“Y/N? Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Taehyung uttered under his breath, dumbfounded that you were daydreaming once again, a reoccurring phenomenon apparently.
“Mm?” You looked up from your plate, eyes immediately locking with his brown feline-like orbs. The contours of his face seemed sharper than usual, which saying something as your boyfriend had a jawline sharp enough to kill a man; he probably thought you were ignoring him.
The two of you were sat comfortably at the dining table, having just eaten dinner. You met Taehyung by accident three years ago in a movie theatre, he saw your sky blue jumper and assumed you worked there, giving that it was a similar colour to the uniform employees wore. As soon as you turned to face him he became overwhelmed by your beauty, and by his impending embarrassment. He apologised profusely and bought your ticket, writing his number on the back of the small piece of paper.
Calling him that night was the best decision you ever made.
The Infantry Automatic Rifle (IAR) was one of Colt’s entries into the program of the same name to replace the M249 SAW’s in the USMC’s inventory. Colt’s rifle lost the bid to the H&K 416 which would later be designated the M27 IAR. The massive bulk in the handguard is actually a heat sink designed to help cool the rifle during full-auto use. The Colt IAR is in use with the Mexican military and a few of the uppers were available on the U.S market when Colt filed for bankruptcy and sold off inventory. Note the Armatac 150 round drum. (GRH)
I just saw Moana, and I absolutely loved it! So, anticipate my next couple of requests to be influenced by the soundtrack.
• It’ll be difficult to sneak up on this man, even if he is asleep.
• He will hear them enter their shared room, but pretend to still be asleep.
• S/o often gets upset when they wake him, though it’s near impossible not to.
• He’ll listen to them shuffle, change, and drag them self into the bed beside him.
• They snuggle him and he doesn’t stop them, happily contempt with sharing his love’s warmth again.
• Falls asleep again after they’re out.
• It’s the best he’s slept in the past week.
• Is a light sleeper, but it is possible for him to be so tired that he won’t wake up until he’s ready (or until his alarm goes off).
• This is one of those times.
• As soon as his alarm starts, it’s turned off.
• It’s then he feels a familiar body reaching over him, then coming back and settling at his side.
• He works his eyes open, looks to his side, and laughs for the first time in the week that they’ve been gone.
• He rolls over and encases them in a warm hug.
• They chuckle and tell him to go back to sleep.
• When this boy is out, he is OUT.
• He has the oddest sleep schedule ever; it makes absolutely no sense.
• So, when S/o comes home at 3:27 pm and Junkrat’s passed out, it’s no surprise.
• They lie down beside him and he immediately latches onto them.
• Jamison is 110% a heat sink.
• He wakes up ready to do whatever he has planned, and notices that someone’s in his arms.
• Tries to be as quiet as possible as he shifts and decides that, “whatever,” can wait.
Here’s that fic I wrote that I don’t like. It’s untitled, but it’s inspired by the song Unanswered Prayers by Garth Brooks.
Even though the sun hasn’t quite reached halfway to its zenith, the day is already hot enough that Dean is eyeing the pond on the far side of the park with serious consideration. The fact that it’s brown and muddy, and the surrounding land is torn up by ducks and geese and stinks of bird shit is only slightly off putting. Which means he’s either suffering from heat stroke, because gross, or it’s time to head over to the lemonade stand for some cold liquid refreshment.
“Hey, babe?” He calls over his shoulder.
“I’m going to get a lemonade. Want one?”
“Get me one with raspberries?”
Dean smiles. “You bet. Back in a few.”
Before he leaves the shade under the awning, he presses a kiss to a warm cheek. He gets a distracted smile in response, but doesn’t stick around for more. He’s caught in the siren song coming from the stand at the other end of the Farmer’s Market that sells fresh squeezed lemonade. His mouth is already watering at the thought.
It’s even hotter outside the shade, and he can feel the sun’s heat sinking into his shoulders and arms, making him glad he remembered sunscreen this week. He’ll probably still end up with a slew of new freckles, though. At least there’s a slight breeze cooling his skin where it’s bared by his shorts and tank top. He plucks at his shirt, encouraging a little air circulation under the sweat-damp material.
The line at the lemonade stand isn’t too long, at least. He steps up behind the others waiting their turn, and hums under his breath, letting his mind wander over the latest notes he’d received from his editor. It’s a little frustrating that he’s going to have to cut a scene he’d been planning for so long, but also a relief that Charlie agrees with his decision. As usual he’d gotten caught up in writer’s block due to being stubborn about the direction of the story, but after talking it out with her, his mind is already racing ahead to the next five scenes.
He’s almost to the front of the line when a voice he hasn’t heard in years breaks him from his musings.
“Lisa?” Dean grins as he turns to greet her. “Holy shit, hi!”
It’s as natural as breathing to accept the hug she offers him with outstretched arms. Although there’s the slightest twinge of oddness when he realizes she’s not quite as tiny as he remembers her to be.
The hug is tight, but short and she steps back to look up at him, her dark eyes alight with happiness. “Wow. Dean Winchester. I wasn’t sure sure it was you at first. How long has it been?”
He purses his lips as he digs through old memories. The last one he can vaguely recall is a lazy Sunday spent fishing on a summer day just like this one. “Man… I think it was the summer after graduation? So seventeen… eighteen years?”
Lisa rolls her eyes with a groan. “Oh god, has it really been that long? Now I feel old.”
He chuckles at her distress. “Well if it makes you feel better, you look great.”
And she does. A quick glance reveals that she’s still fit and trim. Her hair is still glossy and thick, and her skin smooth. Only the faint laugh lines around her eyes and the sharper edge of her cheekbones show her age at all. When he was a kid, his eyes would have lingered on her body or her mouth, but while he still finds her beautiful, she no longer makes his heart race the way it did when he was in high school.
Her cheeks flush under the compliment. “Well thank you. You’re looking good too.” She circles her fingers in the direction of his eyes. “The glasses are cute.”
Striking a dignified pose, he reaches up and pushes them up higher on the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been told they make me look distinguished.”
Lisa laughs, light and melodious. “I guess that’s better than ‘nerdy’.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “I’d take that as a compliment these days.”
She blinks at him, and he can tell she’s surprised. But before she can respond, the last person in line ahead of him leaves with their lemonade, and the young man running the stand calls for the next customer.
“You want something?” Dean asks Lisa, hooking a thumb towards the menu hanging next to the stall. She nods, then immediately tries to talk him out of paying, but he won’t hear it. “It’s just a lemonade, Lis’.” The old nickname rolls of his tongue. “It’s not like I’m buying a fancy dinner.”
After a moment she relents, and Dean orders two large lemonades and a large raspberry lemonade. When Lisa lifts a questioning brow at the third order, he grins. “That one is for the ol’ ball and chain.”
Her eyebrows go up. “You’re married?”
“Yeah, going on ten years now.” He accepts the first drink from the kid making them, and passes it over to Lisa. She looks so flabbergasted that he laughs. “What? Didn’t think anyone would want me?”
She accepts the cup, but gives him a stern look. “It’s not that. I’m just surprised you finally settled down.”
With a wince and a nod, he accepts her explanation. “Fair point.” He accepts the other two drinks, and steps away from the stand to give the next customer room to order. “Want to meet ‘em? We have a booth over that way-” he gestures with his own drink, “-selling honey.”
She smiles brightly. “I’d love to.”
