#I needed a break from something else and wanted to see if I could do a project quickly and I did!

[shellshocklove]

moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants. 

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he  ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use. 

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic. 

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel. 

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed. 

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap. 

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt. 

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation. 

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya." 

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks. 

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that? 

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you. 

You could be brave– Just say it! 

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure. 

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan? 

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home. 

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand. 

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason. 

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped. 

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt. 

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks. 

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form. 

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks. 

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless. 

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck. 

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder. 

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock. 

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand. 

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug. 

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."  

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing. 

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass. 

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity. 

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man. 

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away. 

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth. 

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly. 

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out. 

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub." 

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal. 

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to. 

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you. 

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built. 

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles. 

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.    

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum. 

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin. 

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans. 

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[kbwrites]

Breaking up is hard to do!

synopsis: breaking up with the jjk men.

⚝characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

⚝content: heavy angst, gaslighting(Gojo's), depression (Suguru's), mutual breakup(Nanami's)

⚝wc: 3.5k

Satoru Gojo

“Yeah so then Yuji popped out of the crate and surprised them all! You should’ve seen it baby!” Satoru wheezes holding his stomach as he recalls the event from the day.

No matter how hard you try though, you can only muster a small smile.

It had become really hard to do much else recently. With the weight of the hundreds of tasks at work taking its toll. Satoru looks over at you, waiting for a laugh—but it doesn’t come.

“Hellooo? Everything alright princess?” He questions giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Mhmm!” You nod.

He looks at you for another moment, unreadable expression on his face. Satoru shifts, clearly expecting more from you. “You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight. That’s not like you,” he says, his voice still light, but there’s a hint of curiosity now.

You try to hold back the frustration, but it bubbles up anyway. “I’m just tired, Satoru.”

“Tired? Seriously?” he mutters, pulling his hand away. “You work, what, a nine-to-five? You act like you’re running yourself into the ground.”

You blink, taken aback by his dismissive tone. “Satoru, it’s not just about the hours. It’s everything piling up, and—”

“Piling up?” He cuts you off with a scoff, already reaching for his phone. “Why didn’t you just say something sooner? You know I could’ve hired someone to handle that for you. I’ve got the money. You shouldn’t be stressing over... whatever this is.”

The words sting. You knew his mind would go there. It always does—like money could just make the exhaustion disappear, like hiring someone to take care of the smaller details would magically solve everything.

“It’s not about the money, Satoru.” you snap, trying to hold onto your patience. “I don’t need someone else doing my job for me. I just... I need you to listen.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Listen? What do you expect me to say? You’re tired. I get it. But don’t act like you’re drowning when I could have fixed this a long time ago. Hell, I could’ve bought you time off or flown you somewhere. You're sittin' here sulking like I can’t take care of things.”

You clench your fists, the exhaustion now compounded by frustration. “It’s not about you fixing things, Satoru. Sometimes I just need support—not your money.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowing. “Right. So you want to feel miserable instead of letting me help. That’s real smart, princess.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you shove clothes into your bag, the sound of zippers and drawers slamming echoing through the room. You can feel Satoru’s presence behind you, hovering, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not after that.

“C'mon, princess.” he says, his voice exasperated, like he’s the one who's supposed to be annoyed. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”

You don’t answer, your hands moving faster, yanking more clothes off hangers, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. You’re so angry you can barely breathe.

“I’ll book us a trip,” Satoru tries again, a hint of desperation creeping into his usually arrogant tone. “How about Paris? We’ll stay at that five-star hotel you like, the one with the private balcony. You love that place.”

Your jaw clenches. “This isn’t about a vacation, Satoru,” you snap, stuffing the last of your things into the bag. “It’s not about your money or your fancy hotels.”

“Then what is it about?” he shoots back, his voice rising with frustration. “You’re acting like I haven’t given you everything. "What more do you want?"

You freeze, bag halfway zipped, your body trembling as you turn to face him. His icy blue eyes are wide, confused, and maybe even a little hurt, but you’re beyond caring. “I want you to see me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you, louder than you intended. “I don’t need you to throw money at the problem! I need you to actually understand what I’m going through!”

Satoru stares at you, speechless for once. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks almost... shocked, like he can’t comprehend that his money, his status, can’t fix this. That he can’t fix this.

“Do you even care?” you ask, your voice quieter now, but no less angry. “Do you care about how I feel? Or is it just easier for you to throw cash at me until I stop complaining?”

He’s silent, his gaze hardening as he crosses his arms. “I’m trying to help. What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to listen!” You throw your hands up in frustration, feeling more alone than ever. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want trips or fancy dinners. I want you to care about me, Satoru. Not just the idea of me.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he says nothing. The silence is louder than any of his words.

As your hand grips the doorknob, ready to leave, Satoru’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and bitter.

“Right, run off to Shoko’s.” he scoffs, his arms crossed defensively. “You always do this, don’t you? The moment things get tough, you bolt. Guess it’s easier to complain to her than actually deal with me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, stopping you in your tracks. You turn slowly to face him, disbelief clouding your vision. He’s standing there, arms folded, arrogance in his posture.

“I always do this?” you repeat, your voice trembling with anger. “I’ve stayed through everything, Satoru!"

“You’re just like Suguru.” Satoru spits out, the words dripping with bitterness and desperation.

Your hand freezes on the handle. You weren’t expecting that. Slowly, you turn to look at him, and the mask of arrogance has cracked. His eyes are wild, wide with something close to panic. “Running away the moment things get hard,” he continues, his voice shaking slightly. “Is that it? Just gonna leave like he did?”

Your heart skips a beat, anger fading for a moment as something else stirs inside you. You’ve seen Satoru angry before, frustrated, even cold—but this? This is different.

“That’s not fair.” you say quietly, though the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I’m not leaving because things are hard. I’m leaving because you’re not listening.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a hard line. Then he snaps, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade, sharp and cold. “Well, fine. Go. I survived him abandoning me, I’ll survive you too.”

His words sting, burning through the air with a finality that makes your breath hitch. It’s a challenge, a defense—his way of masking the fear that’s clawing at him from the inside out. He’s pushing you away before you can leave, just like he’s done with everything else that’s threatened to crack his carefully controlled world.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, staring at him as his walls rise higher, shutting you out. This is what it’s come to. He’s too scared to let you in, too scared to admit that you leaving isn’t something he can just survive—that it’s something that terrifies him.

But he won’t say it. He won’t ask you to stay.

And that’s when you know.

Suguru Geto

You rest under the comfort of your blanket. How many days have you been in this bed? Three days? Four? 

The world was just too much right now, and your room was the only security available. It had been a week since Suguru vanished without a word, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and broken trust. Principal Yaga’s words still echoed in your mind—a whole village slaughtered, his parents among the dead. 

And not even a text.

You weren’t sure if he was even alive, maybe it would be better if he wasn’t. At least then you wouldn’t have to come to terms with the fact that the love of your life was now a wanted killer.

You took another tissue from the box, blowing into it and tossing the crumpled mess into the garbage can.

Satoru hadn’t responded either, was he okay? Did he know?

Your mind screamed for silence, for the thoughts to stop, but they kept coming, relentless.

“Angel?”

That voice… no it couldn’t be. You lower the covers from your face.

It was

“Hi baby...” his normally soothing voice does little to alleviate the ache in your chest.

“You…” your voice barely a whisper, threatening to break. “I thought you were dead.”

He moves closer, his footsteps barely making a sound on the floor, and you finally take him in. Despite everything, despite the horrors you’ve been told, he looks… normal.

How could he look so much like the Suguru you knew, the Suguru you loved, when everything inside of you was shattered?

Was this the same man who held you close? Whispered sweet nothings in your ear—promised to protect you with his life? 

“It’s me, (Y/N).”  he says softly, his voice cutting through the silence as if he had read your thoughts.

The tenderness in his tone feels like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he say that—so casually, so easily? Like everything was normal, like your world hadn’t come crashing down around you. You blink, trying to force the tears back, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes.

“Are you?” your voice is small, barely more than a whisper. Doubt lingers in every syllable.

He doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, his gaze softens, and without a word, he pulls the covers off of you. The cold air rushes over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you had buried yourself in, and for a moment you flinch, instinctively clutching the blanket before you let it slip from your fingers.

His eyes trace over your fragile form, and there’s something in them—a flicker of sympathy, regret, even—but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s the reason for your downward spiral. He knows it too. The weight of it presses on him, though he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves with a gentleness you hadn’t expected, sliding his arms under you and lifting you up as if you weighed nothing.

You want to protest, want to ask what he thinks he’s doing, but you’re too tired, too drained to fight. So you let him carry you. His arms are steady, and despite everything, you can’t help but melt in his embrace.

He takes you into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the space as he sets you down gently. You can feel the cool tile under your feet as he kneels in front of the tub, turning the faucet on and testing the temperature.

You had so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to yell at him, curse him, ask him why. But you couldn’t.

He dips his hand under the stream, adjusting the temperature until it’s just right. His movements are deliberate, methodical, as if this is the only way he knows how to show you any kind of care right now.

You stand there, numb and silent, watching him. The man who destroyed your world, now kneeling before you, acting as though he can piece it back together with something as simple as a bath. It feels absurd, almost cruel, but at the same time, you don’t have the strength to stop him.

Suguru rises to his feet, his presence towering yet calm as he began to undress you. Gentle hands pulling his t-shirt off of you, the one you had been clinging onto for days.

