as you continued to grind against him.

“Oh, fuck, Jack.” You moaned.

Your vaginal lips smeared across the unholy marks you had left just a few minutes before. Jack placed his free hand on your thigh, guiding you ever so gently.

“Yeah? That feel good, baby doll?” He whispered.

He began to slide his arm in the opposite direction of your thrusts, enhancing the friction. The muscles and veins that nearly popped out of his skin were teasing your clit in a way that drove you mad. You whimpered as you dug your hips deeper, chasing your orgasm with every lewd squelch of your pussy.

“Feels so good.” You panted.

The familiar warmness in your belly began to creep lower and lower as you rode. Your thighs shook violently as you struggled to maintain balance as your climax neared. Jack chuckled and placed a strong hand on your shoulder to stabilize you.

“Oh, you’re so close, sweet girl. Take a break. I’ll get you there.” He said, voice laced with fake pity.

You finally stopped moving your hips, legs shaking as you came to a halt. And just like he promised, Jack continued move his arm underneath you, faster than he had before. You scratched at his chest with the hand that rested there as he set a bruising pace. Your clit swelled at the rapid brush of his worn, leathered skin, and it became too much. Your thighs clenched around his arm like a vice as you rocked into your orgasm, screaming his name as you did.

“There you go. Keep coming for me.” Jack coached you on.

Your pussy throbbed against him, slathering your juices on his freckled skin. When you finally collapsed on top of him, freeing his arm for the first time, he held it up to inspect it. Your slick honey dribbling over the veins down to his elbow, crossing over the bruise and bite mark you had left on his forearm.

He chuckled to himself. “Look at that mess you made.” He mumbled against your head. “All for my arms, huh?”

You hummed in agreement, still dazed by your release. “Told you they’re hot.” You breathed against his chest.

Jack wrapped his clean arm around you securely as you reeled from your high. He admired the way your juices glistened on his skin in the low light of the bedroom, how they glossed over his freckles.

“Why didn’t you just ask me sooner?” He questioned.

You shrugged, face still buried in his chest. “I was worried you’d be too…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Too…?”

You smirked slightly. “Too old fashioned.”

“Old fashioned.” Jack repeated, a smile on his lips. “What makes you think that?”

You rubbed circles onto his chest with your thumb, feeling pulled closer and closer to sleep. “I dunno.” You mumbled.

“Because I’m old?” He deadpanned.

You giggled and looked up to him. “You said it, not me.”

Jack chuckled, the warm vibrations rumbling through his chest and to your ear pressed against it. He lifted a finger underneath your chin to maintain your gaze and leaned down to kiss you gently. “After we get some sleep, you're gonna be apologizing for that little ‘old-fashioned’ comment for hours.”

—

A/N: I’m sorry this was shorter than my usual fics but I needed to have this written so the worms would stop talking to me 🐛

[brucedefender4eva]

Here, a continuation for this post. I didn’t know y’all would hate it that much lol! Apologies, apologies m(._.)m

This was my explanation for it incase you wanted to read that

——

When Dick finally found Bruce, Bruce was silently lying on the floor of the cave. The lights were off, his eyes were closed, and Ace was resting his head on top of his Dad’s chest.

Dick padded over softly, feeling like he was nine years old again and didn’t know how to talk to Bruce.

“Dad…?” Dick whispered, it felt wrong to try and speak at a normal level. Bruce let out a soft hum and cracked his eyes open as Duck kneeled down beside him.

“Hi baby…” Bruce croaked, his voice sounding raw and broken. “How are you?”

Dick gave a crooked grin and laid down beside his Dad, melting as Bruce’s hand gently started to run through his hair. “Better than you, it seems… it was a crazy last week, huh?” Dick began, expecting Bruce to tense up and start deflecting.

“Yeah…” Bruce sighed, staring up unblinkingly at the cave ceiling. Ace let out a soft whine and wiggled his wet nose under Bruce’s chin, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I… I’m sorry… Sometimes… sometimes I can’t understand you or your siblings.”

Dick blinked as his heart started racing. “What? What does that mean?”

Bruce let out a huff of air, like he was trying to carefully pick out the words that he wanted to use. “You don’t like it when I coddle you or I’m overbearing, right?” Bruce felt Dick nod against his shoulder. “But… sometimes you do? I just don’t- I don’t understand when I’m supposed to.”

“Last week… I ignored your leg after we got back from patrol. I’m sorry that was wrong of me to do.” Bruce apologized, leaned over and pressing a soft kiss to Dick’s forehead. “Last month, you got mad at me for fussing over a stab wound… so I thought… I thought it was the same? I didn’t want you to yell at me. I didn’t want to have another argument.”

“I was scared that you were hurt and would be mad if I tried to help, so I went… cold. I know it ended up being a light sprain, but… I-I did want to help.” Bruce’s voice hitched, making the back of Dick’s eyes burn with tears. “But… but you were angrier? O-or sadder? I don’t know. I don’t understand, and I know you’re probably not making it difficult on purpose, but it’s so hard.”

If there’s one thing that could make Dick cry in a second, or even less than that, it’s seeing or hearing his Tati start to cry.

Dick turned his head and buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder, silently glad that his Dad decided to wear one of his softer sweaters that could absorb his tears.

“I’m sorry too, Tati. I… I came looking for a fight, and I took unnecessary risks on patrol just to get you riled up so I could let off some steam. I didn’t even have a real reason to be angry with you last week… I just-”

“Some days… I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. And it’s weird, I just, don’t wanna be perceived by others…” Bruce stayed silently, and once again Dick was glad his Dad let him take his time and try and sort out his thoughts. “Your gaze is heavy, it’s always been heavy.”

“…heavy?”

“Mhmm… like… I know you expect great things from me. And I love that you know that I can achieve them. But sometimes-“

“It’s too much, and you feel like your failures are magnified the moment you make one little mistake?”

“Yeah… how did you know that?”

“Alfred… he’s the one who raised me. I guess I took a bit more of his parenting than I thought.” The two stayed silent for a while, Bruce still running his fingers through Dick’s hair while his son absentmindedly scratched Ace behind the ear.

“I’ve never noticed.”

“Good. I’ve never wanted you to. You needed someone in your life that you could turn to other than me, I’m glad it was Alfred.” They lapsed into silence once more.

“I, of all people, know how hard it is to ask for… affection. Maybe… we could have a code word?” Bruce suggested hesitantly. “Just so I know it’s okay to hover. Or maybe one, so I know you actually want to be left alone?”

Dick couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah… we can work it out. Later though, I’m feeling drained from all this… emotional talking.”

“Ha, yes. I completely understand, especially with the way you cried.” Bruce teased lightly, poking Dick on the cheek.

“Wha- you cried first!” Dick protested, a laugh bubbling up as he swatted at his Dad’s hand. “I love you, Tati.” Dick grinned, squeezing Bruce in a hug.

“I love you too Dickie, so much. My little boy has grown up to be so strong and smart.” Bruce smiled softly, pressing another kiss to Dick’s forehead and chuckling at the embarrassed blush on his son’s cheeks.

“You wanna go watch a movie with me? I’ll even let you have the good blanket.” Dick sprang up from the ground, grinning as Ace also stood up and circled around him happily.

“That’s a lie, but yes, any movie you want, Birdie,” Bruce grunted as he stood up, stretching and ignoring the horrified look on his son’s face as his back cracked loudly. “Alright, Ace, you’re relieved of your duty,” Bruce said, patting the German shepherd on the head once as he barked loudly.

“Why was Ace down here in the first place? And what did you mean by duty?” Dick asked as they started walking toward the elevator, both of them not in the mood to take the stairs.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Dick. “Ace is my service dog? Like how Titus and Alfred the cat are Damian’s?”

Dick blinked. He did not know either of those things. “Wha-“

“We’ll talk about it later. Cmon.”

——

Jason blinked, staring listlessly at the words in his book. That’s how you could tell he’s really out of it; he doesn’t even remember what book he picked out, and he couldn't care less about it.

Jason was suddenly jolted out of his lethargic state by a familiar knock on the door in a pattern only Bruce did.

It was silent for a while, but Jason knew better. If Bruce had come here in person and knocked on his door, most likely as Bruce Wayne, then he wasn’t going to go away any time soon.

“What,” Jason growled as he threw open the door, silently thrown for a loop the moment he looked at his Dad. “… why do you look like that? And why is Ace here?”

Bruce chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling and showing off the crows feet Jason doesn’t remember him having before. Ew, his Dad looked older. That thought was promptly shoved away to be unpacked later in the very far future.

“I’m sorry for bothering you today… I was wondering if I could talk to you?” Bruce asked, ignoring the way Ace poked his thigh with his nose. “It’s alright if it’s a no. I just wanted to… talk.”

Jason shut down the urge to slam the door shut in his face (only for dramatics, he doesn’t wanna hurt his Dad) and nodded, stepping aside so he could let Bruce and Ace through.

As Bruce sat down, Ace let out a whine and pressed his nose against Bruce’s hand. Bruce rolled his eyes before looking at his son sheepishly. “I’m sorry to ask Jason, do you have a snack I could eat? It seems I have forgotten to eat this morning, and Ace is scolding me.”

Jason frowned, worry curling in his gut as he leisurely made his way to his kitchen, pulling out a box of white cheddar popcorn (the best kind) and tossing Bruce a bag. “You’re paying me back for this shit, I'm not made of money like you,” Jason mumbled, totally not worried because the only time Bruce forgets to eat and Alfred hasn’t reminded him is when something is truly wrong.

“So… what?” Jason questioned, refusing to sit down. He knew power plays; he wouldn’t let Bruce have the upper hand in whatever conversation they were about to have.

Bruce popped a few kernels into his mouth, chewed, and really looked at Jason before sighing. “I’m sorry about last week. Dropping you off like that without talking about it was wrong of me. I don’t want you to think that you can’t come home or to the cave anytime that you’d like, it's your home too.” Bruce apologized.

“Seriously? Is that it-“

“However, I’m not sorry for being upset that you used a gun against someone while I was around, knowing full well how I feel about unnecessary gun usage,” Bruce said, cutting Jason off.

“You are my son. I love you. These are facts and will never change, no matter what you do. I don’t like guns, but more importantly, I don’t like you using real bullets on people, you know this, but you did it anyway.” Bruce stressed, digging his nails into the palms of his hands till Ace’s soft bark stopped him from drawing blood.

“I’m sorry…” Jason whispered softly, shifting on his feet uncomfortably.

Bruce nodded. “I know… and I also know that you’re not going to stop using real bullets, no matter how I feel about it. You’re an adult man who no longer lives under my roof, no longer comes over, if I’m being honest.” Bruce relaxed more into the couch, like the tension in his body was cut as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “But…”

Jason bit his bottom lip before shuffling over, flopping down, and resting his head on Bruce’s shoulder, before he could make himself chicken out. “I’m sorry… I just…” Jason hummed, sorting through his thoughts.

“When you trained me to use guns all those years ago, I felt connected to them. I enjoyed how good I was, and how in control I could be. But it also made me feel guilty, using the weapon that had brought you so much pain. That had ruined your life and made you Batman.” Jason started, letting himself reminisce about the past. “And when I came back… it was like a ‘fuck you’ kinda thing, but overtime… I guess it’s how I stayed connected with you when you still didn’t know I was alive.”

Jason shrugged his shoulders as he absentmindedly played with Bruce’s hand and wrist, his fingers running over the multitude of scars, self-inflicted and otherwise. “I won’t stop using guns, but I am sorry that I shot that guy. I felt bad but wanted to act tough in front of you, I guess…”

Bruce hummed, watching Jason play with his fingers before speaking. “I wouldn’t say ‘ruined’ my life. After all, without my… unfortunate tragedy, I wouldn’t have gotten all my wonderful children. And I would never trade you or your siblings for the entire world.” Bruce said softly, pressing a kiss to Jason's forehead.

Jason let out a small cough and turned away, the tips of his ears and the base of his neck flushing a light red at how sappy Bruce was being. “… I don’t think we’ll ever truly agree on this topic,” Jason whispered softly.

“I know. I’m okay with that. I won’t love you any less.” Bruce gently knocked their heads together, something he hadn’t done since Jason was a little kid.

Jason gnawed on his bottom lip and shifted before hiding his face away in Bruce’s shoulder. “Yeah, I love you too, Dad. Just don’t be getting so sentimental all the time. It’s cringe.”

“What is it that Dick is always saying? ‘To be cringe is to be free’ or something?” Bruce quoted, making Jason scrunch up his nose in a way that was exactly the same as Bruce.

“Ew, please don’t go quoting Dickie. We both know he doesn’t need the ego boost.” Jason complained, grinning to himself as Bruce chuckled.

“Alright then, snack on my popcorn that I so graciously gifted to you. However, I’m gonna make you a real meal.” Jason stated, looking his Dad in the eyes with his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe Alfie let you out of the house without eating for… however long you decided to starve yourself!” Jason said in disbelief, Ace barking in agreement.

“Shush, I don’t need the two of you ganging up on me,” Bruce grumbled, fishing out a dog treat from his pocket and tossing it to Ace.

“Dad, can you open this bag of rice? It’s not opening, and Tim stole my scissors last week and hasn’t brought them back.” Jason whined, poking his head out from the kitchen.

It was an obvious lie; Jason could have easily opened the bag with his bare hands, and even then, Jason had a million knives lying around. But it warmed Bruce’s heart that Jason was asking him for help, just like when he was a child.

“Sure, only if I get to be a taste tester.” Bruce agreed with an easy smile, standing up and ambling his way to the kitchen.

“Duh, do you see anyone else here, old man?”

——

Tim felt himself slowly come to wakefulness, humming softly as he felt a large hand gently stroking his hair.

“Hi, sweetheart.” A deep voice rumbled. Very familiar, very safe.

“Bruce?” Tim groaned, forcing his eyes to stay open and focus on his Dad sitting on a chair he pulled up beside his bed. “What… what are you doing?”

Bruce hummed softly and pushed Tim’s bangs out of his face, taking a moment to gaze down at his son’s tired but relaxed expression. “I wanted to see you… I wanted to apologize.”

“For wha?” Tim sighed, melting into his pillow as Bruce lightly scratched his scalp just right. “Feel like a dog when you pet me, Dad…” Tim slurred, a lopsided grin forming on his face as Bruce chuckled.

“I think you’re more like a cat… or a ferret.” Bruce teased, stifling a laugh at Tim’s sleep but offended expression. “My bad. You’re just my son, who becomes very cute when he’s tired.”

