#ao3 needs more platonic cuddling

[not-a-spiderplant]

Me literally anytime I go on Ao3

#ao3 needs more platonic cuddling #aromantic #aroace #asexual #lgbtqia #queer #queerplatonic #ao3 #spiderplantposts

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | explicit | 11.7k | tags: pwp, friends to lovers, brief Steve/other, mutual pining, summary: Steve asks Eddie for help in fulfilling one of his fantasies. Eddie has no idea that he is the actual star of this fantasy | AO3)

“I have no idea where you get your weed but damn, this shit hits so much harder than the stuff I usually manage to score," Steve says, face pinched as he blows out the smoke, the pungent smell of it filling the small room, before handing it back to Eddie. They're sitting side by side on the bed, both holding beers, bodies already going lax against the mattress.

"You know I don't kiss and tell."

Steve snorts a laugh. "Since when? Just last week you got lost on a ten minute spiel about that guy giving you head during your lunch break dude."

Eddie’s eyes cut a sideways glance at Steve, lips already curling in a shiteating grin. “Yeah but we didn’t kiss, so my point still stands,” Eddie retorts, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve and they both burst out into high laughter. Steve's body tilts sideways into Eddie's, and instead of pushing him away, Eddie just adjusts his own position so they're leaning against each other more comfortably.

When their laughter subsides neither of them moves away, bodies too heavy with the weed and booze in their system. They’ve been friends for years and have found themselves in much more compromising positions. Friendly cuddling while high doesn’t even make the top ten, Eddie thinks lazily.

“So, anyone interesting happening since Lunch Break Guy?”

“I’m pretty sure his name was Matt. Or Mark? Something like that. And nah, had to help Wayne clean out my old room last weekend, remember? I’m still recovering from hauling boxes all day.”

“Awww did you haul them with your dick? Poor delicate flower.” Steve giggles at his own joke, petting at Eddie with the hand not holding the beer, movements already sluggish and uncoordinated. Steve is such a lightweight and Eddie wonders why he finds that so endearing.

“Asshole,” Eddie chuckles, swatting Steve’s hand away. “At least I didn’t hook up with a guy dressed up as Frankenstein."

"It was Halloween, Eddie." He can’t see his face but Eddie hears the eyeroll in Steve’s voice.

"Did you compare your freaking monster dicks?"

"You know we didn’t, you were the one walking in on us to make that exact same joke,” Steve snorts and Eddie feels it against the skin of his neck.

Once again, Eddie wonders if it's weird that they're so close. He knows Steve doesn't tell Robin half the shit he does when he's getting his rocks off, and they're platonic soul mates. He didn't tell Chrissy about Matt's? Mark's? tongue piercing, or how he swallowed about half of Eddie's load before he started coughing and got the rest all over their clothes, so Eddie had to call Steve to get him a change of clothes because he couldn't work in cum-stained jeans. And he's pretty sure that normal friends don't make out with each other when they get drunk or high either. But, like, whatever. Who needs normal when you can have Steve leaning on you like that, smelling of his expensive shampoo and weed.

Taking another hit from the blunt, Eddie holds the smoke in for a long moment, and just as he's about to blow it out, he feels Steve's hand on his jaw, turning his head down toward his open mouth, as if he'd been waiting for this very moment. So Eddie slots their mouths together and gives Steve what he wants, as he always does. Because it's Steve, and Eddie doesn't know how not to.

After they have both exhaled the smoke, Eddie gives Steve the blunt to put in the ashtray. Steve does so, but not before taking one last hit. It's their second joint of the night and they both feel it.

“What about you, Mr. Charming? Any new adventures I haven’t heard about?”

"I went to the Babylon the other day."

"Oh," Eddie says, drawing out the syllable as he looks down at Steve in surprise. "That's the one with a darkroom that has, like, another room behind it for the really kinky stuff, right?"

Steve laughs awkwardly, avoiding Eddie's eyes. "Yeah, that one, although I think that's a hoax."

"And how do you know that?" Eddie asks, before gasping dramatically, his hand pressed to his chest in mock indignation. "Steven! Did you go in the dark room?"

Instead of a snarky comeback, all Eddie gets is an almost timid nod.

Huh.

Steve almost never gets shy, didn't even blush when he walked in on Eddie eating out the bartender in their room when they went on vacation together last year. Simply told him to hurry up because he was tired before he went back outside.

Not in the least bothered by Steve's weird behavior, Eddie pokes Steve in his rips and asks excitedly, "How was it? Tell me everything."

He can feel Steve fidgeting where he's still pressed into Eddie’s body and he takes another sip of his beer before finally looking up at Eddie.

Steve's eyes are glassy from the weed, the white tinged with red and so dark they look bottomless, like Eddie could actually fall into them, lost forever. Fuck, Steve's right, the shit Rick sold him really hits hard.

"It was good. Like, really fucking good, y'know. Intense and, I dunno, a bit awkward at first, but then it was... yeah, just really good."

Eddie feels that Steve is not telling him something here. They may be high and buzzed, but that was a lot of good in Eddie's opinion. And Steve is still fidgeting.

"Sounds...good. You picked someone up at the club to fuck there?"

"Not...really."

As it turns out, Steve went in there alone, but he wasn't alone for long. Eddie listens with bated breath as Steve goes into more and more detail about dancing and drinking at the bar, about seeing people disappear behind a thick velvet curtain only to emerge long minutes later looking disheveled and satisfied. He tells Eddie about strolling over there himself, just to check it out so he could tell Eddie about it later, and about being surrounded by strangers, too dark to make out anything but the sounds of skin slapping against skin, ragged breathing, moans and whimpers filling the thick and humid air.

Eddie feels himself getting more and more turned on the longer he listens to Steve's low voice talking about lingering hands and mouths touching him everywhere, strangers grinding against him before he inevitably moved on. Eddie's already half hard, and when he looks down into Steve's lap, he sees the thick, hard outline of his cock in his sweatpants.

It's not as embarrassing as it should be. Steve has always been hot, Eddie has two functioning eyes and an active libido. It wouldn't be the first time he jerked off thinking about Steve, not even the first time Steve was present if asleep, but they never went further than a few heated make out sessions, sloppy kisses and some grinding before remembering their friendship and breaking apart.

Not that Eddie wouldn't drop everything and be on him in seconds if Steve asked, but that’s neither here nor there.

"And then this guy just grabbed me, he was strong and I wasn't expecting it, and then my face was pressed against the wall and he was on my back, rubbing against me, his dick thrusting against my ass, and -" Steve takes a deep breath and Eddie, realizing that he has been holding his breath all along, follows suit.

"And?" Eddie asks when the silence stretches.

Another deep inhale before Steve goes on. "And it was really hot, like, I've never been so hard in my life. I wanted him to, y'know, use me, just, uh, pull my jeans down and fuck me without me being able to do anything. Just… Making me take it, getting off fucking me and then walking away like I’m just some, I dunno, toy with his cum dripping out of me."

Eddie was biting his lip so hard he was sure he'd taste blood any second, but it was the only way he could hold back the moan that was trying to crawl out of his mouth. His dick had gone from half hard to so hard it almost hurt, and he was seconds away from pushing down his own sweats and jerking off to the way Steve talked about being used.

"But then, I don't know, my brain, like, panicked, and I pushed him off, and ran out of the room before I even knew I was going to do it."

Steve is decidedly not looking at Eddie, which is good, because Eddie has no idea what his face must look like right now. Probably as destroyed as he feels. He's pretty sure Steve has seen the way his sweats are tenting by now, but considering how obscenely Steve's dick is stretching the fabric of his own pants, Eddie thinks Steve doesn't have a leg to stand on. Eddie also felt the way Steve's hips squirmed as he recounted the way those strangers in the darkroom had touched him.

The silence between them grows and grows, sitting heavy on his chest, so Eddie clears his throat and asks, "So - was it, I mean," he exhales loudly, "did you, uh, like it?" Steve looks up at him, surprised by the question, and Eddie clarifies, "I mean before you panicked and ran out. Everything before that."

Chewing on his lower lip, Steve considers his questions and the air between them is so thick that Eddie feels like he's drowning. He swallows and watches, transfixed, as Steve's Adam's apple also bobs, a bead of sweat sliding past it as it moves.

"I mean, yeah. I did. It was hot, man, like I said. Especially the... the way they were just touching me, taking what they wanted. I didn't even know that I, uh, wanted that?” It isn’t often that Steve sounds unsure, at least when it comes to sex and hookups. So when Eddie hears his voice waver like that, like Steve is embarrassed to want something, his instincts to comfort and help start screaming at him.

Before he can do anything about it, like pull Steve against him and tell him it’s okay, Steve keeps going. “But it was too much… Too, I dunno, surprising? Like, I really wanna do that again, but like, with some precaution. So it feels safe and I can, uh, let go or something. Not panic again because that sucked man.”

Steve finishes his beer and drops the empty bottle on the floor next to Eddie's bed. Usually he would bitch about it, just because it's what he always does, but tonight is not like most of their ‘boys’ nights’, as Robin calls them mockingly. Eddie is a little lost and a lot turned on right now and he thinks it would be best for him if their conversation ended here.

If only it was that easy when you have the impulse control of a toddler and can’t leave things very well alone.

"But you fucked strangers before. Like two weeks ago I watched you pick up some random guy to fuck in your car before coming back in for another beer. I helped you get out the cum stains the next day, too."

"I know, I know. It's not that. It's - you remember Clive?"

"Ugh, that asshole." Eddie says with feeling.

Steve chuckles against Eddie's neck and moves even closer, soothing Eddie's annoyance with the contact. God, but he hated that guy who had treated Steve like shit. He had been mean and condescending, and Steve had always looked subdued, almost small, in the days after their hookups.

"Yeah, that one. You hate him, he was a dick, I know. But he, well. He fucked me like this once, pinned me down on the bed, caged me in, ass up, face pressed into the pillow so I could barely breathe, and pounded me so hard I was covered in bruises the next day. Said some nasty shit too, man, and I felt so dirty but also so fucking turned on that I came without a hand on me.”

Steve squirms and fidgets next to him, his body moving against Eddie's in small increments, and Eddie thinks Steve doesn't even realize he's doing it, lost in his memories and the typical weed horniness. "I want this, but, y'know, like, with more."

Eddie actually chokes on his spit at that, stammering, "More?"

"Yeah," Steve says, pushing his face into Eddie's neck like that's the last straw, the thing that's too embarrassing to say out loud. "Like, when I think about it, I'm completely helpless. Hands tied, legs spread with a bar so I couldn't close them even if I wanted to.”

Eddie can't help it, he's got to do something or he'll actually die of Steve-induced sexual frustration. He shifts slightly on his right side, towards Steve, so that he can push his left leg over his right, pressing it down enough to relieve at least some of the pressure. Still, the sensation of any kind of friction against his aching dick makes him clench his hands into fists, his whole body tense.

His next words sound strained to his own ears. "So why not... do it with someone else? I mean, I've seen you at clubs and parties, Stevie, you'd have no problem finding someone willing to do, uh, that."

"True. But it doesn't feel safe. What if, y'know, the guy is, like, a serial killer or something? I've watched enough crime shows with you to know that happens!"

Eddie doesn't say anything, just takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Because seriously, Steve is right, it's super fucking risky and if he's honest, he doesn't want to think about Steve in that kind of danger. He'd go crazy worrying about him.

They're both silent and Eddie's thoughts are racing, the mellowness that usually comes with getting high gone. Replaced by more and more images of Steve flashing behind his eyelids.

Steve on a bed, Steve bent over a table, Steve on some faceless guy. Hands and mouths and teeth all over Steve’s body, his beautiful hazel eyes wide and wet, his face slack with pleasure. His gorgeous dick dripping with need.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

"Can you be there?"

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as his eyes widen in shock. What?

"What?"

"Well, no one would try anything if someone was looking out for me. Also, I could let go knowing you're there. I know you'll keep me safe."

Which, yeah. Eddie would. He would always make sure Steve was safe. It's himself, his heart, that he doesn't trust to be safe when he's there.

"What are you saying here, Steve?"

"I dunno, just that when I think about it. Think about being naked and tied to a bed, all helpless and shit, and there is some guy fucking me however he wants. Use me however he wants… I just. I want that, been thinking about it so much since that night at the Babylon. And you're always..." Steve's hand clenches and unclenches against Eddie's arm. "I want you there. To watch out for me. Make sure I'm still safe, that he doesn't really hurt me. Like, y'know, a safety blanket."

Jesus fucking Christ. He'll never let Steve near his weed again. Not if it ends with Steve tucked into his side, that familiar heat spreading from all the places their bodies touch, both hard in their sweatpants, while Steve talks about Eddie being his goddamn safety blanket while he gets railed by a stranger.

Still, Steve so rarely asks for anything that Eddie wants to do this for him, as fucked up as it sounds. He’s always been a freak and it seems Steve’s right there with him.

Before Eddie can make up his mind, however, Steve lifts his head and chuckles in a way that sounds forced. "Sorry, never mind, it's the weed talking, just forget it."

With that, he untangles himself from Eddie and stands up, his hard dick very obviously tenting his sweats as he turns away from the bed and towards the door. "I'm gonna get another beer, you want one?"

Looking at Steve's back and the tense line of his shoulders, Eddie says, "Yeah, sure.”

Read the rest on AO3

#steddie #steddie smut #steddie fic #eddie x steve #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #nsft

[veltana]

Mafia AU prequels - Steve's break-up

✦ Pairing: Stucky/Fem!Reader ✦ Word count: ~1k ✦ Rating: Teen ✦ Warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, mild swearing, lots of fluff and feels, platonic cuddling, mention of peggy carter, sharing a bed. ✦ Summary: Steve is heartbroken and you're worried. ✦ Note: This is a prequel to No one as sweet as you set while they were living together in college, which focuses on their growing relationship and how Bucky and Steve started to develop feelings for Sweets as more than just their best friend. You don't need to read No one as sweet as you to get this but I recommend it. (Also posted on AO3)

Series masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

The door has been closed for five days, or at least not opened while you’ve been awake. You stare at it and chew on your thumbnail, so engrossed in worry that you don't notice Bucky coming up beside you until he puts his arm around your shoulders, startling you. “Sorry,” he frowns but you wave it away. "He hasn't come out yet?" You shake your head. "Have you knocked?" You nod. "What did he say?" "Told me to go away," you mumble.

At that moment Steve's door opens and his disheveled face appears. He hasn’t shaved and the stubble together with his bloodshot eyes and swollen face makes him ten years older. Seeing him like this makes your heart ache and you can’t help the small breath of his name that slips from your lips, out of instinct you reach out for him, but he pulls back and you quickly retreat.

"Leave me alone," Steve says with a tired voice and you take a step back but Bucky has had enough. For someone so wide, he moves quickly and you barely register it before it happens.

In a flash, he grips the back of Steve’s neck, pushes him down until he’s bent over, and grabs his arm to push it up against his back. "No," Bucky answers. "You have been in there for days, you smell like shit and you look even worse."

Steve tries to argue, “Buck, if you don’t fucking let me go right this goddamn second I’m going to fuck you up until-” You don’t think you’ve heard Steve curse so much through your whole friendship but Bucky is unfaced as he drags Steve out and towards his own room. You follow behind them, a little horrified by Bucky's treatment.

"You are gonna take a shower, eat dinner with us, and then we're all getting some fucking sleep." Bucky releases him inside the bathroom of his room and then closes the door behind him.

He glares at the door, daring him to open it but when the shower turns on both of you head to the kitchen. While Steve gets clean, you and Bucky look through the fridge for dinner. It’s not much for three college students but Bucky is excellent at making something out of nothing and you’re happy to assist.

“He’s so fucking stubborn,” Bucky complains. “Reminds me of someone else I know,” you murmur and then chuckle when Bucky gives you a sideways look, but you wave the carrot you’re holding at him threateningly and he smiles.

Steve steps out of Bucky’s room a while later, looking a little better, dressed in some of Bucky’s clothes. Without saying another word he steals a piece of the carrot you’re chopping and walks up to Bucky, who turns to him and opens his arms.

Steve doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist and bury his face in his shoulder. Ladle still in one hand, Bucky hugs him back and you turn back to the vegetables. They exchange low words that you can’t quite make out and you’re happy they can find comfort in each other.

Suddenly arms wrap around your waist from behind, lifting you and causing you to drop the knife, making it clatter on the counter. “Hey!” You begin but Steve doesn’t listen. Instead, he spins you around and puts you down so he can turn you towards him, before lifting you again to place you on the kitchen table.

“Bucky says you’ve been worrying,” his voice is soft as he cups your face, his eyes are red and tired, but also laced with concern. Tears burn in your eyes too, because you hate seeing him like this, but you won’t cry, not when he needs you. It’s so typical of him to worry about your feelings when he can barely keep it together. Taking a steading breath you explain, “Of course, it’s tough seeing you this heartbroken.” And place your hands on the outside of his.

“Can I-” Steve hesitates and you squeeze his hands, encouraging him. “Can I hold you? Just for a second?” He’s so timid when he asks but you smile at him and hold out your arms. “Take as long as you need,” you tell him.

Steve’s arms wrap around you again and much like he did with Bucky he buries his face in your neck. You caress up and down his back, his nape, run your fingers through his hair and don’t comment when you feel wetness on your skin.