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he lifts the shirt over your head, sending a shiver down your spine.

He had seen you in this state before, many times. But this….this was different.

Suguru guides you to the shower, washing your body with a gentleness you missed so deeply.

You close your eyes, letting him take care of you, even though you don’t understand why or how he can. The silence between you grows heavier with every passing second, filled with words unspoken and emotions too tangled to sort out.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. “Why are you here, Suguru?”

His hand pauses for a moment, the washcloth resting against your skin. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, but when he answers, his voice is low, steady, like he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

“Because I….I love you” His voice almost too quiet, as if he’s afraid to say the words out loud.

“Then why, Suguru?” your voice trembles, almost breaking under the weight of your next words. “Is it true? You killed those people?”

The washcloth falls from his hand, splashing into the water as the silence between you deepens. He doesn’t speak right away, and the hesitation in his silence is an answer in itself.

You swallow hard, the air thick with the weight of the truth you already know but can’t bear to accept.

“They were… in the way,” he finally admits, his voice low, almost hollow.

You step out of the shower, the warm water sliding off your skin in slow rivulets. Without thinking, you reach for the towel, wrapping it tightly around yourself like armor.

This isn’t the man you loved, the one who spoke of protecting the weak, of valuing life. Yet, there’s something so heartbreakingly familiar in the way he says it—like a twisted version of the Suguru you knew, now wrapped in darkness.

“But those were people, Suguru,” you say, your voice fragile, as if you’re trying to reach the man you once knew beneath the monster he’s become. “Innocent people. How could you…?”

He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you, his hand brushing against your skin, cold and distant. “Because this world is broken.” he murmurs. “And I need to fix it. I had to do it. Can’t you see that? We—sorcerers—we’re meant for something greater. And they… they were holding us back.”

You shake your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t understand, Suguru. I don’t understand any of this.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your face gently, as though trying to reassure you with his touch. "Come with me." he whispers, his voice softer now, pleading. “Run away with me. Together, we can build something new. You don’t have to be a part of this broken world anymore. We can leave it all behind.”

Before you can respond, his lips press against yours, a kiss that’s both gentle and urgent, as though he’s trying to pour every unsaid word, every plea, into this one moment. It’s the Suguru you remember—the Suguru who once made you feel safe, loved.

But the reality of who he’s become crashes down on you.

You pull away, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, creating a wall between you. “No.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I can’t.”

For a moment, Suguru just stands there, staring at you, his dark eyes searching yours for something—some kind of understanding, some sign that you’ll change your mind. His hand lingers on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant, as though he’s trying to hold on to whatever connection is left.

But then, slowly, he withdraws, his hand falling back to his side. He straightens up, his expression hardening as he steps away from you, giving you the space you so desperately need. The softness in his eyes fades, replaced by the cold determination you’ve seen before.

“You’ll see,” he says, his voice quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “One day, you’ll understand. When you see what I’ve seen, when you finally understand the truth about this world—you’ll come around. I know you will.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and without another glance, he turns and walks toward the door, leaving you standing alone, trembling in the silence.

Nanami Kento

Kento was an honest man. There was nothing he ever kept from you. Other people might view him as a hard shell, but you could read him like a book.

So when he came to bed that night, holding you just a little tighter than usual—you knew something was up.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, his grip tightening instinctively as if he feared you might slip away.

“Kento?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the room. 

“I’ve decided to talk to Gojo tomorrow.” he said quietly, his voice steady but with a hint of resolve. “I want to return to being a sorcerer.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into you like lead. You stiffened, a sharp sting blooming in your chest as you processed his decision.

“Are you seriously considering this?” Your voice trembled with a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You know what that life entails. You’ve seen the consequences. Are you really willing to go back to that danger?”

Kento’s silence was heavier than any response he could have given. His arms, though still holding you close, seemed distant now, as if they were reaching out from across a chasm of uncertainty.

“I’ve thought it through,” he said finally, though his tone lacked the conviction he tried to project. “I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep pretending I’m satisfied with where I am.”

The last words echoed in your ears their weight sinking deep into your heart. “So you’re not satisfied with me?” you whispered, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat.

Kento’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then what is it, Kento?” you demanded, frustration and hurt sharpening your words. “We have something good here. You have a good job. You left Jujustu High for a reason! What about Haibara—”

At the mention of Haibara, Kento’s face hardened. His eyes, which had been searching for the right words, now burned with anger and frustration. “Don’t.”

Your eyes widen at his tone. He sighs, trying to catch himself. “This…isn’t about him, or his fate. It’s about my own path, my own choices. You think I’m risking everything without knowing the cost?”

 “And what do you expect me to do, Kento?” Your voice cracked, raw emotion rising as you slid out of bed, unable to lie still any longer. “Sit at home and worry about you? Not knowing if you’re going to come back in one piece? I can’t live like that! I can’t live every day with the fear that you might not come back, that you might be hurt or worse?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You paced the room, your emotions boiling over, while Kento sat still, his gaze following you but offering no solace.

“You’re asking me to accept a life where every day is a gamble with your safety!” You stopped, turning to face him, your chest heaving with emotion. “How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to pretend everything’s okay when the reality is that you might not come back to me? This isn’t just about you, Kento. It’s about us, our future!”

Kento ran a hand through his blond locks, frustration etched into every line of his face. “I’m not asking you to pretend it’s okay. I’m asking you to understand that this is something I need to do for myself, even if it means risking everything.”

You blinked, tears blurring your vision as his words sank in. “And what if everything we have is the cost?”

The question lingered, echoing in the space between you. Kento rose from the bed, standing tall before you, but the weight of the moment seemed to bow his shoulders.

He stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. His eyes, filled with a deep sadness, searched yours, looking for understanding that he knew might never come. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You need to know that.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking. “But that isn’t enough… is it? It never will be…”

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your words pressing down on both of you.

“I… can’t watch you throw your life away, Kento.”

He took a deep breath, the sound heavy with resignation. "Then… we’ve both made our decision."

His hands, which had held you with such tenderness, felt distant as you pulled away. You took a step back, a sob catching in your throat.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out with a trembling breath, he stepped forward and gently pulled you into his arms. The embrace was tender, filled with the weight of finality.

He buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent one last time as if trying to imprint it into his memory. The warmth of his body, once a comfort, now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, his voice strained. The words were barely audible, but the sentiment hung heavy in the air.

Kento lingered for a moment, his hand sliding from your back to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, and his expression softened with a promise you weren’t sure either of you could believe.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered, his voice strained but resolute. “Somehow… I’ll find my way back to you. One day.”

You clung to him for a moment longer, feeling the ache of goodbye in every fiber of your being, before he slowly pulled away. Leaving you.

[lovrsm]

“ꜱʟᴜᴛ!”

sum: Ferraris golden boy moves over to RedBull Racing Team.

Daughter of the CEO of Red Bull, you’ve grown to love racing, and in the way making new friends. Even if you felt like your world was falling apart, even when you denied it, he was the only one you needed. And there was absolutely nothing that could change his mind about your beautiful self, the way he loves you.

word count:idk, prb 2k

pairing: rb!charles leclerc x horner!reader

warnings: name calling, alcohol, smut f! receiving, first time writing real horny shit!

a/n: sorry for the long intro, I swear it’s worth it😔✋ LOOOL, I WROTE THIS LIKE A YEAR AGOO, and I rlly wanted to clear up my drafts but this is too good to not come out. Yet idk if I have any mistakes, if I do let me know!! Also, checo acting as a dad (#IloveCheco)

Spotify - Apple Music

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

“and I break down, then he’s pullin’ me in In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman”

Clink, clink, that’s what our champagne glasses sounded like together.

“Congratulations, what a wonderful year. It’s been a pleasure being with all of you.” Sergio, Checo Perez, made a brief goodbye to your team.

He was leaving Red Bull. Everyone here loved him, and loves him, including yourself. He became quickly your family after seeing him every day for more than 3 years.

“We will miss you” your dad palms his back, making Checo break a smile.

“It isn’t the end yet, you know that boss.” He laughed.

His reasons? Family, everything for him, he couldn’t bare leaving them anymore alone, so he decided after, several years, to leave formula 1. After helping Max to win his championships, he is a fucking legend.

“Well, I won’t leave you alone, I will still drag you everywhere, you know? Even after you leave.” Max and Checo have developed a very special bond, even if social media said otherwise.

“We, wont leave you alone, you still owe me those therapy sessions” I winked at him, he became a very big emotional support for me, believe it or not, he’s got some great advice to give.

“Lovely dinner” I took a picture of all of us with my camera, a goodbye dinner for Checo, and tomorrow, all of the world would see this on the newspaper.

-

“I really don’t know what to do, do you know how many drivers have reached us out in the last 2 hours? I mean, I have a few options but they keep giving me more reasons and… I just don’t know.” My dad was stressed, typing in his computer as if his life depended on it.

“It’s going to be alright, okey? You don’t necessarily need to worry about it right now, we still have a championship to win, you know?” I gave him a cup of tea, just so he could relax a bit.

When something is about work, everything else doesn’t matter. At all.

“We’ll watch your options, alright? I can help you with anything you want” I smiled at him.

“When did you became such a great business woman?”

“You’re my father, of course I’m hardworking.”

-

“Red Bull did it again, Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez, world champion and sub-champion!”

Screams from Max and Checo blasted my ears, P1 and P2, again. Absolutely no mistakes. The internet going crazy. And somehow it all became quiet.