He tilts his head in a motion to follow him and sets off across the market, weaving through the empty spots in the crowds. Despite the heat, he’s not in a hurry. The ice in his lemonade chills it enough that he’s worried about brain freeze if he sucks it down too fast, and now he’s able to actually enjoy the day. As well as the company.
“So you sell honey now?” Lisa asks in between sips of her own drink.
“Yeah, we have a bunch of hives. Although that’s just fun money. I pay the bills with my books.”
Lisa almost misses a step, and she looks up at him with wide eyes. “Your books? Are you saying you’re a writer?”
“Published and everything.” Okay, so he may be bragging a little bit, but he is kinda famous now.
“What do you write?”
“Horror mostly.” He grins down at her. “It’s cathartic to turn all the noise in my head into bloody death and destruction on the pages.”
She pales slightly. “Really?”
“Most of my stories have a happy ending.” Not his first few books. It took finding his his own happy ending - and beyond - to learn how to write them for his characters.
“Huh. Maybe I’ll have to check them out.”
He can tell from her tone that she’s not really interested. It’s a little bit of a bummer, but he knows the horror genre isn’t for everyone. Especially for someone as optimistic as Lisa. So he decides to change the subject. “What about you? What’s been going on in your life and what brings you back to Lawrence?”
She visibly brightens. “I’m moving back here to be closer to my family. Plus I’m opening a yoga studio.”
“Oh yeah? That’s pretty awesome.” The crowds part and he can see the honey stand not too far away. There’s a young couple sorting through the jars, pointing out different flavors to each other as they try to decide which one they want. Dean always suggests the blackberry. It’s his favorite.
“I’m excited for it,” she says. Then her voice turns shy. “I also… have a son.”
That grabs Dean’s attention, and he turns his head so he can focus on her again. “Wow, really? Tell me about him.”
“His name is Ben, and he’s thirteen.” Lisa goes on to tell him about how Ben is a little flirt with the girls, and loves classic rock. She laughs and points out how it’s funny that her son is turning out so much like the bad boy type that she’s always been into. “His dad’s not around,” she says with a shrug and a grin, “So apparently I’m the bad influence.”
Dean scoffs. “Sounds to me like you’re the best influence.”
She laughs. “Thanks, I guess.”
They’re stopped just outside the stand now, and the couple picking through the honey has made their decision and are walking away with their purchase. Dean leads Lisa into the empty space they leave behind. He meets curious blue eyes over the table still half full of honey jars. Ten years, and those eyes still make his pulse race as if he’s looking at his crush instead of his spouse. “Hey, babe, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
With a nod, Castiel stashes the money he just made in the cash box and gently closes the lid. As if it’s a delicate piece of crystal and not a clunky metal box. Dean’s eyes follow the movements of his long, delicate fingers before turning to Lisa to gauge her reaction to his husband.
She looks slightly confused, her smile not quite as full as it was before, and he bites his bottom lip to suppress a grin. It used to be hard to come out to people. But now, he enjoys the shock factor. It’s almost as good as hearing fans talk about how scared shitless they are when they read his books. And Lisa hadn’t been a part of his life for several years by the time he came to terms with his bisexuality, so she had no clue about the secret he’d been keeping from the world when they were in high school.
Castiel comes around the table and stands next to Dean. He accepts the raspberry lemonade Dean hands him with a grateful smile, and then turns his attention to Lisa. “Hello.”
“Lisa, this is my husband Castiel.” Dean snakes an arm around Castiel’s waist and pulls him close. The back of his shirt is even more damp than Dean’s despite the fact that he’s stayed in the shade the whole time they’ve been at the Market. “Cas, this is Lisa. We were a thing way back in highschool.”
Lisa looks back and forth between them for a moment, disbelief clear in her eyes. But it fades quickly when she realizes Dean is serious. “Hello, Cas. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s good to meet you as well,” Castiel says, all formality, because heaven forbid he shed his private schooled, silver-spoon-in-the-mouth, upbringing. Not that Dean minds. He thinks it’s sexy. “Dean has talked about you, and I’m happy to put a face with the name.”
“Oh no!” Lisa laughs. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Castiel’s smile is gentle, but his eyes shine with good humor. “I’ve only heard good things, I promise.”
Lisa laughs again and expresses her disbelief, but Castiel is insistent. Eventually their conversation turns to the honey sold at the stand, and Dean stands back and watches them interact while sipping his lemonade.
It’s odd, seeing his past and his present standing side by side, talking about the pollination habits of bees. Lisa had been his everything when they were kids. Eighteen had seemed so grown up at the time, but looking back on it now from the comfort of his mid-thirties, he can only shake his head at how young they’d truly been. It’s no wonder their relationship hadn’t worked out. Despite wanting the apple pie dream of a marriage, kids, and little house with the white picket fence, Dean had the heart of a wanderer and hesitated to promise to plant roots. Not to mention the fact that he still had a lot of growing up to do, although he hadn’t realized it at the time. Lisa was ready to settle down, and kept turning Dean down when he asked her to hop in the car and go adventuring with him. When they both realized that things between them weren’t going to go past a promise ring, they’d drifted apart.
Dean had prayed every night for a long time that she’d change her mind. But when he came back to Lawrence after a year on the road, he’d learned that she’d moved away. With no way to find her he’d finally given up hope that they’d get back together and give life together a go. And he’d gone back out on the road, looking for the happiness he longed for.
Eight years, thousands more miles on the Impala, and a couple published books later, Dean met Castiel. He’d been out trolling for a one night stand, but he’d been hooked by Castiel’s dark messy hair, passionate blue eyes instead. And he discovered a man to love under the thick layer of sexy. One night turned into two, which turned into a week, and somehow it spread into the last ten years. And hopefully their whole lives to come.
They had the marriage part of Dean’s childhood dreams, but instead of a house in a nice neighborhood they had a little farmhouse with a small orchard on the edge of town Dean had grown up in. They weren’t sure yet if they wanted to expand their family past their siblings and nieces and nephews, but it wasn’t off the table yet. In the meantime Dean had his books, Castiel had his bees, and most of all, they had each other. Maybe it wasn’t “apple pie”, but since pecan is his favorite anyway, it worked out perfectly.
At eighteen he hadn’t known this kind of happiness could exist.
He wonders if he could have found it with Lisa. Perhaps. He’d definitely loved her. But with almost two decades between their time together and now, he certainly can’t imagine what his life would have been like if he’d gotten what he’d prayed for back then. He doesn’t even want to try.
“Well, I’d better get out of here,” Lisa says. “It’s almost time for me to pick Ben up from baseball practice.”
Dean shakes away his thoughts, and focuses on her. “You should bring him around some time. I’d love to meet him.”
“I’d like that.” And she looks like she genuinely means it. Which is great. Dean would love to rekindle their friendship.
Castiel and Lisa exchange goodbyes, and then Castiel leans into Dean’s side while they both watch her disappear into the crowd.
“She seems very nice,” Castiel murmurs.
“Yeah, she’s cool.”
He feels Castiel’s eyes on the side of his face. “Just cool? Wasn’t she the girl you prayed to God you’d get to keep forever?”
Dean chuckles and turns to meet Castiel’s eyes. His husband’s lips are just barely turned up at the corner, a sure tell that he’s teasing. “I can’t believe you remember that. We were both wasted when I told you about her.”
“You were wasted,” Castiel counters. “My tolerance for alcohol is higher than yours.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t brag.” Dean leans in and presses a kiss to Castiel’s lips.
When they pull apart, Dean sighs. He’s not sure it’s possible for him to ever get tired of Castiel’s kisses.