“M’ not cute. I’m a grown man.” Tim complained, most definitely not pouting. “Didn’t answer my question… what are you doing here?”

“I was weird last week, wasn’t I? You and your siblings probably talked about it.” Bruce said, deciding not to beat around the bush anymore than he already had. “I’m sorry about that, Tim. I don’t really know what had gotten into me.”

Tim hummed and nodded, staring up at Bruce, looking decidedly less sleepy than a few seconds ago.

“But, I’m only apologizing for how I dismissed you. You’re an adult, Tim, and you and your siblings always remind me of that, so I’m putting this firmly in your hands. I love you, and I don’t want you to destroy yourself with a bad sleepy schedule.”

Tim opened his mouth, probably to call Bruce a hypocrite, but one look from Bruce just stopped him up.

“Yes, I know, I do the same things, which is why I’m telling you this. I suffered the consequences of sleep deprivation and a dependence on caffeine. I’m still dealing with the symptoms, and I don’t want you to be stuck in this cycle like I am.” Bruce gently cupped Tim’s cheek, his thumb brushing under Tim’s eyes as he looked at the eye bags his child had.

“You are so young and so bright. Doing this will put a strain on you and hurt you in the future. I can’t force you to do anything, and I know you barely take what I say into consideration.” Bruce let out a huff of laughter. “But take this into consideration: I love you, and your family loves you. We want the best for you and your health. Please take a break, my dear.”

Tim sniffled and looked up at Bruce sadly. “I know, I know it’s just… I feel like I have to prove myself, you know? I don’t mean to brush you off or anything, but it feels like I’m the only one who can get these cases done, and if I’m off sleeping or doing anything else, people could be getting hurt. It’ll be my fault.”

“If I’ve ever made you feel like I’m disappointed in you for taking care of yourself, you have my explicit permission to slap me or punch me or just do whatever you want,” Bruce said seriously, his mouth drawn in a thin line. “If you don’t want to, call Clark.”

“Even if a million cases never get solved, I’d be happy just knowing you’re safe, happy, and healthy,” Bruce said softly. “I mean, you could quit being Red Robin tomorrow and I’d be happy.”

“Dad.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” Bruce grinned, causing Tim to grin back at him. “I’m real sorry, Timmy, honest.”

“S’ okay, I forgive you. I’m sorry too, Dad.”

“That’s okay, I forgive you, too,” Bruce said softly, noticing how Tim had regained the sleepy look in his eyes. “Guess I’ve kept you up for too long, go to sleep, my dear.”

Tim gripped the sleeve of Bruce’s turtle neck as he tried to pull away, frowning in an exaggerated manner that he would deny to the ends of the earth, which looked like pouting.

“Hey, you disrupted me in the middle of my nap. The least you can do is join me, Dad.” Tim said, tugging Bruce back toward him.

“Tim, I’m not sure your bed is big enough for both of us,” Bruce said warily, still allowing his son to tug him closer without any resistance.

“That’s okay, I’m fine with lying on top of you, and I know you are too,” Tim said with a sleepy grin, content to let his Dad rearrange his body so the two were lying down comfortably.

“Good?” Bruce murmured softly, running his hands through Tim’s hair as his second youngest started to drift off once more.

“Yea… all… good,” Tim whispered, a small smile on his face as he felt Bruce press a kiss to his forehead before he drifted off once more, feeling a thousand times lighter.

——

Bruce listened to the phone ring impassively, not really expecting his youngest son to pick up. So, when he heard Damian’s stiff voice mail message that Dick had forced him to set up instead of the standard one, he sighed softly.

“Hello, Damian… I hope you’re having fun over at the Kent farm. I just wanted to call and say that I miss you.” Bruce paused, looking down at the note cards he had written just to map out what he wanted to say before pushing them away. “I can’t wait till you’re back home, but I know you love being surrounded by all the animals. Be safe, say hi to Lois for me, I love you, Habibi.”

Bruce set down his phone and frowned, already rethinking the message he left when his phone rang, Damian’s name flashing on the screen. Without a single second's thought, Bruce picked up his phone before it could ring twice.

“Baba…” Damian hiccuped the moment Bruce picked up, breaking his heart completely. “You…”

“Oh no, baby, take a deep breath for me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Bruce tried to soothe, helping Damian work through his hiccups and calm down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you again. D-do you want me to hang up?”

Damian hiccuped again softly before sniffling. “No… can you come pick me up?”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up in confusion, even if he was already standing up and making his way to the Batcave. Secret identity be damned, he was taking his fastest jet. “Me? You don’t want Jon or Clark to drop you off? It’d be faster.”

“No… I just really want to see you. Is that alright?”

“Of course, it is Hayati, I want to see you as well. I missed you so much.” Bruce took in a short breath and punched in the coordinates for the Kent farm, ignoring the lurch as the jet spread out of the cave and was at the farm in under ten minutes.

The moment Bruce jumped out of the jet, Damian was in his arms, hugging him tightly, which was really special because even after all these years, Damian rarely initiated physical affection.

“I’m sorry! I was being so horrible-“ Damian blubbered, soaking the front of Bruce’s turtle neck with his tears.

“Hey, no no no. What’s this? Who said my son was horrible? Where did you ever get such a silly idea?” Bruce immediately shut down Damian’s self-deprecating words, picking Damian up and kissing his forehead before glancing over at Clark with a concerned but confused expression.

“He’s been on his phone a lot, I think he might’ve read somethin’ online,” Clark whispered, gently patting Damian on the back before ushering a worried Jon inside to give them as much privacy as they could.

Bruce carried Damian inside the jet, activating the lead lining so the Kents wouldn’t be able to listen in. Bruce knew Damian would die of mortification if Jon heard him being more emotional than he already was.

Damian silently took the bottled water Bruce offered him but made no move to open it, instead swinging his legs over the edge of the chair where Bruce sat him.

“I know it’s dangerous outside… especially in Gotham… but…” Damian bit his lower lip, trying to fight off the onslaught of tears through sheer force of will. “I read online that a lot of parents don’t let their kids stay out all night, but it’s for a good cause. I’m a very mature person, I'm different than regular people.”

Bruce sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before kneeling in front of Damian, making sure to make eye contact with his youngest child. “It’s not that I don’t believe that you’re capable of taking care of yourself. In fact, I know you are. But your siblings can attest to the fact that I worry and I will always worry, no matter how ‘mature’ you see yourself.”

“An overnight charity event for animal rights is an admirable gesture to give your free time up for, but I can’t allow it, Damian.” Bruce reached for Damian’s hand and gently held it. “You’re still newly fourteen, and no matter what you think or how you feel, you are a child, and it is my duty as your father to protect you and keep you safe.”

Damian let out a sigh and leaned forward, resting his head against Bruce’s shoulder and frowning. “But… I really wanted to go.”

“I know, baby,” Bruce murmured, rubbing Damian’s back. “And if one of your siblings, or I, was free that night, we would’ve gone with you. But we’re not, and I’m not sending you there alone with people I haven’t met.”

Damian nodded. He knew it was reasonable, logically, but he was still only a kid. He wanted what he wanted.

“You have every right to feel upset, and I’m sorry it seemed like I just shipped you off without talking to you, sweetheart. It was rough last week, but that’s not an excuse. I should’ve calmly explained it to you.” Bruce apologized, pulling back from the hug so he could look Damian in the eyes.

“Damian,” Bruce started. “I’m not allowing you to go to that overnight charity event. I understand it’s for a cause you care about deeply, but I care about you more. I love you so much, and all I want is for you to be safe.”

Damian laughed softly, wiping away the tears on his face and hugging Bruce tightly. “Explanation received and understood, Baba. I… love you too.

Bruce pressed two quick kisses to Damian’s cheeks, silently reverent that Damian had grown so much and was happily receptive to his physical affection before pulling back and standing up.

“Let’s get home. I’ll let you pick out ten charities for wildlife and animal care to donate to, hm?”

Damian nodded and straightened in the seat, putting on an air of his usual elegance even if his face was still red and splotchy from his cry session.

“I would like that very much, Baba. I’m not going to get grounded, am I? This doesn’t technically count as ‘running away’. I read that online.”

Bruce sighed before chuckling. “I’m a little worried about what else you read online, but no, you’re not getting grounded. This was on me after all.”

Damian nodded. “Good. Now let’s go home. I want to sleep in my own bed.”

——

<Prev>. <Explanation>.

[searchingforserendipity25]

it's a good thing conclave didn't waste any time on making the stories about catholic orders and their in-fighting. and probably i shouldn't either because i am not informed enough about it to go on at length. pls take all of this w a grain of salt.

but i know in my heart of hearts that aldo bellini is a progressive liberal jesuit, the holy father's specialest most progressive liberal italian-american jesuit.

look at him. look at his glasses. those are the glasses of a man who did his dissertation on reinterpreting loyola through a contemporary reformist lens. academic wunderkid. has sooo much beef w the editors of american jesuit weekly. possibly the events of conclave are occurring in a better more beautiful world where aldo bellini is the editor of american jesuit weekly.

the late holy father for sure was a progressive jesuit also. vr pope francis coded. and low-key set him up as a successor. for a while, that seemed nearly a sure thing in some circles.

but there is the fact. well. the fact that everyone is tired, done and tired of jesuits, progressive or otherwise.

this among other factors meant he couldn't consider him the best option, besides whatever character judgement and uncanny machievallien prediction he came up with.

adeyemi has that benedictine swag which makes his potential election particularly seem like a breath of fresh air + reliable + lots of influence. tremblay is giving dominican drip and dominican corruption. and dominican flop. his nespresso machine? it's giving dominican also.

tedesco has to be an italian-founded order member. most hypocrital salesian of all times maybe?? this is unrelated to the fact that i was nearly enrolled in a salesian primary school and the weirdly panopticon-ish playground didn't pass the vibe check. and also because: consider tedesco rising in the ranks of an order created to help migrant workers...someone kick him in the head for me pls.

who even knows about benítez. i want to say franciscan but that might be just too on the nose. cistercian?? honestly it would work well if he is also without affiliation.

this lens does make lawrence's homily being interpreted as a campaign speech more understandable (and particularly funny).

because, as far as anyone can tell, he's fully running as an independent candidate. zero platform besides - if i fuck up i'll apologize and do better and be held accountable, which is more than any of you probably would.

and because he stands alone, he can be held accountable. he can belong to all, and not one faction only. as far as anyone can tell, he's burning bridges with bellini and rocking the status quo.

he is speaking to/from a place of frustration with institutional inertia and factionalism, he is using his position as dean to bravely promote a platform for internal change in the curia, he is offering doubt as an alternative to certainty, he is pulling an absolute wildcard move.

pity he didn't mean it.

pity the the only order lawrence is interested in joining is the most hardcore discalced carmelite experience possible.

you know how some people look into luxurious real estate listings like it's porn? that's lawrence w tiny monasteries. the sort of minuscule organization with not enough people for management to be necessary. too small for politics. as close to erasure as you can get in this world: no need to be useful.

serving god by existing only to meditate on him. a narrow slant of a life, at that. barely taking up space, barely casting a shadow.

his favorite is a decrepit wreck of a place in the middle of southern spain, nowhere. no wifi no speaking aloud no possessions. no shoes no food. no nothing, only prayer. and a big big sky overhead.

maybe that will fix his issues with reaching god. if that doesn't work he'll probably just wander into the tabernas desert and become an hermit. works for some people, supposedly; plenty of order founders seem to believe so, anyway.

[fromdove]

MY JASON TODD PHYSICAL APPEARANCE HEADCANONS !

welcome to my ted talk. go ahead and sit your semi-literate goblin ass down and take notes, because i am about to paint you a portrait of this man so vivid you’ll think i dipped my brush in the lazarus pit itself.

HETEROCHROMIA. one blue eye & one green eye. im a very big and firm believer on this. this is my religion. this is my prayer. jason todd's eyes are my gospel, and I am the devoted disciple on my knees at the altar. he's always had them, before the lazarus pit & AFTER the lazarus pit. (although after the lazarus pit id like to point out that his eyes got a bit brighter especially the green!). i saw fanart once of this—just one image—and it was enough to send me into a trance. my jaw unhinged like a snake

LARGE SHARP ALMOND EYES. eyes sharp enough to cut!! real real real. sharp enough to gut someone in an alley. you get looked at by him and feel like you need to apologize for crimes you haven’t committed yet. yup that. they soften when he looks at you tho bc ur his amazing angel faced baby.

HIS GODDAMN JAWLINE. the kind you see on statues. could cut diamonds. so perfect. brutal. Pythagoras would rise from the grave with a boner, calculator in hand, shaking and crying overwhelmed by the sheer geometry of him. drooling. weeping & erect.

6'4!!!!!!!!!! MY MAN IS TALL. A GIANT. GARGANTUAN. and that’s the final word. idgaf. don’t come in here with that “canon says he’s 6’0” nonsense. fuck canon. canon is a lie built by cowards. they've screwed up my babies too many times to count. my Jason ducks under door frames and casts shadows over people trying to insult him. he intimidates every man in a ten-mile radius just by standing up.

BULKY. (not crazy bulky like those steroid obsessed body builder protein-powder-in-the-veins monstrous freaks but still jacked af. (like in this picture: click here and here) . he’s jacked like a Greek statue, like a renaissance painting of a war god.

white streak. white streak 24/7 for the rest of infinity. all night. every universe. every reboot. i don’t care. Non-negotiable. he got it from the one and only pit. he tried to cut it, dye it, tried everything to get rid of it at first but it just kept growing back and the dye would never work on it somehow ??/ so he just gave up lmao

OKOK his nose. my fave nose to picture jason with is an sightly upturned nose with a bump in the middle. do you guys know what kind of nose im yappin about? here is a visual: click here

ive seen fanart with jason with the j scar and i just think it fits his character and backstory. yes it was from that makeup-smeared tragedy of a circus reject. but fuck him!! this is about jason peter todd. my baby is still hot af anyways so.

SHARP CANINES. BITE ME WITH THEM. LORDDD MOTHERR GODDD. Carnivore-coded. was he born with them? is it a lazarus thing? either way theyre sharp little bastards. He tries to be careful, he reallyyy does but sometimes, mid-kiss, they slip. he nips you. he pulls back, eyes wide, guilt-ridden. you’re breathless. he spews like a million apologizes coz the last thing he wants to do it hurt u. but u dont care bc it feels so goddamn good... STOP ME)

Full lips that look like they’re always swollen from a brawl or a kiss.. with a slight cupids bow. god. yes. the corners/edges of his mouth are sharp (does that make sense?? help). he also has scars extending from the corners that look like smiles, they only stretch a few centimeters out. not that long at all. joker’s parting gift, poetic as it is cruel. OH AND he has the Toji scar !!! this one right here: click here

dark brown hair thats wavy & fluffy heeheheh (2c textured.) not straight, not curly, that luscious in-between mess that stays tousled and tragic and stupidly sexy no matter what. fluffy. thick. ruffles in the wind like he's some sad, angry prince. you run your hands through it and he pretends he doesn’t melt. he is NAWT a victim of the male pattern baldness epidemic. bye no no no no he doesnt bald thanks to the lazarus pit.