“Who will get that Red Bull seat next year? Will he be a fit to Sergio Perez place?”

Everyone went outside to celebrate, while I stayed so I could hear the TV and media.

what do people want?

“Ferrari didn’t have a great year, let’s hope they both get a better car”

“I agree! Great drivers, such a shame Ferrari has been getting worse every year. What a waste of talent.” The other interviewer said.

Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz appeared in the screen. Both with an obvious forced smile plastered in their faces.

Charles, my secret crush ever since… forever. Was I obvious? Not a single soul knew, well, except him.

-

Charles Leclerc signed in RedBull that was the only thing appearing on my feed right now . Red bull? Bullshit, you mean? What kind of a big lie is that?

Internet was filled with Charles leaving Ferrari for RedBull.

In what twisted universe does that even happen?

I later learned, I am living in that twisted world, and I discovered the great news in social media, and not my own team.

“What do you mean Charles Leclerc, dad? Why wasn’t I even informed about this. Wait, hold on, when did it even crossed your mind?!” I was dignified.

Following around the kitchen.

“I didn’t have to, oh, I do think I need to tell you this, he’s coming to dinner tonight so wear something nice.”

Wear something nice.

Thanks dad, as always, you’re so, so great.

Night time came sooner than expected, if my dad hosts a dinner, even if there’s a million, or just one person coming over, he likes to be extra.

-

Almost time, 8:00 and it is 7:50, all that was missing was the dress. It was placed on my bed. Showing all of it’s beauty.

Navy blue, our color. It was my dream dress.

Light, silky and fancy dress.

I walked downstairs, watching people running and arranging everything, doing just the final touches.

I’ve come to learn, that people arrive late, or just in time. Never earlier.

“Ah, what a beautiful young woman I have here!” Geri, my father’s wife came to greet me.

“You look amazing, I knew that dress would be perfect for you!”

“Geri, you are amazing, seriously. Thank you, and look at you! We both look gorgeous.” I smiled at her and we linked arms, she and I were walking towards the garden, where would be the dinner.

Some big, round, wooden tables were set in the middle. Each seat would have a name, decorated with a white flower in the middle of the plate.

It was easy to find my place. I was at the biggest one of all, where the most important people of this night would be seated.

Lucky for me, his name was right next to my plate.

In a matter of seconds, people started to arrive, old friends, and new faces passed through those doors.

This will be a great night.

“Funny to find you here, it’s been some time since I last saw you…” I rolled my eyes, I (sadly) recognized that voice anywhere.

“Go away Mike.” I grabbed my wine glass and took a big sip out of it. “C’mon princess, where are your manners?” He got too close to me.

“Hey y/n! Your dad was looking for you, like right now.” Max Verstappen here to save my day.

“Oooh that’s unfortunate, I’m so so so sorry Mike, hope to see you later!” I waved him off and quickly moved towards Max who then friendly linked his arm with mine.

“I owe you one.” I sighed. “You owe me much more than 1, little one.” I laughed at him.

We got close to my father, who now had a microphone at his hand.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming here and be with us tonight. A toast for Checo here!” He announced and a light was shining on Checo, standing from his seat.

“It has been a wonderful year, sadly it has to end. And I know I’m not the first to tell you that an incredible young talent will be joining us for next season.”

There he was. Navy suit with our logo on him. His hair was messy yet perfectly placed. He showed his dimples and I’m sure I heard someone behind me moan at his sight.

My heart rate was increasing slowly but surely.

“y/n, you’re going to squeeze all my blood from my arm. Stop.” Max whispered in my ear.

Shit. I basically dug my nails into his arm due to my tiny crush.

“Yeah, It’s amazing to know that I’m to race with RedBull next year. I hope we can achieve everything we’ve dreamed of. Looking forward to race with my lifetime partner, Max here.”

Now the light was on Max and me. I discreetly let go of max so that he could have the spotlight. As Max waved I looked back at Charles.

The dimples in his face showed even more, he was looking at me too.

“I can’t wait to work with these wonderful people, and I hope we have a great year to remember, thank you and enjoy this night!” He raised his glass and so did all.

“Well, I hope we don’t have any inchidents” Max laughed at his own joke. Dad joke I must say.

“Well If you don’t push me off the track I think we’ll be just fine” his voice gave me chills. I felt his chest on my back.

I wasn’t strong enough to turn around.

“Oh, shoot, you hear that? I think P is calling me!”

“No, Max-” I tried to stop him.

Around Charles, I barely have control over myself.

“Uh-huh, yeah that’s P, she wants to go to the bathroom, and she needs food, ok have a great night bye!” He rushed to god knows where.

“You really don’t want to be with me, do you?” He whispered on my ear. Feeling the heat of his breath.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are such a lovely company, mr Leclerc.” I gathered the strength and turned around, and his beautiful green eyes shined at me, making me blush.

“Look at you, could you get any more beautiful?”

He lowered so he could whisper again. “I’ve missed you” I looked around real quick, thankfully Max took everyone’s attention on the other side of the place.

“Not here, Charles.” I whimpered.

“Yes here, I can finally be with you, do you think I would waste any more time pretending to not love you? If you do, let me tell you, you are completely wrong.”

He kept whispering, his hands slowly finding his way to my hips. And mine to his collarbone.

“It’s not even 9pm, Leclerc, this party hasn’t even started” I fighted against my own will to drag him upstairs.

“You know I’ll wait, just for you.” He winked at me, before slowly letting me go and walking away.

“You’re not coming, mon coeur?” Charles turned around to look at me. “If you insist.” I happily walked by his side.

We walked and talked for a few minutes before Mike magically appeared before us.

“Oh not even 5 seconds and you are already like a slut with the new driver” He looked at me with a disgusted face.

“Excuse her? Don’t tall to her like that. Do we even know you?” Charles used a very cold tone on him. And Mike started to stumble on his word.

“Uhm, no, she does, like I was something to her-”

“Was, that’s a key word, pal. Don’t you ever talk to her, no, don’t you ever talk to any woman that way do you understand?”

Now, I can defend myself just fine, but that right there soaked my pants in an unexplainable way.

“Get out of our sight, man.” And he crawled away.

“That was hot.” I whispered and he blushed. “Your mother did raise a gentleman.” I smiled at him and he gave me a cheek kiss.

-

Lost on the moonlit pool, drinking my… 11th (?) glass of wine at 1 in the morning while everyone was still dancing, was weird.

My feet swinging as I drink the last drop of my glass.

I went on a side quest myself just to get distracted for a bit. All the noise was going to hurt my ears if I stayed any longer.

“Here you are, you got lost?” He sat down at my side. Didn’t have to look, his thick accent gave him away immediately.

I took a long breath and rested my head on his shoulder . “Yes, Charles, I’m going to get lost in my own house.” I felt him move beside me. He then had his feet in the pool, just as I did.

I smiled to myself.

“Has anyone told you just how beautiful you look today?”

“You have, more than once.”

“I couldn’t let that slip, you do look beautiful with that dress. It suits you just perfectly.”

He paused.

“But I bet you’d look much better without it.”

I nervously chuckled at his comment.

“You haven’t talked to me in ages, you came back being a driver for my father, and now you want to have sex? Why don’t you already make me your wife?!” I dramatically fell into his arms

“Ages? I talked to you last week!” He showed his teeth to me in a smile. “That was a long time ago! Besides, you never told me about you and RedBull.” I sit straight up again.

“I needed your dad to love me one way or another. How else am I going to get him to approve of our marriage?” He joked.

“You are unbelievable Leclerc.” I stood up, and grabbed my high-heels on my hand, walking back to the party barefoot.

I surrounded part of the pool, my dad wanted to add a bar right beside it, and it was freshly cemented.

He quickly copied my moves, but instead, he went on a straight line to me, and in a step he covered his feet in cement, falling down and thankfully placing his hands before getting worse.

“Shit!” I ran back to help him. I stupidly placed my hand in the cement, the other helping Charles to get up.

“Look, we made a masterpiece! Your handprints and mine in wet cement.”

“And your feet.” I laughed

“And my feet… I really need to wash this off before it gets dry.” I grabbed his hand and he followed my lead.

If my dad sees that I’m getting his new driver to my room…

We rushed through the multitude of people on the garden.

“Ooh we’re going to your bedroom, can’t remember what happened last time there…” he whispered shouted as we were running up the stairs.

I jokingly rolled my eyes at him. We were giggling like children. He kept making dirty jokes and as much as I tried to control myself I’d end up giggling much more.

We got there quicker than I thought. With my clean hand I closed the door and he was already in my bathroom washing his hands, and feet with water. I ran to his side and did the same with my left hand.

“I’m done” I announced and got out of the bathroom. Deciding to do a touch up for my makeup, thankfully nothing was much out of place, but my lipstick faded.

I slowly applied it looking in the mirror, and through it I saw a curious Charles looking at me. “Why do you even apply lipstick?” He slowly walked towards me.

I took my sweet time spreading the color on my lips.

“Cause we are going back, party is not over.”

“But we don’t need to.” He grabbed me by the waist and turned me around to look at him and he swiftly placed me on the desk. A smirk plastered on his face, as he slowly got on his knees.

“Charles…”

He got to his knees, not breaking eye contact with me.

“You know that if you say no, I won’t do anything. But I’m not hearing those words, am I?” He lifted my dress planted wet kisses on my inner thighs, getting closer to my sweet spot. “You’re so fucking wet”.