“I’m pretty thankfully actually,” Dean murmurs. He traces shapes against Castiel’s chest through the soft fabric of his t-shirt. His finger brushes over the little golden cross hidden under the shirt’s collar. Castiel has rarely taken it off since Dean gave it to him on their five year anniversary. Dean’s firmly settled into being an atheist, but Castiel still has his faith, yet it’s not something that’s ever come between them. “For not getting an answer to that prayer.”
“Hmm… yes, I’m rather grateful to Him for that myself.” Castiel pecks him on the lips again, and then pulls away. His fingers curl in the hem of Dean’s shirt, and he pulls him around the table and back under the shade of their booth.
They don’t have more than a minute to sip at their drinks together before another customer comes up to the stand. Castiel sets his lemonade aside so that he can assist them, and Dean watches him fondly.
His relationship with God had always been tenuous, even before he decided he didn’t believe at all. But right then and there, he sends up a prayer of thanks for all the good things in his life. You know, just in case someone is listening. He may not have gotten what he asked for, not exactly. But he wouldn’t trade what he has now for anything else in the world.
“What about, ‘There’s a party in my pants and you’re invited?’” said McCree.
“No,” Genji shook his head.
“See I think that one’s hilarious,” said McCree.
“It will not work,” said Genji, folding his arms, “Firstly, it is inappropriate, and secondly, I do not wear pants.”
“Y’know, most people don’t pair those two reasons together,” said McCree. Genji just sighed.
“I do not think any of them will work. Doctor Ziegler is… too clever,” said Genji.
“Well it’s not about them ‘working’ per se,” said McCree, “It’s more like… they’re so stupid they throw people off-guard and they’re a way to show you’re interested without getting…” McCree gestured vaguely, “vulnerable.”
“That makes it seem sneaky,” said Genji.
“I don’t know how to break this to ya, Genji, but you’re literally a ninja,” said McCree. He suddenly perked up. “Look sharp!” he said, slapping Genji on the back.
“What?” said Genji, and he looked down the hallway to see Mercy coming out of a door at the end of it. “kuso,” he swore under his breath, “What do I say?” he turned around but McCree was walking off. “McCree!” Genji hissed under his breath and McCree briefly pivoted on his heel to flash Genji a thumbs-up but continued walking away, “Jesse!” Genji whispered, “Don’t–” McCree already disappeared around a corner and Genji was left alone, mind blank, feeling utterly helpless.
“Good afternoon Genji,” said Mercy, walking past him.
Genji attempted to lean against the wall and look as casual as possible, “Good afternoon, Doctor Ziegler.”
“Mm,” Mercy gave him a nod and kept walking.
Genji drummed his fingers on the wall for several panicked seconds as she kept walking before suddenly blurting out, “Oh–Doctor Ziegler?”
“Yes?” Mercy stopped and turned around.
“I…had a question,” said Genji. Then McCree’s voice suddenly flashed in his mind, “Genji whatever you do, do not use the ‘Did you fall from heaven’ line. I made that mistake when I was seventeen. I made that mistake once. Just once. And since then I’ve known–never again. Never use that line.”
“Of course,” said Mercy, “What is it?”
“I…was…wondering,” Genji started slowly.
“Yes…?” Mercy said, clearly confused by how hesitant he had gotten
Genji’s mind started rushing. I do not wear pants. I do not wear a shirt. All I have is— Genji suddenly perked up. “I had a question about my exoskeleton.”
“Yes, exactly what was it made from again?”
Mercy laughed a little, “We’ve been over this before, Genji, It’s a combination of carbon and titanium alloys specially engineered for lightness, durability, and reduced friction.”
“Hm,” Genji nodded, before looking thoughtful, “Strange…”
“Strange?” said Mercy.
“Well I was running manual scans on it last night and the scans revealed another element in the alloys,” said Genji.
“Another element?” Mercy looked surprised then started going through her tablet for Genji’s files with a furrowed brow.
“Yes,” Genji nodded, “My scans revealed high amounts of,” he paused dramatically, “Boyfriend Material.”
Mercy froze, hand still on the tablet screen. She was quiet for several seconds before she slowly looked up from her tablet. She opened her mouth then closed it, before finally scoffing. “That is…very serious. I suppose I shall have to arrange another appointment for you,” she said, glancing back down at her tablet.
“Appointment?” Genji could only dumbly repeat the word after her.
“Yes, let’s say, tomorrow? 11?” said Mercy, “We don’t have the materials at this facility, so it will have to be Off-Site at Cafe Verdi.”
“But that is a—” Genji started, “Oh.”
“I’ll see you then,” said Mercy, patting his shoulder and walking past him.
“Yes, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji, watching as she walked down the hallway. As she disappeared around the corner, the heat sinks in his shoulders clicked out and steamed.
Warning: cussing, SMUT, orgasm denial, UNPROTECTED SMUT (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), Daddy kink and handcuffs, if i forgot something let me know
Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader, Remy LeBeau, Bobby, Rogue, Charles Xavier
A/n:This took me what feels like forever to write. It seems I can never do a fic with Logan without Remy in it. This is the longest smut I’ve written (4428 words, HOLY SHIT) and I really hope I did Logan justice. Plus thank you to @a-lonely-string for the inspiration for this since we were talking about him over the past few days and @petlaufeyson for recommending another song to add to my smut writing play list, IT REALLY HELPED. If you’re not a Logan girl, after this you may be one. Sorry not sorry. If anyone has anything negative about this, COME TO ME or FUCK OFF! I didn’t edit this because I tend to do it while I write.
you Logan. FUCK YOU.” You stormed off towards your room in the mansion. You
lived in the mansion longer than Logan did and you sure as hell lived just as
long as he has. You both were pretty much immortal but lately he didn’t think
so. At the moment you hated him, you hated him because you were trying to do
your job. A job that you do pretty damn well, might you add, but still. He
tried to prevent you from saving a group of young mutants before the government
tried to kill them. “Fucking Logan. God, he pisses me the fuck off.”
haven’t heard such a beautiful woman talk like that, Cherie.” Remy stood at
your door looking in at you as you stood there in your uniform pants and your
black lace bra.
the fuck do you want, Rem. Can I try to relax before you start trying to flirt
with me?” You looked at him. You were pissed and he could see it.
did he do this time?” He tried to step closer but all you did was growled at
him, making him stop almost all movement. “Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in
surrender. “He must have done something stupid to turn such a kitten into a
lion.” He was still going to try to flirt with you. Knowing what your abilities
were. Super human strength, shift into a feline (ranging from cat to lion),
healing like Logan, and everything that comes with being a feline.
Rem. I swear he thinks that just because I’m a few years younger means I’m
fucking fragile or something. We both are mutants, right?” You look up at him
as you walked over to your dresser. Remy nodded his head as his answer. “Why
can’t he see that I’m a big girl and don’t need daddy fucking me over every
fucking chance he gets.”
two of you should just sleep together and get it over with.” He smirked at you
as you pulled a clean pair of panties and a huge shirt from your dresser.
Tossing them on your bed.
know what Rem, fuck off. Better yet, go the hell away so I can try to relax.”