Steve’s not always talkative when he goes through something, but if he’s tactile at other times, it’s amplified when he's sad. So when dinner is ready he sits between the two of you and makes sure your thigh is resting on top of his and that Bucky’s arm is pressed against his own while eating.

When all of you are done, Steve gets up first and grabs the dishes. Bucky and you follow and together you help clear the kitchen and it's like everything is normal for a few minutes.

It's not even eight but Bucky points toward his room. "Go." So you take Steve by the hand and he doesn't protest. More often you use Steve's bed because it's a little bit bigger, but his room is always littered with art supplies and since he's been in there for a while it's probably a bigger mess than usual. And your bed is too small to accommodate all three of you.

Lifting the covers you let Steve climb in first before dimming the lights and then sliding in beside him. Immediately he pulls you in until you're lying on his chest and that's how Bucky finds you. You can make out a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and you know it’s not because he’s happy about Steve’s situation, but because just like you feel, it makes him happy to see Steve find comfort.

It's a tight fit but Bucky tucks himself into Steve's other side and finds your hand, tangling your fingers together on top of his chest. A moment later Steve's breath hitches but you don't move, just share a glance with Bucky. Steve cries silently and then starts talking, about how much he misses Peggy and how it feels like he'll never be able to find someone like her again.

None of you try to tell him it will get better, because for him, right now, it will never get better. But with the help of time, you and Bucky will patch his heart until it's as good as new.

next

#veltana writes #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky fanfic #steve fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky fic #steve fic #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!steve rogers #mob!stucky x reader #mob!steve rogers #mob!bucky barnes #mob!steve x reader #mob!bucky x reader

[cheesecakezyum]

Being Courted By Macaque. <3

Work has been kicking my fucking ass man. Stuck to doing headcanons for a request on Ao3 instead of a full on chapter. Like, I'm pooped OUT. Miss spitting out 2,000 words in an hour </3

Probs gonna remake this, we'll see. Def gonna add more stuff + images— Or I'll actually make this a one-shot. I just need to destress :D

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♡- Things have been strange. Well, stranger than usual when one of your closest friends was a demon. 

♡- And at first you couldn’t seem to put your finger on it! Others had mentioned it, but you just hadn’t seemed to come up with a viable conclusion to your concerns. 

♡- I like to think that despite them having more humanistic ways of living, manners etc– Both demons still have suppressed, more on the feral side type of urges despite how long they’ve adapted to civilization or not. It’s something that they can’t help, ingrained in their programming from the start. When it comes to finding a potential mate and courting them, this would definitely be included. 

♡- It takes Macaque a genuinely long time for him to realize he has feelings for you in the first place. I mean– dude has serious commitment/trust issues. 

♡- Even being his friend took outstanding patience. You always told him he was worth it though, which would result in the usual roll of his eyes with a passive grin.

♡- He really doesn’t believe he’s pining for you until it’s too late to go back. Although reading others is terribly easy for him, he’s blind to feelings of his own at times. It would just– click for him one night when he realizes you’ve been in his mind much more than usual. And it's just

“Oh?

Oh.

Fuck.”

♡- Courting is new to him, no doubt. Although you weren’t the first person to have caught his eye you were the first person he’s wanted to take seriously in who knows how long. I mean, He cares about you! He wasn’t going to say that things were smooth from your first few interactions, but now he genuinely wonders how he’s lived so long without someone like you– right by his side. 

♡- So he’s willing to try! His attempts rely solely on instincts, but his goals are showing you how great of a mate he’d be!

♡- The first thing you take notice of is how often he’s been grooming you. Usually you volunteered to detangle his fur when it became matted; Or just weave your fingers through his hair while the two of you rested. 

♡- Usually he’d take any chance he’d get to tease. Pass a compliment, flirt– anything that might get a rise out of you. But he just seems so out of it whenever he’s close to you. Lost in thought.

♡- Most likely it’s because he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’s very much into you. Like, really? Why now and not ever before? It just didn’t make sense to him whatsoever. 

♡- While you never had seemed to mind, sometimes he tried to pick through your hair way more than usual. His nails would sometimes brush against your scalp, and hurt from the repetitive motions. And whenever you mentioned it while he was in the process, it's like he’s practically in a daze! Concentration beyond belief, to where it takes him a bit to snap out of his thoughts and quickly brush it off and tell you to continue whatever you were working on/distracted with before. 

♡-He loves holding you, being held by you, touching you, you touching him. Just– gods. Cuddles were mandatory on days when one of or both of you were just tired of shit altogether, platonically. Although, that was before these feelings for you surfaced. 

♡- What was different on that part was the excessive rubbing. Like, rubbing his face alongside yours, your neck, shoulders. Not only does it tickle, but sometimes it can get a bit uncomfy when all he’s doing is moving around when you just want to relax. 

♡- You never knew the reasoning for his actions and hadn’t asked. 

♡- You have to admit the purring feels nice though! 

♡- Once you had asked him if it had good benefits similar to how a cat’s purrs promote healing; His expression was priceless. 

♡- Your final straw was when you told him you were gonna bring some food so the two of you could spend one of your free days off binging some show which had piqued your interest a while ago. But when you had opened the doors of the dojo you were just met with–

♡- A nest. What had seemed like a nest? You couldn’t honestly tell. It had really been a circle of blankets wrapped around each other. 

“What… Is that?”

Seemingly having been caught in the act of still preparing it, his eyes went back and forth from you and the mess of  blankets on the floor.

He was frozen in place as he tried to think of an excuse for his actions. 

“Uh. Ah– A place to eat? Got a bit bored of our usual spot.” Smooth.

♡- There was a long period of silence as the two of you watched the show from your computer. Besides the thumping of his tail on the wooden floors and the low volume of the show which was being played, It took about 3 episodes before you ultimately spoke up. 

“What’s been up with you?”

“What?”

“I mean, like– in general. You’ve been… different?” It was the best way you could’ve possibly explained.

You paused the show. It could wait as you explained all of the changes surrounding him and his behavior. And he just responded as simply as ever, like it was obvious to anyone. 

“Oh. Courting you.”

♡- He never really hid it from you, in all honesty. Just kinda thought you got the hint. And you had to give him that– you never rejected any of his advances. 

♡- The rest of the night was spent having a very long talk about the differences between courting a human and a demon. 

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brainrot honestly

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk x reader #monkie kid #lmk macaque #macaque x reader #reader insert #six eared macaque #macaque headcanons

[proxima-writes]

title: my tears and my beers and my candles

pairing: francisco morales/female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 3,515

chapters: 1/1

summary:

It’s been a bad week and you just need to have a good cry.

You didn’t expect Frankie Morales, best friend and your unrequited crush, to crash your pity party.

He’s got some interesting ways of making you feel better. Maybe it’s not so unrequited after all.

read on ao3 | masterlist

author’s note: my first foray into frankie morales! if you enjoyed this one, please consider leaving a comment or an unhinged series of tags if you reblog 💕

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+), mutual pining, friends to lovers, allusions to depression, crying, platonic cuddling (until it’s not), fingering, un protected p in v, mild breeding kink, praise kink, dirty talk, rough sex, choking. let me know if any are missing!

There’s something to be said about having a good cry. The release of too many emotions that have no other choice than to physically manifest, the exhaustion that inevitably comes after, the way your eyes ache and burn and your throat feels raw.

It’s all very cathartic.

At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself as you lay on the couch, a bottle of beer held loosely in your hand as the tears stream down your cheeks. There’s a bowl of popcorn on the floor and the TV screen flashes images of some action movie you’re not interested in. The only other light in the room is the flicker of a candle you lit, some fucked up way of making this feel more like self-care than self-sabotage.

There’s no one thing to blame for your little pity party. It’s just been a hell of a week. Between a call from your mom that ended in a heated argument and the constant bullshit at your bartending job, only to come home to a broken pipe and a shitty fucking landlord who won’t do anything about it until Monday because he doesn’t want to pay the premium weekend price, your emotions are at an all time high and you’re done trying to keep them bottled up.

Your phone keeps lighting up with texts on the coffee table but you can’t bring yourself to check it. You know it’s probably one of the guys.

The boys of Delta Force waltzed into the bar one Friday evening a year ago and you haven’t been able to shake them since. Not that you’d want to. Your life has definitely improved since their chaotic entrance.

Especially where Francisco Morales was involved.

With his stupid boyish charm and his stupid handsome face and his stupid kind smile. God. He drives you insane. He’s the quiet observer of the group of men, his keen brown eyes always assessing the room around him. The feel of them is like fire across your skin when he turns his attention to you.

The tears keep flowing at the thought of him, of how a year of close friendship has only made you crave the man more with no respite in sight. Sometimes you’ll wake up with his name on your lips and an ache in your core that your fingers can’t satisfy.

It’s pathetic, really. Perhaps that’s why you continue to cry.

Between the explosions on the screen and the muffled whimpering, you don’t hear the knocking at your door. Or the turn of the lock and quiet click of the door to your apartment opening.

“Querida?”

________

After waiting a few minutes for you to answer the door, he decides to use the key you had given him when he looked after your plants one weekend to let himself in.

No wonder you couldn’t hear him knocking. The TV is so loud it almost hurts Frankie’s ears, which is saying a lot given his time spent in gun ranges and helicopters and war zones.

“Querida?” He calls. When you don’t answer, he wanders further into your apartment.

He’s surprised to find you curled up on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, eyes squeezed shut and shoulders shaking with your soft cries.

“Shit,” he murmurs, picking his hat up to run a hand through his hair. This would explain why you haven’t been answering his texts.

He sets his hat on the coffee table beside your phone and grabs the remote while he’s at it to turn the volume down, which finally gets your attention.

Your eyes pop open, bloodshot with tears still clinging to your lashes. “Fish?”

“Shh,” Frankie shushes, grabbing onto the back of the couch and climbing in carefully behind you.

“Wha—“

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your waist. He presses his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent as you continue to shake against him. “You’re okay.”

It takes a moment for your cries to subside, but Frankie’s got all the time in the world where you’re concerned. The shaking of your shoulders turns into the rise and fall of deep, even breaths. The tension in your muscles eases and you relax back into the cradle of his body at your back.

Frankie lifts his head to peek at you over your shoulder. Your face has gone soft with sleep, eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks and lips parted slightly. He brings a hand to your forehead to smooth your hair back, fingers lingering on the soft skin of your cheek.

His heart constricts in his chest. The same painfully tight feeling he gets anytime he so much as looks at you.

The first time he met you was after one of Benny’s fights. Having won, the younger man was feeling particularly obnoxious by the time they’d all made it to the bar for his celebration.

“Tequila shots!” Benny shouted, slamming his palm on the bar. “I’m buyin’!”

You raised an eyebrow at him, head tilted as you said, “You wanna try that again, buddy?”

“With lime?” Benny asked. You smirked.

Santi smacked Benny on the back of the head. “Cabrón. Forgive him. He’s been hit in the head too many times. Tequila shots, please.”

Frankie watched you line up the shot glasses with practiced ease. How you picked a top shelf bottle and shot a withering stare at Benny when he’d started to protest. You placed the shots in front of them, along with a plate of limes and two salt shakers. A shot glass remained with you.

“Cheers, boys,” you said, tossing back the extra shot before you wrapped your lips around a lime wedge.

Frankie remembers the way your eyes caught his as you sucked on the fruit. He also vividly remembers wanting to know what your lips would look like wrapped around his cock.

Your take-no-shit attitude worked for the group of army vets. They adopted the bar as their own and Frankie looked forward to seeing you after Benny’s fights.

Then fight nights turned into barbecues at Will’s house. Then movie nights at Santi’s. Or football at Frankie’s. And each time you burrowed yourself deeper and deeper into Frankie’s heart.

But Frankie valued your friendship above all else. He appreciated the way you would sit quietly beside him when he was feeling overwhelmed. How you would squeeze his hand when it got a little shaky. Or when you would tell him some stupid joke when he got too far into his own head.

It’s only right that he returns the favor.

________

The first thing you notice when you wake up is how dark your apartment is. The TV is off and your candle has burnt itself down in the glass, a struggling ember in a pool of wax.

You try to sit up, only to encounter an unfamiliar weight around your waist. When you look down, you can just make out a familiar tan arm nestled just beneath your breasts.

It’s then that you realize the overwhelming warmth at your back isn’t a blanket, it’s Frankie. He’s wedged himself between the couch and your body, his long frame curled around yours, his other arm stretched above his head and acting as his pillow.

You blink the sleep and the ache away from your eyes, but he’s still there. He’s asleep, quiet snores rumbling from his throat. You turn slowly in his arms to face him.

His eyes flutter open as you settle back against him, your movement having jostled him awake. His arm tightens on your waist.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice rough with sleep. You swallow nervously and as he assesses you, eyes roving your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Your eyes flick to his lips. “Not really.”

There’s a moment of stillness as he appears to consider your words. His hand on your back slides up, broad palm settling between your shoulder blades and pushing you slightly closer.

His eyes search yours for any sign of doubt. You lean your forehead to his, lips so close now you’re sharing the same breath.

“Frankie,” you murmur. You can feel the tiny shiver that wracks his body. Pressed this close, there’s nowhere to hide. “Please kiss me.”

His lips press to yours, slightly chapped but so warm. His hand leaves your back to grip your thigh, hitching your leg up over his hip to bring you closer. Your tongue traces his bottom lip, seeking entrance and having it granted with fervor.

Frankie groans, hips pressing against yours, as your tongue slides against his. You can feel him start to harden as your pussy drags against him, the sensation better each time.

The kiss is messy, your movements uncoordinated in your desperation. His hand traces over any inch of your body it can reach, from your thighs and ass to your waist and tits.

“Are you sure?” Frankie asks as he draws back for air. His brows are pinched together with worry and that just won’t do.

“I’m so fucking sure, Francisco.”

______

Never before has his name sounded as fucking good as it does falling from your lips tonight. He leans in to lick it from your mouth, swallowing the little moan he pulls from you.

He slides a hand between your bodies to cup your pussy, the heat of you palpable through your thin leggings. You tilt your head back with a sigh and Frankie takes the invitation to lick and kiss and bite up your neck.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you whine, fingers clenching into the fabric of his t-shirt. “Touch me.”

“Am touchin’,” he bites back. “You want more, pretty girl?”

You nod your head so fast he can’t help but chuckle. He works his fingers past the elastic of your leggings and panties, circling your clit with slow broad swipes.

“Christ, you’re so wet. All this just for me?” He dips a finger lower, barely breaching you. You react with a high pitched whine, hips flexing in his grip.

He slides a finger into your tight heat, groaning at the squeeze of you around the digit. He pumps it slowly, watching your face as he does. Your eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted on breathy little sighs.

He’s never seen a more gorgeous sight.

Frankie adds another finger, crooking them as he drags them out of you. His thumb continues to swirl around your clit and he dips his head to your neck to lick and suck and bite the perfect skin calling out to be marked as his.

“Come on, baby, ride my fingers, yeah? You wanna use ‘em?” He says, the flexing and rolling of your hips against his hand picking up speed.

“Please, Frankie, I wanna cum,” you whine. The flush in your cheeks is the prettiest color.

“Then come for me,” he all but begs.

He can feel it when you finally reach your peak. The fluttering of your cunt around his fingers, the desperate way your body tries to keep him drawn into your warmth. He’s never felt anything better.

Frankie withdraws his fingers and you grab his hand, sucking them into your mouth. He groans, hips flexing involuntarily.

“Baby, you can’t do shit like that,” he says, pulling his fingers from your mouth and wrapping his hand behind your neck to tug your lips to his.

“Will you fuck me now?” You ask between breaths. “Please? Want your cock so bad.”

“It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

_______

You roll off the couch with little grace, flopping heavily to the floor. Frankie’s deep laughter settles over you like a warm blanket, the sound abruptly cutting off when you’ve stood and ripped your sweatshirt over your head.

Your nipples tighten in the cool air of your apartment. You can barely see Frankie in the darkness but you can feel his eyes running over your body, hot like a brand. He shifts on the couch, sitting up with his legs splayed wide.

You hook your thumbs into your leggings, tugging them down your legs and leaving you standing in front of him in your black thong. His hand reaches for you, fingers digging into your hip to drag you between his legs.

“Hermosa,” he whispers reverently. He kisses your tummy, right above where the elastic of your panties. You can see the glimmer of his eyes in the dark as he looks up at you.

You wrap your hands over his, drawing them up your body until his thumbs graze the underside of your breast. You’re obsessed with the gentle way he holds you, knowing the power he has simmering beneath an unassuming surface.

The guys have shared a number of stories with you about their time serving during your year of friendship. Mostly the funnier ones, like the time Benny fly was busted on his pants and he had to run drills constantly picking them up from around his ankles. Or the time Santi got left behind on a mission because he got his dick wet and didn’t get up on time for the convoy.

But sometimes you would get the grittier stories. They’re spec ops, after all. They got called in when no other team would suffice. You know Frankie has killed men, scope locked on a target and the kickback of a rifle bruising his shoulder. The same hands gliding across your skin have wrapped around throats until their final breath eases from their lungs.

But as they trail over you, all you feel is your Frankie. The man who buys your favorite candy for movie nights and makes sure there’s a pack of your favorite turkey burgers at the cook outs.