“They will know we’re gone” I nervously whispered. He looked into my eyes and stopped, his hot breath making me squirm. “That isn’t a no.” He stood his ground.

And I’m not saying “do it anyway”, but we both know he is going to.

I didn’t even have a chance to think about the cons, his tongue was already doing its job.My legs were closing due to the pleasure, but his strong arms kept them wide open while he drew circles with his thumbs.

“Charles…” he hummed in response, sending me shivers all the way up. He kept licking my folds and as I looked down, he had his shiny green eyes looking at me. A hint of darkness in them that made me moan just at sight.

His head between my legs was surely what heaven looked like.

I curved my back and my hand gripping his hair so he could get closer. He groaned and sucked even harder.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy, I missed this.” His hand moved quickly into me, curling his two fingers finding my g spot. “Fuck, Charles!” I screamed his name while cumming all over him, his tongue taking all off of me, as he rose without slowly moving his fingers again. My hips rocking back and forth as he arose, keeping his hand busy. “Too bad that pretty mouth of yours can’t do much right now. I really would love to feel it sucking my dick.” I hummed imagining it and getting even closer to my second climax.

“I'll take care of you, just so my princess can remember who she belongs with.” His lips were on my neck, whispering sweet nothing between kisses and soft biting. My moans filled the whole room along with the sound of his fingers working on her center.

Charles, Charles, Charles…

Each time his name left your mouth his cock got even harder, to the point where it hurt. In a short motion his pants down and without any warning he thrusted into you. You both let out a pornographic scream. If the music wasn’t loud everyone would have heard you two. The sound of your slaps were evident, heat rising, the feeling of his beard in your neck was all too much. Curses along with moans were the only thing louder. He did a final thrust and immediately pulled out, jerking off and finishing in his hand.

“You just washed your hands.” I joked breathlessly, he messed up with my head real bad. “Couldn’t resist” he smiled, gave me a peck and disappeared into the bathroom. I melted on that spot.

“Come on mon coeur.” What I loved about Charles was that he always cared. we got into the bathroom and I washed my hands, in the reflection of the mirror his eyes were already in mine.

“What?” I asked as the blood rushed into my cheeks. “Nothing.” He gently smiled, and his eyes shined to me in a different shade of green.

-

Taglist

@delicatepeanutsublime @ironspdy @architect-2015 @buendiabebeta @dreamergirlatpaddock @lercvlie

[maskedbyghost]

lets continue our talk about situationship!Simon, where this bitch grovels for monthssss

_______________________________________________

situationship!simon starts sending you text messages. before you could expect something like "you up?" or "come to my office.", but after you broke things off with him, simon started sending you heartfelt text messages, apologizing for his past behavior. “i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us,” he texted one night. “i realize now how much i hurt you, and i’m truly sorry, love. i understand if you need space, but i wanted you to know how much i regret everything.”

along with his messages, simon started sending you small but meaningful gifts. he remembered how you’d joked about his tea obsession once and that you’d mentioned you only liked chamomile. to your surprise, he found the best brand of chamomile tea and even packed it in a nice box before delivering it to your room.

he even started to open up more. during a late-night phone call, where you could clearly hear that he was drunk, simon said that he started seeing a therapist. “i’m workin on understandin my issues and changin for the better. i want to be better, not just for you love, but for myself. i hope you can see that i’m tryin to change.”

when you asked him to stop calling you love, he refused. “i can’t help it. you’re mine in a way no one else could be, and i don’t want to pretend otherwise.”

as simon keeps showing up with gifts and heartfelt messages, you can’t help but wonder if he’s being real or if he’s just trying to win you back before breaking your heart again.

you still go on dates with other people, and simon is tormented every time he sees you leaving the base in those pretty dresses—dresses he wishes were just for him. he follows you, quietly lurking in the corners of the restaurants or bars where you’re out with your dates. oddly enough, most of the guys you go out with either get transferred to another base or stop calling you after just one date, and you’re doing your best not to blame simon for it. but you know it's him. and he is not sorry at all.

almost every day, simon texts you, asking you out on dates and planning special things for the who of you. all you have to do is say yes, but each time, you refuse. it breaks his heart every time, but it also makes him more determined to try even harder. he knows he deserves this treatment from you.

back when you and simon used to train together on base, it was a special routine you both enjoyed. now, you’ve started asking other guys to help you with exercises, and it drives him wild with jealousy. watching their hands on you makes him see red. after your training sessions with them, simon invites these guys to spar with him. it quickly becomes clear that he’s using these sparring matches as a chance to take out his frustration and anger, landing a few extra hits just to make his point.

despite everything, you still won’t budge, and it’s only making simon more frustrated. the truth is, it’s becoming harder and harder for you to resist him. his persistence is wearing you down, and the more he pushes, the more you find yourself struggling to stay strong.

simon invites you to one of his therapy sessions, saying his therapist thinks it would be helpful for him and his progress. during the session, he opens up about his struggles and insecurities, laying everything bare. as he talks, you start to feel sympathy for him. it’s clear he’s determined to change and work on himself, and you see how genuine his efforts are.

one night, you were preparing tea in the kitchen when a girl you know from the base asked for simon’s number. she mentioned she was interested in him, which made you jealous. you snapped at her, making it clear that he would never be interested in a girl like her. simon overheard the whole thing and couldn’t help but smirk to himself. it was clear you still had feelings for him, and he took a bit of satisfaction in that.

later that night he sent one simple message to you: "that's my girl. i belong to you, and you only."

after that message, simon stepped up his game. he started sending you lots of sweet texts and little gifts, and even took care of some of your paperwork. it was hard to ignore how much he was trying, and you found it tougher to resist him as he kept showing you how much he cared.

a few months after managing to ignore simon as best as you could, you caught a nasty cold and were stuck in your room. you only texted price to let him know you needed a few days off because you were sick, and got back in your bed trying to sleep that cold off. a few hours later, as you were still trying to fall asleep, you heard your door open. simon walked in, carrying a bunch of bags, a worried look on his face.

“i came as soon as I could,” simon said, worry in his voice. “i brought you soup and medicine.”

simon didn’t leave your side for days. he only went back to his room to grab more clothes and shower. he was insistent on helping you with everything, even assisting you with your showers in the most respectful way possible of course. he’d sit in a chair next to your bed, and you felt a pang of guilt seeing how much he was giving up for you. you even tried to convince him to go get some rest, but despite your protests, he somehow ended up in your bed, gently spooning you as you slept.

simon would whisper sweet things in your hair, thinking you were asleep. you heard every word as he softly talked about how much he missed you, how sorry he was for everything, and how he wanted to make things right. even though you were sick and exhausted, his words touched you deeply.

once you were feeling better, you found simon sitting alone in a common room, lost in thought. you approached him quietly and gently kissed the side of his face. with a soft smile, you whispered, “take me on that date you promised.”

_______________________________________________

@daydreamerwoah

[geotjwrs]

Hey can you do Wednesday x Male reader Angst. Where Wednesday was too focused on the Hyde case and she neglected reader and their relationship and said reader was a burden and was too clingy every time he gave her unconditional love. The night she kissed Tyler she told him those things and he saw Wednesday kiss Tyler while Wednesday never even hugged reader? And so at the end she feels really bad because she saw he saw. And so she wanted to talk but he just stays quiet? Please and thank you

no one's home

Pairings ; Wednesday Addams x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The late evening at Nevermore was unusually quiet. The usual whispers of the wind through the trees had stilled, leaving an eerie calm in the air. You stood alone in the courtyard, the dim glow of the moon casting long shadows on the stone floor. Every step you took echoed in the empty space as if mocking your loneliness.

For weeks, you had been trying to reach her—Wednesday. But she had become more and more distant, her attention consumed by the ongoing investigation into the Hyde case. You understood her need for focus, her obsession with solving mysteries, but you couldn't help feeling like you were slipping further and further away from her world.

You leaned against a pillar, running a hand through your hair as you replayed the events of the past few days. Every time you tried to offer her support, love, anything to remind her you were still there for her, she brushed you off. At first, it was subtle—short responses, curt nods. But lately, it had become more than that. She wasn’t just distant; she was cold, indifferent.

You couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in her life, like no matter how much you tried to help her, you were just in the way.

Tonight had been your breaking point.

It was supposed to be a quiet evening between the two of you. You thought you’d have a chance to talk, to remind her that you were still there, that you were still someone she could lean on. But when you arrived at her room, the look on her face had already told you everything.

Wednesday’s gaze had been harder than usual, her expression devoid of even the faintest flicker of emotion. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she entered her room, her voice as cold as the night air.

“I just wanted to see you. I feel like we haven’t—”

“You feel?” she interrupted, her words sharp. “Y/N, I don’t have time for your feelings. I don’t have time for any of this.”

Your heart sank, but you tried to stay calm. “Wednesday, I’m just trying to be here for you. I know this case is important, but I—”

“Important?” She laughed, a humorless sound that made your chest tighten. “Y/N, you don’t understand anything. This case could mean life or death for people at Nevermore, and all you ever do is cling to me like some helpless child. You’re suffocating me.”

The words stung, but you didn’t want to believe them. “I’m just trying to love you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Is that really such a burden?”

“A burden,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing. “Yes. You are a burden. I don’t need your love. I don’t need anything from you. I need space.”

The air between you felt heavy, filled with words that cut deeper than any knife. You stood there, trying to make sense of what was happening. You had always known Wednesday wasn’t the warmest person, but you had never imagined she would say something so hurtful, so cruel.