Remy shook his head and turned from your room and walked down the hall,
probably to go flirt with one of the other teachers or bug Logan. You didn’t
care, you just wanted to relax.
into your bathroom and opted to run a bath instead of a shower. Dealing with a
man that healed just as quickly as you and a temper of a five year who had
their candy taken from them, you needed a bath. You added some bath oils to the
water that you knew would help with your muscles and your stress levels. The
smells of lavender, blueberry and a hint of sugar cookie (a slight weakness of
yours) filled the room. You stripped the rest of the way down, tossing the rest
of your uniform into your room landing somewhere with a thud. Not that you
cared at the moment.
slipped into the relaxing hot water and leaned your head against the back of
the tub. You relished in the heat sinking into your muscles and the scents that
filled the room helped you start to relax. You had managed to let your eyes
drift shut as you laid there, calming and finally relaxing.
you Logan. FUCK YOU.” (Y/n) stormed off, her ass looked amazing as she did. ‘God,
get a grip with yourself Logan. She now hates you.’ I walked into Charles’
doesn’t hate you, Logan. She’s just pissed, give her some time then go talk to
her.” He didn’t even look up from the papers on his desk. “If you stopped
treating her the way you do. You two would be the perfect team again.”
treat her. She almost got killed.”
honestly think that will happen, Logan?”
the fuck was he talking… Fuck she has pretty much the same mutation as I do. I’ve
been a dick for no damn fucking reason.
it you realized something.” He looked up at me and smiled. “Like I said, give
some time to cool off and then go talk to her.” I nodded my head and walked
walked up to my room, closing the door behind me I stripped off my uniform and
pulled on something comfortable. I walked down to the kitchen, food sounded
great at the moment. Gambit was sitting at the table with looked like his
the hell did you do to our little kitten that she would nearly scratch me?” He
kept messing with his cards as I dug through the fridge. “The two of you should
really fuck and get it over with. The sexual tension between you and Cherie is
driving most of us insane.” I placed some food on the counter and looked at
him. “Don’t look at me like that, Logan. You know damn well what I’m talking
to rescue a few groups of kids and she tried to throw herself in front a small
group of kids but I pulled her back and I took most of the blast, which apparently
pissed her off. I totally forgot her mutation is like mine.” My gaze dropped to
the food in front of me.
that somewhat explains why she was pissed. From the sound of it, you tend to do
that a lot.”
do you mean from the sound of it? What the hell did she say?” I looked up at
him, getting pissed again.
up from his seat and walked towards the door. “She said something like she’s a
big girl and not needing daddy fucking her over ever chance or something like
that. I couldn’t pay much attention, she was standing there in half her uniform
and a black lace bra.” I don’t know why but thinking of her calling me daddy
was a bit of a turn on. Thank god for the counter in front of me.
I could say anything, he was out the damn door. God, she was going to be the
death of me but first I need to see what (Y/n) meant when she called me daddy.
I could feel the smirk on my face. I sat down and ate my food, giving her some
time to cool off.
felt better now that you were able to relax. The water had cooled off to the
point it was getting cold. You sat up and got out of the tub then quickly dried
off. You loved that the bath relieved your stress but you knew it would never
fix the problem know as Logan. Thinking of him right now caused a headache that
you didn’t need or want. You stepped out of your bathroom and low and behold, guess
who’s sitting on your bed. Logan. You groaned at the sight of him leaning
against the back of the door. His big muscular arm crossed over his broad chest
as he just stood there with his eyes now trained on you since you opened your
what the fuck are you doing in my room?” You didn’t pay notice that he was now
looking you over. “Did you come to fuck up my night as well, Logan?” He smirked
at you. ‘Why the hell was he smirking?’
to apologize for earlier.” You looked up at him with shock.
the infamous Wolverine wants to apologize.” You rolled your eyes at him as you
walked over to your bed, his eyes followed your ass as you walked. You could
feel him staring at you. What you weren’t expecting was that he stood up
straight and walked over to you. You were facing your bed when you felt his
hands on your hips.
sweetheart, I’m trying to apologize. I admit I don’t do it often.”
You had a bit of sarcasm in your voice and he clearly heard it.
no buts the only but I want is yours.” You turned around and looked into his
eye. You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Remy told me what you
said earlier.” What did Rem tell him? He leaned in and placed his soft lips to
your shoulder. “The only fucking over Daddy’s going to do is fucking you over
and over tonight.” Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as your mind
was piecing together what was happening. Of course you’ve thought of riding
this man like the beast he is or how amazing it would feel to have him coming
at you from behind. You bit your lip in hopes to hold back a moan.
your hands travel up his arms until they reached his shoulders. Your fingers
started playing with the hair at the base of his neck as you felt his teeth
against your neck. You moaned as he bit down harder. You instantly ripped off
his shirt, gaining a growl from deep in his chest. His hands traveled down to
the backs of your thighs. He mumbled jump against your neck and you jumped,
wrapping your legs around his waist. You instantly felt how hard he was and
ground down on him causing you both to moan. One of his hands slid up to your
ass and gave it a rough squeeze, pulling a loud moan from your lips as your
head fell back. He laid you down on your bed then stepping away from you. He
walked over to your night stand and opened the top drawer, he was somewhat
shocked to see a pair of handcuffs in there but he knew you well enough that
you had a few kinks up your sleeve.
He looked down at you with a half-smile.
you get to call me daddy baby girl.” You had to rub your thighs together, the
way he sounded when he spoke made you wet. He reached down and grabbed your
hands, raising them above your head and cuffing them to your head board. To say
you were shocked would have been a lie, you were more turned on more than
daddy, how long have you thought of doing this?” You tried to keep your voice
seductive especially with the word daddy. You saw him twitch under his sweat
pants. You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the sight before you.
have no idea baby girl.” He smirked down at you as he walked to the end of your
bed. He stood there for a moment, admiring how you were laid out for him on
your bed. You looked up at him, admiring his hard chiseled chest. You bit your
lip as seductively as possible in hopes he would do something. He gave you a
slight smirk before he dropped his sweats and crawled half way up the bed. You
felt his breath on your legs as he crawled up. You thought you knew what he was
going to do but it didn’t happen. He peppered kisses along the tops of your
thighs and from time to time he would bite down on your soft flesh, pulling
soft moans from you. At times you thought he would bite hard enough to draw
blood, not that you were complaining. His hands slowly worked their way up your
thighs, slowly pushing them open so he could see every inch of you. Logan let
out an animalistic growl once you were completely open to him.
He let himself
be taken over by animal instincts and dove into you. His tongue made contact
with your clit, making you moan loudly and causing you to pull at your restraints.
Your head fell back against the pillow as he inserted a single finger. Moving
it slowly in and out of you, dragging the pleasure out as much as possible. You
bucked your hips up which caused him to lay his other hand across your lower abdomen
pinning you in place. You needed more friction than what he was giving you.
You softly panted out softly, causing him to look up at you. “If you don’t pick
up the pace, I’m not going to have to explain to Hank how a pair of Vibranium
handcuffs broke.” He eyes went full blown with lust. He added another finger
and started to pick up the pace, quickly.
that better, baby girl?” He smirked up at you as you threw your head back on a
loud moan. Your back arched off the bed as his lips attached themselves back
onto your clit. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten as his fucked you
with his hand. He took his fingers away causing you to whimper at the loss but
moaned even louder as he slid his tongue into you. The pleasure was almost unbearable,
he could tell you were close. “Cum baby girl. Cum for daddy.” With that your
body shook, your orgasm raking through your body like a tidal wave. His tongue
was buried deep inside you, lapping up everything you had to offer. Your body
had become sensitive, you felt every hair on his face against your legs. You
moaned softly as he gave you one last lick before making his way up your body.