He pinches a nipple, tugging gently as your back arches to the touch. His lips wrap around the other, tongue flicking over the hard peak. Your breath stutters, coming in harsh pants as he switches sides. Your fingers tangle in his messy brown curls, tugging lightly and making him groan.

You’re running out of patience. You tug your panties down your legs and kick them to the side, leaving yourself completely nude between Frankie’s legs.

“Pants off, Morales,” you demand. You notice the well loved cap he always wears on the table. You pick it up and settle it on your head, giving him a cheeky grin. “Shirt, too.”

Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it behind the couch. He undoes his fly with uncoordinated hands, lifting his hips from the cushions to pull them down, along with his boxers. His cock bobs against his stomach, hard and flushed and leaking at the tip. You climb into his lap, dragging your wet slit over the hot length of him.

“Fuck,” he growls. You feel that coiled strength in him in the way his fingertips press bruises into your hips as you grind against him. He digs a hand into your hair and uses the leverage to drag your lips to his, the kiss a messy meeting of lips and tongues and teeth that lights up every nerve ending. “You ready to take me? Ready for my cock?”

“So fucking ready,” you moan.

“Then take it, baby, come on,” he says, reaching down to hold his cock steady. You position yourself over the thick head, beginning a slow slide down his length, the stretch of him making you groan even with the prep his fingers afforded you. “That’s it, baby, good girl. Take your time, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here in your pretty pussy.”

Your cheeks heat with his words, the praise settling over you like a blanket, making everything soft and cloudy in your head. You finally settle against his lap, his cock buried so deep you have to catch your breath at the sensation.

Frankie’s hands smooth across your back soothingly as you adjust. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to the spot in his beard that never grows despite all his efforts. You let your lips trail down his neck, teeth nipping the soft skin as you flex your hips experimentally.

It’s just a little movement, but it’s enough to grind your sensitive clit against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. One of his broad palms holds the back of your head tenderly while the other grips your ass tightly, urging you to move again.

You start off with a slow grind, Frankie’s head dropping to the back of the couch with a moan as you build up to a rhythm that has you seeing stars and has a litany of filth falling from Frankie’s lips.

“God, just like that. Riding my cock like such a good fucking girl for me.”

“Look at you, making a mess in my lap. Prettiest girl, just a puddle for me, huh?”

“Your body was made for me, wasn’t it, princesa?”

Each one filthier than the last, your own responses reduced to slurred words and moans of appreciation. You’re bouncing on his lap with fervor now, so close to the edge that your muscles are painfully tight in anticipation of your release.

“Come for me. Please, baby? Wanna see you come on my cock, been dreaming of it forever,” Frankie moans as he leans forward, both arms wrapped around your back as he sinks his teeth into the plush skin of your breast.

That’s all it takes. Frankie asking so sweetly for you to come for him, like every fantasy you’ve had about the man only better. You keep still on his lap with him buried as deep as he can be, pussy pulsing rhythmically around him as your orgasm washes over you.

You collapse against his chest and his hips flex beneath you, working you through the aftershocks. When your breathing has returned to something closer to normal, he urges you off his lap and onto your knees on the cushions, your elbows propping you up on an arm rest.

You look back at the man over your shoulder as he keeps a knee on the couch but plants a foot on the ground for leverage before thrusting back inside of you, punching the air from your lungs as your sensitive walls accept his length once more.

“Do you know how many times you’ve teased me with this ass?” He asks, gripping one cheek roughly as he continues to thrust into you. “Those goddamn jeans you wear to work, where anyone can see you, hugging your ass so pretty I just wanted to rip ‘em off.”

“Frankie,” you moan, fingers curling against the upholstery. “Harder, please. Don’t hold back, I can take it.”

His fingers flex on your hips. “Are you sure, baby? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please,” you beg.

________

That tether of control Frankie’s been trying to keep snaps. He fists your hair roughly, tugging you up until your bowed back presses to his chest. He slips a hand around the base of your throat, holding you to him with the possessive grip as he thrusts his hips roughly against yours.

It’s not going to take him long to come, not when he’s got your pliant body at his mercy and your desperate moans by his ear. He grits his teeth, slamming into you with all the force he can muster, with all the power he wants as you just take it like you were made to.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groans. “Where—“

“Inside, inside, please,” you beg, reaching a hand back and digging your fingers into his ass as it flexes with his frenzied thrusts. “Want you to fill me up, mark me up, ruin me. Please, Frankie?”

His release hits him like a goddamn freight train and he comes with a shout, holding your hips tight to his as he finishes inside you, the wet heat of him slipping out as he thrusts shallowly inside of you as his orgasm subsides.

Frankie releases you gently, pulling out and helping you lay on your back, your head propped up near the armrest. He collapses on top of you, pillowing his head against your breasts and nuzzling the sweat slick skin.

You run your fingers through his hair, the two of you quiet as you catch your breath. Part of him is waiting for the fall out, waiting for your muscles to go tense beneath him with uncertainty.

But it doesn’t come. You just keep carding your fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp and the cadence of your heartbeat beneath his ear easing his worries.

“You feeling better?” He asks.

Your chest shakes with laughter beneath him. When he lifts his head to look at you, you flash him a bright smile.

“I don’t even remember what I was upset about anymore. I think you fucked the sadness right out of me,” you say with a giggle.

“Anything for you,” he replies easily.

Your eyes go all soft as your eyes search his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat of comfortable silence before you speak up again.

“Hey, Frankie?” You ask.

“Yes?”

“What do you know about plumbing?”

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[sundrop-writes]

Shared Trauma

Sub!Gar Logan x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary:

Gar had a very hard day. You know you can’t take away the pain, so you try your best to distract him from it instead.

Sub!Gar Logan x Dom!Fem!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut and Angst. Set during Season 1, Episode 7.

Word Count: 3,600

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: some emotional angst, mentions of trauma/PTSD - Gar kills someone for the first time and is very upset about it (as in the canon), friends to lovers, takes place during Season 1 Episode 7 (“Asylum”), descriptions of canon level violence, this is a smut fic, the reader character is implied to be fat, the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina, this isn’t a hard sub/dom relationship but there is sub/dom undertones, Gar is more submissive and the reader is more dominant, the reader calls Gar ‘good boy’ and he really likes it, tiddy sucking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, the reader rides Gar, creampie, quick/desperate sex. I believe that’s everything. Most of the focus here is on the emotional side of things and not the smut so if you wanna see more PWP, definitely let me know.

A/N: fic is titled after a Pierce The Veil song because I have been obsessed with the new album, and I think it really fits here. Having a trauma with someone, but it just draws you closer together and makes you seek comfort in them. I did consider making up a mission that wasn’t in the canon for this, but I am always drawn to how sad, wet, and pathetic he is after killing the scientist, especially if we’re doing sub!Gar - he seems especially subby and in need of comfort.

...

When you woke up alone, you weren’t entirely surprised. 

Of course you missed Gar’s presence beside you in bed. But you hadn’t exactly expected him to be sleeping peacefully after the day the two of you had. 

You and Gar were always the type of best friends to share a bed. Both of you sought the kind of comfort that could only come from cuddling close to the warm body of a safe person. Most often, you could only fall asleep beside each other. 

It had been that way since he had first been taken in by Doctor Caulder and he had come to you for comfort after he had woken up sorely missing his parents. On that first night, you had fallen asleep cradling him, and pretty much every night since then, the two of you shared a bed without question. 

The two of you were just intensely affectionate people, and you saw nothing wrong with expressing your friendship through those simple touches. It was just friendly, after all. 

The two of you always hugged each other tight and held hands while walking in public. There were many times when Gar put his arm around you or kissed you on the forehead, or times when you kissed him on the cheek. You weren’t shy about expressing your very platonic love for your best friend (at least, that’s what you had to tell yourself). 

The two of you weren’t romantically involved - you were just very close best friends. 

No matter what others thought when they looked at you, having those stereotypes in their minds about a guy and girl not being able to be ‘just friends’. Even if you wanted to play into that stereotype so badly with him - even if you wanted all of those people to be right. You would never risk ruining your friendship with him just because of some annoying crush. You were very good at keeping all of your stupid feelings trapped inside of your chest. 

Especially on days like this. When life got hardest, he needed you to be there more as a friend than anything else. And you needed him too. 

It was one of the reasons that he had gotten into bed with you that night, despite the fact that he scoffed at the very mention of trying to sleep. He wanted to be there for you. So you really weren’t surprised when you woke up and the bed was cold, void of his presence. Because of course, he couldn’t sleep. 

It had been a long, hectic, shitty day. 

After everything that had happened, you weren’t even really ‘sleeping’ yourself. 

You were drifting on the edge of consciousness, so exhausted from the day that your body was trying to forcibly knock you out. Between Kory and Dick screwing loudly on one side and Rachel and her birth mother chattering brightly and even crying on the other side, you had been having a very hard time falling asleep. That, and the horrors of the day still flashing through your mind. It made for a deadly cocktail that kept you awake. If not for the pure exhaustion of day’s events weighing you down - then you probably wouldn’t have closed your eyes at all. 

When you came back into a hard consciousness this time, though, you missed the feeling of Gar’s arm around your waist. You instantly missed the feeling of his pleasant warmth at your back - cradling you, making you feel safe. 

Before you even had your fully eyes open, you were out of bed yourself. It was almost an instinct, being so entirely drawn to him. You wandered out to the larger living space of the very expensive condo ‘safehouse’ with your socked feet on the cold floor. You clutched at your own arms under the loose sleeves of your oversized sleep shirt as goosebumps formed on your skin. 

You wondered in the back of your mind what the weather was like outside and if Dick had turned on the heat before going to bed. Then you had to wonder if adjusting the thermostat was even a concern in anyone’s mind after such a long day. It was probably only on your mind now that you were missing your human heater. 

You found Gar sitting on the couch. 

He had his oversized green headphones on, his phone screen providing the only real light in the room - aside from the everpresent glow of the city that leaked in from the tall glass panels that could be called walls in the ultra modern house. He was holding the screen inches away from his face as he slumped back against the unused couch. 

He was likely making an imprint of himself that would be the only ‘lived in’ essence of the overwhelming cold, expensive atmosphere of the place. From the sideways tilt of the screen and the way his thumbs were moving, you easily guessed that he was playing some kind of game. Something to distract his mind from the day’s events still playing there on repeat like a bad movie. 

He was wearing a pair of sweatpants that Dick had given him, dug out of a drawer of clothing that was apparently always kept in the place in case a need for it should come up. Just something else the ‘safehouse’ stocked, like food, medical supplies, and monetary currency from all different countries (because Bruce was rich and paranoid enough to be prepared for ‘any scenario’). 

Gar had paired the pants with one of your tee shirts. 

Something that was slightly big on him even with his natural muscle mass filling it out, bright tie-dye and worn-in cotton. It was purely you. Having the fabric draped over his body did make him feel at least somewhat at ease because it was soaked in your natural smell. It made him feel close to you even when he had gotten out of bed. 

He hadn’t wanted to bother you with his tossing and turning or the bright glowing light of his phone screen when he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep properly. 

He felt your presence in the room, but he didn’t look up until you crept further toward him, steering into his hazy peripheral view. He shrugged off the headphones as he looked up, locking eyes with you over the top of his phone. Your heart ached as you saw that expression so well illuminated by the sharp white light from the screen. He had the face of a kicked puppy, big wide eyes staring you down. Especially because he was making a clear effort not to let his mouth curl into a deep whimpering frown. 

You knew that the events of the day had been particularly hard on him. 

Of course, there was the obvious. The mental exhaustion and fear of being kidnapped and held hostage. The pulsating adrenaline of wondering if he was going to come out alive, on top of the worry he felt for you, Rachel, Dick, and Kory. The intense physical torture he had suffered at the hands of ‘scientists’ controlled by a doomsday cult. 

But on top of all of it, he had experienced something far worse. Something that you knew was far more taxing on his mind. 

He had killed someone for the first time. 

You feared that he was too gentle for killing. Even with the amazing power he wielded. 

Gar - someone who protested eating meat because he hated the idea of an animal being harmed for the sake of his nutrition. Gar - someone who always scooped up spiders and household pests to bring them outside because in his opinion, even the smallest of creatures deserve peace. 

You knew that he was someone who never planned on using his powers to truly harm anyone. 

But the moment the choice had been presented to him - to use his powers to harm someone, or to let you be harmed - it hadn’t really been a choice in his mind at all. 

You had been backed into a corner. You thought you had been clever, breaking out of the room they had locked you in with nothing more than an earring as a lockpick. But without a weapon and without a plan, Gar saw them threatening you and became blind with rage. 

Before he truly knew what was happening, he tasted flesh. 

A very large part of him didn’t regret it. He would choose your life over the life of someone unknown - someone who was going to hurt you - any day of the week. He knew that, if given the same choice, he would do it all over again. 

But there was another part inside of him that kept gnawing with guilt. Another part that said he was wrong, that said there should have been some other way. Something inside of him that said he was now just the villain in someone else’s story - that he wasn’t any better than the people who tried to hurt you in the first place. 

In a lot of ways, that voice said, he was worse than them. 

That voice made it difficult for him to sleep. 

“Can’t sleep?” You hummed out, approaching the couch to come and sit beside him. 

Gar did little more than shrug in response to the question. He didn’t want to admit the weakness aloud. He didn’t want to tell you that he was warring with guilt over something that the others - especially you - didn’t seem to struggle with. 

You both already knew the answer. It had been a hard day for him. Of course sleep was far beyond his grasp. 

In a silent, but comfortable exchange, Gar locked his phone and set it aside, entirely uncaring of saving his progress in the game while you sat down beside him. You slid onto the couch with your butt half nestled on top of his hip and your legs strung across his lap. He reached one arm in front of you, draping it over the thickness of your thighs. In a very natural move, he lazily wrapped his knuckles around your bare skin. 

Neither of you bothered to acknowledge your lack of pants - the fact that you were only wearing underwear with your oversized sleep shirt. You were so used to each other at this point that casual states of undress didn’t really need to be acknowledged. 

He drew mindless patterns into your skin with his thumb and slung his other arm over the back of the couch, bringing you into his lovely natural warmth. You laid your head onto his chest, easily cuddling into his side as you indulged in the familiarity. With his phone turned off, the darkness ruminating through the room was a silent cloak that enveloped the two of you. It made it much easier to fall into that routine of comfort that the two of you always embraced. 

You would explicitly deny that his touch on your bare skin felt like a deadly trail of needles erupting with fire - in the best way possible. Now was not the time for your lust to be breaking through. He was your best friend, and he was clearly in need of comfort. 

“I missed my human heater.” You mumbled out quietly, nuzzling into his side affectionately. 

He let out a hazy breath - some attempt at a laugh in response to your affectionate nickname for him. It was something he knew well about your friendship. You had a constantly chilly body, and he would always be there to warm you up with his blazen hot skin. Just another perk from his mutation - even when he got stuck out in the snow, he never ran cold. 

Now that you had acknowledged that wordless question (the reason you had gotten out of bed, why you couldn’t sleep), it was Gar’s turn to do the same. 

It hung in the air over his head and turned into a stony silence in the quiet, dark room that made each of his breaths seem particularly heavy beside your ear. It was a tension that built upon itself for a few moments. You weren’t going to ask, even though you had a feeling you virtually already knew the answer. You wondered if he was going to come out and admit it before you simply dragged him back to bed and forced him to stay there out of your own selfish need. 

But then he finally broke the silence by saying the words. 

“Whenever I close my eyes… I just keep seeing his face.” 

His words were tentative, a quiet whimper released into the room after being trapped in his chest for too long. Like electricity, shocking and impossible to avoid, you felt his pain surging through you. It caused your throat to clench painfully. You shifted slightly, turning so that you could get a better look at his face. Even in the dimness, the sad glassiness of his eyes practically glowed. 

“Gar,” 

You called out his name, your own voice giving away a depth of weakness that you held for him. Before you could help it, you were reaching up and cradling the side of his face with a cupped palm. Even though your hands were cool, the feeling was intensely comforting to him - just because it was you. He couldn’t help but lean into it, leaning on your hand as though it was the only thing in the world holding him up in that moment. When he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force some of that terrible guilt away, he accidentally forced the tears out and let them leak freely onto your hand. 

“Oh, baby.” You cooed out. 

You were entirely unsure why the nickname popped out. The sound of it on your own lips even surprised you. It was something you had never called him before. But he didn’t stop you, didn’t seem to find it unpleasant, so you continued. 

“You did what you had to do.” You told him with certainty. “You saved my life.” 

That was something infinitely valuable to him. But he wondered if somehow, he had diminished his own value in the process. 

More thick tears slipped down his face and you thumbed them away upon instinct. He swallowed thickly before he spoke again, though this time his words were heavily entrenched in those tears. 

“What if that man had a family?” Gar sniffled quietly. “What if-?” 

“Of course he had a family, Gar.” You quickly cut him off, knowing that his words were quickly spiraling into a deep, putrid guilt. 

That guilt was definitely something you felt the need to save him from. 

Upon hearing your words, he looked at you with sharp hurt in his eyes. Clearly, he had been expecting you to argue against his point, rather than confirm it. But you had a completely different line of thinking in mind.