Before you could find the words to respond, she had already turned on her heel, heading toward the door. “I have more important things to do,” she said without looking back. “If you can’t handle that, then maybe you should leave.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving you alone in the cold emptiness of her room. For a moment, all you could do was stare at the space where she had been, your mind racing, heart aching. You had always known Wednesday could be difficult, but this? This was something else entirely.

You followed her, driven by something you couldn’t explain. Maybe you still believed there was a chance to fix things. Maybe you just wanted answers. But as you wandered through the shadows of Nevermore, you stumbled upon a scene that shattered whatever hope you had left.

In the dim light of the woods, Wednesday stood close to Tyler. Too close. Your heart dropped as you watched them, your breath catching in your throat. And then, before you could even process what was happening, she leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was brief, but it was enough. Your mind went blank, your emotions swirling into a storm of pain, anger, and disbelief. She had never even hugged you, and now, she was kissing someone else. The girl you had poured your heart into, who had brushed aside every gesture of love you offered, was showing more affection to Tyler than she had ever shown you.

You wanted to scream, to confront her, to demand why. But instead, you just stood there, frozen, watching as everything you thought you had crumbled before your eyes.

When Wednesday pulled away from the kiss, her eyes caught yours through the darkness. For a moment, you thought you saw something shift in her expression—shock, maybe even regret. But it was too late.

You turned and walked away, your chest tight with heartbreak, your mind numb. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break down. Not here. Not now.

As you made your way back to Nevermore, the weight of her words and actions pressed down on you, suffocating you with every step. You wanted to cry, to scream, to lash out, but all you could do was walk, your body moving on autopilot as your heart shattered.

The next day, Wednesday found you in the library. You were sitting alone, staring blankly at the pages of a book you hadn’t even opened. You didn’t look up when she approached, but you could feel her presence lingering just behind you.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” she said quietly.

You didn’t respond, your hands gripping the edges of the book as if it could somehow anchor you in place.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” she continued, her voice unusually soft. “About you being a burden.”

Still, you said nothing. Your heart ached, and you could feel the storm of emotions threatening to rise to the surface, but you forced them down. She didn’t deserve to see you like this.

Wednesday sat down across from you, her dark eyes searching your face for any sign that you might acknowledge her. “I—” She paused, something uncharacteristically hesitant about her. “I made a mistake.”

For a moment, you almost believed her. Almost. But then the memory of her kissing Tyler flashed through your mind, and the pain surged back with a vengeance.

“You saw, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

You finally looked up, meeting her gaze. Her expression was conflicted, torn between the cold, calculating girl you knew and something deeper, something more vulnerable. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not anymore.

“You kissed him,” you said, your voice flat.

She didn’t deny it. “It was a mistake.”

“Was it?” you asked, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “You’ve never even touched me like that. Not once. But him? You didn’t hesitate.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Wednesday replied, her voice steady but softer than you’d ever heard it before. “I was consumed by the case. By everything.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “That’s your excuse? You were too focused on the case? That’s why you kissed him?”

Her silence told you everything. She didn’t have a real answer. Maybe she was sorry, maybe she wasn’t, but it didn’t change what had happened. It didn’t change the way she had made you feel—like you were nothing. Like you were disposable.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she admitted after a long pause.

You stood up, unable to bear sitting there any longer. “I don’t think there’s anything you can say, Wednesday.”

As you walked away, you could feel her eyes on you, but she didn’t call after you. Maybe she knew there was no point. Maybe she realized too late that some things couldn’t be undone.

For the next few days, you kept your distance. Every time you saw her in the hallways of Nevermore, you turned away, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and sadness. You had given her everything—your love, your loyalty, your trust—and she had thrown it all away.

But things didn’t end there. Not for Wednesday.

One night, as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you heard a knock at your door. You knew who it was before you even opened it.

She stood there, her arms crossed, looking as composed as ever, but you could see the tension in her posture, the faint flicker of regret in her eyes.

“Can we talk?” she asked quietly.

You hesitated but stepped aside, letting her in. She walked to the center of the room, standing there like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

After a long moment of silence, she spoke. “I can’t undo what I did. I know that.”

You stayed quiet, unsure where she was going with this.

“But I also know I don’t want to lose you.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. Part of you wanted to believe her, wanted to forgive her and move on. But the other part—the part that had been broken by her actions—couldn’t forget.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, as if she had expected that. “I understand. But I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m asking for a second chance.”

You looked at her, at the girl who had broken your heart but who was now standing in front of you, raw and unguarded in a way you had never seen before. And for the first time, you saw something in her eyes that made you pause—something real.

“I’ll think about it,” you said finally, not ready to give her an answer just yet.

And with that, she nodded, quietly leaving your room, leaving you to sit in the quiet darkness, wondering if second chances were worth the risk.

[cerise-on-top]

hi sunshine 🤍 could you possibly do T141 with a hyper-independent S/O?! I’m hyper-independent and sometimes it can get very overwhelming and it would be nice to have someone try to break down my walls to help me understand that i can ask others for help!! sending all the love💕 Thank you!!

Hey there, sure I can!

TF141 with a Hyper Independent S/O

Price: I don’t think Price was too traumatized as a child, so he probably can’t relate to you very well. Maybe to the slightest degree since he, as a captain, is often seen as an authority figure, who needs to be relied on and make all the decisions. It’s not often that he gets to shut off his brain a little and be left alone. But all of that comes from his work environment, not because he was neglected as a child. I think he’d notice fairly quickly how you don’t seem to ask him for anything, ever. Not to get you a small snack, not to ask him what tomorrow’s weather might be, not to help you build that IKEA furniture. Truth be told, he’ll feel as though he’s failed as a boyfriend since his love language is acts of service. He wants to do things for you, but you don’t let him. It would annoy him at first, but he wants this to work, so he’ll talk to you about it. You’d have to be honest with him, or else I can’t see things working out for you both. If you are, then he’ll try his best to be more observant, try to find out what you like and don’t like. He’ll give you as much attention as you want whenever he can and always ask you if there’s some task that hasn’t been finished yet. You need to calm down a little bit, he does want you to rely at least a little on him. Even if it’s just something along the lines of letting him wash your clothes for once. He wants you to relax, to take some time off for yourself so you can recharge. I know it’s hard for you, but he’ll continue to communicate with you. However, you need to do the same for him too. He doesn’t want your relationship to fall apart because of something like this.

Gaz: His parents did not love him after some time, so he had to learn to rely on himself because absolutely no one would do anything at all for him. And yet, he still became successful. So yeah, I think he could relate to you. Though, I think he was able to stop himself from becoming hyper independent somewhere along the way when he was just about to break yet again. I think he would ask you for things here and there. Nothing big, he’s just self-sufficient that way, but he will ask you to cook him a certain meal when he gets home late or maybe draw him a bath. Naturally, he would do the same things and so much more for you, if you ever asked. And yet, you take it upon yourself to do everything on your own. He could probably see himself in you a little bit, which is why he’d approach you and talk to you about it. He can tell you’re not doing too well. That’s probably one of the first times he’ll open up to you about his past as well, to show you you’re not alone. He’ll ask you how he can help, how he can take this burden off your shoulders and help you become a happier person. He will go to great lengths to show you that you can rely on him. It’s okay if you can’t ask him for help right away, he’ll make sure to always tell you that he’s there for you and will try to help you with whatever it is you’re doing, whether it be finishing a report or trying to help you cope with the inherent isolation that comes with being hyper independent. I think, in a way, helping you would help heal his inner child as well. He wasn’t cared for for a long time, so it’s nice to care for you instead. He had no one for a long time either and it wasn’t good for him, so he would do whatever he could to help you through it all. He’s a very patient man too, so there’s that.

Ghost: Ah yes, the king of trauma himself. As you can probably tell, he’ll also be able to relate to you since he was actively abused as a child and doesn’t trust anyone around him, that isn’t the 141, Nikolai, Laswell or you. He does everything on his own, and I don’t think he’ll ever ask you for anything either. Maybe a simple “Do you have a quid? I wanna buy that tea.” but nothing more than that. So it’s probably gonna be difficult for the both of you to admit that something is wrong with you. Chances are you’ll break before him, though, and will be caught having a mental breakdown. If you’re honest with him, then that’s the first time he’ll realize that being like this is, indeed, not normal. He doesn’t want to see you breaking down and crying because you’ve been isolating yourself this much and can’t trust anyone. I don’t think he’ll be able to help you. Sure, he’ll suggest leaving some things to him here and there since he is a very competent man, who refuses to let you down, but he doesn’t really know what to say. At all. So I think he’ll probably make the suggestion of the both of you going to therapy together. I think the therapist will make him realize that he is not, by any means, “normal” and will tell him what might be wrong with him, but that’s for another time. I think he’d try to work it out with you somehow, trying to be more open to set an example for you, as uncomfortable as it might seem for him. He will reward you for “good behavior”, though, such as asking him to clean the bathroom since you were too burnt out that day. He’ll get you some ice cream. Your favorite flavor too, naturally, since he wants this to become a common occurrence. And he, in turn, will try to ask you for help here and there too. Mostly comfort. But he’ll try, just for you.