THICK DARK & FULL STRAIGHT BROWSSS. IDCCC THIS MAN HAS THICK BROWS. These brows have seen things. They furrow when he’s pissed (which is like always lmao), They’re intimidating, god-tier brows kinda brows. oh oh and theyre also kind of upturned !

his fingers. jesusususususus. Veiny. Long-fingered. Calloused. Worn. His knuckles are always scabbed (from fights). His nails are short, His fingers could snap a neck, but you just want them on your throat for different reasons. And the rings? Thick, heavy, sharp. Some brass. Some iron. they double as weapons. like i just know if someone pisses him off the rings are going to hurt like straight up fucking hell.

this man has long lashes. like long enough to collect dew. Thick enough to cast shadows. curled at the tips. his lashes are criminal. like wtf. theyre the kind that make mascara cry. they frame his eyes and face perfectly

scars all over. he has the autopsy scar on his chest, he has scars on his back too. his face, arms, legs, everywhere. bullet grazes, knife cuts etc..his entire body is a war journal basically

he has eye bags and dark circles which is a given considering what he does and his lack of sleep. They're not “oh, I pulled an all-nighter” eye bags, theyre bruised purpulish blue with a bit of red. u can seen some veins. his eye bags r a little puffy. this paired with his sharp eyes make him look very very intimidating to others but not to u, bc wdym intimidating? he's my angel?? he would never hurt a fly?? tf?

a few extra's!!:

A slight scar on his eyebrow from a fall off a fire escape in crime alley when he was 12. Never stitched it (despite the constant nagging from bruce & alfred). he said the blood made him look cool. (my angel baby i love him)

a voice that’s deeper than you expect. gravelly. like he chewed cigarettes for breakfast and chased them with glass. but it dips soft when he says your name. unbearably soft. traitorously tender.

faint cigarette burn on the inside of his left forearm. from back when he thought pain might be the only thing that made him real. said it was an accident. it wasn’t.

A barely-there tremor in his right hand. Old injury. Nerve damage.

[kthologue]

Dying thinking about gojo literally pinning and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just... completely clueless about it💀 and she thinks it's just gojo being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!" 💀

she loves me, she loves me not! — gojo satoru x fem!reader

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo (what’s new), highschool!gojo, he’s pathetic but in love your honor, oblivious!reader, ooc gojo i got carried away soz

notes. anon, when i first read your ask i literally started giggling and kicking my feet. that. is. so. gojo coded.

“please reject gojo and put him out of his misery,” utahime implored, taking hold of both of your hands. you think she’s asking, no, begging you to. beside her, shoko nods vigorously. 

“but why?” you furrow your eyebrows, perplexed by their sudden request. “i can’t reject someone who doesn’t like me.”

shoko giggles at your comment. her laughter only wanes when she notices the dead serious look on your face. “... you seriously have no idea what we’re talking about?”

“not really,” you shrug, criss-crossing your legs to find some comfort on the hard wooden floor in shoko’s small dorm. it was late, past midnight, and the three of you had a shared mission tomorrow, but for some reason your two friends managed to rope you into their drinking circle.

utahime and shoko exchanged a significant glance, their unspoken communication raising your curiosity. utahime takes a long sip of her beer. 

“hopeless. they’re both hopeless,” your short haired brunette friend lamented, pinching her nose bridge. it leaves a faint pink mark.

intrigued, you lean in closer towards the two, “care to elaborate?”

“you’ve never once questioned satoru’s borderline inappropriate behavior?” shoko asks you earnestly. you ponder for a moment, trying to recall any moments in the two years you’ve known the snow-haired boy.

“satoru is satoru…” you mumble, shaking your head in denial. 

utahime’s eyes bug comically. she slams her can of beer harshly on the ground. you wince at the loud noise of the metallic can hitting the floor.

“you’re kidding. even i can see through that jerk!” utahime’s black pigtails sway wildly. 

“[name], how about what happened in shinjuku last week on our day off?” shoko quietly reminds you of last weekend when the two of you along with satoru and suguru decided to empty your pockets in one of tokyo’s largest entertainment wards. 

utahime’s head whips back and forth from her best friend to you, “eh? what happened?!”

from behind the dressing room curtain, you voiced your concerns, “shoko, i don't think we can afford designer clothes on our student budget.” the cream-colored silk dress you wore clung to your body, its price tag undoubtedly surpassing a year's worth of your student earnings.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” shoko’s voice carried a knowing smile. “just come out and show me the dress!” you think satoru’s carefree attitude is rubbing off on her.

with a nervous sigh, you emerged from the dressing room. the dress fit like a glove, accentuating your body in just the right places.

bright flashes from shoko's phone startled you, and she chuckled deviously while rapidly typing. she tossed her phone onto a luxurious cushion, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exposure.

“you look so sexy. even better than the model.” she gives you two thumbs up, eyes roaming your figure. you feel flushed at her praise.

“as flattered as i am, there’s no way i can afford this,” you look down at the dress, lips downturned. “i’d be in debt for life.”

“no need to worry,” shoko winked, leaving you confused. given that her income was similar to yours, it didn't make sense for her to be able to even dream of shopping designer.

a soft thud interrupted your conversation. you turn around to see a blue lollipop rolling on the expensive carpeting of the store.

“suguru, are my eyes deceiving me or is that an angel?”  satoru's mouth is wide open as he shamelessly checks you out. he takes one of his hands and places it over his heart, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. the windbreaker he is wearing rustles at his dramatic movement.

“i think… i’m experiencing a heart attack! shoko help!” he kneels in the middle of the store dramatically. shoko shares an unamused look with suguru. the pair nod before simultaneously kicking satoru.

during all of the commotion, you stand awkwardly in the million yen dress. 

“satoru, are you okay?” you watch him take the two blows from your friends, concern evident in your voice. he grunts softly before gently taking ahold of your hand.

“no,” he croaks with a playful glint in his eye. “i’m wounded and there’s only one way to fix it.”

you look at him, your gaze heavy with concern.

“i’m afraid you’ll have to kiss me for the pain to go away.” he added, blinking at you expectantly with his blue eyes.

 you lightly shove him away from you. “you’re an idiot.” satoru laughs loudly.

“that’s what love does to a man.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m going to change out of this dress, don’t get into any more trouble while i’m gone.” 

 satoru’s grip on your hand strengthens, halting your actions.

“how much?”

“excuse me?”

“the dress. how much for it?” he stands up to his full height, reminding you of the obvious height difference between the two of you. 

you're at loss for words. gojo was crazy, but definitely not crazy enough to spend a million yen on a silly dress.

shoko happily chimes into the conversation. “one million yen. it’ll be two million yen with the rest of my purchases though!” 

suguru’s calm demeanor is replaced with shock. the black haired male’s jaw drops, “two million– satoru, you’re seriously not thinking about–”

“hah? who said i’m paying for your stuff?” gojo makes an ugly face at shoko.

she raises her hands innocently, “it’s not my fault the dresses come in a set. if you want to see your beloved [name] in that dress you’ll have to pay for mine as well.”

you watch shoko and satoru engage into a silent argument. the tension in the fitting room section is so thick, you think it’ll take a special grade weapon to slice through it.

trying to alleviate the mood you tell gojo, “satoru, you really don’t have to–”

“i’m buying you that dress.” 

“o-okay.” 

half an hour later, satoru happily strolls out of the store with an arm around your shoulder like he’d just won the lottery.

perhaps gojo is just naturally flirty, you had tried to reason to shoko and utahime.

it’s been a week since the eye-opening conversation with the two and you’ve found yourself on cleaning duty with said snow-haired boy. it was a miracle that satoru even showed up. he had a tendency to skip his turns, often resulting in a long lecture from yaga.

as the two of you worked silently in the empty classroom, you couldn't help but admire the setting sun. its golden rays painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. unknowingly, while you gazed at the sky, gojo's gaze was firmly fixed on you.

breaking the silence, he asked, "have you ever thought about getting married?"

his question caught you off guard, causing you to momentarily pause from wiping the windows.

“not really,” you replied, biting your lip gently. “unless my family decides to arrange a marriage. you know how unforgiving the world of jujutsu sorcery is.”

gojo's grip on the broom tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity.

"we should get married y'know," he blurted out.

the piece of cloth you were using slipped from your hand in shock. surely, he couldn't mean what he was saying. after all, the two of you were only second years.

“what?”

“i’m saying i think i’m in love with you.”

“oh.” 

silence engulfs the room once more before a soft giggle escapes your lips.

satoru can only watch, entranced.

“that’s good to hear! i love you too– and suguru and shoko! perhaps the four of us should all just get married.” you chuckle into your hand.

satoru can't help but stare at your hand in envy. perhaps if he were the palm of your hand, he’d be able to feel the touch of your lips.

but he couldn’t. he was cursed as a man with an overpowered innate technique, and despite it all he couldn’t even gain the one thing he desired. gojo satoru watched you, eyes filled with a mixture of longing and defeat.

his devastation does not go unnoticed by you.

you were under the impression that he was grumpy because yaga had forced him into cleaning with you.

"cheer up, satoru! if we finish early enough," you continue, your tone highspirited, "we can go to the new crepe shop that opened last week. my treat!" you winked, and that immediately caught his attention.

“like a date?” his eyes sparkled with hope.

you shrug, a smile on your face. “i suppose if you look at it from a certain perspective…”

“great, it’s a date!” 

good things come to those who wait, satoru thinks, humming happily as he starts to sweep the room at an inhumane pace.

maybe in ten years time the two of you will be happily married with eight kids, he smiles to himself.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hybrid Town (3) | Only Human

Part One, Two

Before your fateful encounter that led to the attention of your loyal canine neighbors and the adoring affection of cow-woman- Eudora you were left to your own devices. Managing your own chores and the sprucing up of your newly inherited property. But it’s exhausting working day in and out on such a big project; it’s a given that you search for something else to do. Something to keep the loneliness at bay as you endure the sneers and snickers from the townspeople. Specifically found in one of the most abandoned spots of the whole town the library. 

Ring Ring

“Hello is anyone in here?....Well if you are I’m just going to find what I need and check it out at the desk!”

Typically this would seem presumptuous for anyone to do but you had a sneaking suspicion your human status might have something to do with the missing librarian. Nonetheless, you did what you said grabbing a small amount and writing on the ledger conveniently left on the desk. Filling it out hoping that whoever was responsible for the neatly kept interior within the run-down library would realize you’d taken the initiative to borrow. Unbeknownst to you igniting a chain reaction for those who bear witness.

“Did they…take a book?”

“T-t-they took four!”

“Oh, goodness!?”

Now there were quite a few curious souls that looked at you without contempt as they spied on you flipping through your latest borrows as you made your way to your car but none as eager as the librarian himself. It wasn’t bizarre that someone would come into the library to borrow a book…what was odd was that a newcomer had come for it and had full intentions to return.

“I-it’’s them!?? They’re coming back!”

“Eeek I’ll have to hide!”

Ring Ring

“If anyone’s here I’ll just do what I did last time.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see some kind of appendage but when you turn to follow you find nothing but another row of books. Still oblivious to the hybrid practically gone into heat at the close encounter, they watch you leave once again.

“They nearly saw my tail!”

“T-that has to mean s-s-something good, right?”

 The few citizens of the town who frequented the library considered themselves to be of a different variety than the plebians rest of the town. A more enlightened group that relied on their vast collection of books to inform their decisions. All led by the very man given the honor to run the library.

“All rise for the great Stein!”

“Rest your heads, my enlightened followers a great happening has come upon us and I have our next course of action.”

By day the librarian was the soft-spoken, always flustered snake hybrid—Stein. Hired by the mayor to watch over the library in a building slowly violating the regulations of the up-to-code buildings surrounding it. It was the perfect place for the alarming presence of a snake hybrid feared for their notorious predatory instinct. Hidden, secluded, and generally avoided by the greater part of the town. Even those with a predator heritage were wary of the reptilian hybrid that is if they didn’t know him for the timid, stuttering librarian he appeared to be is.

“I-i-i’m the librarian w-w-w-what do you need help with?”

“Wow happy to finally meet you this time! Anyway I was wondering if you had the sequel to this book? I tried looking for it but I just can’t seem to find it.”

“T-t-t-that’s f-f-f-fine come with me.”

By night, Stein would become the leader that the minority of the town gathered around. Eagerly awaiting his knowledgable word. On an unrelated note, the town’s collection of books has a larger collection of the fictional genre influencing those curious enough to explore. With so much information they only found it right to turn to the hybrid tasked with understanding it all, seeing as no one other than Stein had attempted to learn from the non-fiction section…that is until you.

“My lord what does this mean!?”

“Shall we stake them?!”

“Ritualize them?!”

“Entice them to join!?

“Enlightened, please! Quiet your questions for I have the answer to all of them. The human is our Excalibur!”

Gasps fill the library basement.

“Can this be?”

“As the legend foretells whosoever should hold Excalibur shall hold the keys to the kingdom!” 

“That must be you our great lord Stein! You are the Arthur!”

“I should hope so.” 

“With this knowledge, we can work together to bring Excalibur to you!”

“But we must be cautious! The others of the round table before they become friends will be enemies!” 

“We must begin planning immediately!”

Stein isn’t delusional or an idiot or easily swayed by any means. He’s well aware that the stories of Welsh folklore are obviously not real at least not in this time. He went to school, a private school that accelerated his learning and then he went to a university where he proceeded to get his doctorate. But the bored and uninspired superstitious minority of the town did not. If that wasn’t enough to convince these other hybrids to follow, the fact that his particular origins were that of the venomous Black Mamba with a mix of Boa Constrictor. They were right to be afraid he happened to have both killer traits of his feared parents, it’s a given many insolent prey will rationalize that the one they fear the most must know the truth.

��(Y-y/n) good to see you, checking out the prequels?”

“You know it. I also wanted to know if you had recommendations for building doggy doors?”

“...I might have something…are you thinking of getting a dog?”

“Not necessarily but I’ve got a hole in my door and I think if I try and fix it it’ll just keep happening.”