“Everyone does.” You continued on. “Everyone has people who miss them. But you can’t waste your sympathy on some fictional family you’ve made up for the guy in your head. Having a family and being missed doesn’t give people the right to attack others and get away with it. The possibility of being missed doesn’t mean that people can go through life without seeing the consequences of their actions.” 

Gar let out a quiet huff. It was a sound of defeat - a signal saying that your words had punctured his surface, but hadn’t quite set in yet. 

When he didn’t say anything in reply, you continued. 

“You’re my family.” You told him firmly. 

You used the hold on his cheek to fully turn his head toward yours, and you gently angled into him so that your foreheads were pressed together. Gar closed his eyes and basked in the soothing feeling as you continued talking. 

“And I’m yours. And I really, truly don’t care about who lives or dies outside of us. I don’t care what happens as long as we’re safe. And we’re together.” 

You wanted to add on a verbal exception for the others - for Rachel, and Dick, and Kory, and likely Rachel’s mom just for her sake. An exception for the people who had quickly also become your family in the short time since you had met them. But you had a feeling that Gar knew about this exception in your mind without you having to voice it. 

Gar swallowed hard again, and this time you felt it bob harshly through him while pressed so closely together. You felt him let out a harsh breath before he spoke again. 

“I guess… I guess I’m just worried about what you think of me now.” He spoke the words so quietly, as if his fear even crept into voicing this. “I don’t want my favorite person in the world to be afraid of me. Or… to think I’m a bad person.” 

“I’m not afraid of you.” You quickly argued the point, a slight laughter on your lips at the mere thought of it - at the mention of being afraid of someone like him. 

Yes, he could turn into a giant green tiger, and yes, seeing him use that power to its full extent for the first time had been… jarring. But you would never be afraid of someone who cried during Pixar movies and said it was ‘inhumane’ to kill the animals in Minecraft for food. 

“I could never be afraid of you, Gar.” You easily added on. “You’re not a bad person. You’re such a good person. You’re so good. You’re such a good boy.” 

Those words struck a cord deep within his soul, and a whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it. 

“Say that again.” He told you, so pitifully that it almost sounded like begging. “Please?” 

“You’re such a good boy.” You repeated yourself, running your thumb along the soft skin of his cheek once again. “You’re a good boy, Gar.” 

In a moment, the air shifted. 

The magnetism between the two of you came to a fierce head, and the desperation, the vulnerability that the day’s events had brought forward morphed itself from pain and sadness into something the two of you knew well in the presence of each other - pure wanting. But this time, both of you were exhausted and completely lacking the energy to have any self control to hold it back. 

“Y/N-” 

He barely got out a whimper of your name before you pressed forward that extra inch, stealing his breath as you pressed your lips to his. It was a perfect moment - a beautiful culmination of everything you had ever wanted since meeting him. You definitely weren’t going to waste it. 

He moaned into the kiss and you echoed it back, gulping in breaths through your nose so you wouldn’t have to pull away from the soft cushion of his lips, not even for a moment. When he reached for a greedy grip on the back of your head, filthy and wanting, gently nibbling on your bottom lip - your instincts took over. You blindly swung a leg out, climbing over his waist, and he let out a sharp hiss at the feeling of your weight being planted in his lap. You were beautiful and whole as you sat down on top of him, a perfect reminder that this wasn’t just a dream as his cock quickly swelled to life under the heat of your core where it brushed against his borrowed pants. 

“Please-” He whimpered into your mouth, barely able to get the word out before you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, making him moan out shakily in the most beautiful way. 

You planted your hands on his shoulders, easily taking control of the situation - not that he cared. He felt like he belonged under your controlling grip, under the pleasant weight of your body as his hard cock throbbed underneath your perfect weight. In a blur of heady kisses, swapping breath with the only man you had ever wanted like this, you got your underwear off and got his pants around his ankles. He shoved your shirt up over your breasts to possessively latch onto one of them with his mouth as you reached down and lined up his pulsing cock with your wet, wanting cunt. 

“Oh-” 

He let out another beautifully pathetic whimper as you sunk down onto him in one smooth movement. Your tight, wet heat quickly surrounded him and made his head spin. You felt so full that it almost choked you, but the hot pangs of electricity that shot up through your pussy easily spurred you on. You wasted no time before you began a brutal pace, bouncing on his lap as if he was nothing more than a toy for your own pleasure. The slap of skin on skin was irritably loud in the otherwise silent room, accompanied only by Gar’s harsh, animalistic pants and your choked-off moans as you struggled to comprehend the fullness of his nearly overwhelming cock. 

You both needed it. You needed the intense sting of pleasure to push out the worries of the day. 

With Gar’s hands gripping at your waist as if you might slip away at any moment and his face buried in your breasts, you almost didn’t hear the quiet murmur of his request when he managed to get the words out beyond that blinding pleasure. 

“Say it again,” He choked out past his harsh breaths. “Please!” 

It took your cock-drunk brain a moment to comprehend it, but when the gears fully churned, you instantly knew what he meant. 

“You’re a good boy,” 

You moaned out, reaching a hand up to pet through his hair. You took a fierce grip on those green locks, never once faltering in the harsh, unforgiving rhythm of your hips as you continued to piston yourself up and down on his cock. 

“You’re a good boy, Gar.” 

“Oh - fuck!” Gar grunted into your chest. 

At the sound of your voice saying this, declaring that he was a good boy - he abruptly came inside you.

#sundrop writes #garfield logan x reader #garfield logan #gar logan #gar logan x reader #titans x reader #titans fanfiction #titans #dc titans #dc fanfiction

[intern-seraph]

hush my darling, don't fear my darling

After an incident in Alchemy, you flee to the Botanical Gardens to have a breakdown in private. Of course, things don't go quite as you expected — but that's not always a bad thing.

i started this fic when i was in a pretty shit place emotionally+self-esteem-wise. finished it in a similar state. so this is literally just leoyuu hurt/comfort bc i needed another clinically depressed person 2 cuddle me. intended as romantic, but can easily be read as platonic as well :) read beneath the cut!

Originally posted on Ao3

CWs: some gross medical metaphors, low self-esteem, nameless nrc students being nrc students (rude assholes)

You hate it when you get like this. After 5 overblots, you should be tougher. Tougher than this, tougher than breaking down over some stupid comment from an asshole classmate. But, well, you can’t really stop the tears once they start, so all you want to do right now is find an isolated place to hide and cry it out. Showing weakness in front of your classmates is a no-go. You’ve only recently managed to earn the rest of the school’s respect. That would put you back at square one.

“Why did the Headmage let a useless, magicless klutz like you in?”

It’s not even the meanest thing you’ve been called in your time here in Twisted Wonderland. But something about the venom in your classmate’s words as you sat sprawled out in a sea of broken glass just made you crack. You let Professor Crewel chew out the boy after helping you up and checking you for any injuries and fled the room. Ace and Deuce and Grim didn’t have any chance to follow you.

He ran into you! It wasn’t even your fault! You scold yourself again for taking his insult so personally, but that only brings you closer to the brink of tears. Angrily, you mash the heel of your palm into your eyes to get rid of the tears threatening to finally slip free. With your free hand, you reach out and open the door to the botanical garden. There’s nobody here at this time of day, not unless Professor Crewel needs someone to grab ingredients.

Well, nobody save for one person. But Leona is probably outside napping in a patch of sunlight (like the big kitty cat he is); at least, you hope he is. You don’t want him to see you like this. You don’t want him to see how pathetic you really are.

You duck under a mass of large, broad leaves. Your breath lodges in your chest, a hard lump of hurt that oozes out of you in quick bursts like fluid from a lanced cyst. Nobody’s here. You can cry now. The sobs you’ve been holding back make your body shake. Sharp, painful gulps of breath punctuate the thrum of your pulse in your ears. Clutching your uniform blouse, you fold in on yourself.

“... Hey, Herbivore.”

It sounds like you’re underwater. You move with the same sluggishness as you look up to meet Leona’s eyes. His face appears in blurry smears, though his frown manages to pierce through your tears.

“Oi. Hey. Quit crying,” he mutters, reaching out one hesitant hand while the other runs through his hair. “Look at me. Breathe.”

All you can do is wail even louder. He winces. Then, he seems to toss aside his reservations and touches your shoulder. In one sharp, jerky motion, you lurch into his arms. Leona hisses, but catches you nonetheless. Your trembling hands clutch at his vest as you cry into his chest.

“H-hey, whoa.” His hands fumble for only a moment before he wraps his arms around you more firmly. He pats your head with a distinct discomfort. “You’re getting snot all over me,” he says without malice. In one smooth motion, he scoops you up and cradles you like you’re made of porcelain. You let him carry you over to the shade of one of the larger plants and seat you on his lap. His touch grows more confident as he rubs your back and rocks you from side to side. “Breathe for me, Herbivore. Nice ‘n slow. I’ll do it with you, even. In… and out.”

You hiccup, but manage to mimic his slow, deep breaths. He scratches your scalp as a reward, the gentle scrape of his blunt nails helping to ground you.

“That’s better, yeah?” Without looking up, you nod. A slow sigh hisses through his teeth. “I hate seein’ you cry like that.”

“Sorry,” you mumble into his clothes.

“‘S not your fault. What the hell happened to make you cry like that?” He keeps scratching. You melt, sniffling but no longer sobbing. It takes a moment to put your thoughts together.

“It’s stupid.”

“So?”

“I-It’s really, really stupid. You’ll laugh.”

“Try me.”

You hesitate. With a slow, halting breath, you say, “There was an accident in Alchemy. One of my classmates yelled at me.” You don’t let him respond before you continue, “See? I told you it’s stupid.”

“An accident? Are you hurt?” Leona pushes you back so he can look you over. You bat at his hands and chest in protest.

“I’m not hurt! I swear! The only thing hurt is my pride…” You try to laugh, but it comes out as more of a croak. He scowls at you. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“You —” he yanks you into his chest, hand curling around the back of your head and keeping you firmly in place “— are such a pain in the ass. How about you let someone else worry about you for once in your life?”

“Didn’t think you cared.”

He scoffs. “Idiot,” he mutters as he squeezes you. “You’re part of my pride. ‘Course I care.” A gentle rumble builds in his chest as he flops onto his back, bringing you with him. He buries his face in your hair, ignoring the way you squirm. “Quit moving.”

“Leona, I’m fine now!”

“So?” He rolls you both onto your sides. Peering over his shoulder, you can see his tail flick with contentment. “You interrupted my nap, so I’m keeping you until I’m done with this one. ‘Sides, aren’t you all tuckered out from all that crying?”

That kills any argument. Because you are tired. Exhausted, even. After all, you ran all the way here from the alchemy lab, and you cried so hard…

With a sigh, you relent and wriggle closer. You don’t miss his quiet, triumphant chuckle, nor the subtle press of his lips to your scalp. “Fine,” you mumble, “but only for an hour or two.”

“Sure, Herbivore.”

Several hours later, you wake up drenched in dew, but warm and safe in the arms of a slumbering lion.

#leona kingsholar x reader #leona kingscholar #twst #twst x reader #twst fic #twisted wonderland #seraph speaks #my writing

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

little desires

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53094901 by sarcasm_rockers Peter learned a long time ago that he wasn’t going to be adopted. He learned it when May and Ben sat him down and explained that they were just his uncle and aunt and he couldn’t call them his parents at school anymore. He learned it after the third family left the group home without him. He learned it after he was rejected time and time again for showing up with bruised cheeks and secret wounds that told people that he was a fighter and he could never say he was a crime fighter. Peter Parker doesn’t need to be adopted. He has accepted that by now. He’s sixteen years old and knows that he only has two more years before he can be on his own. He’s looking forward to getting out of the system. He’s looking forward to being independent. - or five times the Starks talked about adopting Peter + the time they actually do Words: 5391, Chapters: 1/6, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones (Marvel), Original Characters, Happy Hogan, Flash Thompson Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Parent Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Tony Stark Lives, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark are Siblings (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Adoption, Foster Care, Insecure Peter Parker, he's so freaking insecure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Verbal Abuse, Protective Peter Parker, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Canon Compliant, Platonic Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Dead Aunt May Parker (Marvel), Peter Parker Has Trust Issues, 5+1 Things, Irondad, spiderson, Bully Flash Thompson, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Parent Pepper Potts, oh so many original characters - Freeform, an abuse of parentheses read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/53094901

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #iron dad and spider son #spider son #iron dad #peter parker #tony stark

[dapandapod]

oh my god, I need this in my life ;____; Pairing is dealer's choice.

36. unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping

Look. I kinda missed the mark here, in a sense, as did I miss the timely window to write/reply.... xD anyway here it is? some Geraskier, a healthy dose of pining, and a lot of semi-platonic cuddling! Thank you Ebs my love for beta-reading! And I hope you like it, Kuri-darlin! Please enjoy <3 On Ao3 here!

It starts, as it often does between the two of them, with a deep bottle of spirit and a great idea. Usually, it’s one of Jaskier’s, but this time neither of them will claim the responsibility.

Skinnydipping is a much better plan in summer temperatures, rather than in late spring. Cold water from the icy mountains is still trickling down in rivers and finding itself in the lake they are now rushing out of, bare as the day they were born.

Jaskier isn’t shrieking, he never is, he is just flexing his vocal chords. Geralt is telling him that he is indeed shrieking, and that he should stop before it gets shrill enough to call the local dogs over.

Punching Geralt’s chest is very different when he is not wearing any clothes, skin cool and slippery, and Jaskier loses himself for a moment.

This is where it all begins, in a sense.

They are both rather lost, directionless in the free way of the traveling pair they are, but still trying to make out what path is theirs, and if what they will find at the end of the road will please them.

Geralt grasps Jaskier’s hand, and holds it to his chest. If asked, he will say he is clearly making sure Jaskier won’t be able to punch him again, but if you ask Jaskier, the only thing he will remember is firm fingers around his wrist, chest hair rough against his knuckles.

When Jaskier does not immediately protest, just stares at their hands with wide eyes, Geralt declares the bard too drunk, and he pulls Jaskier with him towards land by the hand.

Getting dressed one handed is… even more complicated while drunk, but the witcher does not let go of the bard, and leads him all the way to their rooms. They technically have their own rooms, but somehow they both end up in Jaskier’s room, only half way into the bed.

Later, Geralt remembers waking up with Jaskier’s fingers laced through his, and turns to look at his face lax in sleep, pressed against the mattress.

It happens again, of course it does. This time they are between inns, with winter and his bad timing stealing one last cold night before spring broke through properly.

They have found alright shelter, compromising the comfort of the open forest floor for keeping warm, snuck in the crack of a rock formation.

The fire is doing wonders, and despite the smoke stinging their eyes, Jaskier is looking decidedly snuggly with the fire behind him outlining his figure.

Their bedrolls are side by side, and Jaskier has grabbed onto Geralt’s hand, marveling over… well, marveling in general actually.

This time there is no alcohol between them, just a sense of peace and amusement, and Geralt watches Jaskier trace each digit, using both hands to look this way and that.

His knuckles are getting a great deal of attention, as is his thumb and palm. While he does it, Jaskier tells a story about his mother and a fortune teller that probably was a sham, but there once was this palm reader he met in Novigrad, and did you know that the placing or lack of calluses really tells a lot about you as a person?

Geralt listens with a smile, and snarks at the obvious holes in the storytelling when Jaskier is making too much up again, and, between one heartbeat and the next, Jaskier’s eyes droop shut.

He is still holding onto Geralt’s hand, one cradling the side of his hand and his pinky, the other holding onto his thumb. Even as specks of snow trickle down from above, and the wind howls, the fire crackles merrily, and Jaskier is holding his hand in his sleep.

Geralt doesn’t take his hand back, and in the morning they have inched closer, and Jaskier is holding Geralt’s hand against himself like you would a teddy bear.

Not long after the summer solstice, they make a close acquaintance with death. Her foul breath brushes the bard’s cheek as a Necker’s claw dug into his flesh.

Lucky for all of them, Jaskier is wearing a leather coat, and instead of being fatal, it just ends up being very fucking painful.

Blood is not a good look on bards, at least not their own, Geralt decides when Jaskier sits eerily quiet after being patched and bundled up in a barn that they’ve got to borrow for the night, with the promise not to bleed on the hay.

That night, Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s hand, holding it as he presses himself up against the bard’s back, listening to his even breaths and rapid heartbeat, infinitely grateful he made it in time to save him.

As with anything, spend enough time doing something and a habit is formed.

It isn’t every time, nor is it a conscious thought, but if there is but an arm's length between them, they will either end up half way out of their bedrolls and meet in the middle, fingers lacing together, or when they’re sitting idly next to each other for whatever reason, their fingers will seek each other out, sometimes barely touching, and other times overlapping.

It stops being a conscious choice, it is something just done. Jaskier eagerly grabbing his hand as he tells exciting news and then forgets to let go, or Geralt wanting to keep track of him, or to support him, or when in a crowd.

It’s natural, an anchor when they are in danger of getting lost.

They part, and they reunite later that summer, and that fall Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hands to rub them warm, to breathe on them to help him regain temperature.

He knows you shouldn’t breathe on them, knows how a breath actually can make them colder, but Geralt may or may not be accidentally brushing his lips to Jaskier’s knuckles, and Jaskier is pretending not to notice, pretending he doesn’t have fine rabbit gloves tucked in his backpack, gifted by the very witcher right in front of him.