Soap: Another lil fella, who had a loving family. Sure, his parents sometimes ignored him when he became too loud and rowdy. But other than that? His childhood was pretty alright. He got into a lot of fights, though. Little Johnny never knew when enough was enough. However, he grew up to be a fine and observant man. He knows what you like and how you like it. Do you like your tea with sugar, honey or milk? He doesn’t even need to ask since he already knows. He will do what he can to help you however he can. He knows he’s a damn fine boyfriend, who will make your life as easy as possible. …except, for some reason, his plans aren’t working out? You avoid him more and more the more he does for you, and for no apparent reason as well? Oh, he’s pissed, but will talk to you about it. “Bonnie, you know I love you, right? So why do you avoid me like the plague?” Once he realizes why you’re the way you are, you can count on him being pissed beyond compare. You need to hold him back if you don’t want him to call your caretakers and insult them in a way only an angry Scot can. At that point, he’ll vow to himself to become an even better boyfriend. He’ll remind you that he’ll do absolutely anything for you. And he keeps his word as well. He’ll bring you coffee, he’ll buy groceries, he’ll deck someone for you. Just give him the word, please. However, he’ll be super proud of you if you ever do ask him for help and will give you a big hug and a few kisses. Baby steps, as he always says. He loves you more than anyone else, so naturally he’ll be patient with you and help you however he can. Even if it’s just a small reminder that he could do it instead.

[fatal-thoughts]

A Lovely Exchange

Telemachus x Servant! Reader

Synopsis: Telemachus already fights off his mother’s suitors, but what if he manages to become one? To… one of the palace’s servants?

warnings: slow burn, flustered Telemachus, puppy love, assault, threats

A/N: This is fluffier than what I usually write, but I couldn't help it. I love him sm wtf

Part 1 of ???

You went about your routines as usual—watering the garden, cleaning the halls, fixing any imperfections in the palace, and even helping other servants when needed.

It wasn’t unusual to see you wandering around the palace; after all, you were the queen’s favorite assistant.

No one really knew why or how you and the queen were so close, not even you. But you knew there were both benefits and drawbacks to it.

Including being a target of the 108 suitors now living under the same roof as you.

As much as you wanted to continue your duties as usual, they never failed to hinder your responsibilities.

You were heading toward the palace dining room. Though it was the last place you wanted to go, you had to pass through it to reach the kitchen to prepare something for the queen—who also refused to set foot in there.

So far, so good, until you stepped into the hallway. The once loud and distracted suitors were now eyeing you.

You swallowed nervously, the lump in your throat growing, but continued forward, treading slowly so as not to attract more attention than you already had.

You made it to the end of the hall, believing you were safe, until you felt someone grab your wrist and pull so hard you almost lost your balance. You looked up and saw one of the queen’s most persistent suitors: Antinous.

The man had a proud smirk on his face as he looked down at you, still holding onto your wrist. He’d made multiple attempts to converse with you, all of which you declined, so you weren’t entirely surprised that he’d resorted to these measures.

"Ah, well, if it isn’t the lovely slave herself.”

That pissed you off.

You knew you couldn’t do anything about it, but if you could, you’d have slapped him by now. Instead, you jerked your arm away from him.

But that didn’t stop him. He grabbed you again, this time by the arm, with a much tighter and more painful grip, making you gasp in pain.

“Whoa now, where do you think you’re going? You don’t think you can just run off that easily, do you?” he taunted, leaning closer to your neck, his voice low.

“We want the queen, and since she’s unavailable, I guess we’ll have to settle for you.”

You glanced behind you, noticing all the men in the hall staring at you with intense gazes filled with hunger, desire, and thirst.

Frightened, you hurriedly tried to break free from Antinous’s grip. He chuckled softly, holding you tighter and pulling you closer. You struggled with all your strength until, finally, he let go. But it wasn’t because of your effort.

His gaze had shifted—he was no longer looking at you, but at something, or someone, else.

Backing away from him, you looked behind him and saw none other than the queen’s son, Telemachus.

He was gripping his sword, pointing it at Antinous.

“Leave her alone.”

You were surprised, to say the least. You and Telemachus had never really spoken. He usually avoided you whenever he ran into you.

You never understood why. Every time you saw him, he’d dash away like a startled deer.

But now, here he was, standing in front of you, holding a sword to one of the suitor’s neck.

Antinous raised his hands sarcastically, a smug grin on his face as he glanced between Telemachus and you.

“Alright, I’ll leave her be, little wolf.”

He walked past you, but as he did, he whispered, “Don’t think I’m done with you yet, slave.”

You recoiled instantly as he let out a shameless laugh.

You and Telemachus watched him walk away, and then you quickly exited the dining hall.

Catching your breath, you adjusted your hair and robes, trying to calm yourself. No suitor had ever approached you with such aggression before, and now Antinous had gone to these lengths? It was terrifying.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized Telemachus was still standing in front of you, staring at you like a deer caught by a hunter.

You raised a brow, confused. Did he see something?

“My prince, are you… alright?” you asked, still somewhat shaken. After all, he did just save you. Maybe he was in shock?

“Shit, shit, shit, shit—” was what was running through Telemachus’s mind as he stood there.

He hadn’t really thought he’d get this far. All he saw was you in danger, and his instincts had taken over.

But now that he had actually saved you, talking to you afterward wasn’t part of the plan—if he even had a plan.

He was practically begging the gods that you wouldn’t notice the inconvenient pink hue on his cheeks because that would only make things worse.

He had gone to such lengths to avoid you, to ignore you, to ward you off—foolish attempts, all of them—and now here you were, standing right in front of him.

He waited for you to tell him that you knew. Knew he admired you, probably too much.

His lips quivered slightly as he stared at you, unable to stop himself. Come to think of it, he’d never noticed how beautiful you were up close. The shape of your nose, how perfectly it fit your face. The look in your eyes, with the soft tint of color. And your lips, how pretty they looked, even when they smiled just a little.

“Fuck, I’m staring,” he muttered under his breath, snapping out of his trance.

Which you definitely heard.

You tilted your head slightly. Was he okay? Had Antinous done something to him?

No, he was just a nervous wreck because his childhood crush was standing right in front of him, and he was so not prepared.

If Athena was watching him right now, this was definitely not a battle she had prepared him for.

With a silent, desperate cry, he cleared his throat, trying to make the situation less embarrassing than it already was.

“I-I’m fine. How are you?”

…

Seriously? THAT’S the best you could do?

He stared at the ground, trying to mask his shame. Maybe if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either, right? Zeus might as well strike him down with lightning.

He was about to punch himself when he heard something.

You were… laughing?

He looked up to see you covering your mouth, short giggles escaping your lips.

Was it bad that he found them so pretty?

Eventually, you calmed down.

“Thank you, my prince, for saving me back there. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t come to my aid. So, thank you.”

You bowed your head, expressing your gratitude.

“How can I repay you, my princ—”

“N-No! It’s fine, please! I don’t need anything. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you, so just…”

And now he was rambling.

Nice going, Telemachus. Might as well confess to her right here and now, right? Just go for it!

Before he could continue his spiral, both of you noticed a familiar silhouette approaching. As she got closer, you immediately recognized her.

And she did not seem pleased.

“Queen Penelope! Forgive me, I was delayed on my way to the kitchen. I’ll quickly fetch your meal as you requested—”

“No, it’s alright, Y/n. You are not the one I am concerned with.”

Her gaze shifted sharply to Telemachus, her eyes almost piercing through him.

The boy’s soul nearly escaped his body when he saw the way his mother looked at him.

“Son, come with me.” Penelope turned and walked away without another word.

Telemachus glanced back at you, taking in your beautiful presence one last time.

“I…”

“Quickly, Telemachus.”

If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was anger his mother. He feared her more than any god.

“I’lltalktoyoulaterbye!” he blurted out as he hurried to catch up with her.

That… was something. For a first impression, it wasn’t that bad, right?

Right?

Ah, shit.

He followed Penelope as they walked through the halls, still unsure of where they were headed, but he kept his pace with her.

Eventually, they reached the palace garden. A place where Penelope liked to unwind, where Telemachus often rested, and where you, conveniently, loved to work.

The queen sat beside the marble fountain, and Telemachus followed suit. A comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed the peaceful moment. It had been some time since they’d spent time together, and both of them treasured even the smallest moments.

“You like her, don’t you, son?”

…

Wait… WHAT?

So, what do you think?

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Bucky Barnes

Summary: After your mother's death, you're adjusting to life with your autistic younger brother. Thankfully Bucky, your most regular customer, can brighten your day.

Warnings: Caretaker stress, Insecurities, Mentions of death. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Part 1

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Bucky was still upset with Steve's assumption the next day. Sure, you were cute, kind, hardworking, good, and all the things he's ever wanted in a partner. But he doesn't have a crush on you. He can't afford to. If you didn't return his feelings, he feels he'd never be able to recover from the blow. Worse yet, what if you do have feelings but then change your mind as you get to know him?

He enters the coffee shop but doesn't hear you welcome him. There's someone else at the front counter wearing a "Trainee" tag.

"Hello, sir. What can I get for you today?"

"Where's...where's the woman who usually works here?"

"Oh, she's in the back. Would you like me to go get her?"

Bucky has to think. You're the main reason he visits, but if he asks for you, is that going too far? Confessing too much? He must hesitate too long because the trainee gives him a weird look before slowly backing away to go get you.

When he sees you, Bucky knows something is wrong. Your eyes are puffy, like you had been crying. You smile when you see it's him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "What's wrong, Sweetie?"

Your smile drops and you shake your head, "what...what do you mean?"

Bucky gets closer to the counter, "you've been crying. What happened? I can't do much, but if it's some asshole bothering you I can...talk to them."

You shake your head with a sad smile. "It's personal, family stuff. Nothing you can help with. But thank you for offering."