Kissing and biting along your stomach and all around each breast. Taking one
nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it pulling wanton moans from
your lips. His hands slid up your body, one taking your lonely breast while the
other laid on your hip. You felt want and need build back up as he took your
other nipple into his mouth. He mumbled something about being a good girl. He
continued up your chest to your collar bone, nibbling along the bone and up the
side of your neck. He sucked on your neck, leaving dark spots that would soon
fade. “You’re such a good girl for daddy.”
hand slid up and into your hair, pulling it back hard causing your head to snap
back and a moan escaping your lips. You felt him twitch against your thigh, a
bead of pre-cum slipped from the slit and was spread across the top of your
thigh. You raised your hips slightly, grinding up against him pulling a groan
from him. Logan pulled back from your neck and gave you an evil smirk. He repositioned
himself where if he was to grind down, the head of his cock would push against
your clit. Then that was exactly what he did, pulling a loud moan from your
lips. You bucked your hips just to feel the pressure against your clit again,
making the man above you groan as he drops his head.
please.” Your voice was breathy.
what, baby girl.” His voice was low and husky which only made you need him even
you.” He looked down at you releasing your hair and gripped himself. He lined
himself up to your core and slowly pushed in. You moaned at the sensation of
being stretched. You dug your nails into his shoulders as he continued to push
into you. His head fell to the crook of your neck as he bottomed out, groaning
at the sensation of you completely surrounding him warm and tight. He stayed
still for a moment, causing you discomfort was furthest from his mind. “Fuck.”
Panting as you bucked your hips up, taking him in even further. He took this as
a sign as to start moving. He pulled back, leaving the head of his cock inside
you then slamming back into you. You screamed in pleasure as you pulled on your
restraints. This only spurred him on, fucking you harder and faster. Suddenly
he pulled out, causing you to whine at the loss of him inside you. “What the
fuck?” You barely able to breathe out.
planning on taking you in more than one position, sweetheart.” His voice husky
as his breathe fanned over your skin as he uncuffed you from the headboard. You
sat up and as you did, Logan managed to get both your wrists behind your back
and cuffed them in place. You looked up at him in disbelief while he just
smirked down at you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you up and
your legs instantly wrapped around his waist. He walked you over to your
dresser and sat you on top, pulling your ass to the edge then sliding back into
you. You both moaned loudly as he slammed back into you. His hands gripping
your hips as your head falls into the crock of his neck, your lips found the
skin there and your teeth bit down hard causing him to thrust harder into you.
You swore the force he used would cause the dresser to move but it didn’t, you
were extremely glad that the dresser didn’t budge as Logan fucked into you.
felt that knot in your stomach grow tight again. Winding tighter with every
thrust, with every sound that fell from his lips. You were closer to cumming
this time and he decides to pull out. You groaned in protest and whimpered in
loss of him again. He had a wicked smirk on his face and you knew right then
you were in for a long night. He instantly flipped you over, your chest was now
lying flat on top of your dresser. He spread your legs a little then gripped
your hips with a bruising force causing you to whimper. Your head laid on the
dresser as you looked back at him, sending him your own smirk.
get too comfortable being in charge right now Daddy because once these,” you
wiggle your cuffed hands, “I’m going to show you just who’s in charge.” Just
then he slammed into you from behind causing you to scream in pleasure. God, he
felt fucking amazing inside you.
that so, baby girl?” His breathe fluttered against your ear. He started
thrusting in and out of you as his grip tightened slightly, causing you to moan
loudly with every thrust. You felt one of his hands leave your hip and tangled
into your hair, pulling back slightly making your sounds echo off the wall in
front of you. That was when you felt a sting on your ass. You whimpered when he
spanked you again. You bucked your hips back causing him to go deeper than
ether of you thought was possible. Logan growled as he started to really thrust
into you. You were quickly reaching your high again, you were starting to
contemplate on begging him for release. With one final hard thrust, Logan
stilled for a moment. You could feel how hard he still was and you knew he wasn’t
done with you. He pulled out of you, again. Without a word, he picked you up
and carried you back to the bed. Setting you down on your knees. You looked up
at him slightly confused and panting. All he did was kneel down behind you. You
felt his hands on you, one on your hip and the other on your shoulder. He
gently pushed you down so your shoulders were on the mattress and your face
felt the cool sheets of your bed, giving you some relief to your over heated
skin. He then pushed into you again. You were starting to get sensitive and
moaned as he slid in. Your arousal was dripping down the sides of your legs and
all over him as he began to thrust into you again. You managed to force your
ass back as he thrusted forward causing him to moan loud. The sounds of skin
slapping skin, his moans and groans, and the sounds you were making filled the
room. Logan was getting close to his release and so were you.
did something that you were expecting, he uncuffed you. You smirked as you
moaned with pleasure as he fucked into you. Your hands landing on the bed and
you pushed yourself up. With the added leverage of your arms, you threw
yourself back into him. You heard him swear as you started taking control of
things. You started to thrust yourself back into him and you felt him stop
moving. You kept this up for a while, his hands landing on your hips as you
fucked yourself on him. Before he could register what was going on, you pulled
yourself off him whimpering slightly as the feeling of being empty surged
through you. You turned and looked at him.
you Daddy, once the cuffs come off I’m gonna show you who’s in charge.” You
smirked at him as you pushed him onto his back. You climbed up onto him, biting
into his neck as you grabbed his cock and lined him up to your entrance. You
slowly lowered yourself onto him, causing him to grip your ass tightly and a
string of cuss words falling from his lips. You released his neck as you sat
up, moaning at the action. You raised up slightly and slowly moved back down.
Logan’s head fell back onto the bed, he was going to burst at any moment and
you knew it. So you decide to take mercy on him. You started to move a bit
faster, every time you would roll your hips or raise up you would do it harder
and faster than the last time. You ran your nails down his chest. Anger red
lines followed, some even bleed a little but healed quickly. You felt the knot
in your stomach get tighter and you knew you were close to your peak with the
sounds that Logan was making he was too. You ran a hand down your body and
started rubbing on your clit with the perfect pressure. Your orgasm raked
through your body, hard. You came on a scream of his name. You clamped down
hard on him, pulling him over the edge with you. His nails digging into you as
he shot himself into you and started to fuck up into you, prolonging both of
your orgasms. You leaned forward, placing your head in the crock of his neck.
One of his hands slid up your back and stopped at the base of your neck,
holding you to him as you both came down from your highs.
slowly and carefully raised yourself up and off of him then flopping onto the
bed next to him. He placed a kiss to the top of your head before he got up and
walked over to your bathroom. You faintly heard the sink turn on then off.
Logan came back with a washcloth and cleaned you up before laying back down
next to you, pulling you back into his chest. Your hand rested on his chest and
you started to mess with his chest hair. He started carding his hand through your
hair and your eyes started to droop. Moments later, the both of you fell
next morning you woke up still in his arms. To be honest, it was the best night’s
sleep you ever got. You barely managed to get out of the bed without waking Logan,
you knew he was a bear to deal with when he is woken up before he woke up
himself. You relieved yourself before pulling on a pair of panties and a large shirt
that you think you stole from Logan on a mission a few years back without him
knowing. You slipped out of your room quietly and made your way down to the kitchen.