Things change, and also they don’t.

Dragons and witches and a child of the elder blood marks each change in their own way. Jaskier finds himself waking up, holding his own hand in his cold room in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt’s hand reaches across the empty bed for the bard’s even before he registers not to.

Another bottle of spirits, this time a stolen Nilfgaardian booze smelling absolutely terrible with the aftertaste of dirt, and another bright idea later, and Jaskier and Geralt once again find themselves sprawled halfway across Jaskier’s bed.

Geralt had to pull him up the stairs by the hand to keep their balance, or so they told themselves. The White gull Geralt ended up downing tastes terrible on the second day he notes, shifting and pulling the warmth by his side closer.

Jaskier grunts in his ear and knees his thigh, but only when he tightens his hold around hot, sweaty fingers does Geralt realize what he’d been missing. Jaskier is tangled against him, arm trapped under himself in an angle that will promise complaints the moment he wakes up. It is warm, and it is comfortable, and Geralt is slowly coming to terms with what pleases him.

Relearning how to share a bed is much easier when you have an anchor, a focal point, or it would have been if Geralt wasn’t startled awake by Jaskier almost falling out of bed. They resettle, Jaskier now firmly between the witcher and the wall, and the back of Geralt’s hand pressed against his lips as sleep reclaims him.

It doesn’t matter if they are awake or not, they reach for each other like a weed craves the sun, like roots seeking dirt, like vines growing where they find purchase.

The day Geralt wakes up and finally finds courage, he kisses Jaskier’s palm, and Jaskier kisses his lips.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #holding hands #hand holding prompts 2021 #shuddup i am so in time it's not been years #fluff #friends to lovers #getting together #dapanda writes #jaskier the bard #geralt of rivia

[tenpintsofsundrop]

Shared Trauma

Sub!Gar Logan x Dom!Fem!Reader Smut Blurb

Based on this request from @danversxwasabi.

Concept: Gar had a very hard day. You know you can't take away the pain, so you try your best to distract him from it instead.

Word Count: 3,600

Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

If you want to be notified whenever I post a new fic, make sure to follow my library blog @sundropslibrary and turn on notifications there.

List of detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: some emotional angst, mentions of trauma/PTSD - Gar kills someone for the first time and is very upset about it (as in the canon), friends to lovers, takes place during Season 1 Episode 7 (“Asylum”), descriptions of canon level violence, this is a smut fic, the reader character is implied to be fat, the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina, this isn’t a hard sub/dom relationship but there is sub/dom undertones, Gar is more submissive and the reader is more dominant, the reader calls Gar ‘good boy’ and he really likes it, tiddy sucking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, the reader rides Gar, creampie, quick/desperate sex. I believe that’s everything. Most of the focus here is on the emotional side of things and not the smut so if you wanna see more PWP, definitely let me know.

A/N: fic is titled after a Pierce The Veil song because I have been obsessed with the new album, and I think it really fits here. Having a trauma with someone, but it just draws you closer together and makes you seek comfort in them. I did consider making up a mission that wasn't in the canon for this, but I am always drawn to how sad, wet, and pathetic he is after killing the scientist, especially if we're doing sub!Gar - he seems especially subby and in need of comfort.

...

When you woke up alone, you weren’t entirely surprised. 

Of course you missed Gar’s presence beside you in bed. But you hadn’t exactly expected him to be sleeping peacefully after the day the two of you had. 

You and Gar were always the type of best friends to share a bed. Both of you sought the kind of comfort that could only come from cuddling close to the warm body of a safe person. Most often, you could only fall asleep beside each other. 

It had been that way since he had first been taken in by Doctor Caulder and he had come to you for comfort after he had woken up sorely missing his parents. On that first night, you had fallen asleep cradling him, and pretty much every night since then, the two of you shared a bed without question. 

The two of you were just intensely affectionate people, and you saw nothing wrong with expressing your friendship through those simple touches. It was just friendly, after all. 

The two of you always hugged each other tight and held hands while walking in public. There were many times when Gar put his arm around you or kissed you on the forehead, or times when you kissed him on the cheek. You weren’t shy about expressing your very platonic love for your best friend (at least, that’s what you had to tell yourself). 

The two of you weren’t romantically involved - you were just very close best friends. 

No matter what others thought when they looked at you, having those stereotypes in their minds about a guy and girl not being able to be ‘just friends’. Even if you wanted to play into that stereotype so badly with him - even if you wanted all of those people to be right. You would never risk ruining your friendship with him just because of some annoying crush. You were very good at keeping all of your stupid feelings trapped inside of your chest. 

Especially on days like this. When life got hardest, he needed you to be there more as a friend than anything else. And you needed him too. 

It was one of the reasons that he had gotten into bed with you that night, despite the fact that he scoffed at the very mention of trying to sleep. He wanted to be there for you. So you really weren’t surprised when you woke up and the bed was cold, void of his presence. Because of course, he couldn’t sleep. 

It had been a long, hectic, shitty day. 

After everything that had happened, you weren’t even really ‘sleeping’ yourself. 

You were drifting on the edge of consciousness, so exhausted from the day that your body was trying to forcibly knock you out. Between Kory and Dick screwing loudly on one side and Rachel and her birth mother chattering brightly and even crying on the other side, you had been having a very hard time falling asleep. That, and the horrors of the day still flashing through your mind. It made for a deadly cocktail that kept you awake. If not for the pure exhaustion of day’s events weighing you down - then you probably wouldn’t have closed your eyes at all. 

When you came back into a hard consciousness this time, though, you missed the feeling of Gar’s arm around your waist. You instantly missed the feeling of his pleasant warmth at your back - cradling you, making you feel safe. 

Before you even had your fully eyes open, you were out of bed yourself. It was almost an instinct, being so entirely drawn to him. You wandered out to the larger living space of the very expensive condo ‘safehouse’ with your socked feet on the cold floor. You clutched at your own arms under the loose sleeves of your oversized sleep shirt as goosebumps formed on your skin. 

You wondered in the back of your mind what the weather was like outside and if Dick had turned on the heat before going to bed. Then you had to wonder if adjusting the thermostat was even a concern in anyone’s mind after such a long day. It was probably only on your mind now that you were missing your human heater. 

You found Gar sitting on the couch. 

He had his oversized green headphones on, his phone screen providing the only real light in the room - aside from the everpresent glow of the city that leaked in from the tall glass panels that could be called walls in the ultra modern house. He was holding the screen inches away from his face as he slumped back against the unused couch. 

He was likely making an imprint of himself that would be the only ‘lived in’ essence of the overwhelming cold, expensive atmosphere of the place. From the sideways tilt of the screen and the way his thumbs were moving, you easily guessed that he was playing some kind of game. Something to distract his mind from the day’s events still playing there on repeat like a bad movie. 

He was wearing a pair of sweatpants that Dick had given him, dug out of a drawer of clothing that was apparently always kept in the place in case a need for it should come up. Just something else the ‘safehouse’ stocked, like food, medical supplies, and monetary currency from all different countries (because Bruce was rich and paranoid enough to be prepared for ‘any scenario’). 

Gar had paired the pants with one of your tee shirts. 

Something that was slightly big on him even with his natural muscle mass filling it out, bright tie-dye and worn-in cotton. It was purely you. Having the fabric draped over his body did make him feel at least somewhat at ease because it was soaked in your natural smell. It made him feel close to you even when he had gotten out of bed. 

He hadn’t wanted to bother you with his tossing and turning or the bright glowing light of his phone screen when he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep properly. 

He felt your presence in the room, but he didn’t look up until you crept further toward him, steering into his hazy peripheral view. He shrugged off the headphones as he looked up, locking eyes with you over the top of his phone. Your heart ached as you saw that expression so well illuminated by the sharp white light from the screen. He had the face of a kicked puppy, big wide eyes staring you down. Especially because he was making a clear effort not to let his mouth curl into a deep whimpering frown. 

You knew that the events of the day had been particularly hard on him. 

Of course, there was the obvious. The mental exhaustion and fear of being kidnapped and held hostage. The pulsating adrenaline of wondering if he was going to come out alive, on top of the worry he felt for you, Rachel, Dick, and Kory. The intense physical torture he had suffered at the hands of ‘scientists’ controlled by a doomsday cult. 

But on top of all of it, he had experienced something far worse. Something that you knew was far more taxing on his mind. 

He had killed someone for the first time. 

You feared that he was too gentle for killing. Even with the amazing power he wielded. 

Gar - someone who protested eating meat because he hated the idea of an animal being harmed for the sake of his nutrition. Gar - someone who always scooped up spiders and household pests to bring them outside because in his opinion, even the smallest of creatures deserve peace. 

You knew that he was someone who never planned on using his powers to truly harm anyone. 

But the moment the choice had been presented to him - to use his powers to harm someone, or to let you be harmed - it hadn’t really been a choice in his mind at all. 

You had been backed into a corner. You thought you had been clever, breaking out of the room they had locked you in with nothing more than an earring as a lockpick. But without a weapon and without a plan, Gar saw them threatening you and became blind with rage. 

Before he truly knew what was happening, he tasted flesh. 

A very large part of him didn’t regret it. He would choose your life over the life of someone unknown - someone who was going to hurt you - any day of the week. He knew that, if given the same choice, he would do it all over again. 

But there was another part inside of him that kept gnawing with guilt. Another part that said he was wrong, that said there should have been some other way. Something inside of him that said he was now just the villain in someone else’s story - that he wasn’t any better than the people who tried to hurt you in the first place. 

In a lot of ways, that voice said, he was worse than them. 

That voice made it difficult for him to sleep. 

“Can’t sleep?” You hummed out, approaching the couch to come and sit beside him. 

Gar did little more than shrug in response to the question. He didn’t want to admit the weakness aloud. He didn’t want to tell you that he was warring with guilt over something that the others - especially you - didn’t seem to struggle with. 

You both already knew the answer. It had been a hard day for him. Of course sleep was far beyond his grasp. 

In a silent, but comfortable exchange, Gar locked his phone and set it aside, entirely uncaring of saving his progress in the game while you sat down beside him. You slid onto the couch with your butt half nestled on top of his hip and your legs strung across his lap. He reached one arm in front of you, draping it over the thickness of your thighs. In a very natural move, he lazily wrapped his knuckles around your bare skin. 

Neither of you bothered to acknowledge your lack of pants - the fact that you were only wearing underwear with your oversized sleep shirt. You were so used to each other at this point that casual states of undress didn’t really need to be acknowledged. 

He drew mindless patterns into your skin with his thumb and slung his other arm over the back of the couch, bringing you into his lovely natural warmth. You laid your head onto his chest, easily cuddling into his side as you indulged in the familiarity. With his phone turned off, the darkness ruminating through the room was a silent cloak that enveloped the two of you. It made it much easier to fall into that routine of comfort that the two of you always embraced. 

You would explicitly deny that his touch on your bare skin felt like a deadly trail of needles erupting with fire - in the best way possible. Now was not the time for your lust to be breaking through. He was your best friend, and he was clearly in need of comfort. 

“I missed my human heater.” You mumbled out quietly, nuzzling into his side affectionately. 

He let out a hazy breath - some attempt at a laugh in response to your affectionate nickname for him. It was something he knew well about your friendship. You had a constantly chilly body, and he would always be there to warm you up with his blazen hot skin. Just another perk from his mutation - even when he got stuck out in the snow, he never ran cold. 

Now that you had acknowledged that wordless question (the reason you had gotten out of bed, why you couldn’t sleep), it was Gar’s turn to do the same. 

It hung in the air over his head and turned into a stony silence in the quiet, dark room that made each of his breaths seem particularly heavy beside your ear. It was a tension that built upon itself for a few moments. You weren’t going to ask, even though you had a feeling you virtually already knew the answer. You wondered if he was going to come out and admit it before you simply dragged him back to bed and forced him to stay there out of your own selfish need. 

But then he finally broke the silence by saying the words. 

“Whenever I close my eyes… I just keep seeing his face.” 

His words were tentative, a quiet whimper released into the room after being trapped in his chest for too long. Like electricity, shocking and impossible to avoid, you felt his pain surging through you. It caused your throat to clench painfully. You shifted slightly, turning so that you could get a better look at his face. Even in the dimness, the sad glassiness of his eyes practically glowed. 

“Gar,” 

You called out his name, your own voice giving away a depth of weakness that you held for him. Before you could help it, you were reaching up and cradling the side of his face with a cupped palm. Even though your hands were cool, the feeling was intensely comforting to him - just because it was you. He couldn’t help but lean into it, leaning on your hand as though it was the only thing in the world holding him up in that moment. When he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force some of that terrible guilt away, he accidentally forced the tears out and let them leak freely onto your hand. 

“Oh, baby.” You cooed out. 

You were entirely unsure why the nickname popped out. The sound of it on your own lips even surprised you. It was something you had never called him before. But he didn’t stop you, didn’t seem to find it unpleasant, so you continued. 

“You did what you had to do.” You told him with certainty. “You saved my life.” 

That was something infinitely valuable to him. But he wondered if somehow, he had diminished his own value in the process. 

More thick tears slipped down his face and you thumbed them away upon instinct. He swallowed thickly before he spoke again, though this time his words were heavily entrenched in those tears. 

“What if that man had a family?” Gar sniffled quietly. “What if-?” 

“Of course he had a family, Gar.” You quickly cut him off, knowing that his words were quickly spiraling into a deep, putrid guilt. 

That guilt was definitely something you felt the need to save him from. 

Upon hearing your words, he looked at you with sharp hurt in his eyes. Clearly, he had been expecting you to argue against his point, rather than confirm it. But you had a completely different line of thinking in mind.

“Everyone does.” You continued on. “Everyone has people who miss them. But you can’t waste your sympathy on some fictional family you’ve made up for the guy in your head. Having a family and being missed doesn’t give people the right to attack others and get away with it. The possibility of being missed doesn’t mean that people can go through life without seeing the consequences of their actions.” 

Gar let out a quiet huff. It was a sound of defeat - a signal saying that your words had punctured his surface, but hadn’t quite set in yet. 

When he didn’t say anything in reply, you continued. 

“You’re my family.” You told him firmly. 

You used the hold on his cheek to fully turn his head toward yours, and you gently angled into him so that your foreheads were pressed together. Gar closed his eyes and basked in the soothing feeling as you continued talking. 

“And I’m yours. And I really, truly don’t care about who lives or dies outside of us. I don’t care what happens as long as we’re safe. And we’re together.” 

You wanted to add on a verbal exception for the others - for Rachel, and Dick, and Kory, and likely Rachel’s mom just for her sake. An exception for the people who had quickly also become your family in the short time since you had met them. But you had a feeling that Gar knew about this exception in your mind without you having to voice it. 

Gar swallowed hard again, and this time you felt it bob harshly through him while pressed so closely together. You felt him let out a harsh breath before he spoke again. 

“I guess… I guess I’m just worried about what you think of me now.” He spoke the words so quietly, as if his fear even crept into voicing this. “I don’t want my favorite person in the world to be afraid of me. Or... to think I’m a bad person.” 

“I’m not afraid of you.” You quickly argued the point, a slight laughter on your lips at the mere thought of it - at the mention of being afraid of someone like him. 

Yes, he could turn into a giant green tiger, and yes, seeing him use that power to its full extent for the first time had been… jarring. But you would never be afraid of someone who cried during Pixar movies and said it was ‘inhumane’ to kill the animals in Minecraft for food. 

“I could never be afraid of you, Gar.” You easily added on. “You’re not a bad person. You’re such a good person. You’re so good. You’re such a good boy.” 

Those words struck a cord deep within his soul, and a whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it. 

“Say that again.” He told you, so pitifully that it almost sounded like begging. “Please?” 

“You’re such a good boy.” You repeated yourself, running your thumb along the soft skin of his cheek once again. “You’re a good boy, Gar.” 

In a moment, the air shifted. 

The magnetism between the two of you came to a fierce head, and the desperation, the vulnerability that the day’s events had brought forward morphed itself from pain and sadness into something the two of you knew well in the presence of each other - pure wanting. But this time, both of you were exhausted and completely lacking the energy to have any self control to hold it back. 

“Y/N-” 

He barely got out a whimper of your name before you pressed forward that extra inch, stealing his breath as you pressed your lips to his. It was a perfect moment - a beautiful culmination of everything you had ever wanted since meeting him. You definitely weren’t going to waste it. 

He moaned into the kiss and you echoed it back, gulping in breaths through your nose so you wouldn’t have to pull away from the soft cushion of his lips, not even for a moment. When he reached for a greedy grip on the back of your head, filthy and wanting, gently nibbling on your bottom lip - your instincts took over. You blindly swung a leg out, climbing over his waist, and he let out a sharp hiss at the feeling of your weight being planted in his lap. You were beautiful and whole as you sat down on top of him, a perfect reminder that this wasn’t just a dream as his cock quickly swelled to life under the heat of your core where it brushed against his borrowed pants. 

“Please-” He whimpered into your mouth, barely able to get the word out before you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, making him moan out shakily in the most beautiful way. 