"Are you sure?" Part of Bucky's brain is screaming at him that he's overstepping. But you're hurting and he's aching to help you.

"Look, we're both just still dealing with Mom's death," you explain. "And Robby, my little brother, just needs more time to process these things than most."

Bucky's not sure what that last part means, but he understands grief. He grabs a pen and napkin from the counter and writes his phone number on it. He hands it to you, "if you ever need to talk, call or text me here. Any time of day."

The tears start forming again, "thanks, Bucky. I could use a friend."

His heart breaks at your words, but your smile is genuine and he knows he's helped.

Part 1

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen;

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly;

@stellar-solar-flare

[jisatsuwaifu]

Life is incredibly frustrating, stressful, and exhausting. Everyday I think “it’s okay, it’ll get better, try again tomorrow” but it just keeps proving me wrong. When I think things are getting better and I can finally relax, something else comes along and puts me right back into panic mode. It’s always something, there’s never a break. I never feel safe. All I do is complain about how sad or frustrated I am and I’m sure everyone around me is sick of hearing it. Which is fine, I wouldn’t want to be surrounded by misery when my life is good either or listen to a broken record when there’s much better music to be heard. I am my own responsibility, I shouldn’t rely on others.

My thoughts consume me. Not in a cutesy I’m just a girl cringe kind of way but in a “I need to go to sleep as soon as possible to prevent an accident” because I cannot trust my own head to comfort me but to only make scenarios worse or feed into my paranoia. I am not built to be left alone. I constantly feel like I’m too much and not enough. I’ve never felt more loved but also so alone in all my life. Everything is black and white there is no grey areas with my mind.

I just don’t think anyone knows or understands how thin I’m being stretched and how badly I’d just love for everything to stop and to be able to catch my breath. Just for a day. I’ve cried for help but I don’t think the one person I need help from genuinely hears me. I dont trust many people to begin with. There’s only so much a single person can take before it starts to cripple them. And I know I can be over dramatic and too emotional at times but this genuinely feels like the end, I can’t see past this point in my life. And the sad part is I do not know how I got here. Or this far to begin with. But I am so tired. It’s times like these I wish I had my mom back or even just a family to lean on and seek advice from, but I can’t even entertain my own sister long enough to talk on the phone with me. I don’t understand why I exist or what my purpose is if all I’ve ever been exposed to is pain and abandonment. There’s some aspects of my life that I know I serve a purpose for and want to make proud, I’m trying my hardest for that one thing. I just don’t want to cause anymore damage than I already have. I can’t be like my mother.

I just needed somewhere to vent, some outlet. It won’t change anything. I feel hopeless and empty again. I might just delete everything. I don’t know.

The best I can do right now is try again tomorrow.

( if you read all of this thanks for listening to my rant and I’m sorry I wasted your time when you could have been scrolling onto something cooler like tiddies or anime idk but ty anyways <3 )

[applesontheground]

I have a big, beautiful, fat fucking request for you. Let me get, some Danny Johnson, him totally, ferally obsessed with the reader. He is down BAD for her. He has so many cravings, he doesn't know where to *start* when he finally breaks into her place. He wants to do it all and has a knife, rope, duct tape and nothing but time since your vacation just started and no one is expecting to see you for DAYS. All he knows is he wants to fuck you and see you cry and bleed, ruin you for anyone else. <3

last night never happened 📞

SO, THIS IS GOING TO BE THE FIRST DIVE INTO DANNY, HUH?

As someone who's coming out of one hell of a break, i'm very excited to find my writer's muscle again, and what better way than to finally get started on some of my requests? :D

This is also a part of celebrating @bisexual-horror-fan's birthday today! I told Bex I wanted to do something special for this, and give a good reminder I sure don't forget about any ideas that get thrown at me... even the ones that have sat in the inbox for far too long.

Hope you like it, Bex. Happy birthday!! ❤

NSFW | Word Count: 3,138 | Danny Johnson x Female Reader contains MAJOR DUBCON THEMES, stalking/obsession, masturbation, B&E, sadomaso, knifeplay/v light bloodplay, titfucking, BDSM, gagging, fingering, orgasm denial 🎼: x, x

“How do we know the stories that come from that beat are always going to center around this part of town?”

“Well,” A pause, a knowing pause that was tired of answering the question, “How do we know it isn’t? This is downtown, [Y/N].”

Then came a small murmur from the group. You were silent, but you didn’t lower your head. It was a standard meeting with the head photographer, and you were merely sitting in. More of an intern than any sort of employee, it was almost mindless to speak up like you did. You appeared not to understand that it was all supposed to deter you from being so steady on your pedestal, of once-believed expertise that you were ahead of some nonexistent curve in reasoning. Your unwavering blink, a denial to be crushed despite the odds falling against your face, was tantalizing.

It made the muscles in his hands flex, white knuckling as he folded his hands and craned his neck to force his eyes on the space in front of him. You had no right to know just what those hands wanted to do, no one besides him did – at least, while he was forced to exist so identifiable in public, surrounded by others.

Someone could gut that pretty little body like a fish and she still wouldn’t find the need to run from the knife. That idea raced to the forefront of his head, a realization that made him need to shift uncomfortably, pretend his nose itched to explain to the world why a jolt of energy had just shot down his leg, made him almost leap at some thought up opportunity.

There was a scheduled break in the work – for all of the team, including you – after that session. A full week to catch up on the work at hand, take the time to do what mattered if you were already there. Although the weather was great for travel, for visiting friends, you had been idly chatting about it after the meeting, mentioning there were no plans outside of “decompressing”.

It was perfect, and he nearly moved in closer to get a look at you, mere steps away from where he had been sitting. He couldn’t meet your eyes just yet. It all came from deep in his chest, something that drummed sweat in his hands and made him promptly leave the meeting room without another look around.

Some time that evening, remembering the curve of your jaw when you would turn to look at the clock on the wall and melting into the hot sweat against his hand that stroked to the rhythm that he’d believe resembled a pulse under his fingers, Danny decided you were going to be his next project. He had been sliding ideas of others that he saw along with you day in and day out, and you were a babe, sure… but this oblivion you showed, a deer with no thought behind the eyes in the face of an oncoming car. It made him want to get under that skin.

When he had seen you before this decision, it was all casualties: picking up pencils that slipped off your desk, null glances when you passed each other in the hall. He would then observe from afar, over the edges of a novel he was reading or a laptop screen, acting like he was far more preoccupied with his work and you none the wiser. He could care less about editing photos he took, the program making his computer grow hot as he would instead shift his stare to you, fixing flyers on a corkboard or chatting with another body.

The way your hair framed your face and made you appear so friendly, mundane being too stale and homely being too chaste. You had a quirk in your lips, a scoff to your giggles; that all made you seem a little more than something plain.

Finally, there came the photographs. You walking by the building, mostly outdoors settings where he could perch somewhere perfect, capture your likeness without any sort of hints or the confines of indoors closing off noises, the way he had to sometimes move alongside you. When people approached, there was always a bird in the trees, something else happening to make Danny look unsuspecting. No one noticed anything close enough to see you in the background each time he was out on field work.

It was an easy plan to put together, because he figured he’d just need the basics: a hunter’s knife, curved and ridged in little spots for the variety and the flare. Then, a basic nylon rope, something itchy and uncomfortable to add to every reaction that he was seeking, knowing he could tear from you. He had gotten it on sale.

The idea to save his zipties, wanting to use them but recognizing there should be other times, only made a smile quirk on his lips. It would be the perfect plan for another visit, and that possibility would make him suck in a breath. He took the duct tape instead. That’d be far more fun than his other supplies he had used just as soon as a month prior.

The entering itself was as simple as he had imagined it would be. He had watched you come home from an evening’s grocery shopping, ready to hide from the world for this long week. He had waited until the streetlights on your corner turned on, a sign sundown was well underway, before standing from the bench he had been lounging on. One eye had been kept on some photographer’s notes he had been working on – he had to actually get some work done, form that alibi nice and early – and one on your front door, your windows as you passed through like a sweet visage only for him. He slipped the cloak on, the mask in hand as he walked across the street, found a bush outside your home, and got into position.

The first star in the sky rearing its luminous face was what got him to stand again, slipping through an unlocked garage door on the side of your home. You were so trusting of anyone who could find their way through the cracks of your personal life, your abode that maybe had enough locks to keep guys like him out…but unutilized.

He’d be sure to hold that faith up to the light for you. How real was it, [Y/N]? You’d really let anyone have a hold of your security, seeing that your coworkers treat it so poorly, laugh at you?

You barely yelled, more so yelped in shock before slipping in your socked feet around the kitchen when he let himself inside. He had considered making it more explosive, but sliding from a curtain and imposing with a feverish desire to feel that exposed skin he was seeing was far more interesting.

Moving before thought only made the soles of his shoes feel heavy on the floor, solid in his own movement.

“Where are you going, baby cakes?” he asked, laughing when your jaw dropped open. Again, it made a crick in his muscles tense, shiver as he willed self-control that was merely buying time.

He couldn’t go ballistic, not yet. Maybe not even during this visit.

He was heaving breaths, silent laughter in his chest and bubbling along the brook of desperate gasps for air. You tried to push your body away, the skin of your thighs and back squeaking painstakingly against linoleum. With a lunge that sent him on his hands and knees, the assailant merely prowled after you, eye contact much easier now from behind the slim shape of the mask.