Remy sat at the table along with Bobby and Rogue, all of them with smiles on
guys seem to be in a good mood this morning.” You looked at the clock on the
microwave, seeing that it was only 9 in the morning.
are.” Remy got up and walked over to you. “How did you sleep last night,
Cherie?” He leaned in close to your ear.
slept great last night, Rem.” You smirked at him as you moved to make yourself
a bowl of cereal.
really, Cherie? Mind if I ask why?” He smirked back at you.
not telling you, Rem. You don’t need to know.” You grabbed the milk from the
fridge and poured some over your cereal. You grabbed a spoon before walking
over to the table and sat down next to Rogue. “Besides, it won’t stop you from
flirting with me.” Rogue giggled and Bobby rolled his eyes.
Remy cocked his eyebrow at you. “Have you seen Logan? He is normally up by now.”
and I’m not telling you where.” You chuckled as you ate your breakfast.
walked into the kitchen in his sweats from last night. You were so glad that
you both heal quickly, you didn’t need Remy giving you an even harder time than
he already does. Remy looks at him then back at you and smiles. It was like
something clicked in his mind.
you finished your breakfast, you walked over to the sink where Logan just
happened to be. You felt his hand on your ass as you placed your bowl in the
sink. Bobby and Rogue got up from their seats and left. Remy still had a smirk
on his face.
two finally did it, didn’t you?”
makes you think that, Rem?” You looked up at him and you couldn’t keep a smile
off your face.
He grinned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving you and Logan alone.
pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around your waist. You leaned up and
placed your lips to his. He squeezed your butt causing you to squeal a little.
know, I’m glad that Hank sound proofed my room.” Logan looked down at you
almost confused. “You couldn’t hear a stadium full of fans screaming in my
room.” The look of confusion faded into a wicked smile.
mean we can do last night all day?”
it’s Saturday and there are no classes to teach, yes.” As the last word barely left your
lips, Logan threw you over his shoulder and walked you back towards your room.
A soft little future fic, but I haven’t sought out any spoilers for the end of s4, so if you’re avoiding those, it’s safe here. Actually, the canon we have seen is a little loose. We don’t need it; it’s fine.
Title from Tangled, because this was originally inspired by that scene.
The end of the world doesn’t come like she expected.
There is no bang, no whimper–just three long beeps from the Geiger counter hooked up to the air outside their bunker, a mundane signal for the wave of radiation destined to wipe out their humanity.
Even before the doors closed, it already had.
Monty sits in the corner, face drawn and blank as he stares at the wall ahead of him. Jasper’s still outside the confines of their safehouse, and no one’s tried to touch him since the locks closed. Octavia’s pacing and anxious, Bellamy’s back turned to her like it pains him, but the only thing their childhood left stronger in Octavia than her defiance was her determination to survive.
All the lights in the main room glow low. People sit slumped against the walls and each other, some sleeping and some shaking, so many haunted by this place where past and future meet.
There’s not much left to do now but wait.
Clarke wonders if that’s really what it means to survive.
The end of the world is quicker than she expected, too.
After two years, they load a boat and head upriver.
i look at him and i see fire. i’ve been burnt too many times – i would count them on my hands, but my fingertips are blistered. he is destined to cause destruction and i am destined, like all heroes (or like all fighters), to shut my eyes to his danger and not stand down.
he’s staring at his hands like he can’t believe they’re whole. his head is bowed and i can see stars hidden deep in his hair. i used to run my hands through those galaxies, but lately i can’t even reach for them without sparks jumping at me: a warning. stay away.
he mumbles something at his callouses (which match my blisters); i kneel by him (and his fire roars ever louder, a desperate plea that is easy to ignore now that i am deaf). what?
i said we are nothing but young gods seeking revenge. hasn’t it occurred to you that everything i hold turns to ashes? that you think you’re angelic, but i still have scars on my back from the words you hurled at me? you think you’re perfect. i think i’m perfect. but we’re not. we’re just vengeful.
i have never heard so many honest words come from his mouth at once – if we are gods then he is zeus, loving from one side of his mouth and lying out the other. before i can stop myself my hand is in his – the heat sinks into my skin and settles there like i’m home. if home means familiar, then i am. vengeful for what?
vengeful for the ways we’ve used each other. i can’t remember a single time i’ve said “i love you” and not meant “this is a cry for help”. the last time we held each other you couldn’t stop screaming and now there’s scar tissue all over your body in the shape of my fingers. we’re vengeful for the ways we’ve hurt each other.
for the umpteenth time since i met him (i have stopped keeping count), i lie through my teeth for what i think is his benefit. you’re not hurting me now. and if we’re not love, then what is?
he opens his mouth to answer but i jump into the fire – i can’t resist the kiss of his furnace. it sears my mouth to the point of silent screams, but it’s good. he’s good.
- 10:13 mythology // abby, day 247 // prompt for anon
Crying is not a concept foreign to FN-2187: his training has
streamlined his mind into two neat lines deemed as being Productive and Unproductive.
Logic and loyalty and righteous anger at those against the First Order are
considered to be Helpful and Necessary, while misery, and guilt, and empathy
are cut out with clean scalpels and the burning sharpness of a laser drill.
Crying, it turns out, is startlingly difficult to remove.
FN-2187 is still a cadet, though his station officer has
listed his attributes on his public file, and he’s held a Stormtrooper helmet
in his hands and stood at attention when Captain Phasma inspected his platoon.
And at night, in the bunks he shares with twenty other cadets with matching
haircuts and identical uniforms, he learns how to recognise the hitching sounds
of someone burying their face in a pillow, or what it feels like when the
person sleeping above him shakes with sobs.
He also learns how to close his eyes, and shut his mouth.
This crying, however, is loud.
It’s not so much crying
as it is screaming, the same words
over and over in some foreign tongue, and with it comes a heat that tickles and
scratches his skin beneath his clothes. When he rubs his fingers together, eyes
screwed shut, it feels like sharpened dirt, and tastes of dust.
It’s a girl, he thinks, resisting the urge to roll over, and
he doesn’t recognise the voice. It’s too young, too pitched, and it echoes in a
way that’s unfamiliar to the dorms; expanding outwards and outwards,
uninhibited by corridors and the cold vacuum of space.
Sam gets up and takes a piss around four in the morning, a slow stumble in the dark, not opening his eyes. He gulps cool water from the sink to ease his dry mouth, hands cupped below the faucet’s stream, and then goes right back to bed, slipping under the blankets and rolling back up close to Dean’s warmth. It’s silent, and most of the lights in the bunker are off because they didn’t throw the main switches when they got back, a few hours ago, and so it’s easy to bury his nose in the soft-sweet smell of Dean’s hair, and to let all his muscles go slack into the stupid memory foam mattress, and to completely ignore the world for a few more hours.
When he wakes up again, it’s more slowly. He’s a little overwarm—when isn’t he, really, but Dean likes sleeping in his room more often than not. Sam endures the heat-sink of the memory foam to get the other benefits of sharing Dean’s bed. Dean’s still in the same position, tipped forward onto his side, hugging a pillow and dead to the world. Sam pushes his half of the blankets down a little and stares at the pale span of Dean’s back, letting his brain come online slow. It’s dim, but the constant half-light from the hallway filters in through the grate above the door. Enough to see by, once he’s used to it. He reaches out and traces the big curved bruise where Dean got tossed into the fence post with a single, light finger. Dean doesn’t even flinch. It was a long hunt—most of a week, sleeping light and moving fast, taking out the whole pack of adlets, and then the drive home, all the way back from the northernmost corner of Vermont. Just awake enough when they got back to the bunker to shower, get the blood off, and then tumble directly into bed.