You planted your hands on his shoulders, easily taking control of the situation - not that he cared. He felt like he belonged under your controlling grip, under the pleasant weight of your body as his hard cock throbbed underneath your perfect weight. In a blur of heady kisses, swapping breath with the only man you had ever wanted like this, you got your underwear off and got his pants around his ankles. He shoved your shirt up over your breasts to possessively latch onto one of them with his mouth as you reached down and lined up his pulsing cock with your wet, wanting cunt. 

“Oh-” 

He let out another beautifully pathetic whimper as you sunk down onto him in one smooth movement. Your tight, wet heat quickly surrounded him and made his head spin. You felt so full that it almost choked you, but the hot pangs of electricity that shot up through your pussy easily spurred you on. You wasted no time before you began a brutal pace, bouncing on his lap as if he was nothing more than a toy for your own pleasure. The slap of skin on skin was irritably loud in the otherwise silent room, accompanied only by Gar’s harsh, animalistic pants and your choked-off moans as you struggled to comprehend the fullness of his nearly overwhelming cock. 

You both needed it. You needed the intense sting of pleasure to push out the worries of the day. 

With Gar’s hands gripping at your waist as if you might slip away at any moment and his face buried in your breasts, you almost didn’t hear the quiet murmur of his request when he managed to get the words out beyond that blinding pleasure. 

“Say it again,” He choked out past his harsh breaths. “Please!” 

It took your cock-drunk brain a moment to comprehend it, but when the gears fully churned, you instantly knew what he meant. 

“You’re a good boy,” 

You moaned out, reaching a hand up to pet through his hair. You took a fierce grip on those green locks, never once faltering in the harsh, unforgiving rhythm of your hips as you continued to piston yourself up and down on his cock. 

“You’re a good boy, Gar.” 

“Oh - fuck!” Gar grunted into your chest. 

At the sound of your voice saying this, declaring that he was a good boy - he abruptly came inside you.

#sundrop writes #blood tw #gar logan x reader #gar logan #garfield logan x reader #garfield logan #titans #dc titans #dc titans x you #dc #titans fanfiction #dc titans x reader #titans x reader #beast boy x reader

[mcdynamite]

mcdynamite's (mc)masterlist

Hello! I finally made a masterlist! This includes the stories I've written both here on Tumblr and on AO3 to make things easier to find. You'll find all of my Steddie and Wolfstar fics listed below, and I will be updating this list as I continue to post more.

Author's favorites are noted with a little 🌟 emoji!

All of the writing I post on here will also be tagged with "#mcdynamite writes" if you want to search for it that way.

(Note: Since I am not currently planning on continuing to write Drarry, my fics for that ship are not on this list, but they are still up on my AO3 account! You can find them here.)

Stranger Things

Steddie

AO3 Fics: 🌟 Made It This Far (T) - 13k

It’s not ideal, keeping these recurrent headaches a secret from all of his friends, and sure, Steve's had his fair share of days where he’s been forced to just work through the pain, but he’s making it work. He’s managing. He’s fine. In which Steve Harrington is determined to suffer his migraines in silence, alone, and Eddie Munson is determined not to let him. Major tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sickfic (sort of), Steve Harrington Gets Migraines Warning(s): past head trauma, Steve's shitty parents

Tumblr Blurbs: Physically affectionate Eddie (tags: getting together, cuddles, first kiss)

Nancy gives Steve a lil nudge (tags: platonic Stancy, pining Steve, getting together, side Ronance)

🌟 Hawkins assistant basketball coach Steve (tags: pining Eddie, Steve being a hot jock, Eddie being horny for jock-mode Steve, getting together)

First "I love you" (tags: established relationship, soft Steddie, cuddles)

🌟 Demisexual Steve (tags: demisexuality, supportive Eddie, soft Steddie; CWs for discussions of sexuality and references to Steve's past sexual relationships)

Sleepy Steve x Bartender Eddie (tags: established relationship, extremely soft, Eddie being a sweetheart, Steve being a needy dork)

Harry Potter

Wolfstar

AO3 Fics: The Scientific Method (E) - 62k

Remus Lupin has been in love with Sirius Black for ages, so when an unexpected opportunity arises for him to have everything he's been dreaming of, he can't possibly say no (even if it's only for one night). After all, it's just an experiment. Nothing really needs to change. Right? In which Remus and Sirius are tragically terrible communicators, Peter just wants to help, and James is forced to reconcile with the fact that his friends may truly be idiots. Major tags: Hogwarts Seventh Year, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Sexual Content Warning(s): Sirius's shitty parents, canon-typical werewolf injuries

Until We're Grey and Old (M) - 4.7k

“What on earth are you doing?” Remus asked, a fond, confused smile on his lips. “We’re going outside,” Sirius replied simply, grinning and tugging on Remus’s hand. Remus just laughed, but allowed Sirius to pull him outside and into the rain anyway. “But it’s the middle of the night! And it’s pouring!” he protested with a grin, looking up to the sky as both of them began to feel cool droplets of rain against their skin. It was already soaking through the fabric of Remus’s t-shirt. “I know!” OR Remus has a bad night, and Sirius is determined to turn it around by showing him exactly how loved he is. Major tags: Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Fluff Warning(s): N/A

🌟 As the Moon Knows the Stars (T) - 48k

On the day Sirius Black turned seventeen, he had his soulmark removed in order to protect the soulmate he'd never met from the wrath of his own family. In the eight years since, he's managed to make his peace with living the rest of his life without falling in love. Though he mourns his lost soulmate every day, he's confident he made the right choice to protect them, and no one has ever made him question that. Until, of course, Lily Evans brings her childhood friend along for a pub night, and Sirius finds himself utterly enamored with the kind, mysterious stranger. But Remus Lupin surely has a soulmate of his own waiting out there somewhere, and Sirius won't let himself get in the way of that. He just wishes Remus weren't so damn easy to love. Major tags: Soulmates AU, Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, Slow Burn, Remus Never Went to Hogwarts, Neurodivergent Sirius Warning(s): implied/referenced abuse and homophobia (all takes place in the past and is limited to Sirius's shitty parents)

🌟 Hold Back the River (T) - 3.3k

“There are nights where I don’t really dream, or at least, not that I remember, you know?” Sirius continues. “But I can’t remember the last time I dreamt about something that was good. Something that made me happy.” Remus’s heart beats unsteadily in his chest, because this, strangely enough, is not something he can relate to. Remus does have good dreams, on occasion, and a great many of them feature the boy with whom he is currently sharing a couch. He’s done his best to shove them to the back of his mind, whenever he wakes up from them. He relegates them to that ever-expanding box of Sirius-related memories that would be better off forgotten and moves on, only now… Sirius is right beside him, prodding at the box with long, aristocratic fingers, and Remus can feel the lid beginning to slip. Major tags: Post Prank, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Forgiveness, First Kiss Warning(s): dealing with the aftermath of The Prank, mentions of Sirius's shitty parents

(everybody here was) someone else before (M) - 13k

“No?” the man said. “And where might this dashing fellow countryman of mine be?” “Right here, actually,” Remus said with a lopsided grin, finally turning to face the newcomer. “I’m Re-” He stopped halfway through his introduction to gape at the man in front of him. His pale skin was littered with tattoos – most of them black as his hair, which fell in waves that just barely touched his slim shoulders – and the grey v-neck tee he wore left little of his toned figure to the imagination. But none of these things were the primary focus of Remus’s attention. That honour would go to the man’s eyes – grey and sparkling with the vivacity of a summer storm, flecked with golds and blues if one only looked closely enough. They were eyes Remus would recognize anywhere. Because Remus had seen them before. OR A chance meeting in Remus's least favorite city on Earth forces him to reckon with the fact that he may never have fallen out of love with an old friend. Major tags: Muggle AU, Childhood Friends Reconnecting, Sexual Tension/Content, Idiots in Love Warning(s): Sirius's shitty parents, mentioned Jegulus

#mcdynamite writes #wolfstar #steddie #masterlist #mcdynamite masterlist #wolfstar fic #steddie fic #steddie ficlet

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Erudite | In Your Own Time

Hi, I absolutely loved Erudite!!! If you're taking requests at the moment, I'd love to see a continuation of it where Virgil (or Patton, Janus or Remus) makes it obvious that they've been flirting with Logan, and he tells them he's not interested in that way and comes out to them as aromantic (preferably with the 4 of them being supportive and reassuring him they'll still want to hang out with him now they're in a relationship) – stormofstarlight

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: internalized arophobia

Pairings: NONE WE ARE ALL PLATONIC HERE BABEY

Word Count: 2502

As soon as Roman opens his door, he stands aside to let Logan in and closes the door firmly behind them.

"They won't stop," Logan grits out, adjusting his tie over and over again until he's more just pulling on it but he can't stop because his chest won't stop twitching, "they just—I can't—I don't—"

"Easy," Roman murmurs, taking him by the hand and leading him over to the bed, "hey, hey, just come sit with me for a moment, okay?"

Logan collapses to the bed in a thoroughly undignified heap, letting Roman coax him into a floppy cuddle. Hands run through his hair as he squeezes his eyes shut, fumbling to put his glasses on the nightstand so he can freely bury his face into the crook of Roman's neck. Roman hushes him with a seemingly limitless patience, breathing slowly and steadily as a gentle reminder. The mass of frenzied energy in his chest starts to slowly unravel.

"Please—my chest—can you—?"

Roman works a hand between them to rub gentle circles into his chest again and Logan whimpers from the relief of it.

"Oh, you're alright, Logan, it's okay." Roman's lips press chastely against his forehead. "I've got you, okay? You're right here with me. Everything's okay. You're okay. Shh, shh, that's it…just get it all worked out, okay? I'm right here. You're safe."

He is. He is safe here. Roman is right, he is safe here, everything's going to be okay. Roman understands and he's holding him gently and he can just—just—

Another kiss pressed to his temple. "You're alright, Erudite."

Logan shatters.

He loses track of time almost instantly, just curled up against Roman. Everything fades into a confusing swirl of soreness and euphoria, the faint pain in his chest not enough to drown out how good it feels to just let it go. And Roman stays with him for all of it, just rubbing his chest and kissing his hair and letting him be a complete and utter mess right there, on the bed, without any need for him to do anything other than feel. A luxury he would have denied himself and been all the lesser for it.

After a long, long time, he presumes, he sags against Roman, exhausted. Roman offers a small water bottle that he sips from gratefully.

"That seemed like a lot, Erudite."

"It was," he croaks, "I'm…thank you."

"You're very welcome. I'm glad you came." Roman kisses his cheek again and takes the water bottle. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Do you want me to ask questions like last time?"

"Please?"

Roman smiles, brushing a tear from Logan's cheek. "Does it have anything to do with what we talked about last time?"

"Yes."

"Are the others flirting with you again?"

Logan rounds his shoulders. "I don't think it counts as flirting."

"Let me rephrase: are they doing things to playfully squabble for your attention and get all pouty when you don't give it to them?"

"…yes."

Roman's chuckle is enough to coax the smallest smile back to his face. Roman sees it, of course, and nudges him gently. "Is that what's making you so upset?"

"In a way," he sighs. "I don't…I don't want to not spend time with them anymore, but when they keep—they just—"

At his groan of frustration, Roman tugs lightly on his sleeve. "Is it that they don't know that you're aromantic, or you still feel as though their affection isn't for you?"

"Both?"

Roman nods sympathetically. "Do you think it would be helpful to talk to them about it?"

"But what do I say? 'Hi, I'm aromantic, I feel like you shouldn't be giving me affection?'"

"Is that true?"

"In some ways, yes. But I can figuratively see Patton's face if I said something like that to them and—"

"Yes, quite." Roman winces. "I can see it too. Yeah, maybe…maybe not that."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, do you think you'd rather come out to them first, or tell them that they're making you uncomfortable by flirting with you first?"

"Aren't the two of them connected?"

"Well, yes, but them being connected doesn't mean they have to be simultaneous. I came out to Remus before I came out to the others—actually, I don't know if I'm fully out to the others, now that I think about it." He gives himself a shake. "But this isn't about me. I—do you think you would be okay with them knowing you were aro?"

Logan sighs, leaning back against Roman. Roman lets the pause hang in the air. "I don't know. I don't want them to look at me any differently."

"Of course not," Roman says softly, carding his hand through his hair again, "I understand. Maybe you could tell them that you'd like them to stop flirting with you?"

"But them flirting—I don't know if it's flirting. And they're—they—is it wrong that I like having them want to spend time with me? Or that they want my attention?"

"No, it's not bad."

"What if I ask them to stop and they don't do anything with me anymore?"

"I don't think that'll happen, Erudite."

The name sends a small jolt of warmth through him. "But I don't think I know the difference. What if all of their attention feels wrong?"

Roman's quiet for a moment.

"Sorry."

"No, no, don't apologize. We're just talking. It's okay. This is complicated. It's hard, and it's not—I don't think any of the things we could say, any of us, will completely make these feelings go away. That's not your fault, that's just how feelings are."

"I know," Logan grumbles, "it's the worst."

Roman chuckles again, the feeling reverberating through his chest. A small smile comes to Logan's face. "It is the worst, you are absolutely correct."

He toys with a loose thread at the end of his tie. "Does that mean I should come out to them first?"

"This isn't a binary answer, Logan—"

"Boolean."

"This isn't a Boolean answer, Logan, there are more than two options. You can also just tell them that things feel different now that they're in a relationship."

Logan frowns. "But it's not my relationship."

"That doesn't mean the dynamics of all of us aren't changing. It's going to feel different for everybody, not just you. That's not an unreasonable thing to bring up. Like—okay, imagine there's a pool of water and there are…oh, god, how many of us are there?"

"Six."

"There are six buoys floating in the pool. The ripples are going to all interact, right?"

"Yes."

"Now if we tied four of them together, or the four of them were connected in some way, that would change the ripples, right?"

Begrudgingly, Logan can admit to himself that it's a very solid analogy. He mumbles something to that effect as he curls up a little more. Roman kindly refrains from teasing him about it.

"It's different. It just is. It makes sense that things are going to take some getting used to for all of us. It's not your fault that you feel a certain way about it, even if you're happy it happened in the first place."

"I know, it's just…"

"Yeah," Roman agrees quietly when he can't quite finish it, "it is."

"Will you be there," he asks, turning to look up at him, "when I tell them?"

"Of course I will, Erudite. Of course."

In the end, it comes up in a rather roundabout way. Patton ordered a deck of pride-themed cards and they all decide to play a game with them. But first, they have to take the time to appreciate the quality of the artwork, and so they lay them all out so they can see them in their full splendor.

"These are sick," Virgil mumbles, looking at the array of cards spread out in front of them, "where did you say you got these from?"

"Well, they were only pre-order when I bought them—"

"Shit."

"Language, kiddo, but I can send you the link to the seller's website?"

"Yeah, gimme that. Maybe there's a way to get a hold of them."

"Why does this one have frogs?"

"Because frogs are awesome, Janny," Remus cackles, looping one arm around Patton's shoulders and pulling him in for what is probably supposed to be an affectionate side hug. "Aren't they?"

"Aww, that's so sweet, Remus!"

"Yes," Janus says, trying for his normal wry sarcasm and missing by quite a distance, "yes, it is."

Logan shuffles a little and Roman presses their shoulders together. He takes a deep breath in and out. He can do this.

"Ooh, hey, you know what'd be fun?" Virgli rubs his hands togheter. "Everyone pick the one you like the most."

"Frogs!"

"Remus!"

The carefully arranged cards scatter as Remus all but dives for the frog one, only caught by Janus quickly wrapping his arms around the exuberant green blur. Patton shakes his head fondly and places the gay pride card with the frogs on it in front of Remus. Remus squeals gleefully and snatches it up.

"No eating, Remus!"

"I won't, I won't, they're not mine."

Janus chuckles as he picks up the bisexual pride card. "Oh, Remus. We can make one you can eat later."

"Really?"

"Sure."

Virgil rolls his eyes as he puts the demisexual pride card in front of himself. "You're just encouraging him, you know."

"Oh, of course."

"I'll take the rainbow pride one, if no one else wants it?"

"All yours, Padre."

Patton claps his hands excitedly and picks it up, settling it in front of himself with a little wiggle. "This was a great idea, Virgil, they're all so pretty!"

"Right? I'm definitely stealing this deck from you at some point."

Where in the past that might have turned into a lecture about asking permission to joke that it wouldn't be stealing if Patton let him take it, instead is just another fond roll of his eyes. "Roman? Logan? Which ones did you two pick?"

Logan glances down at Roman. Roman gestures for him to go first. He looks at the pile. He could just take the asexuality pride, that would be the safer option.

It would.

But he hears Roman's soft voice calling him Erudite in the back of his mind and he makes his decision, reaching instead for the aroace pride card. After a moment, Roman picks up the aromantic pride card and puts it in front of himself.

"I don't think I know those," he hears Patton say, "what are those ones?"

"Aromantic," Roman says, leaning against Logan's side. "Mine's aromantic."

Remus wiggles an arm free from Janus's embrace to give Roman a high-five. "Hell yeah, bro. Lolo's got—did you want to say it?"

"You can."

"Lolo's got aroace."

"Oh. So…is that aromantic and asexual?"

"Yes, it is."

"Oh. That's…cool."

Virgil snorts, reaching over to give Logan a pat on the shoulder. "Tone, Pop Star."