“Say it! Ask my lord!”

“What was that?”

“I-i-uh I’m not very good with fixing things b-b-but if you like I could take a look…if you like?”

“That’s real sweet of you Stein, I appreciate that!” 

“The steps to procuring Excalibur commences!”

“Shh!”

He figures if he’s happening to start a cult, he might as well get help in his love-life. It might have been foolish to proclaim a poor outcast human the most prized object that this collective could agree upon but knowing the lengths his followers would go to he’d rather you be something adored than hated. Especially since the control he had on the collective wasn’t as straightforward as he had hoped.

“See my lord we’ve brought you the enemy!”

“Mmmffff.”

“Oh my.”

“It will be your first of many meals—I mean sacrifices in your pursuit of the grand Excalibur.”

“I–yes that is the plan.”

“Now eat! This is just fodder for the great Stein! Oh the grand ruler you’ll be!”

“EAT!” “EAT!” “EAT!” “EAT!”

Stein swallows a tired sigh, ‘a wolf hybrid is gonna be so fattening.’

“For your information my lord, he broke the wheels of Excalibur’s wagon–forcing them to buy their overpriced replacements.”

“...I’ll need salt.”

“Yes, my lord!”

When he’s not playing up to the dastardly cult leader he gets to be at night he’s all so shy. It’s hard trying to connect with the human he’s got such a big crush on especially since their outcasted status was beginning to change. Unknowingly harming him, his collective was being much nicer—complimenting you and standing up for you when you have encounters with human-hating citizens. He’s happy for you but he curses the loss he used to have with speaking to you. Now instead of his well-planned bump-ins with you on the way to the market he’ll have to spend more of his evening following far behind. And that’s when your neighbors and roommate aren’t getting in the way

“Don’t argue with me, Mutt I know you did that on purpose!”

“Please, no one told you to where those dumb shoes to a market day!”

“Yeah well appearance is every–”

“...” “...”

“Mutt go get (Y/n), I smell danger.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

It’s so shattering for him to constantly be overshadowed by every interested citizen in town. It’s almost enough to make him give up hope but the remaining thing that ties him to you is his saving grace. 

“W-what if we made a book-club, you and I?”

“I don’t think anyone would want to join. Not with me in it…”

“Mmm–”

“But I’d love to talk about books with you! Over drinks or at my house if that’s better!”

“T-t-t-that’s perfect!”

If he could get past his fears he’s sure he’d be a force to be reckoned with but he’d much rather go the way he’s going now. He often receives letters about how his mother kept his father close to the nest at the beginning of their relationship. And since she seems to believe he can do even better with a mere human, he’d love if it was all organic minus the cults help.

“I feel like I'm on fire knowing such a holy existence is so close to me. I’m going to take full advantage of this. You are just a human it might be better that it’s me you end up with, especially in this town.”

Part 4: Here

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares@xrenka@candlesworlds-blog@00hellohello00@lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes @ceramic-raven @lilyalone @asleepysouluniverse @mel-vaz @sxftiebee @staarflowerr @horror-lover-69 @stanfordswifey @butratherbutrather

[mcrdvcks]

I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You're a hacker for The Organization, a secret group that is currently working on dismantling a mutant trafficking ring. You've been working with Logan for months but neither of you have met each other in person and he doesn't even know your real name.

Word Count: 14.7k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: this is something i've wanted to do for a while- playing with the idea that logan can totally fall in love with someone just through their voice (and vice versa). i hope y'all enjoy it!

warnings/tags: reader has a code name, pet name (darling), light violence, mentions of (mutant) trafficking, some uses of y/n

“Bet you look good in that suit.” You say, tapping on your keyboard, hacking into the security cameras of the seedy casino where the deal was taking place.

Logan huffed, covertly adjusting the small earpiece as he blended in with the crowd of the dimly lit casino. His tuxedo felt too tight, but then again, it wasn’t like he was made for fancy suits and shiny shoes.

“Don’t go gettin’ all sentimental, Phantom. This thing barely fits,” he muttered, keeping his voice low and steady. He glanced around, taking in the sight of gamblers, dealers, and a few shifty-looking men gathered near a corner. Probably the ones he was here for.

“Must be hard to hide all those muscles,” you teased through the comm, your voice a steady whisper in his ear. “But I’ll try not to distract you, just this once.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he slipped past a group of laughing tourists. He scanned the room, zeroing in on his target: a short, balding man with an expensive suit and a smug look on his face. Logan’s senses sharpened. He could practically smell the guy’s nervous sweat. This had to be one of the trafficking ring’s major players.

“Any idea where they’re at?” he asked, his tone shifting from playful to serious in an instant.

“Second floor. Private poker room,” you said, enlarging one of the camera feeds to get a better view. “Security’s tighter up there. You’ll need a distraction if you wanna get past those guards.”

Logan glanced at the stairway leading up. Two burly men stood in front, arms crossed, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. “Can’t just slice my way through ‘em,” he grumbled. “What’ve you got for me, Phantom?”

“Patience,” you teased. “Trust me, I’m working on it.” You typed a few more commands, initiating a loop in the security feed of the second-floor hallway. “You’ve got a 30-second window. Move now.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped through the casino floor, dodging between slot machines and card tables until he reached the base of the stairwell. The guards barely glanced his way as he strolled past, looking for all the world like another high-roller with a chip on his shoulder.

“Almost too easy,” he muttered under his breath, taking the steps two at a time.

“I make it look easy,” you corrected, monitoring the shifting feeds as Logan made his way to the second floor. “Just keep moving. The loop’ll hold, but not for long.”

Logan reached the hallway, his eyes narrowing at the closed door leading to the poker room. He slowed his pace, ears straining to pick up any sounds on the other side. “Tell me you’ve got eyes in there.”

“Not yet, working on it,” you said. “This system’s layered, gonna take a sec.”

Logan let out a quiet growl. “Great. No pressure or anything.”

“Hey, if you’re in such a hurry, I could always—”

“Don’t,” he cut in. “Just—stay on it.” He pressed his back to the wall, inching closer to the door, waiting for your go.

There was a pause, and then, “Got it.” Your voice softened, like you were focusing extra hard. “Four guys in there. Three playing cards, one pacing by the window.”

“Let me guess,” Logan grunted. “The bald one’s pacing.”

“Bingo.”

Logan’s fingers flexed, the subtle urge to unsheathe his claws growing. But this was a delicate operation. No bloodshed if it could be helped.

“You’ve got any ideas how to get me in without turnin’ this into a brawl?” he asked, half-expecting you to come up with something clever.

“I’ve got a couple,” you replied, a smile evident in your tone. “But you won’t like them.”

Logan sighed. “Why do I feel like you’re about to mess with me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said sweetly, then paused. “Okay, maybe a little. There’s a closet down the hall to your left. Go there.”

He frowned but did as you instructed, slipping into the darkened space, filled with cleaning supplies and boxes. “Now what?”

“Well, I could trigger a fire alarm, but that’s a little loud and obvious. Or, and hear me out, I could disrupt the air conditioning. Make it so hot in there they’ll be begging for an excuse to step outside.”

Logan chuckled under his breath. “That’s your big plan? Make ‘em sweat?”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” you teased.

“Funny.” He shook his head, glancing at the vent above him. “Think they’ll all leave?”

“Probably not all at once, but it should get the ball rolling. Just be ready. I’ll handle the rest.” Your fingers flew over the keys again, tapping into the building’s climate control system.

After a moment, you heard Logan’s quiet grunt. “Feels like it’s workin’ already.”

“Yeah, I see the temp rising in their room.” You pulled up the camera feed again, watching as one of the guys at the table tugged at his collar, then another wiped at his brow.

“Ten bucks says Mr. Baldy cracks first,” you said, amused.

Logan smirked. “You’re on.”

Not even a minute passed before the bald man swore, yanked off his suit jacket, and threw it on the back of his chair. “I’m stepping out for some air,” you heard him mutter to the others.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the door, his body tense. “Here we go.”

As the door opened, Logan moved fast. He grabbed the guy, pulling him into the closet before he could make a sound. With a quick, non-lethal chokehold, the guy slumped to the ground unconscious. Logan checked his pulse—alive. Good.

“Nice work,” you whispered in his ear. “Bet he’s not going to wake up happy.”

Logan crouched down, frisking the guy’s pockets. “Let’s hope he’s got something useful on him,” he muttered.

“He’s got a keycard,” you said, watching the screen as Logan pulled out the small plastic card. “That should get you into the back office.”

Logan glanced down at the unconscious man. “You were right. I didn’t like your plan.”

You laughed softly through the comms. “You’ll get over it. Now go, before they notice their friend’s gone.”

Logan straightened up, giving the unconscious man one last look before slipping out of the closet. “You better have a plan for what’s next, Phantom.”

“I always do,” you said, smirking as you pulled up the building’s blueprints. “Just follow my lead. Take the hall to your right. There’s an access door near the end. It’ll get you closer to the office.”

Logan moved quickly, the soft thud of his footsteps barely audible. “You sure about this? That door doesn’t look like it’s meant for guests.”

“I’m sure,” you replied confidently. “It’s an employee access. You’ve got the keycard, remember?”

He grunted in response, holding the card up to the reader. The door unlocked with a faint beep. “You really do make this look easy.”

“I try,” you said, voice laced with amusement. “Now, once you’re inside, there’s a small hallway. You’ll want to hang a left, then a quick right. The office is at the end.”

Logan opened the door, slipping into the narrow hallway. “What’s the deal with this office? Anything I should know?”

“Could be where they’re stashing data on the trafficking network. Either that or it's where they’re counting money.” You were typing again, eyes scanning multiple camera feeds. “But I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“Good feelin’, huh?” Logan muttered, carefully making his way through the corridor. “Hope that feelin’ is worth something.”

“It always is,” you shot back playfully. “You’ve got about a minute before someone notices the guy you knocked out is missin’. So… chop, chop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan growled, reaching the door to the office. “And you said I was the impatient one.”

Before you could respond, he swiped the keycard again and pushed the door open. Inside, the room was dimly lit, filled with filing cabinets, a desk cluttered with paperwork, and a few old-looking computers. Logan’s nose twitched at the faint scent of stale cigarettes and cologne.

“Jackpot,” you whispered in his ear, pulling up the feed of the room. “There should be a terminal near the desk. Get me plugged in, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Logan looked over at the outdated equipment and scowled. “This stuff’s ancient. Hope you can work with it, Phantom.”

“Please, I’ve hacked worse,” you said, brushing off the concern. “Just get me connected.”

Logan knelt down, finding a small port on the side of the computer and pulling out a cable from his gear. As soon as he plugged it in, your fingers danced across the keyboard, breaking through layers of security.

“There we go,” you murmured. “This’ll take a second. How are things on your end?”

Logan stood back up, glancing around the room. “Quiet. For now.”

“Good, because I’ve got eyes on another guy heading your way,” you warned. “He’s probably checking in on his boss. You might wanna handle him before he stumbles on Baldy.”

Logan’s fists clenched. “Great. Any more good news?”

“Depends. You want the good news or the bad news first?” you asked lightly, your tone casual despite the urgency of the situation.

“Just spit it out.”

“Good news? I’m almost done here. Bad news? You’ve got about thirty seconds before that guy reaches you.”

Logan let out a low growl. “Any suggestions?”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “you could go for subtle and knock him out—again. Or you could do the Logan thing and scare the crap out of him.”

Logan smirked. “And here I thought you were gonna say ‘no bloodshed.’”

“I’m flexible,” you teased. “Your call.”

Logan moved toward the door, listening carefully. The approaching footsteps were getting closer. “I’ll try subtle,” he muttered. Then, almost as an afterthought, “for you.”

“Aw, how sweet,” you quipped. “I’ll be sure to remember this moment.”

He cracked the door open just as the guy turned the corner. Logan grabbed him by the collar, yanking him into the room before he could shout. A quick punch to the gut, and the guy doubled over, gasping for air. Logan pressed him against the wall, one hand firmly over his mouth.

“Stay quiet, and I won’t hurt you,” Logan growled, his tone low and threatening.

The guy’s eyes widened, and he gave a shaky nod. Logan let him go, and he slumped to the floor, half-conscious.

“Nice work,” you praised, your voice a soft murmur in his ear. “You’ve still got it.”

“Didn’t lose it,” Logan muttered, stepping over the guy and returning to the desk. “You done yet?”

“Just about,” you said. “And… there. I’ve got everything. You’re good to go.”

Logan disconnected the cable, glancing around the room once more. “And you’re sure this’ll help us track the ring?”

“Positive,” you replied confidently. “Now, get out of there before someone else shows up.”

Logan took one last look at the unconscious man on the floor. “You got a clear path for me?”

“Always,” you said, your fingers flying over the keys again. “Head back the way you came. I’ll loop the cameras again. And don’t worry, I’ll keep them busy downstairs.”

Logan smirked as he stepped back into the hallway. “Sometimes I forget how useful you are.”

“Only sometimes?” you teased.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t push your luck, Phantom.”

You smiled to yourself, watching the feeds as Logan made his way through the building. “Whatever you say, Logan. You owe me one.”

“Add it to the list,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Believe me, I am.” You took a bite of your cake, an orange cardamom one you made the other day.

“The hell are you doin’?” Logan asked.

You shrugged, “I’m eatin’. Thought now was a better time than ever. Let’s my fingers have a break. Got a problem, Wolf?” you ask, taking another bite of your cake, your tone teasing through the comm.

Logan’s voice grumbled in your ear, low and irritated. "We're in the middle of a mission, and you’re havin’ dessert?"

"Hey, a girl’s gotta eat," you reply casually, wiping a few crumbs off your keyboard. "I’ve earned it. You’re lucky I’m not eating popcorn with the way this operation’s going. Besides, I’m the one doing the hard work behind the scenes, remember?"

"You’re sittin’ in front of a computer, Phantom," Logan shot back, though you could hear the faintest trace of a smirk in his voice. "Not exactly the front lines."

"Exactly. Where would you be without me?" you retort, savoring another bite of cake. "I’m the reason you’re not punching your way through the entire casino right now."

Logan stayed quiet for a beat. You could imagine him clenching his jaw, trying to decide whether to argue or just let you have your moment. "You done?"

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your chair. "For now. You make it out of there yet?"

"Almost," Logan muttered, his voice low as he moved through the hall. "Place is still crawling with these scumbags. Any chance you can keep ‘em distracted?"

"Already ahead of you," you said, your fingers flying over the keyboard again. "Looping the feeds, and I’ve got a little surprise coming for the main floor. Keep your eyes open."