Sam turns onto his back and stretches, as much as he can with the footboard in the way, and then settles back down into the mattress, feeling himself out. A little achy, from the running and the fight, and he’s tired but not unbearably so. The clock on the bedside table says it’s just a few minutes until six, and he could maybe sleep more. He scratches his chest. Lets his hand drift down a little further and scratches at his balls, and then cups the weight of them, lets his fingers curl up over the mostly-soft shape of his dick. Mm. He pulls one knee up, a little, makes some room while he idly rubs himself, lazy. Feels good, and he’s not exactly drowsy but he doesn’t feel like getting up, either. Just wants to stay here, in bed, comfortable, where it smells like them. He wraps his fingers all the way around himself, tugs gently at the swelling weight, and—okay, yeah. He glances over at the solidly asleep shape of his brother, drags a thumb up the sensitive underside of his shaft. He could just get himself off, right here, but.
He rolls onto his side, settles a hand on Dean’s hip. God, Dean’s warm when he sleeps. He presses an inquisitive kiss to the hollow of his skull, nose brushing through the soft buzz of hair, lets his mouth drag down to the side of his neck. He tucks his fingers under the stretched-out waistband of Dean’s old boxer-briefs, grazes soft giving skin. “Hey,” he says, quiet, “you up?”
This should probably be down the line for the pregnancy promts but when Mercy goes into labor it should be when Hanzo and Mcree are looking after her while Genji is away on an errand. Panicking uncles :)
This prompt has been sitting in my inbox for over a month. It is time.
Also whoops this ended up super long. *cough* like 6k words *cough*
Fighting an omnic ninja assassin sent to kill your brother counts as an errand right?
Symmetra snickered a little as she watched Genji at Athena’s keyboard, continually switching between different security feeds of the watchpoint. Genji glanced up. “What?” he said.
“You’re antsy,” she said with a smirk.
“I am not ‘antsy,’” muttered Genji, continuing to flick between different feed channels.
“Is this your way of nesting?” said Symmetra, tilting her head.
“Angela and I will be in Switzerland for three months,” said Genji, standing up and glancing away from the screen, “I don’t want anything to happen to this place while we’re gone.” He paused and then quickly turned his attention back to the screen and flicked through all the security feeds again.
“We will manage just fine,” said Symmetra, “You should relax. Go… meditate or spend time with Angela or whatever it is you do. It won’t be long until you don’t have any time to yourself.”
“Hm,” Genji seemed unconvinced.
Symmetra sighed, constructed a seat of hard-light, and sat down. “To be honest, while I believe you and Angela should do as you see fit and I understand your reasoning, Switzerland is awfully far away.”
“Well, Doctor Haberlin is one of the world’s leading obstetricians and a good friend of Angela’s, and Angela’s uncle’s old house is lovely and out of the way but not too far from Thun and—”
“I know, I know,” said Symmetra, “And I know you two will probably be terribly busy with the little one, but do try and stay in contact. Fareeha will want pictures immediately and—” Symmetra’s prosthetic made a low-pitched buzzing sound and Symmetra raised an eyebrow and brought up a projection of one of her sentry turrets. The projection suddenly turned red and blipped out of sight and Symmetra’s brow furrowed.
“Turret destroyed,” she said it mostly as a knee-jerk reaction at this point.
Author’s Note: This request for serial killer Taehyung was from quite a while ago (I’m talking months) from @unpretty-writer, and it’s been brewing in my mind ever since she suggested it. I was constantly jotting down ideas any time they came to mind, and about a week ago I finally had enough inspiration to sit down and write it. I’m still not fully satisfied with it, but I do have moments I’m quite proud of. I want to thank a multitude of people for helping me finish this; you know who you are. I hope you enjoy it, loves.
I will say do pay attention to the timeline. There’s a reason for everything.
Word Count: 9,408this is the longest piece I’ve ever written.
Warning: This contains mentions of blood and a bit of torture, amongst other elements associated with this genre.
“Please,” barely a whisper, the word that left your lips cracked in your dry throat, difficult to get out. His fingertips slithered their way up your bare arm, small bumps forming at his delicate touch. He kissed your exposed shoulder, the heat sinking into your skin and making your heart pound against your ribcage. He nuzzled his nose up your neck, breathing you in, reveling in the scent of nothing but pure, unadulterated fear; this is what he lived for, these prolonged moments consumed by your anticipation of his next move.
Your breath hitched the moment the sharp tip of the knife danced across your skin, sliding against the back of your shoulders, Taehyung using it to push your hair to the side. His free hand which had skimmed the surface of your arm now took hold of your strands and tugged hard, exposing the nape of your neck to the now frigid air of the lavish hotel room. His mouth descended upon you, licking a sliver upwards upon your flesh, your pulse pumping beneath the tip of his tongue. Heart rate rising and breaths quickening, your eyes shut tight; the rapid rise and fall of your chest was beautiful to him, and he cherished the sight. He could feel you tremble beneath him, and when his teeth nibbled at your earlobe, he captured the shaky sigh that fell from your exquisite red-stained lips by placing his mouth upon your own in a heated kiss.
This was it. You were going to die. And you were absolutely terrified.
A/N: So I read this gorgeous poem on my dash a few years ago and haven’t been able to shake the idea of writing a drabble about Cassian that is centered around this poem. So I did. The poem is below. Hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it. -CharlieXo
“When looking for forgiveness,
Most kneel at the grace of our Lord.
But somehow I always find myself at my lover’s feet.
My head falls into his lap in a silent prayer for mercy
Because he is my savior and his love is my salvation”
You didn’t realize how often you reached for Cassian in your
sleep until you stretched out your hand and found crumpled sheets instead of
his chest. You frowned and reached a little bit further, not ready to open your
eyes and surrender sleep just yet, but a few more seconds of fumbling around in
the air yielded no results.
“Cassian?” you murmured hopefully, but no response came. You
whined a little, steeling yourself before your feet touched down on the
freezing floor. “And this is why you wear boots,” you muttered to no one in
particular, shivering as you shuffled down the hall.
You found him perched on the ledge, eyes locked on something
outside the window. He glanced over at you and wordlessly back to the window.
He sat so still, the rise and fall of his chest the only movement. You reached for
the blanket heaped on the couch and approached him slowly.
“Hey handsome,” you said softly; you stretched your hand out
to cup his face, pausing a hair’s width away. You held your breath, then felt
it all rush out at once when he softened and nuzzled your hand. “You’re up
“I slept some,” he protested weakly. Your eyes fastened on
his and you arched your brow.
“Maybe three hours?” He shrugged and began weaving and
unweaving his fingers in the blanket you held. You dropped it in his lap and
stroked his hair gently, humming an old and half-forgotten lullaby you had
loved as a child. His head bent forward, like a saint kneeling to pray. He
pressed his forehead to your stomach, his arms reaching up and circling your
waist; the collar of his shirt peeled away, exposing the crisscross of scars on
his neck, everything laid bare and vulnerable before you. Your fingers stroked
his neck, soft as a breath, and you waited for him to inevitably stiffen and
Instead, he pulled you close, his fingertips biting into the
soft flesh of your sides. His breath became ragged, the heat of it sinking
through the thin cotton of your night shirt and racing across the chilled skin
beneath, and as the lullaby ended, something inside of Cassian Andor broke.
Wet splotches bloomed and spread like lightning across your
stomach; tears cut warm and glistening tracks down your cheek as you held the
fractured man you loved in your arms and listened to his quiet sobs in silence.
Your hands cradled his head against your body, and you prayed to any deity and
any force who might still be listening with a fervor you hadn’t felt in ages.