"Oh, no, not that I don't—I didn't mean it like that," Patton says quickly, "I've just never seen that one before!"

Logan nods. He swallows the lump in his throat and reaches blindly for Roman's hand. Roman squeezes it back. "What game are we playing?"

"Right." Virgil sits up taller. "So, it's called Kings in a Corner and we all have to promise we're not teaching Janus how to play Spite and Malice."

"Oh, that doesn't seem fair."

"No, no, I agree with this assertion, we will not be teaching you that game."

"Yeah, you'd take it too seriously."

"I would not!"

"We all know that's a lie."

"Hey, L?"

Logan turns. Virgil jogs up to him as the rest of them clear away the last of the cards. "Yes?"

"Are you—that was your way of coming out to us, right?"

"Yes, I had intended it to be."

"Well, um, thanks, for that. I, uh, I'm glad you felt like it was safe enough to do." Logan just nods. "I, uh, guess you figured out we've been…flirting with you, huh?"

"I did, yes." No need to mention that Roman helped with that.

"We, uh, I'm guessing you'd rather we…didn't."

"I think so, yes. I don't…feel comfortable with it."

"Yeah, I figured." Virgil shuffles a little back and forth in the hall. His hands twist into the pockets of his hoodie. "Just—you know that we still care about you, right?"

"Are you referring to the aftermath of me coming out, or the recent relationship the four of you have entered?"

"The, uh, the second one. We do—I—okay, I'm just gonna ask this." He takes a deep breath. "Does this have anything to do with why you asked me to get Roman when you had that nightmare?"

Logan blinks. "When did you lot get this perceptive?"

Virgil shrugs, offering a sheepish smile. "I…may have gone to ask Remus what was happening—"

"Why Remus? What does Remus have to do with anything?"

"'Cause he's the one who's always rambling about how much he loves spending time with you."

"He what now?"

"C'mon, L, you know he adores you. Not like that, but he—you two just get each other, you know? So yeah, he likes talking about it." Logan is still reeling from that as Virgil keeps talking. "So I asked him if you were upset or something and he said that he—he didn't know, for sure, but he said it was something that only Princey would really understand and when you, uh, you both chose aro cards and I sort of…put it together."

"Your logic is…impeccable."

"Coming from you, that's high praise." Virgil shuffles a little closer. "Look, I know this is gonna be weird for a bit while we all figure this out, you and Roman too, but I—you know we still care about you. We still wanna help you and spend time with you. I'm not saying that to be like 'hey, you shouldn't feel weird about it,' you can absolutely still feel weird about it, just—yeah."

"I understand. Thank you, Virgil."

Virgil nods. "I'll tell the others to back off about the whole flirting thing, but I'll let—you should be the one to decide when to tell them the rest."

Logan bows his head and Virgil grins, going off into his room. Logan watches him go before going into his own room, shutting the door. He just stands there for a moment, letting himself be. Virgil's words ring in his head along with another shudder of the warmth he feels when Roman calls him Erudite. He smiles.

In his own time.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #aro #aromantic #aromanticism #aromantic roman sanders #aromantic logan sanders

[veltana]

Mafia AU prequels - Bucky's break-up

✦ Pairing: Stucky/Fem!Reader ✦ Word count: ~1.7k ✦ Rating: Mature ✦ Warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, mild swearing, angst, mentions of alcohol consumption, lots of fluff and feels, platonic cuddling, sharing a bed, Bucky is a dramatic drunk, unrequited love/crush, mention of loki/reader. ✦ Summary: The thing with roommates is that you will hear them during sex occasionally, it can’t be avoided with thin walls in an old building. But since that Wednesday Bucky never once slept alone and the rest of the time he was hardly in the apartment. ✦ Note: This is a prequel to No one as sweet as you set while they were living together in college, which focuses on their growing relationship and how Bucky and Steve started to develop feelings for Sweets as more than just their best friend. You don't need to read No one as sweet as you to get this but I recommend it. (Also posted on AO3)

Series masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

Bucky and Dot broke up on a Wednesday around lunch. On Wednesday night Bucky had a new girl in his bed and you and Steve shrugged, put on your headphones, and waited for it to blow over.

The thing with roommates is that you will hear them during sex occasionally, it can’t be avoided with thin walls in an old building. But since that Wednesday Bucky never once slept alone and the rest of the time he was hardly in the apartment.

With your room right in between Steve and Bucky’s, you took the brunt of the sounds and on Friday morning you decided to take shelter in Steve’s room because the girl was a screamer and you had barely slept for two days.

Now it’s Tuesday, around one am and both Steve and you are awake, listening to the moans and sounds making their way through your room and into Steve’s.

"How does he even do it?" Steve sounds a little amazed as you both lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. "Drugs?" you ask. "Honestly, it has to be, how else is he going at it all the time like that?" "Maybe they're all faking it?" you suggest.

"I've never heard anyone complain about him," Steve shrugs. "But I mean statistically he can’t get it right for everyone every time." "If he does, he is one of a kind," you decide. "Tempted to go for a ride?" You hear the smile in Steve's voice without even looking. "No, not really," you grimace. "We should do something, I’m not sure it’s healthy anymore."

"Yeah I know, Sweets, but if I try and grab him like he did with me when I was sad about Peggy he is probably going to punch me," Steve sounds concerned too.

Sweets, that dorky nickname they both have decided to call you because you happen to like all things sweet. Somehow it had stuck, even though you protested. "I can try and talk to him," you pause before continuing. "If he is ever alone again."

Suddenly the front door slams and you realize that the sounds have stopped. Sharing a look both of you rush out of bed, finding Bucky in the kitchen, downing a gallon of juice.

"Want some?" He holds it out when he sees you. The smell of alcohol on his breath is strong, even when you’re a few feet away, pulling out a chair to sit down across from where he’s standing. "No thank you," you answer while Steve leans against the fridge. "So, who was that?" you ask.

Bucky shrugs. "Don't know, met her at a bar." "Are you using protection?" Steve asks with a raised eyebrow. Bucky straightens up, putting the open juice jug down hard on the counter, making liquid slosh out, looking at Steve with black eyes that you’ve never seen before.

"Of course I am, do you think I'm fucking dumb or somethin'," he snarls. Bucky tends to be a little dramatic when he's drunk. In an effort to calm him down you reach out to him. "Hey, Bucky, it's okay, he wasn't-" The moment your fingers touch his arm, he turns and moves his hand. "Don't fucking touch me," he says and the palm of his hand connects with your underarm.

Out of surprise and not because it hurts, you yelp and look up at Bucky, a little confused because he’s never reacted like that before. He stares back at you with horrified eyes, realization dawning on him. Slowly, without another word, he backs away and hurries over to his room, slamming the door behind him like a teenager in a fit.

Steve moves forward and grabs your arm, turning it over to see if you’re hurt. "What the fuck is wrong with him," he murmurs. "It's nothing, I was just surprised," you shrug. "I've hurt myself worse by bumping into tables." "That is no fucking excuse." Steve lets go and starts towards Bucky's door. Before he can knock, Bucky opens it with a bag over his shoulder. He's changed into new clothes and his cap is pulled down low over his eyes.

Steve blocks the doorway and crosses his arms, asking "Where the fuck are you going?" "Heading out, move," Bucky mumbles and tries to duck past Steve but the other won't let him. "The fuck your not, you're gonna stay here and face whatever it is that you’re feeling," Steve's voice is laced with restrained anger. "And you're gonna apologize to Sweets."

You’re about to protest that you're not really hurt, but Steve shoots a look over his shoulder and you clamp your mouth shut. "We understand that you're sad about Dot," Steve is softer now and he leans on the doorframe, giving Bucky a way out but he doesn't take it, he just stands there, looking at the ground.

"You don't understand shit, Steve," Bucky mutter. "Have you even cried?" Steve asks and that makes Bucky’s head snap up, his mouth a thin line. "Real men don't fucking cry," he hisses. They stare at each other for a long while, then Steve points to you. "Can real men apologize when they're being a fucking ass?" Steve asks with poorly hidden disdain.

This is a sore spot for both of them and has been the grounds for arguments before. Bucky has some views on what it means to be a man that neither Steve nor you share. It has gotten better over the years according to Steve but you have not seen Bucky cry once, not to sad movies or when he’s been injured, or even had his heart broken. It's concerning, but maybe you and Steve can help him with that one day.

The bag lands on the floor with a thump and he walks past Steve to where you're sitting on the chair. Without a word he gets down on his knees in front of you and gently grabs your arm, pressing his lips against your skin murmuring "I'm sorry," repeatedly.

Steve has turned to look at you and you meet his eyes that are still hard and annoyed. You use your free hand to remove the cap and run your fingers through Bucky's hair, whispering, "It's okay."

When you do, Bucky stiffens and stops moving for a moment, then he lets go of your arm and buries his face in your pajama-clad lap, his voice trembling when he says, "I'll move out, I swear. I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Sweets! I didn’t mean to hurt you! I love you so much."

Steve softens immediately and pushes off the door to settle on the floor beside him, rubbing his back. “No need for that Buck,” he says softly and you echo him. “I don’t want you to leave Bucky,” you grab one of his hands and gently press a kiss to the top of it before placing it back again.

After several minutes of silence, Bucky asks angrily into your legs, "Why the fuck does it have to hurt this much.” "I don't know," you answer truthfully. "I wish I never met her, never fucked her, never fucking loved her,” Bucky continues. "No, you don't," Steve argues. "I know it might feel like you will never be happy again but it will get better." Bucky lifts his head and Steve cups his face and brushes his cheeks, even though there are no tears there.

"We love you, and we will help you with anything you need," you promise. Bucky nods and lays his head down against your legs again with Steve's hand still on his cheek.

Eventually, Steve stands up and Bucky looks at him a little worried. "Not leaving, just gonna get another blanket for the bed," he reassures him. While Steve is gone Bucky says, "I'm sorry I hurt you, I love you, Sweets, more than you could ever know." And you smile because even though you know he’s exaggerating, it’s still nice to hear him say it. "I know Bucky, I know," you whisper.

When Steve comes back he pulls Bucky to his feet and guides him into the bedroom. You check the front door before turning all the lights out, then padding over to Steve's room too. They're cuddled together, Bucky's head pressed into Steve's shoulder and you move to slide in behind Bucky, but he grabs you around the waist and pulls you down between them. It makes you giggle and there is a weak smile answering on Bucky's face before you all settle in.

There is not even a light bruise left behind on your arm the next day, but you've never seen Bucky so remorseful. In the following weeks, he accompanies you around to classes, carries your stuff, and has sworn off drinking. Both you and Steve are skeptical because Bucky is famous for his partying but in the months that follow he often goes out but always comes home sober.

One day when you're having lunch at home together on the couch, you ask him about it.

First, he puts his food down before taking hold of your utensils and placing them on the table. Then he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, hugging you so tightly you can hardly breathe.

"I never want to put you in that situation again," he explains. "What if I get angry and do something worse, to you, or Steve, or anyone else." Hugging him back as best you can you say "Maybe you should talk to a professional about it?" "I'm on a waiting list," he replies.

You cuddle into him, really trying to show him that you mean it when you say, "Bucky I'm not afraid of you, I know you didn't mean to hurt me." "Don't make excuses for me," he says and picks up a strand of your hair, twirling it between his fingers.

The moment is cut off by your phone chiming and you wiggle out of his hold. When you pull it out a smile splits your face. "Have to go," you grab another spoonful of fried rice then get up. "Who was that?" Bucky asks.

Since you’re halfway to the door you don't pick up on his tone. "Just someone I've been seeing," "What's his name?" "Loki, he's from Europe!" You turn around with a smile and throw him a kiss before you're out the door.

Bucky feels his heart break, again, only this time he has no excuse to be sad about it because you aren't his.

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#veltana writes #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky fanfic #steve fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky fic #steve fic #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes x female reader #steve rogers x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #bucky barnes x you #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!steve rogers #mob!stucky x reader #mob!steve rogers #mob!bucky barnes #mob!steve x reader #mob!bucky x reader

[guardiandae]

"5+7" - Chapter 3 (...but NEW)

Pairing: Genos/Saitama Fandom: One Punch Man Rating: Teen Word Count: 5k (55k overall, wip) Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Weird Fluff, Crack, Platonic Cuddling, Mental Health Issues, OCD/Autistic-coded Genos

Teaser:

"I tried to do some research last night," Genos says. "But it wasn't very informative." "Oh no. Not more WikiHow articles?" "No. I stumbled onto quizzes about friendship," Genos explains. "But I couldn't take most of them, because they kept asking about what I did with my friends, and I don't have any, and they didn't have options for the kinds of stories we've made so far." Saitama grimaces awkwardly. "Yeah, ours are kind of unique to say the least." "And then there was one, about what kind of friend you are," Genos continues. "Yeah…?" Saitama asks, hesitantly. "How did that one go?" "Terribly. It said I'm not a good friend at all, and I need to work on that," Genos says, sighing with slight annoyance. "And none of these quizzes offered answer keys, no matter how I tried to search for them. I don't understand the point of offering a quiz you can't study for."

A/N: Hey, finally time to reveal I've been brushing the dust off this old-but-never-forgotten fic. ♥ I needed to fix my timeline, so this is a new chapter that's been inserted into the chapter 3 spot, out of 8 chapters.

There IS 5k of the next chapter done, but it's not complete yet. The next few chapters, maybe all the way to the last, will be pretty long judging by my notes. I'm motivated to finish this, BUT work has decided to start kicking my ass bloody, so pray for me, lmao.

Read on AO3 // New Chapter 3

#5+7 #genosai #saigenos #opm fanfiction #my fic

[aannonn]

A lil' fic I wrote on both my wattpad and ao3 account.. But wanted to post it here too, soooOooo let's go11!!

(aaand because i wanted to play around with Tumblr's colorful text once again xD)

Fandom: Animator vs. Animation (Short Films - Becker)

Relationships: Can be considered as both platonic and romantic

Characters: Color Gang & Alan Becker & DJ (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hugs, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sleepy Cuddles, Cuddle Piles, Platonic Cuddling, Team as Family, Family Fluff, The Color Gang Needs a Hug (Animator vs. Animation), No Dialogue

Free Hugs!

   Finishing the final touch with a small click, Orange stood back, silently admiring his work.

   What our dear friend Orange just did, my friends, is steal Minecraft's wooden sign and drag it into Alan's Adobe Flash, grabbing a pen and quickly scribbling some letters onto the previously clean wood.

   Earlier that day, Orange woke up, as usual, at noon, and quickly left his house, feeling strangely refreshed today.

   This strange renewal was quickly erased when he saw the state of his friends, however.

   His friends, his friends who are so stupid but also so loving that they are always there for him. His friends who are also his family, his main reason for living, the main reason why his days always seem to brighten considerably even more whenever they are close by. His small but wonderful family - along with Alan, their creator, of course.

   His friends- No. His little family has always been so energetic and enthusiastic, full of plans and just so.. lively. Looking so much like a big strong flame and tough and just so beautiful.

He wouldn't know what he would do if that flame faded.

   His light at the end of the tunnel, his sun on rainy days, the platonic, no homo loves of his life... It seemed to have suddenly faded.

   It was so all of sudden, so... disconcerting. Seeing his friends sitting on the couch looking like they're dying of some sorts - when, in fact, they're not - is just... disconcerting, to say the least.

   Dark circles in their eyes - or, well, whatever was in place of their eyes, - slow movements, becoming more easily distracted and looking like, with every minute that passes, they get even more tired than he is when he wakes up way too early to his liking. And that says a lot.

   Orange doesn't know why - none of them gave an exact explanation of the reason The only thing they told him was that it was a tiring day and nothing more than that.

ﾠ Which, was absurd. In Orange's personal opinion, at least. His friends were never tired - at least, not tired like him.

   While he feels sleepy and tired and with each passing day he feels even more disconnected from reality, his friends can spend a whole day awake and, even so, still not be tired.

   Quite the contrary, there is a strong possibility that they will feel even more energetic in the morning, much to Orange's jealousy exasperation.

   So seeing his friends in such a depressing state broke his heart — literally? Metaphorically? Coded heart? Whatever kind of heart StickFigures like him have.

   So, Orange made it his personal goal to, at least, try to cheer up his friends.

   They always managed to brighten up his days, even unintentionally, so it's time for him to return the favor.

   Orange scribbled a few more minecraft drawing decorations into the empty corners of the wood, making sure they were some of his friends' favorites, before mentally patting himself on the back for his hard work.

   He sighed, nervous but hopeful. If that doesn't work... Well, he'll think of something eventually.

   The important thing is that his friends - his family, are happy and comfortable, and nothing else matters to him beyond that.

   Walking slowly across the desktop towards the couch where his friends were still in the same state as before, lying down and sprawled out lazily.

   Which wouldn't be so unusual, almost making Orange think that his friends were happy again, if it weren't for the fact that they still had a, somewhat, depressing air around them.

   Sighing deeply, he walked in front of them, nervous, terribly embarrassed but most of all; Hopeful.

   He's usually not the one who initiates them, but...

   Red simply stares at him lazily, nodding his head in greeting. Blue raises his head a little to look at him, while Yellow and Green remain in the positions they were in, the only indication that they were listening is the small movement of their heads, although they still haven't given him a single look, very busy having a staring contest with the ceiling.