Logan grunted in response, his boots making soft thuds as he crept through the back corridors. "Surprise, huh? What kind of surprise?"

"You’ll see," you said cryptically, unable to hide the amusement in your tone.

There was a pause before Logan spoke again, quieter this time. "You always this chatty during missions?"

You tilted your head, curious. "Depends on who I’m working with. Some people are all business, no fun. Others… well, they don’t mind a little conversation. Keeps things from getting too tense."

"Huh," Logan responded, noncommittal. But then, after another beat, he added, "Guess it ain’t so bad."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Was that a compliment? Did Wolverine just say something nice?"

"Don’t push it, Phantom," Logan growled, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

You grinned to yourself, pleased that you’d gotten under his skin a little. "Alright, alright. I’ll stop before you start getting sentimental on me."

Logan was quiet for a moment, then muttered, "Not much chance of that."

Before you could reply, you heard footsteps in the feed, heading in Logan’s direction. Your tone shifted, all business now. "Logan, hold up. Someone’s coming your way, about twenty feet ahead."

"Great," he grumbled, already moving to the side, pressing himself into the shadows.

You watched the camera feed, tracking the figure’s movement. "Wait… looks like it’s just one guy. Should be easy to handle."

Logan’s low growl rumbled through the comm. "Easy for you to say."

You rolled your eyes, but your focus stayed on the screen. "You’re Wolverine. You’ll be fine. Just make sure he doesn’t see you."

A few seconds passed, and then you heard a soft thud. Logan’s voice came back through the comm, sounding slightly breathless. "Handled."

"See? Told you. Easy," you said smugly.

Logan didn’t respond right away, probably too busy moving again. You kept your eyes on the security feeds, tracking his progress. Finally, you heard his voice, a little softer this time. "Thanks."

Your fingers paused over the keys. "For what?"

"For not gettin’ in the way," he said, almost gruffly, but you could tell he meant it.

You smiled, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "Anytime, Wolf."

There was a brief silence, and then Logan cleared his throat. "So, you gonna tell me what this surprise is, or you just keepin’ me in the dark?"

You leaned forward, grinning. "Oh, right. Almost forgot. Check the main floor in about… five seconds."

Logan didn’t say anything, but you imagined him looking around suspiciously. Then, just as you’d planned, the lights in the main casino flickered before the fire alarms started blaring. You heard Logan’s quiet chuckle through the comm.

"That your idea of subtle?"

"I prefer ‘effective,’" you said, watching as the casino patrons started panicking, scrambling for the exits. "Should give you the distraction you need to get out clean."

Logan let out a low laugh. "I’ll give you that, Phantom. You make one hell of a distraction."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you teased, though you couldn’t help the slight flush creeping up your neck. "Now hurry up and get out of there before someone starts putting two and two together."

"On it," Logan muttered, the sound of the alarm still faint in the background as he made his way out. "I’m guessin’ you already got us an exit plan?"

You leaned back in your chair, tapping your fingers against the desk. "I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that. Side door, west end of the building. You’ve got about three minutes before the cops show up."

Logan moved swiftly, his footsteps barely audible now. "You really are somethin’ else, y’know that?"

You smirked. "I’ve heard that once or twice."

As Logan slipped through the side door, you watched him disappear from the building’s cameras, your job mostly done. “You’re clear. Ricky wants you to meet him tomorrow morning, 8 sharp for a debrief.”

Logan let out a short grunt. “Ricky, huh? Great. I’ll bring donuts.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “You could at least try to pretend you’re not completely over these meetings.”

Logan’s voice crackled through the comm, rough but with a hint of humor. “I’m over a lotta things, Phantom. Meetin’s just one of ‘em.”

You leaned back in your chair, stretching out your arms. “Well, don’t be late. You know how Ricky gets when he’s kept waitin’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered. There was a pause, and then, “What about you? You gonna be there?”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised at the question. “You think I just show up to these things? I’m the behind-the-scenes tech genius, remember? My job’s done.”

Logan huffed. “Yeah, well… guess I figured after all this time, I’d finally meet the mystery hacker.”

There was something in his voice—something almost like curiosity—but you brushed it off with a light laugh. “Aw, are you saying you miss me already, Wolf?”

“Don’t push it,” Logan shot back, though there was a playful edge to his words. “Just seems weird, is all. Workin’ together this long and never even met you face-to-face.”

You paused for a moment, considering his words. It was weird. You’d been guiding Logan through missions for months now, your voices constantly in each other’s ears, but you had never been in the same room. A part of you liked it that way—it kept things professional, detached. Safer. But another part of you… well, maybe you were curious too.

“Maybe one day,” you said lightly, dodging the subject. “But for now, I think it’s better this way. Keeps the mystery alive, right?”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, real mysterious. You sittin’ there eatin’ cake while I’m out here doin’ the heavy liftin’.”

You smirked. “It’s called multitasking, Logan. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Before he could respond, a soft beep on your computer alerted you that the building’s security systems were coming back online. The loop you’d created was about to end.

“Looks like my window’s closing,” you said, typing a few last commands. “Everything’s going back to normal on their end. You’re officially off the radar.”

“Good. Was gettin’ sick of the place anyway,” Logan muttered. You could hear the sound of traffic now, indicating he was out on the street. “You sure you don’t wanna show up tomorrow?”

“Why?” you asked, amused. “So you can finally see if I really do eat cake during all your missions?”

Logan grumbled something under his breath. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Meeting him in person… it’d be a big step. The dynamics between you two would change. And honestly, you weren’t sure if that was a good idea. But at the same time, a part of you was curious about the man behind the gruff voice and dry humor.

“We’ll see,” you said, keeping your tone light. “But don’t hold your breath, Wolf.”

Logan was quiet for a second before he let out a low chuckle. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. See you around, Phantom.”

With that, the line went dead, and you leaned back in your chair, staring at the screen. You could still hear Logan’s voice in your head, and for a moment, you wondered what it’d be like to finally meet him. But then you shook the thought away, focusing back on your monitors.

It was safer this way. Easier. Less complicated.

But as you closed down your systems for the night, a small, nagging part of you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get the chance to see the man behind the voice.

---

The next morning, you found yourself up earlier than usual, sipping coffee and thinking about Logan’s mission. You knew he was already at the debrief with Ricky, probably sitting there with that irritated look on his face. The thought made you smile.

You were in the middle of pulling up some new data on the trafficking ring when your phone buzzed with a message.

Logan: Missin’ you at this meeting. Ricky’s talkin’ my ear off.

You blinked at the screen, surprised. You weren’t expecting a text from Logan, let alone one like that. He wasn’t usually the type to check in.

You: I’m sure you’re handling it like a pro. Should I send donuts as a peace offering?

His reply came almost immediately.

Logan: Yeah, make it two dozen.

You snorted into your coffee, shaking your head.

You: I’ll see what I can do. How’d the debrief go?

There was a pause before Logan replied.

Logan: Fine. Got another mission lined up. They want you back on comms. Same setup.

Your fingers hesitated over the keys before you typed back.

You: Guess that means you’re stuck with me a little longer, huh?

Logan: Could be worse.

You smiled to yourself, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. It was a small thing, but the fact that Logan had reached out to you, even if it was just to complain about a meeting, felt like progress.

You: Just let me know when you’re ready for another round, Wolf. I’ll be there.

Logan: Yeah, I know you will.

You stared at the screen for a second longer, feeling something stir in the pit of your stomach. You shook it off, downed the rest of your coffee, and started pulling up the files for the next mission.

There was no time for distractions—not when the stakes were this high.

But still, a small part of you couldn’t help but look forward to hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again.

---

“Why don’t you tell me something ‘bout you?”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan’s question, momentarily pausing your typing before resuming. “I don’t know… don’t want a strange man knowin’ about me, do I?”

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the line. "Strange man, huh? Thought we were past that by now."

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Well, I guess you’re not that strange, Wolf. But still. Not sure I’m ready to spill all my secrets.”

“I’m not askin’ for all your secrets. Just one.” His voice was rough, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it, like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you. Which was… unexpected.

You tapped your fingers against the keyboard, considering. “Alright. Something about me, huh? Let’s see… I used to hate coffee. Couldn’t stand the taste.”

Logan snorted. “That’s it? C’mon, Phantom, give me somethin’ better than that.”

“Hey, you didn’t specify what kind of fact,” you shot back, a grin creeping onto your face. “But fine, if you want something more interesting… I got kicked out of my computer science class once.”

There was a beat of silence. “You? Miss hacker extraordinaire? What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you. “Maybe I hacked into the school’s system to change a grade or two. Not mine, though. A friend’s. The professor wasn’t too thrilled about it.”

Logan’s laugh came through the line, deeper this time. “Should’ve known you’d be trouble.”

You smiled, leaning forward again. “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Seems like it,” he muttered, a hint of something in his voice that made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, steering the conversation back on track. “Alright, your turn. Tell me something about you.”

“Not much to tell.” Logan’s voice was gruff, almost dismissive, but you could hear the hesitation.

“Come on, fair’s fair,” you pressed. “You can’t ask me for something and not return the favor.”

He was silent for a moment, and you could almost picture him sitting there, deciding how much he wanted to give away. Logan was driving, he had finished another mission with you on the line like always. Except this time, it ended with a man tied up and unconscious in the trunk for Ricky.

Finally, he sighed. “Alright. You want something about me? I used to be a lumberjack.”

You blinked, thrown off by the admission. “A lumberjack? Like, chopping down trees and all that?”

“Yeah. Chopping down trees, clearing land. It was… quiet. Simple.”

You let that sink in, the image of Logan swinging an axe somehow fitting. “Sounds nice. Bet you looked right at home doing it.”

He huffed a short laugh. “Not sure anyone’s ever ‘at home’ doing that, but yeah, it wasn’t bad. Kept me grounded, I guess.”

There was something unspoken in his voice, something heavy. You knew enough by now to not push too hard, so instead, you kept it light. “So, from chopping trees to chasing bad guys and mutants. Quite the career change.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Logan’s tone shifted, and you could tell he was ready to move on. “Enough ‘bout me. What’s the status on those files? You find anything new?”

You glanced at your screen, where the data on the trafficking ring was slowly coming together. “A few new leads. Cross-referenced some names from the last mission, and there’s definitely a connection between the ring and a shipping company based in Miami. Could be our way in.”

“Good.” Logan’s voice was steady, all business again. “Send me the details when you’re done. Ricky’s gonna want to know.”

You nodded to yourself, already pulling up the files to forward to him. “You got it. And Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to let Ricky drive you too crazy. I’m not sending donuts again.”

Logan snorted. “No promises.”

---

Two days later, you were back at your desk, knee-deep in code, when the comms crackled to life.

“You ready, Phantom?”

You smiled to yourself, hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again. “Always. You good to go?”

“Locked and loaded,” he replied, the sound of a car door shutting in the background. “What’s the target this time?”

You tapped a few keys, bringing up the map. “Warehouse in Miami. Based on the intel we pulled, this is one of their main distribution points. High traffic, lots of movement at night.”

“Security?”

“Pretty tight, but nothing we can’t handle. I’ll be your eyes and ears. You just focus on getting in and out.”

“Like always.” There was a pause, then, “You ever been to Miami?”

You raised an eyebrow at the question. “Once or twice. Why?”

“Just curious. Thought maybe you’d have some recommendations on where to go after all this is over.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “What, planning a vacation already?”

“Maybe. Depends how fast we wrap this up.”

Shaking your head, you brought the focus back to the mission. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s get through this first, then we can talk about your beach plans.”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Deal.”

As you guided him through the back streets of Miami, tracking his every move on the security cameras, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of anticipation. Working with Logan had become second nature by now, and yet there was always this underlying tension, this unspoken connection between you two that made every mission just a little more intense.

“Left at the next alley,” you instructed, your eyes flicking between the camera feeds. “You’ll see a door around the corner. Should be unlocked.”

“Got it,” Logan replied, his voice steady. You could hear his footsteps echoing off the alley walls as he approached the warehouse.

“Any movement inside?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

You scanned the interior feeds. “Three guards on the ground floor, two patrolling the upper levels. They’re not on high alert, though. You should be able to slip past them.”

“Easy enough.”

You listened to the sound of him moving, the slight creak of a door opening, then the soft thud of his boots on concrete. You kept your focus on the screens, heart rate picking up as Logan made his way deeper into the building.

“There’s a stairwell to your left,” you whispered, though no one but Logan could hear you. “Take it up. The control room’s on the second floor.”

“On it.”

Everything was going smoothly—until it wasn’t.

“Shit,” Logan muttered, his voice tense. “Got company.”

Your eyes flew to the nearest camera, catching sight of two guards rounding the corner, guns drawn.

“Hang on,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’m looping the camera feed—there, they shouldn’t be able to see you now.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but you heard the scuffle over the line, the sound of fists meeting flesh, followed by a grunt of pain. You held your breath, watching the screens intently.

“Logan? You good?”

There was a beat of silence before his voice came through, breathless but unbothered. “Yeah. Just had to put a couple guys to sleep.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Jesus, give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry, Phantom. I’ve got it under control.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and despite the tension, you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, next time, maybe give me a little warning before you go all Rambo on me.”

“No promises,” Logan’s voice crackled through the comms, and you could practically hear the grin in his tone. There was a brief pause before he added, “You still with me, Phantom?”

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. “Barely. I swear, you’ll be the death of me one of these days.”

His laugh came low and rough, and for a moment, you let yourself relax a little, the tension from earlier easing. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it,” you shot back, eyes scanning the multiple screens in front of you. The warehouse was sprawling, but you had a pretty good read on the layout by now. “You’re clear to move. No one else on this floor.”

“Got it.” You heard the soft thud of his boots again as he moved forward.

“So, what’s the next step?” Logan asked, keeping his voice low. “You got me runnin’ around this place, but you haven’t told me what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Patience, Wolf,” you teased, tapping a few more keys to bring up the rest of the building’s security system. “I’m working on it. There’s a secure server room on the north side of the building. That’s where they’re storing the data we need. You’re gonna have to bypass their security to get in.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Funny you mention cake,” you said, grinning to yourself as you tapped into the server’s firewall. “Because after this, I’m thinking you owe me some. Maybe even pie. You’re racking up quite the tab.”

Logan chuckled. “Yeah? We’ll see. First, let’s get through this alive.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

As you worked, your mind drifted for a second, the familiar rhythm of the job taking over. It was almost unsettling how natural it had become to guide Logan through these kinds of missions. You weren’t sure when you’d started looking forward to them—maybe it was the banter, maybe it was the trust you’d built. But either way, it had become a part of your routine.