Let him know peace.
No one had earned that more than Cassian. No one had done
more than he had to ensure peace for other
worlds. And no one else suffered more nightmares, ghosts of past deeds and
sins, to make room for the dreams of a million other souls.
You pretended you didn’t hear him moaning, and sometimes
even screaming, when the nightmares came to him. You pretended you didn’t hear
him murmur the names of the dead in his dreams. It was a part of himself he had
not offered up to you, and it somehow felt wrong to take that part for
yourself. Confessions born from dreams are not freely given, but stolen when no
one is watching, so you let him hold that secret to himself. But before he
woke, drenched in a cold swear, you would kiss his temple, smooth away the worry
furrowing his brow, and whisper, “I love you.” Then you would slide back into a
twilight sleep, hoping he both heard and did not hear you. You had your own
midnight confessions, your own secrets you were not yet willing to surrender.
But this closeness now, this fever dream, was not a borrowed
moment. It was as real as the scars on his hands and on your body. It was as
real as the blood thrumming in your veins. His breathing slowed, his grasp on
you loosened, and after an agonizing moment, he lifted his head to look up at
you. You took his face in your hands, the sharp stubble of his beard pricking
and burning your palms. He looked younger just then, the glow of the moon
washing away years of scars and worry lines etched deep, the way the ocean tide
swept away sand on a shore.
“You are a good man, Cassian,” you murmured softly. You
believed it with all your heart and somehow the truth of it burned brightly
enough to chase away the shadows he carried with him, if only for the moment. A
lump ballooned in your throat, and whatever else you had meant to say fell
away. There was only him in that moment, and it was all you needed.
His warm eyes were dark with emotion. He pulled your wrists
to his mouth and planted soft kisses on the delicate skin. Then he pulled you
down to him, folding you in his lap as he wrapped his arms around you, and he
kissed you. It was tender, even hesitant at first, but he grew more sure of
himself with every second. In this kiss lay every secret he could not share
with you just yet, but there was also the promise of a day when he would have
the courage to tell you everything.
She doesn’t admit that she loves him. Not aloud anyway.
She ignores the warnings on Omega, when her heart sings at the sight of him–when, for the briefest of moments, it seems as if everything is right in the galaxy. She almost hugs him, almost falls to pieces in the arms of her old friend. But Cerberus is watching, and she cannot let them see.
She denies it on the Normandy, when she stalks outside the med bay for hours. Miranda is incessant, but Shepard doesn’t want to give her answers, doesn’t want to explain how she did what was necessary to get him off that station in time to save his life. You lied to me about him, she accuses, with more anger than she intends, so I don’t owe you anything.
She keeps denying it through Sidonis and the Collector Base and all the stolen moments in between. She knows the line between friend and more has long since blurred, but she can’t quite figure out when she lost track of it. She can’t determine the precise moment when her harmless attempts to make him blush became intentional flirting became–whatever it is she feels the night he comes to her cabin.
She tries not to question it when she grabs his omnitool as he sleeps. She has run through every possible strategy for their attack on the Collector Base, every way she can keep him at her side. Every plan fails except the one where he leads the second fire team, but the thought–the nightmare–of them separating drives her to distraction. Their comms could be cut, he might not reach the rendezvous point, they might have to leave when he’s nowhere to be found. She cannot stop running through every horrific possibility, and so in those final twilight hours, she links his omnitool to hers. She gives him full access to her most jealously guarded possession, so that she can track his biometrics and geolocation. Mission be damned, she will not leave him behind.
She doesn’t know where that falls on the line between “just friends” and more, but it is decidedly Not Casual. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised, though. As she nervously teased him the night before, she is nothing if not intense. She has never once managed to do anything casually. Never really wanted to try.
She hopes he understood her hints.
Menae changes everything. She hasn’t heard from him in six months. She nearly gives up hope of ever seeing him when she sees the state of Palaven. But there he is, standing tall on that besieged moon, and the sight of him, alive and in command, fills her with unexpected pride and admiration. She wants to embrace him, to tell him all of the fears she’s kept inside for the past half year. But just like Omega, there are too many eyes. So instead, she shakes his hand. It’s proper and it’s formal, and rattles her in a way that makes her start to question whether this Not Casual thing she feels is actually Love. She wonders, and she fears, whether he feels the same.
The answer, of course, is obvious–when she finally pays attention. He never actually says he loves her. Not aloud at least. But he tells her every day.
He tells her when she arrives at the war room only to discover that the petulant diplomats have resolved their unnecessary disputes. He tells her when she enters her cabin well past zero dark thirty, exhausted and frayed, only to see that her mountains of paperwork have been completed in triplicate. He tells her when she finds herself in bed, boots removed, though she’s certain she fell asleep at her desk over a pile of work. And he tells her when, despite the galaxy crumbling around them, he still finds a way to make her laugh.
He tells her in all the perfect ways only he can, and sometimes she hates it. She hates that she should find something that makes her so happy while so many others suffer. She hates that they found each other in the midst of all this chaos. She hates that she sometimes wonders if they could be happy together without all the carnage.
But then he takes her to the Citadel on the most perfect date, and she’s tired of denying herself the things she feels.
Reapers be damned, she’ll steal whatever slivers of happiness they can find. “I love you, Garrus Vakarian,” she admits, to herself and to him. She knows it’s a long time coming, and the truth floods her with relief.
But he doesn’t return the sentiment. He mentions something about Joker’s vids, and she knows he’s flustered. He stutters, like he did when she first mentioned blowing off steam, and she realizes he thinks she’s still just trying to make him blush.
She doesn’t say it again.
The words are not enough, and she’s not sure what is. She obsesses over the question, keeps a mental list of a thousand ways to tell him, but she lacks the subvocals to convince him of the depth of her feeling. He deserves perfect, and she can never give that to him. So she says nothing. She doesn’t want to screw it up again.
But of all the perfect things they have–friendship, trust, respect–time is not one of them. It never has been.
And before she knows it, he is injured and he cannot go on. His mandibles flare in desperation when he realizes she intends to leave him behind, and some quiet part of her whispers that this might be her last chance.
“I love you, Garrus Vakarian,” she says, and she knows it’s not enough. “And I always will.”
She catches the droop of his jaw, the frighteningly short moment in which he realizes she’s never been joking, and she melts at his response. She takes his armored hand in hers and, for a second, she is tempted to bask in this final captured moment. This sliver of time they stole from the chaos around them.
All too quickly, the screech of Reaper fire and the chattering of husks shatters that stolen moment. It’s not enough.
She can’t remember drawing her weapon, but the sounds of the Reaper forces fueled something selfish inside her, and it powers her forward.
They deserves more than stolen moments in a firefight.
He deserves more than two hastily spoken I Love Yous, only one of which he believes.
There may not be a perfect way to say it, but he deserves to hear her try. A thousand times and maybe more.
She leaves a trail of carnage, a scattering of husks and Marauders in her wake, and as she reloads her heat sink, still drunk on fury and selfishness, she promises herself that this is the last moment she will allow the Reapers to take. The rest will be hers, to cherish and enjoy. She will make the time to tell him that she loves him in each of the thousand ways she imagined.
And may the galaxy have mercy on the poor soul who tries to stop her.
so i saw those cuddle headcanons for sombra,, i love them!!!,, but what about sombra with an s/o that Has to be the cuddled/little spoon most of the time due to uh,, very intense lonliness and anxiety issues,,