   Orange have a feeling that the ceiling is winning...

   Orange sighed again, his grip on the wooden handle tightening; Although it couldn't be seen, he could still feel himself blushing even without facial expressions.

   He slowly lifted the sign so the text could be read, shaking. - Not out of fear or nervousness, more like out of pure embarrasment because ohgodhesreallydoingitsomeonekillhimrightnowplease

   Orange simply stares at the ground, not making eye contact with any of them. - He can practically feel everyone's eyes on him, which leaves him a little overwhelmed, presumably reading the text over and over again to see if they're not reading it wrong.

   When a few moments pass without either of them making any kind of movement or noise or literally anything else, Orange slowly drops the sign, already feeling the regret and embarrasment growing even more, making him question why he even came up with this idea-

   He quickly broke out of his thoughts when he heard a small movement come from in front of him, making him tear his eyes away from the ground to look up, still slightly embarrassed about what he just did.

   ...Only to find a very excited Red doing little jumps of excitement, an equally excited Green although looking like as much as a smug, a shocked Yellow though looking grateful, and lastly Blue who, although he had no facial expression, seemed to be smiling softly at him, his head shaking in an fondly manner.

   Before Orange could literally do anything, Green slowly freed himself from the tangle of arms and legs on the couch, walking towards Orange in a certain way that would generate suspense, leaving the youngest of the five(5) extremely nervous and even more embarrassed.

   Green simply stood in front of him, staring at him for a long, unnecessary moment before finally leaning in to give Orange a hug, his gentle yet firm grip holding him gently and not looking like he wanted to let go.

   Orange stood stiffly for a few seconds, slightly surprised, before slowly trying to hug his friend back before he noticed Red jumping up from the couch - knocking Yellow and Blue over in the process, though none of them seemed to mind, not when the youngest of the four(4) jumped on the other two, giving them a tight hug that didn't hint like he would let go anytime soon.

   Red's sudden enthusiastic embrace threw him a little off balance, causing him to stumble backwards and, just like that, fall to the ground along with the other two StickFigures, the loud thud and Red's laughter echoing across the desktop as they all turned into one messy pile of hugs on the floor.

   He could distantly hear Yellow laughing too, before both he and Blue stood up to join the colorful pile, Yellow snuggling a little closer while Blue squeezed everyone in a soft, comforting grip, his signature bear hug.

   Well, great. Now Orange can't feel his legs with all of them on top of him!

   Not that he cares, though. Orange felt himself laughing, before, with some effort, he managed to free his arms from the deadly grip and hug his family with the same strength and softness, trying to convey the same comfort and happiness that everyone was providing each other.

   They were all happy and comfortable. Orange's mission was successful. And that was all that mattered.

   At some point, they all fell asleep in the comfy pile, small soft snores coming from it.

   In that same place at some point, Alan eventually sat down back at his seat in front of the computer, only to find his little StickFigures friends all in a little tangle of hugs.

   Alan felt himself get a little worried when he saw that Orange seemed to be being slightly crushed by the others on top of him, although the latter didn't really seem to mind, not when he seemed to happily return the hug and snuggle even closer, their chests? Their bellies? rising and falling so smoothly and slowly that it made the animator quickly realize that they were all asleep.

   Alan smiled softly at the adorable sight, before quickly opening Adobe Flash - which, for some reason, was already open - and drawing a small blanket and some pillows, bringing them to the still sleeping color gang, carefully so as not to wake them up, lifting up their little heads to place the pillows beneath them, covering them with the blanket immediately afterwards.

   He could vaguely see the colorful gang huddling even closer, their presumably snores becoming softer by the second.

   Thinking for a second, he slowly moved the cursor down and, very pretty much carefully, stroked the StickFigures' heads, sighing in relief when he saw that they didn't wake up and, instead, simply leaned into his touch.

   The animator smiled again, before using his other computer so he could work on his programs without having to wake the little ones.

   Before that, however, he belatedly noticed the wooden sign from Minecraft thrown carelessly to the side, the text "FREE HUGS" written in large letters with small animal decorations, - most notably were the drawings of the pigs - redstone, noteblocks and.. NetherWarts? Drawn one in each corner.

   Huh. How convenient.

   Alan shook his head. Anyways, he has a video to finish with DJ. And with absolute certainty he will tell DJ about all of this.

   Ahh.. DJ will love hearing about this.

AAand that's that! xD

also! some inspirations for this oneshot...

Inspired yea, but not entirely. xD

Pretty much the main inspo for this oneshot, although it is, in no way, meant to be related.

Welp! I think that's it..? xD

Cya ~ !

MIDNIGHT AGAINN AAAAAAAAAAAA

lil' edit; I edited it a lil'! I noticed I got some things wrong and forgor others, so I fixed it. ;') It's nothing too big, don't worry! Just some grammatical errors and that I forgor to put the second link to the main inspo for this oneshot.. welp-

#animation vs minecraft #animation vs animator #ava #avm #alan becker #fanfic #color gang #ava color gang #fic #my fic #have a good day! #have a good afternoon! #have a good night! #♪(´▽｀) #( *^-^)ρ(^0^* ) #*:･ﾟ

[vampiricgaz]

Denial | Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Transmale!Reader Oneshot

Warnings/Tags : Brief mentions of sex, internalized transphobia, anxiety, vomiting, angst and fluff

A/N : This would be my second one shot that I’ve posted, I hope y’all like it :3

AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/55254895

The footsteps in the living room echoed throughout the hall—a sound you’ve memorised so much it’s ingrained in your head. The steps get louder and louder, and when they stop, you then hear a sudden knock on the door of your room. The door opens slightly, the light from outside shining into the darkness of your room. You see his shadow cast on the walls, the outline of his handsome features, and his body highlighted by the soft light of the hallway.

“I’m going out now; I'm probably going to buy a few snacks from the 7-11 nearby. You want anything, mate?”

There it was the familiar voice of the one who made your heart race—the one that made your feet turn cold and made the butterflies flutter around in your stomach. Kyle Garrick, your college roommate, the one you were lucky enough to have instead of any other roommate.

“Maybe a bag of crisps and some chocolate, thanks.” You answer with a warm smile, trying to hide the fact that your heart is about to pump itself out of your chest.

He was the perfect man, you thought. He was smart and sweet, a gentleman when he needed to be, and dammit, the tiny fangs of his teeth peek out when he smiles cheekily at you, making you feel giddy and lovestruck. He’s taken care of you when you were ill, and he’s always been by your side, platonically.

You were mere friends with him, something that always hit you hard and shattered whatever fantasies you had about him. Everything you had done together has been platonic—something roommates do for each other—and that it meant nothing more than just being good friends. Whether it be the cuddling sessions you both would have on the couch while the television was on, sleeping together on the same bed when you both needed the comfort, cooking each other food when the other was in a bad mood, kissing each other everywhere on the face except the lips, or borrowing each other's clothes. All of it was platonic, or so you thought.

You sat there on your bed as you thought about your crush on Kyle, the dark room hiding your flushed expression before you plopped back down on the bed. You squeal into your pillow at the small interaction, your cheeks turning warm when you remember his mellow voice. You’ve fallen for the man hard, and it was only time until you confessed to him. But you couldn't—not when you’re a girl to him.

Kyle was gay, something he’d known for a long time. He came out to you, and he trusted you fully to tell you that. It took a lot for him to gather up the courage to tell you, and tears were shed the day he did. You hugged him tightly and let him cry on your shoulder. The poor guy feared you were going to hate him for it, but you accepted him with open arms. You reassured him that you were supportive, that you liked him regardless, and that him being gay was not going to ruin your friendship. And things have been alright since then, with the two of you being closer than ever and having a great friendship overall.

That was until you had to sleep through countless nights hearing loud bed creaks and various noises of Kyle getting fucked by other men every other night, and it haunts you knowing Kyle was having fun with other men and not you. Sometimes you met the men in the mornings, seeing Kyle be all lovey-dovey and affectionate with them while you simply tried to get a bowl of cereal. You would catch a glimpse of Kyle smiling softly as he laid his chin on the other man’s shoulder, hugging the man from behind while pressing kisses to his neck. And at first, you coped by knowing Kyle was finally happy after years of hiding his true self and that his happiness mattered more than your desires. But it soon turned into resentment and jealousy, wishing that those men were you and that Kyle loved you as much as them.

Soon you snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the front door open, and you rushed out with your hoodie and smiled when you saw Kyle’s presence.

“What’cha got there? Got me the crisps and chocolate that I wanted?” You asked cheekily before you went rummaging in the plastic bag for what you wanted.

“Of course, I got your favourite ones too.” He pulled you out by the scruff of your neck like you were a cat before handing you the stuff he bought. “I figured you were hungry and bought you more stuff; you're welcome.” He smiled as he also gave you a cup of noodles and a hotdog, kissing you on the temple before he went back to his room.

Your heart raced again, the familiar thumping of your heart as the kiss lingered on your temple. It was a platonic kiss; that was all that it was, and you knew that better than anyone. He was affectionate with you, but it wasn’t the same; those small cheek or temple kisses weren’t the same as the ones he gave to his flings or ex’s; it was all platonic.

You couldn’t blame him at all; it was your fault that you’re like this. Maybe you could’ve had a chance if you wore masculine clothes and tried to ‘look like’ a man, but no, you were feminine and wore feminine clothes to cope with the fact that you’ll never be the boy you want to be, especially not a boy Kyle would ever love. Makeup and girly clothes were all you’ve known, never having the guts to come out to anyone, so you remain the girl that everyone knows and loves—except Kyle would never love you.

For a while, things were normal, and you barely cared about Kyle and your problems since you were drowning in a pile of assignments and projects that needed to be done. But then it happened again; it was another one of those off days where nothing went right and those thoughts came back. You couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror without having to see the person you’ve become; you couldn’t recognise yourself under all those frilly clothes and pinky makeup. You hear laughter out the door; it was Kyle and probably another one of his flings again. “Great.” You mumbled, knowing what kind of night this would be. It didn’t help that you were spiralling as it is, your dysphoria and anxiety spiking the more you thought about Kyle and yourself. You were on the brink of tears, your body didn't feel right and you wished to tear your skin right off. This wasn't you, or well a version of you that you despised.

Wanting to get some fresh air you tried to leave your room, only to be met with the sight of Kyle kissing another man with a smile on his face before waving him off as the stranger left the apartment. Jealousy surged through your veins, and then the sudden realisation hit you hard. You're never going to get this, not when you're like this. Your stomach churned, and you suddenly felt sick. Of all things, this wasn’t what you needed for tonight. And without even acknowledging Kyle, you rushed back into your room and straight to the toilet, where you retched everything into the bowl. Kyle ran to you immediately out of concern, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back as you emptied out your stomach.

“What’s wrong? Did you eat something bad? Are you sick?” Kyle asked frantically, panicking while he helped wipe your mouth and walking you to your bed. You sat there, faint and weak, leaning against Kyle’s body. You couldn’t get the images of Kyle’s flings out of your mind—the man you’ve loved for so long, knowing the love would never be reciprocated. The jealousy was eating you inside, and it wasn't just jealousy that Kyle had eyes for other people, but the people Kyle liked were attractive looking. You could never look like them.

“M'fine…” You mumble inaudibly, trying your best not to show Kyle that you were having almost going to have an anxiety attack. Kyle looked down at you, placing a hand on your forehead to check for a fever.

“You’re warm; are you sure you’re fine?” Kyle frowned as he saw your weak state, keeping you comfortable on his body as you weakly lean on him, head beside his shoulders. You nod your head, but Kyle didn’t believe that you were fine.

The way Kyle held you, his soft and mellow voice comforting you at your worst. You couldn’t help but fall for him even more. You hated yourself for being so vulnerable in front of him. You mumble to him, “Would you ever like me?” Kyle blinked in confusion at the question, an awkward silence taking over the room.

“I do like you, though.”

“Not in that way; you know what I mean.”

Silence filled the room again, and Kyle shifted nervously.

“You know I’m gay, right? I’m not into women.”

“And I'm not a woman!”

.

.

.

“Forget it. Just leave.” You groan and push yourself away from Kyle, lying on the bed while turning away from him. Kyle didn’t say anything; he simply stood up and left the room like you asked him to.

Weeks went by, and you both haven’t spoken to each other since you’ve avoided him even when he wished to speak to you. Locking yourself in your room all the time, only ever coming out when you had classes. You noticed that Kyle hadn’t brought anyone over, but you didn’t think much of it. You were rotting in your bed and barely eating these days, but as you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a knock on the door.

“Mate, please let me in.” Kyle pleaded, and you could hear the desperation in his voice as he continued to knock on your door. And for whatever reason, you lazily woke up and opened the door.

Kyle’s face held a worried expression, frowning when he saw your dishevelled appearance and your messy room. He knew you weren’t taking care of yourself. Your eyebags grew deeper and darker, face paler and duller than before, Kyle could tell you weren't alright. There was a plate of food in his hand—something he cooked up just for you.

“You can’t keep avoiding me, love.” He said this as he barged into your room, sitting on the edge of your bed with the plate set down on the bedside table. “I care about you; please talk to me. I can’t stand not talking to you.” His eyes pleaded with yours, begging you to take care of yourself even with just a simple plate of food. He took your hand into his, his thumb gently tracing circles at the back of your hand. You missed the feeling of his soft hands touching you affectionately, or maybe you just missed him.

“I ruined it, didn’t I? I didn’t mean to ruin our friendship.” You spoke, and Kyle’s expression softened when he heard your faint voice speaking to him.

“You didn’t ruin anything; it wasn’t your fault.” He smiled softly as he sneaked his arm around your shoulder, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. You looked up at him in confusion.

“I shouldn’t have confessed. I’m sorry.” Kyle laughed as you said that, but he wasn’t laughing at you. He looked at you and smiled widely—the kind of smile that makes your heart flutter. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing on your arm as a way to reassure you.

“You know, when I say I care about you, I mean it. I care about you way more than I should, and I think you know what I mean. So there's nothing to be sorry about lovey, I'm glad you confessed. ” Kyle’s words made you freeze, your mouth agape as you wanted to speak, but no words were coming out.

“You don’t have to say anything; just believe my words, yeah?”

“But I’m a woman to you, aren’t I? You don’t like women.”

“You’re not a woman to me; you don’t have to keep pretending that you are one from now on.”

"Kyle-"

“You’re a man; you always have been and always will be, especially to me. You got that?”

For the first time, you felt comfortable in your own skin, as if the mask you've worn for so long had just broke and fallen from your face and you'd been laid bare in front of Kyle, and he loved you regardless. Tears brim your eyes, a small pout forming on your lips before you plant your face against the fabric of Kyle’s shirt to absorb the tears. He chuckles at the sight and hugs you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m a bit sad you didn’t tell me sooner; you didn’t have to hide it from me. I trusted you with my secret; now it's your turn to trust me.” He said as his hand cupped your cheek, a gentle look in his eyes as he made you look at him. Your glassy eyes stared at Kyle’s, and he gently wiped away the tears that stained your now-warm cheeks.

“I don’t look like a man; I feel ashamed to even call myself one when I wear dresses and put on makeup. How can you call me a man?” You replied as you rubbed your eyes, leaning comfortably on Kyle as you spoke.

“You’re still a man even when you wear dresses and make-up. You've seen me wear skirts and put on some make-up before, didn't make me less of a man, did it?”

"That's different, Kyle. I look like a woman; I just don’t understand why you like me.” You said it bluntly, and he could only giggle at how blunt you were being.

“Maybe I’ve always liked you; I just thought it was platonic.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I’m not, I swear!”

You whacked him on the arm while he continued to laugh, in turn making you crack a small smile at him.

“Look, maybe there was a part of me that denied my attraction to you when I thought you were a woman. Now that I know you’re not, I feel more comfortable liking you. Does that make sense?”

He explained while you continued laying against him, your smile widening the more Kyle spoke. Your cheeks were red, and your body became warmer. The thought that Kyle had always liked you made you happy.

“What about those men?”

“You mean when I bring people over? I knew I was gay for way too long, so when I started liking you, I thought I was wrong about my sexuality. I started sleeping with more guys to distract myself, I guess. But rest assured, I’m still gay, and I like you.”

You fell into silence, thoughts swirling in your head while you listened to Kyle. Kyle knew you were deep in thought; he could see how much you were struggling to believe him. You still had doubts and insecurities yelling at you that 'this was all some big prank. Or that Kyle was actually bi and he sees you as a woman. He couldn’t have liked you. How could he have liked you? You look nothing like a man, and Kyle liked you. Does he like women too, then? Maybe this is all a big joke, and Kyle is just playing with you. What if he pities you and he’s just pretending to like you? Are you just trapping him in a false queer relationship? Maybe-'

You felt a sudden warmth on your lips, snapping you out of your thoughts as you felt Kyle’s lips on yours. His hands cupped your face lovingly, tilting it up so he could kiss you. His lips were soft and warm on yours; it was addicting. You closed your eyes and savoured the moment, reciprocating the kiss with the same gentleness he had.

“You think too much, lovey.” Kyle mumbled cheekily as he pulled away from you, smiling before gently kissing your forehead. But this time it didn’t feel platonic; no, the kiss was romantic and one you’ve longed for since you met him.

“I love you.”

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