“Server room’s on the right,” you said after a beat, focusing back on the task at hand. “Two guards outside, but they don’t seem too alert. Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Logan’s voice was smooth as he replied, “Already ahead of you. On my way.”

You kept your eyes on the screen, watching as he moved through the shadows, blending in with the dark corners of the warehouse. It was impressive, really. The way he worked was so fluid, like he’d done this a thousand times before. And, well, he probably had.

“There’s an override switch on the wall next to the door,” you instructed. “Flip it, and you’ll have access.”

Logan grunted in response, and a moment later, you heard the soft click of the door unlocking.

“Inside,” he muttered. “Now what?”

You were about to respond when a sudden blip on your screen caught your attention. “Wait, hold up,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “We’ve got movement. Someone’s heading toward your location. Two guards, second floor.”

Logan’s voice was calm, even as he moved into action. “How long do I have?”

“Not long. They’re coming fast.” Your heart pounded as you watched the dots on the map converge on his location. “You need to get out of there, now.”

“Too late for that,” Logan muttered, the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing through the comms.

“Logan—”

“Don’t worry, Phantom,” he cut you off, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “I’ve got this.”

The next thing you heard was the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh, followed by a low grunt of pain. You winced, even though you couldn’t see what was happening.

“Logan? Talk to me.”

More sounds of a struggle came through, and then finally, Logan’s voice, slightly breathless but unbothered. “Two down. Told ya, no problem.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, well, maybe next time don’t wait until the last second to handle it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even though your nerves were still on edge. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what they tell me,” he replied, and you could hear the faint rustle of him moving again. “Alright, I’m at the server. How much time do we need?”

“Give me five minutes,” you said, fingers flying across the keyboard as you initiated the download remotely. “I’m pulling the data now. Just stay put until I finish.”

“Five minutes? Thought you were faster than that, Phantom.”

“Don’t push it, Logan,” you shot back, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “I’d like to see you hack into a secured server faster.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a shot one of these days,” he muttered, the humor still in his voice. “Bet I’d be a natural.”

“Please. You’d probably smash the computer before you even logged in.”

“Only if it pissed me off.”

You shook your head, focusing back on the task at hand. “Alright, I’m almost done. Just a few more seconds.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, and you could hear Logan shifting in place, his breaths slow and steady.

“You ever think about doin’ this full time?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Hacking?” you replied, thrown off by the question. “I mean, I’m not exactly doing this for the money. Why?”

“Just curious,” Logan said, and you could tell by his tone that he wasn’t pressing the issue. “Seems like you’re good at it. You could make a real difference.”

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys. “I’m already making a difference,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual. “I don’t need to do it full time to feel like it matters.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, you thought maybe the line had cut out. But then Logan spoke again, his voice low and almost… thoughtful.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you focused on finishing the download, the soft hum of the servers filling the silence between you.

“Got it,” you said finally, leaning back in your chair with a sigh of relief. “Download’s complete. You’re good to go.”

Logan didn’t reply right away, but you could hear the soft sound of him moving, his footsteps heavy against the concrete floor.

“Logan?” you prompted after a moment, the silence starting to make you uneasy.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice a little distant. “I’m on my way out.”

You nodded to yourself, watching his dot move across the map on your screen. “Good. Let’s get you out of there.”

As you guided him back through the warehouse, you couldn’t help but wonder what had changed in his voice during those last few minutes. Something about the way he’d asked that question—about doing this full time—had caught you off guard.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You had a job to finish, and Logan needed to get out of there safely.

“Alright, you’re clear,” you said once he reached the exit. “No one’s around. Just make sure you don’t—”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan interrupted, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “Don’t get shot. You’ve told me a thousand times, Phantom.”

“Then maybe this time you’ll listen,” you shot back, grinning despite yourself.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rough. “No promises.”

And with that, the line went quiet, leaving you alone in the soft glow of your computer screen.

---

"Alright, your change is $2.87. Have a good one.” You handed the change and a paper bag to the customer, smiling politely. After brushing your hands on your pastel blue apron, you turned to the next person in line. "How can I help—”

You paused mid-sentence as you looked up, surprised to see Ricky standing in front of you with a smirk on his face. You let out an exaggerated sigh. “The regular?”

“Always.” Ricky leaned against the counter, watching you with that usual casual attitude. “You know me too well, Phantom.”

You scoffed lightly at the use of your codename in the middle of your bakery. "Could you not call me that here?" You motioned to the line behind him. “I’d prefer not to blow my cover in front of customers.”

Ricky grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, I’m just messin’ with you. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You shook your head and started prepping his order, grabbing a coffee and a chocolate croissant, which he always got whenever he visited your bakery. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have something better to do than bother me at work?”

“Maybe I just missed my favorite hacker-slash-baker,” Ricky teased, crossing his arms as he watched you work. “Figured I’d stop by and see how you’re holding up.”

You raised an eyebrow, handing him the coffee. “I’m holding up fine. Business as usual.”

“Yeah. This place looks better than before. New paint job?”

“Actually, no. New tables and chairs.” You replied. Computer programming had always been something you enjoyed and loved, but when you started working for a big tech company, you couldn’t help but feel like your talents were going to waste.

You found Ricky, or rather, Ricky found you, and you were recruited into ‘The Organization’ to take down mutant trafficking rings. You still needed money, so you decided to put to use your other skill, baking. You opened a small bakery in New York City and have been running it for close to 2 years now.

Ricky leaned against the counter, eyeing the new setup. “So this is what you do when you’re not saving the world? Whip up some cupcakes?”

You rolled your eyes as you placed the croissant in a bag. “Something like that. Gotta pay the bills, right?”

Ricky took the bag from you, giving you a knowing smirk. “You know, it’s still hard to picture you as a baker. I keep waiting for the day I come in here, and all the pastries are bugged with tiny microphones.”

You snorted. “Please. Like I’d waste good croissants on something like that.”

He laughed, then took a sip of his coffee. “You heard from Logan?”

Your fingers froze for a split second, but you quickly masked it by busying yourself with wiping down the counter. “Why? Did something happen?”

Ricky raised an eyebrow. “No, not that I know of. Just thought he might’ve reached out, is all.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. “He’s probably busy. You know how it is.”

“Mhm.” Ricky gave you a look that suggested he wasn’t buying it. “Right. Busy.”

You shot him a glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Nothing, Phantom. Just… you two seem to get along pretty well. That’s all.”

You felt a warmth creeping up the back of your neck and quickly turned away, focusing on the pastries again. “We work well together, if that’s what you mean.”

“Sure, sure,” Ricky said, clearly amused. “Just don’t let ol’ Wolf get too attached. He’s not exactly the sentimental type.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not worried about that.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but think back to the last mission. The banter, the small moments where Logan seemed to let his guard down—just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder.

Ricky stood up straight, crumpling the paper bag in his hand. “Alright, Phantom. I’ll leave you to your cupcakes and secret side missions. Just don’t go getting yourself into trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” you grinned. “Never.”

He chuckled, heading for the door. “Catch you later.”

As soon as he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Ricky had a way of pushing your buttons just enough to make you think. And now you couldn’t stop replaying your recent conversations with Logan in your head. It was strange—this… thing between you two. He wasn’t like anyone you’d worked with before. And yet, it felt natural, like you’d known each other much longer than a few months.

Your phone buzzed in your apron pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Logan: Got some info for you. When’s your next shift with me?

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keys for a second before you replied.

You: Whenever you need me. What’s the mission?

Logan: I’ll fill you in later. Just be ready.

You: Always am, Wolf.

A short pause, then Logan’s reply came through.

Logan: I know.

You stared at the screen for a moment longer, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. Shaking your head, you shoved the phone back into your pocket. You had a business to run, after all. There was no time to dwell on this… whatever it was between you and Logan.

But as you served the next customer with a practiced smile, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that your next mission with him was going to be different. Maybe it already was.

---

“You ever been to New York City?” Logan asked.

You briefly stopped your typing on the keyboard, “maybe. Maybe not. Why?”

Logan’s voice crackled through the earpiece, low and rough as always. “Just curious. Figured you might’ve wandered through at some point, considering how close we’ve been workin’ together.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the surveillance feed on your screen. “Is this your version of small talk, Wolf? Because I gotta say, you’re not exactly known for that.”

He chuckled. “Nah, just figured it was worth askin’. You ever get outta that basement of yours?”

You leaned back in your chair, smirking to yourself. “I’m not always in a basement, you know. I have other things going on. Like you, sweetie. You focusing on those wires?”

“Sweetie?” Logan’s voice came back with a low growl, amusement lacing his tone. “You know I don’t get distracted easy, darlin’.”

You smirked at the monitor in front of you, watching as he carefully maneuvered through the narrow corridor of the warehouse. “Just making sure. Wouldn’t want to have to bail you out if you trip a wire.”

“Funny,” he muttered. “You’re soundin’ real confident for someone sittin’ comfy at a keyboard.”

“Hey, I’m not comfy,” you shot back, leaning closer to the screen. “I’m on the edge of my seat watching your back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, the sound of a door creaking open in the background. “What do you see up ahead?”

You focused on the different camera feeds, your fingers flying over the keys to switch between views. “Two guards in the hallway to your left. Armed. They’re just patrolling, so if you wait about ten seconds, you should be able to slip by.”

“Copy that.” His breathing slowed, the sound of footsteps faint as he pressed himself against the wall. “Tell me somethin’, Phantom. What do you do when you’re not playin’ babysitter for me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Logan grunted softly, the sound of his claws extending briefly as he took a peek around the corner. “Yeah, kinda. All I get’s that voice of yours—still gotta figure out the face that goes with it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “You’re obsessed, Wolf.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” There was a beat of silence as Logan moved silently down the hallway, bypassing the guards with ease. “But you still didn’t answer me.”

You sighed dramatically, switching to another camera feed that showed a large storage room filled with crates. “What do you think I do? Sit in a dark room, hacking into firewalls all day?”

Logan snorted. “Ain’t that what you’re doin’ now?”

“Touché.” You shifted slightly, watching him take down a lone guard with a quick, precise movement. “But no. I do have a life outside of this, you know.”

“Like what?” He sounded genuinely curious now, and you could almost picture the way his brows would be furrowed in concentration. “You got a family? Friends?”

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Family? Not really. Friends? Also a stretch. But you didn’t feel like sharing that right now. “I’ve got… a business to run.”

Logan was quiet for a moment. “A business, huh? Didn’t think you’d be the type to deal with customers.”

“Why not?” you shot back. “I’m very good with people, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, like the time you almost tore that guy a new one when he questioned your coding?” He chuckled, the sound low and deep in your ear. “Real people person, darlin’.”

“Okay, that was one time.” You rolled your eyes. “And he deserved it. But yeah, I’m pretty good with people—when I want to be.”

“Uh-huh.” There was a rustling noise, like he was checking through one of the crates. “What kinda business?”

You hesitated again. Part of you wanted to keep that piece of your life separate from Logan. But he’d been honest with you about a lot of things—his past, his work, even some of his regrets. It seemed only fair to give a little in return.

“...A bakery,” you finally admitted, almost cringing at how mundane it sounded compared to the world you two operated in.

There was a long pause on the other end. Then—

“A bakery?” Logan repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. “Like… cupcakes and cookies bakery?”

“Yeah, Wolf,” you said dryly, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I bake things. It’s called having a hobby.”

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Just tryin’ to picture it, that’s all. Our resident hacker pullin’ cookies out of the oven.”

“Is that so hard to imagine?” You switched to another feed, tracking his progress through the facility. “I bet you’d like my cookies.”

“Yeah?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice now. “You gonna make some for me sometime?”

You bit your lip, surprised at the sudden flutter in your chest at the thought. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

“Darlin’, I’m always good.”

“Debatable,” you shot back quickly, but your smile softened at the edges. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was another pause, and you could hear Logan’s soft exhale through the comms. “You really own a bakery?”

“Yes, really,” you said, feeling oddly defensive now. “I’m not making it up just to sound cute.”

He chuckled again. “I didn’t think that. Just… didn’t see it comin’, is all. Got any specialties?”

You blinked at the sudden change in tone, a mix of genuine curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Well, I make a mean chocolate croissant.”

“Chocolate croissant, huh?” He sounded like he was mulling it over. “Could go for one right now.”

“Focus, Wolf,” you teased, but there was a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the coffee beside you. “Get through this mission, and maybe I’ll let you try one.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” His voice was low, a promise wrapped in that simple statement.

For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. It was strange how easy it felt, talking like this. Like you weren’t two people who only knew each other through voices and screens. Like there was something more.

“Alright, I’m in position,” Logan murmured, breaking the silence. “What’s next?”

You glanced at the feed, spotting the final target. “There’s a control panel just ahead. Shut it down, and we’ll have full access to the data we need.”

“On it.” There was a soft thud as he moved forward, the sound of his claws retracting. “Phantom?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for keepin’ me company. Makes this kinda work a little less shit.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you struggled to find your voice for a second. “...Anytime, Wolf.”

And you meant it.

---

After 5 months of The Organization searching, the base of the mutant trafficking ring was finally found. It wasn’t just you and Logan, but other’s out on the field searching, and now things were coming to a head.

Ricky had briefed everyone—the field agents and those, like you, behind the computers. Everyone was in position, and tonight, after months of planning, the mutant trafficking ring was finally going to be shut down.

You took a steadying breath, fingers hovering over your keyboard. The screens in front of you were filled with various feeds: security cameras, schematics of the building, comms channels. It was go-time, and as much as you liked to pretend you were calm, there was a knot of tension in your stomach. You knew what was riding on this mission—innocent lives, and for some reason, your thoughts kept circling back to one person in particular.

“Phantom, you there?” Logan’s voice came through your earpiece, low and steady.

“Yeah, Wolf. Right here.” You sat up a little straighter, adjusting the headset. “You good?”

“Never better.” He sounded almost amused. “How ‘bout you? Keepin’ those fingers of yours nimble?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m ready to go. All feeds are online, and I’ve got eyes on every entrance. You’re at the west side of the building, right?”

“Yep.” He paused, and you heard the faint shuffle of boots against gravel. “What’s your status?”

“Locked and loaded,” you replied, scanning the feeds. “Looks like we’ve got a dozen guards outside, plus more scattered throughout the building. The main target’s in the central office on the second floor. You’ll need to cut through the lower levels to get there.”

“Got it. You got eyes on the others?”

You quickly toggled between the different comms channels, listening in on reports from the other teams. “Everyone’s in position. Team Alpha is covering the south, Bravo’s moving to secure the exit routes. You’re clear to start your approach.”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, and you watched on one of the monitors as he started moving through the shadows, staying low and out of sight.

“Be careful, Wolf,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

“Careful’s my middle name,” he drawled back, a hint of that signature cockiness coming through. “You just keep those pretty eyes on the feeds and tell me if someone’s gonna try and sneak up on me.”

“Always do,” you shot back, smiling despite the tension in the air.

There was a pause on his end, and then: “What’s the fastest way to the office from here?”

You glanced at the building’s layout, quickly mapping out a route in your head. “Take the staircase to your right, follow the hallway down two doors, then take a left. You should be able to bypass most of the guards that way. Just… watch for the tripwires.”

“Roger that. Stay on me, Phantom.”

“Like I’m ever not.” You kept your eyes glued to the screen as Logan moved through the facility with practiced ease. Despite the tension thrumming through your veins, there was a strange calmness in listening to his breathing over the comms, knowing you were right there with him, even if it was only in a digital sense.

“How’s it look up ahead?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Two guards at the end of the hall,” you reported, zooming in on one of the feeds. “They’re armed, but they’re not paying attention. You should be able to take them out quietly.”

Logan didn’t respond, but you saw him slip into the corridor, moving like a shadow. A few seconds later, both guards were down, and he was back on the line. “Clear.”

“Nice work, Wolf.” You leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard to hack into the security system. “I’m disabling the cameras on the next floor. You should have a clear path to the office, but I’m picking up some chatter—looks like they’re getting suspicious.”

“Let ‘em get suspicious.” There was a low, dangerous edge to his voice now. “I’m ready.”

You couldn’t help but grin a little. “That makes one of us.”

“C’mon, Phantom, you know you love this shit,” he teased, but there was a warmth in his tone that made your heart skip a beat. “All that adrenaline. Gets the blood pumpin’, doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m not the one out there risking my neck. That’s your job.”

“Yeah, well… you’re doin’ a hell of a job keepin’ me from getting my ass shot off.” There was a pause, and then he added, almost softly, “Don’t know what I’d do without you, darlin’.”

You blinked at the screen, momentarily caught off guard by his words. “...Just stay focused, Wolf. I’m not pulling your ass out of this if you get cocky.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. I’m good.” His voice turned serious again as he approached the central office. “I’m at the door. How many inside?”

You quickly cycled through the cameras, counting the figures inside. “Three guards. One unarmed. That’s the target. If you move quick, you should be able to neutralize them before they call for backup.”

“Got it.” Logan’s voice was low, almost a growl. You watched as he shifted his weight, preparing to make his move. It was always a little nerve-wracking, watching him go in like this, but you trusted him. He knew what he was doing.

Your fingers danced over the keyboard, disabling the cameras in the immediate area. “I’m taking out the cameras around the office. You’re clear for entry. Make it fast, Wolf.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it.” He paused for a beat. “How’s the rest of the team doin’?”

You glanced at the other feeds, tracking the movements of the different teams scattered throughout the building. “Team Alpha just took out the last of the perimeter guards. Bravo’s securing the exits—no one’s getting in or out without us knowing.”

“Good. Let’s end this.” There was a soft click as Logan pushed the door open, slipping inside the office with deadly precision.

The guards barely had time to react. You watched in awe as he took them down with a combination of swift strikes and quick, lethal movements. He was a blur of action, and within seconds, the only people left standing were Logan and the target—an older man who looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Please, don’t—” the man stammered, holding up his hands in a pathetic attempt at self-defense.

“Shut up,” Logan growled, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “You’re gonna answer a few questions for me.”

You leaned closer to the screen, keeping an eye on the other guards roaming the hallways. “Careful, Wolf. We don’t know if he’s got any backup on standby.”

“Yeah, I got it.” He gave the man a rough shake. “Who’s runnin’ this operation? Where’s the rest of the mutants you’ve been trafficking?”

The man sputtered, his face pale. “I—I don’t know! I just handle the logistics—transport, security—”

“Bullshit.” Logan’s claws extended with a sharp snikt, and you could hear the man’s terrified gasp even through the comms. “Try again, bub. And don’t lie to me.”

You zoomed in on the screen, checking for any signs of incoming guards. “Logan, I’m picking up movement on the lower levels. It’s not one of ours—looks like reinforcements. You need to hurry.”

“Copy that.” He leaned in closer to the man, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Last chance. Where are the mutants?”

“Storage room—basement level—cage twelve!” The man practically screamed the words, his eyes wide with fear. “Please, I swear, that’s all I know!”

“Storage room, basement level, cage twelve,” you repeated quickly, already pulling up the layout of the basement. “I’m sending the coordinates to Team Bravo now.”

“Good.” Logan released the man, who slumped to the floor, trembling. He stepped back, claws retracting. “Now sit tight. You’re gonna have some company soon.”

The man whimpered but didn’t move as Logan turned and made his way out of the office. You switched your focus back to the basement, watching as Team Bravo moved in to secure the mutants.

“They’re in position,” you reported, keeping your voice calm. “Looks like… ten, no, twelve mutants total. All of them are alive.”

“Alive, huh?” Logan’s voice softened just a fraction. “That’s somethin’, at least.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. After months of hunting down leads, false starts, and dead ends, it was finally coming together. “We did it, Wolf.”

“Not yet, we haven’t.” His tone turned serious again. “We still gotta get ‘em outta here. You got a path?”

“Working on it.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up the building’s blueprints. “Okay, there’s an access tunnel two levels down from where you are. It leads straight to an underground parking garage. If you can get them there, we’ll have transport waiting.”

“Got it. I’ll head down now.” He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “Good work, Phantom.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at the unexpected praise. “Same to you, Wolf. Just… stay safe, okay?”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me, darlin’. You just keep doin’ what you do best.”

You stayed on the line, guiding him through the lower levels as he made his way to the basement. The rest of the mission went off like clockwork—Team Bravo secured the mutants, Team Alpha kept the perimeter locked down, and Logan made sure no one got in their way.

By the time it was all over, the mutants were safe, the ring was shut down, and the remaining traffickers were either captured or taken out. It was a resounding success, and yet, as you watched Logan emerge from the building, something inside you felt… off.

“Logan?” you called out softly, your voice hesitant. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” He sounded a little rough around the edges, but that was to be expected after a mission like this. “What about you? You doin’ okay?”

You let out a soft breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… glad it’s over, I guess.”

“Yeah.” There was a pause, and then he added, “You did good tonight, Phantom. Real good.”

“Thanks, Wolf.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

He grunted softly, the sound almost affectionate. “Bet you say that to all the guys you babysit.”

“Only the ones I like,” you teased, feeling a little bolder now that the mission was over. “But seriously… thanks for trusting me out there. I know it’s not easy.”

“Trust ain’t somethin’ I give lightly,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “But you earned it. Over and over.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you settled for a soft, “...I’m glad.”

There was another beat of silence, and then Logan’s voice came back, a little lighter. “So, when am I gettin’ that chocolate croissant?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Guess you’ll just have to swing by my bakery sometime, huh?”

“Maybe I will.” He sounded thoughtful, like he was considering it for the first time. “Soon as I figure out where the hell it is.”

“Good luck with that,” you teased, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. “But if you do find it… first croissant’s on me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.” There was a warm, teasing lilt to his voice now. “Take care, Phantom.”

“You too, Wolf.”

And with that, the line went quiet. You stared at the screen for a moment longer, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—toward something new, something real.

Maybe one day, you’d get to see the look on Logan’s face when he finally tasted one of your croissants.

But for now, this was enough.

---

It had been a few weeks since the mutant trafficking ring was taken down, and since then, things from The Organization had been quiet. You were sure that soon, something would happen, and you’d have a new mission or cause to fight for, but for now, life was… normal. Or, as normal as things could get for you.

During the day, you focused on your bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the small space, the steady hum of business keeping you busy. You didn’t have to think about The Organization or anything outside of kneading dough and serving customers. It was a welcome change of pace, a grounding routine that gave you some much-needed breathing room.

But at night, when the bakery was closed and the streets outside your shop went quiet, your mind wandered back to Logan—and those long conversations over the comms. The teasing back and forth. The gruff but genuine praise. The way he’d been so protective of you, even when you were just a voice in his ear.

You leaned against the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you glanced around your empty shop. The bell above the door jingled, and you glanced up, expecting to see one of your regulars who’d forgotten to grab something before closing.

But it wasn’t one of your regulars.

It was him.

Logan.

He stood in the doorway, his broad frame almost filling it completely. A beat of silence passed as you stared at each other, and then he stepped inside, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor.

“Hey, darlin’.” His voice was the same deep, rough tone you remembered, and yet hearing it in person made your heart skip a beat. He glanced around the bakery, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Figured I’d finally swing by and see if your croissants live up to the hype.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. He was here. Here. In your bakery, standing in front of you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Logan?” You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around it. “How—how did you find me?”

He shrugged like it was nothing, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Did a little diggin’. Asked around. Turns out you’re not as good at hiding as you think.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, a mix of surprise and… something else. “And you just—decided to show up out of nowhere?”

“Thought you could use some company,” he replied easily, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that told you this wasn’t just a casual visit. “Been too quiet lately. I don’t do quiet well.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Neither can I,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he glanced at the display case filled with pastries. “But since I am… you gonna give me that croissant, or what?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, and you reached behind the counter, pulling out a fresh chocolate croissant. You placed it on a small plate, sliding it across to him. “First one’s on the house, remember?”

Logan took the plate, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. A spark shot through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, pretending like it hadn’t happened.

He lifted the croissant, inspecting it with a critical eye before taking a bite. You watched, holding your breath as he chewed thoughtfully. Then, he swallowed and nodded.

“Not bad, Phantom. Not bad at all.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, a smile breaking out on your face. “Just ‘not bad?’ I think I’m a little insulted.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Real good.” He took another bite, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

“I could say the same about you.” You leaned against the counter, studying him. In the soft light of the bakery, he looked a little more relaxed, less guarded. There was still that roughness to him, but there was something else, too—a quiet sort of contentment. “So, what’s the real reason you’re here, Logan?”

He raised an eyebrow, finishing off the croissant before setting the plate down. “What, a guy can’t visit his favorite hacker?”

“Nice try.” You gave him a look, crossing your arms. “But I know you better than that.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I just wanted to see for myself that you’re okay. That this place is real. That you’re… real.”

You felt something tighten in your chest, your gaze softening. “I’m real, Logan. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He looked around again, as if trying to memorize every detail of your little shop. “But it’s different, seein’ it with my own eyes.”

There was a weight to his words, a sincerity that made your heart ache a little. You’d spent so many nights talking to him, listening to his voice, getting to know him in a way that felt almost… intimate. And now he was here, standing in front of you, and it felt like a dream.

“Do you—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Do you want to stay for a bit? I’ve got coffee. Or tea, if that’s more your style.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Coffee sounds good.”

You turned to make a fresh pot, your hands moving on autopilot as your mind raced. What did this mean? Why now? You’d thought maybe, someday, you’d meet Logan in person, but you hadn’t expected it to be like this—so sudden, so… normal.

“So,” Logan drawled, leaning against the counter as he watched you, “what’s next for you? Gonna hang up your hacker hat and just focus on bakin’?”

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a wry smile. “You think I could actually stay out of trouble for long?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah. Don’t think you’re cut out for the quiet life, darlin’.”

“Guess we have that in common, huh?” You poured the coffee, sliding a mug over to him. “But for now… I’m taking a little break. I think I’ve earned it.”

“Yeah, you have.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. “So… what’s the plan now? Just you and the bakery?”

“For now.” You shrugged, looking around the shop. “It’s nice. Calming, even. Keeps me grounded.”

Logan studied you for a long moment, his gaze intent. “You know, I never pictured you like this. With flour on your apron and—what’s that?” He reached out, brushing his thumb lightly against your cheek. “Frostin’ on your face?”

You froze at the contact, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the roughness of his thumb contrasting with the softness of your skin. You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the moment.

“I—uh—” You cleared your throat, feeling your face heat up. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Hmm.” His thumb lingered for a heartbeat longer, then he pulled back, his expression softening. “Guess it suits you.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your racing heart. “What about you? What’s next for the great Wolverine? Gonna go back to the X-Men?”

Logan chuckled, leaning back slightly as he sipped his coffee. “Who said I ever left? Maybe I was doin’ this as my side job.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Oh, so the big bad Wolverine has a side hustle now? Should I be worried you’re going to start making croissants too?”

He smirked. “Nah, I’ll leave the bakin’ to you. But maybe I’ll stick around, see how things go.” His eyes held yours, that familiar teasing edge mixed with something else—a quiet intensity.

“Stick around?” you asked, not entirely sure where he was going with this. “In New York? Thought you weren’t a fan of big cities.”

Logan shrugged, his gaze flicking around your cozy bakery again. “It grows on ya. Plus, I got reasons to hang around now.”

The way he said it, so casual but pointed, made your heart skip a beat. “Reasons, huh?”

He leaned forward, setting his mug down on the counter. “Yeah, Phantom. You think I spent all those nights listenin’ to you talk, gettin’ to know you, just to go back to business as usual?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of his words. You tried to bring things back to normal, to calm your racing heart, but perhaps you only made it worse with his response. “Y- you don’t have to call me that, you know? Or- anymore, at least.”

Logan’s eyes locked onto yours, a spark of curiosity flickering in his gaze. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter. “Oh yeah? So, what should I call ya?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. It was such a simple thing—your real name. Something you’d kept hidden, not out of fear, but because keeping a wall between your real life and Phantom had made things… easier. Safer, even. But you felt safe with him standing in front of you, even if it was the first time meeting face to face.

“Y/N.” You finally said, quietly with a small smile.

Logan’s eyes softened, something shifting in his expression as he repeated your name—almost testing it out. “Y/N, huh? Suits you.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the warmth spreading through your chest. “Figured it was time to be on a first-name basis, Wolf.”

His lips twitched into a smirk at the nickname. “Wolf,” he repeated, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “You’ve been callin’ me that for months. Thought you’d drop it once I was standin’ right in front of ya.”

“Why would I do that?” you shot back, your smile growing a little more confident. “It suits you, Wolf.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours. “Guess I’ll stick with ‘Phantom’ for old times’ sake.”

“‘Y/N’ is fine,” you said softly. “I think we’re past codenames.”

He nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Y/N, then.” The way he said it—slow and deliberate—made your heart flutter. There was something so personal about it, so… intimate. You’d spent so long hiding behind ‘Phantom’ that hearing your real name in his voice felt almost surreal.

You glanced down at the counter, clearing your throat to break the tension. “So,” you said slowly, a hint of mischief creeping into your tone, “now that you’ve tried my croissants, what’s next on the list? Gonna critique my muffins too?”

Logan’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m definitely stickin’ around long enough to try everything on that menu, darlin’. Gotta make sure it’s all up to snuff.”

“Uh-huh. Just don’t expect me to bake for you every day,” you teased, but there was a warmth in your voice that you couldn’t quite hide.

“I dunno,” he drawled, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. “Kinda like the idea of you makin’ me breakfast.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat. You chuckled back at him, putting the towel in your hand over your shoulder, “yeah? Bet you say that to all the women you meet.”

Logan’s smirk grew, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way you’d come to recognize as trouble. “You think I go around findin’ bakeries just to get breakfast from pretty hackers?”

“Pretty hackers?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was your type, Wolf.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence. “You’re my type if you keep makin’ croissants like that.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Nice recovery.”

There was a beat of silence, and Logan’s smirk softened, replaced by a more thoughtful look. His eyes swept around the shop again, taking in the cozy space as if trying to understand something deeper about it—about you.

“This place,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “It’s yours, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a touch of pride in your voice. “Bought it a couple of years ago. Did most of the renovations myself. Not the hacking kind, though.”

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on the shelves lined with baked goods and the flour-dusted counter. “Figured you’d be in some high-tech lab or somethin’. Not… this.”

You smiled, glancing around your bakery. “What? Don’t think I can bake and hack at the same time?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were searching for the right words. “Guess I just never thought about what your life looked like when you weren’t on a mission.”

“Well,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “This is it. Flour, sugar, and a whole lot of early mornings.”

Logan tilted his head, studying you like he was seeing a whole new side of you. “It suits ya.”

You shrugged, feeling a bit exposed under his gaze. “It’s not as exciting as fighting bad guys, but… it’s mine.”

“Doesn’t have to be exciting all the time,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now, more serious, and it made you pause. “Sometimes… it’s the quiet stuff that matters.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing it did whenever he got unexpectedly sincere. “Yeah, well, quiet doesn’t seem to be your style, Logan.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, guess not. But maybe I’m workin’ on that.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “You? Working on ‘quiet’? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He leaned forward, his arms resting on the counter as he looked at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe you’ll see it sooner than you think.”

Your teasing smile faltered slightly, your heartbeat picking up again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, something unspoken hanging in the air between you. “Means I’m stickin’ around, Y/N. If you’re okay with that.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name—your real name, not Phantom. There was a weight to it, like he wasn’t just talking about the bakery or the city. He was talking about you.

“Logan,” you started, your voice a little shaky as you tried to keep it light, “are you saying you want to be a regular customer?”

He smirked, but the seriousness in his eyes didn’t fade. “Somethin’ like that. Thought maybe I’d get to know the person behind the croissants… and the computer screens.”

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you felt a little breathless. “Well, considering you just showed up without a warning, I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Always liked makin’ an entrance.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shaking your head, “next time, maybe give a girl a little heads-up.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, though his voice had softened.

You didn’t have a snappy comeback for that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The bakery felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had paused, leaving just the two of you in this little bubble. You’d known him for months, heard his voice in your ear during some of the craziest situations, but this—standing here in the same room, with him right there—felt different. Real.

“So,” you said after a beat, your voice a little quieter now, “what’s the plan? You just gonna hang out in New York for a while? Or…?”

Logan shrugged, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Dunno. Figure I’ll stick around, see how things play out. Been on the move too long. Might be time to slow down a bit.”

“Slow down?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

You smiled, leaning against the counter. “Well, if you’re serious about sticking around, you’d better be ready for a lot of early mornings.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the flour on your apron and the slight mess on the counter. “Early mornings, huh? Guess I can handle that. Long as there’s coffee.”

You laughed softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest again. “I think I can manage that.”

There was another pause, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt… nice. Like neither of you were in a rush to fill the space with words.

Finally, Logan straightened up, glancing toward the door. “Guess I’ll let ya get back to it. Don’t wanna keep you too long.”

You felt a flicker of disappointment, but you quickly pushed it down, giving him a smile instead. “You’re always welcome, you know. Next time, I’ll save you a muffin.”

Logan’s smirk returned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.”

He took a step toward the door, but then he paused, glancing back at you. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat at the way he said your name again.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours for just a moment longer before he turned and walked out the door, the bell above it jingling softly in his wake.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the door long after he was gone, your heart still racing.

---

Logan’s unexpected visit left you in a whirlwind. For the next few days, it was hard to focus on the usual routines of the bakery. Each time the bell over the door chimed, your heart leapt a little, thinking maybe, just maybe, it’d be him again. But Logan didn’t show, and you tried to remind yourself not to overthink it. He was just… being Logan. Coming and going as he pleased, without a word or explanation.

But then, one evening, just as you were flipping the Open sign to Closed, you noticed something slipped under the door—a folded piece of paper with your name scrawled across it in a familiar, rugged handwriting.

You picked it up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and opened it.

Got a place in mind. Be ready at 7. —W

No address. No other details. Just a time and a cryptic note.

You found yourself smiling despite your confusion. Of course, he’d pull something like this. He couldn’t just ask you to dinner like a normal person—he had to be all mysterious about it. But then again, it was part of his charm.

The day passed in a blur. By the time you were getting ready, nerves had settled in. What exactly did Logan mean by ‘got a place in mind’? Was this a date? Just… friends hanging out?

You pushed the thoughts away and focused on getting dressed. Something casual, but not too casual. Comfortable, but still showing you’d put in some effort. You settled on a pair of well-fitting jeans and a soft sweater that was flattering but not over-the-top.

Right at 7, there was a soft knock on your door. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and opened it.

Logan stood there, looking the same as always and yet… different. Maybe it was the way he’d traded his usual jacket for a dark button-down, or the fact that he looked a bit unsure himself, his gaze flicking over you in silent appraisal before settling on your eyes.

“You look good,” he said, his voice gruff, but there was an honesty in his tone that made your cheeks warm.

“Not bad yourself, Wolf,” you replied, earning a small, almost shy smile from him.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Ready,” you confirmed, and you stepped outside, locking the door behind you.

---

Logan had borrowed a bike—one of those big, heavy motorcycles that roared to life when he turned the ignition. He tossed you a helmet, then helped you onto the back. Your hands found their way around his waist, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just that—your arms around him, the rumble of the engine beneath you, and the feel of his solid form against you.

“Hold on tight, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough in a way that made you shiver.

The ride through the city was exhilarating, the cool night air whipping past you as Logan navigated the streets with ease. You had no idea where he was taking you, but you trusted him. You’d always trusted him.

Finally, he pulled up to a secluded spot along the East River, away from the usual tourist traps and bustling crowds. You could see the lights of the city skyline reflected in the water, the soft sounds of the river lapping at the shore creating a serene backdrop. There was a small wooden table set up nearby, with a blanket laid out and a picnic basket resting on top of it.

You blinked in surprise, glancing between the setup and Logan. “Did… did you do this?”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Yeah, well. Figured we’ve had enough high-stakes meetin’s. Thought you deserved somethin’ different.”

Your heart melted a little at that. He’d gone through the trouble of planning something just for you—a quiet evening, just the two of you, away from the chaos of missions and comms.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

He gave a small nod, visibly relieved by your reaction. “Good. Now c’mon, let’s eat before it gets too cold.”

The two of you settled down at the table, and you couldn’t help but smile as Logan unpacked the basket. It was mostly simple stuff—sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of wine—but there was an almost endearing quality to it, like he’d put in effort but hadn’t tried to overdo it.

“Didn’t know what you liked, so I kinda… winged it,” he admitted, glancing at you almost nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you repeated, smiling at him. “And honestly? I’m just happy you’re here.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you in that way that made your stomach flip. “Yeah. Me too.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about everything and nothing—the bakery, old missions, even random bits about your lives that had never come up before. He was surprisingly open, and you found yourself sharing more than you usually would, the relaxed atmosphere making it easy to let your guard down.

As the evening went on, you found yourself inching closer to him. At some point, the two of you ended up side by side on the blanket, the picnic basket forgotten as you stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

There was a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. You glanced over at Logan, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. He was looking at you with an expression that was hard to read—soft, almost contemplative.

“What?” you asked softly, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Just thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbling. “You’re even prettier in person, you know that?”

You felt your face heat up, and you looked away, letting out a soft laugh. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted gently, reaching out to brush your cheek. His touch was light, tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay. “Been drivin’ myself crazy, wonderin’ what you’d look like. But seein’ you now… Hell, Y/N, I don’t think I did you justice.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name, his gaze intense and unwavering. There was something raw and honest in his expression, like he was laying himself bare in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Logan…” you whispered, the words dying on your lips as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmured, his voice low and almost regretful. But he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, his breath brushing against your skin. “But I’ve been wantin’ to since the moment I heard your voice.”

Your heart was pounding, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, your own voice trembling.

Logan’s gaze flicked down to your lips, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. Then, slowly—like he was giving you every chance to pull away—he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative of kisses.

It was gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull back—when you leaned in, your fingers tangling in the front of his shirt—something seemed to break. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The kiss was everything you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for—slow and sweet, but with an underlying intensity that left you breathless. You melted into him, the world around you fading away until there was nothing left but the feel of his lips on yours and the warmth of his hand against your cheek.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you were both breathing hard, your hearts racing in sync.

“Damn, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Didn’t think it’d feel like that.”

You laughed softly, your own voice a little shaky. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Logan smiled—a real, genuine smile that made your heart ache. “Think we should do it again?”

You grinned up at him, feeling lighter than you had in ages. “Yeah, Wolf. I think we should.”

[maybanksbaby]

summary: oh, poor drew has to lose his big biceps while filming queer. and oh, poor drew, is victim of his girlfriend's teasing :(

warnings: none, pretty light and fluffy 👌

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling idly through your phone, when the sound of a key turning in the lock catches your attention. Glancing up, you see Drew walk through the door, looking a bit slimmer but still smiling in that warm way that lights up his whole face. He came home only for a few days, and you still couldn't get over the fact that they didn't gave you a small copy of your boyfriend, it was actually Drew. Even if you were there in his whole process of weight losing, it felt weird.

You missed those pretty big things so much it was painful.

He’s wearing a loose T-shirt and faded jeans, his hair tousled from a long day on set, and something about him seems softer around the edges—almost like he’s let his guard down after weeks of intense filming.

You sit up, an exaggerated frown on your face. “Oh, no way.” Your tone is teasing, but you can’t resist it as you give him a once-over. “What happened to those big, strong biceps of yours, Starkey? Am I seeing things, or did you trade them in for some noodles?”

Drew raises an eyebrow, pausing mid-step as he gives you a look of mock offense. “Noodles? Seriously?”

You grin and shrug, crossing your arms. “I don’t know, babe. They’re looking a little… deflated.” You stretch out an arm, giving his bicep a playful poke as he comes closer. “Am I supposed to start lifting the groceries now?”

Drew lets out a chuckle and drops his bag on the floor before plopping down on the couch next to you. “I’ll have you know that my ‘noodle arms’ still work just fine,” he says, feigning indignation as he flexes, the bicep muscle tightening under his sleeve even if it’s smaller than you’re used to. “Had to lose some weight for Queer, remember? Luca didn’t want me looking like some action hero on this.”

You put on a look of exaggerated sympathy, patting his shoulder. “Aww, poor noodle-armed Drew. Must be so hard, not being the Hulk for once.”

He scoffs, but you can see the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Oh, no way,” you tease, leaning in and poking his arm again. “If you lose even one more ounce of muscle, I’m buying out the protein aisle and bringing it to set.” You pretend to squeeze his arm, making a show of struggling as if it’s the weakest thing in the world. “Seriously, who’s gonna protect me now? Or open all the jars?”

Drew smirks, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is that right?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his tone a playful challenge.

In one quick motion, he wraps an arm around your waist and effortlessly pulls you onto his lap, his fingers tightening around your hips as you let out a small squeal of surprise, laughing. “See? Noodles or not, I think I can still handle you just fine,” he says, a smug grin on his face as he holds you close.

You try to keep a straight face but can’t help the smile that’s tugging at your lips. “Hmm,” you say, tilting your head as if contemplating. “Maybe you’ve still got a little strength left in you. But I’m gonna keep a close watch. Just in case.”

Drew raises an eyebrow, feigning exasperation. “Oh, great. A personal bicep inspector. Exactly what I needed.”

You laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “Someone has to make sure you stay up to code, Starkey. You’re still my big, strong boyfriend, right? Don’t want anyone thinking I’m dating some scrawny little noodle boy.”

He lets out a laugh, his arm still firmly around you as his hand traces slow, comforting circles along your back. “Would it make you feel better if I promised to go back to the gym as soon as filming’s done? Maybe even lift double just to prove I’m still ‘your big, strong boyfriend’?”

“Maybe,” you say, narrowing your eyes with a smile. “But in the meantime, don’t be surprised if I start calling you ‘spaghetti arms.’”

Drew groans, dramatically rolling his eyes, but he’s laughing too, unable to keep a straight face. “Fine, fine, make fun of me all you want. Just remember who’s still carrying you around all day if he has to.” With that, he shifts his grip and effortlessly hoists you up, standing and cradling you against his chest as he walks toward the kitchen.

You burst out laughing, arms looping around his neck. “Oh, okay, maybe there’s still a little muscle left!” you say, gasping between giggles as he gently sets you down on the counter, his hands resting on either side of you.

“Exactly,” he says, leaning in close, his face just inches from yours, his voice softer now, teasing but affectionate. “No matter what, you’re still stuck with me.”

Your laughter fades as you look up at him, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Good,” you whisper, fingers gently brushing his cheek. “Because I wouldn’t want anyone else, noodle arms and all.”

Drew’s expression softens, his gaze lingering on yours as he cups your face, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips. His hand trails down to your shoulder, pulling you closer until you’re wrapped up in his embrace, your laughter replaced by a comfortable, warm silence.

As he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he chuckles, fingers idly tracing your arm. “I’ll get my biceps back,” he promises, his voice barely a whisper. “But for now, I guess you’ll just have to deal with ‘scrawny’ me.”

You grin, sliding your hands up his chest. “I’ll manage,” you say softly. “But just know I’m keeping an eye on those biceps. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll even give you a few compliments along the way.”

Drew laughs, kissing you again, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, with no need for words. Because no matter how many muscles he has—or doesn’t—you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here, with him.