He took his time; it wasn’t like you could make your way to the door in any way that would cut ice. Those eyes of yours, confused but still meeting the mask’s own in some unwavering attempt to comprehend what was happening. It only made the connection of pressing flush into your body more rewarding.

The first audible sound was an ecstatic giggle from his throat, one that could blow the whole lid off his entrance and his identity should you be able to recall what “Jed Olsen” from work sounded like, remember anything in the brief interactions you two shared…

You wouldn’t, and he knew that when you choked out, not sure what to even ask first, “Who- What are you doing!?”

He nodded quaintly down at you. “Something I should’ve done a long, long time ago.”

On your back, you really could've found the leverage to wiggle him off. Still, when the steady throb protruding from a pair of dark jeans and curtained with the robe touched your chest, it disarmed you.

It only got worse for your composure as his hand trailed between your breasts, and he then realized a knife wasn't ready for that spot yet. You jerked your hips against his own slightly, a meek warning with no bite that was met with his gloved hands touching them next, and you felt the way his palms were shaking. The shudder from your abdomen was involuntary.

Danny wasn't untrained, just at the hilt.

You shuddered, a hard swallow fighting gravity and the threat of that hunter’s knife now being grabbed from the floor, touching your bare thigh in an idle drag. It was in sync with a gentle motion he was making with his hips. One could assume it was just him trying to keep balance, but you saw his free hand go to his belt and start undoing it, and you sucked in a breath again. Breathing was all you could really bring yourself to do.

“Not gonna stop me?” He asked with a huff, opening his hands with the blade rolling against his palm idly. You murmured something intelligible, bracing the floor as his thighs squeezed the outside of your hips. He froze, a second of breath before grabbing you by your shirt collar, the knife sawing into the hem of your collar and making you jerk back. Still, you didn't scream as he tore through it, and let its messy remains fall behind you, a weird bump in the smooth floor that only gave you a little more discomfort.

"Awe, I appreciate you keeping your voice down." He cooed, idly pulling his pants zipper down and freeing himself. His cock fit between your tits, a slow motion that went up the middle portion between your stomach and your chest, a slow slide up your sternum, and then back down in an experimental pull. You didn't look down on the first thrust, but the second time warm metal brushed your face. A Jacob's Ladder twitched slightly at getting some attention.

The noise you let out, appalled by your own enjoyment, got him to falter again. You felt his own in the way he had to roll his shoulders. You turned your head, looking at the closest thing to you on the kitchen floor and only seeing the stretch of tile. The cool sensation was appreciated against your face, if nothing else.

“Come on, [Y/N].” The weight of your name, your actual name, made your throat tighten, meeting eyes with him in a snap of your head. This couldn’t be a stranger, a sure tone as he insisted with another trace of your searing thigh with a nitrile roll of texture up your skin, touching the marks of the knife and making you grit your teeth from behind shaking lips.

“You could at least try.”

He had to start pointing his energy into something that wasn't going to leave you in a pool of blood on the floor, take the urge back into sliding his dick in between your breasts and look down at it rather than you. He wondered if you could tell where his eyes were, and from where you saw it between the fight to keep from actually getting pleasure from this, he just looked focused on either you or what he was doing to you.

Still, you couldn't deny the weight of the assailant against your stomach, the way he pinned your legs together with his own in something far, far from chaste. You could do more, your unbound arms and hands could push him. Your free legs could come up, push a knee into his stomach, right in that cock that was helping itself to your bare skin. Still, he let a choked noise slip as his pace went a little quicker, and he then snapped the mask to face you more clearly, show he was looking up at your face.

"Hey, be a sweetheart for me." He asked, one hand on his own thigh and the other still holding the knife, the flat side of the blade tapping your shoulder and making you flinch slightly. "I have a proposal to make this easier for both of us. You can either hold your tits together for me, or I'm going to go ahead and tie them up."

You furrowed your brow, and he then warned you, "Five seconds." Quickly, and to your own disgust, your hands came up to cover your collarbone, arms and elbows squeezing together to give him what he wanted. The first slide between them was a little rough, skin catching before pre-cum from a few more thrusts made it easier.

He was far too worked up already, and more so than you. It only made the recognition that he was busting and able to leave before you even recognized what had happened a goal he was desperate for. The weeks of watching you from afar, getting to feel that jaw and those eyes on him was almost too much.

"Jesus," It wasn't reverent, it wasn't grateful. The first intelligible word out of your mouth was a plea, and it only made Danny stop thinking and falter as cum started to spurt out in the middle point between your breasts, deep between the valley. Bending almost perpendicular to you, the mask was inches away from your face, and you let out a gentle moan to the sensation.

One of your hands had his cum on the finger, and it was an insane move on your part, but what better way to try to end this than to scare him? You lifted a finger to your lips, and he saw your tongue lick up its length, his labored breathing stilled and the knife scratched tiled floor as he fumbled with it.

He had to shake out his hands to keep from letting them snug around your neck, scoffing under his breath to keep from snarling like an animal. He reached for the tape that he had placed on the counter in his setup, a loss of pressure on your body but your head was spinning to fast to take advantage of that, heaving breaths and trying not to make more noise as he ripped a strip off.

“Oh. Do you think you’re good enough to taste me?” He pressed the cool tape to your mouth, eliciting a shocked noise that you had been holding back until now. He leaned in, tilting his head and the chin of the mask brushing yours in a callous scratch of plastic. He turned attention to your wrists, taking them off your chest and pulling them down to sit on your still clothed abdomen. The rope had been fastened to his belt, weighing down off his hip from him unbuckling it. He unraveled it, still shivering from the exertion as he got them around your wrists.

“When do you think you’ll get that chance again. Huh, slut?” You just gawked, lips pushing against the tape, unable to answer and unable to consider what the fuck he meant by that. He played around with the idea of getting to see you again, “Next week? Next month, maybe?”

The rubber nitrile of his glove framed one side of your face as he then spoke in a more severe voice again, “Because I’m not done with you, [Y/N]. Not tonight.” He laughed when you let out a noise, trying to sound horrified. It became real as he finally slipped under your waistband, the cozy shorts and underwear barely acknowledged by his hand as he found your entrance in no time.

“Think you can wait?” He asked, hearing a more confident, more aroused noise from you from behind the tape as you rolled your head. He slid his middle in, the pressure along with all the fiddling he had been doing to stop himself from the choking, the tearing, only got his limp dick twitching slightly and another one going in with it after a few prods.

He worked until that shudder from your lower body came again, and you were in an even string of moaning under him, the mask all you saw in shy glimpses as you had to quickly forget this situation and let the pleasure take you down. When you clenched hard around his hand, he then pulled out, and the tears were quick to form in your eyes as you put on a pathetic display, glaring at him as your bound hands slapped him in the chest.

"I think I can wait." He giggled, like he was in trouble with you as he yanked the rope from your wrists, gathering it up as he stood again. You used the leverage to touch your face, and he suddenly knelt down.

"Don't cry, baby." He reminded you, a gentle tap on your face as he then paused to cup your cheek, rub the remnants of your slick against your face, "I'll be back for you."

He tore the duct tape off, a glance down to make sure the cum on your chest was dried and not going to be enjoyed in a way that mattered again before doing it. The wail was the first and only noise that had gone above confused moans and murmurs, and it was more involuntary from the quick motion, the pain of an industrial tool used on such gentle skin.

You caught a look at yourself in the reflection of the knife as he quickly took it from the floor and stood a final time. There was blood on your face, too, and looking down you saw he had done more than just dance the blade of his knife across your inner thighs.

He was already rushing out again, closing the door behind him in an insanely casual move, so you took the moment of utter shock and still on the floor of your own house to pull your leg into better view.

[How did he know my name starts with a D? / Why did he carve a very clear, concise letter "D" amongst the other marks?" ]

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Hiya! It's me! I've been sending you so many asks that I wouldn't be surprised if you gave me a restraining order!

I made an account so I can actually participate in some of your rp things- if that's okay with you of course.

I sent you the ideas for the succubus, deadpool x wolverine and bimbo!au's, I sent others but I'd need to go through my memory, which would take all night.

Anyway- I have a new au idea for you! I think you'll like this. It's basically a gothic vampire!au.

I'm going to attach screen shots because I've already written it out and for some reason Tumblr doesn't let you copy and paste (it's already 1am where I am and I don't want to have to write this out all again, so I'm really sorry if this'll be annoying for you 😭).

Continuation--

Adam: it's rude to stare, you know. How did a kid get in here?

Lucifer jumped at his voice: I-I'm not a kid!- I'm 30 years old!

Adam: really dude? What are you? 5"3?... you didn't get the long straw when it came to genes, huh? See what I did there?

Lucifer sighs as the man chuckles to himself.

Lucifer: uh... that's... not important- a-are you the owner?

Adam stares at Lucifer for a few seconds before taking a sip from his glass. Lucifer watches his every move, he feels like prey- are those fangs??

Adam: I guess you can say that.. my names Adam. Even though I think the asshole who broke into my house should introduce themselves first- but I'm in a good mood today!

Adam stands and pulls a chair infront of him.

Adam: Here man, have a seat, might as well make yourself comfortable.

The way Adam smiled and watched his every move made Luicfer shiver. He walked as calmy as he could to the chair infront of Adam. He sits, eyes never leaving Adams deep red ones.

Lucifer: I'm Lucifer- and I apologize for the breaking and entering. It's uh, not the best first impression.

Adam: wait- Lucifer? Like the Devil? That's sick. And I'm not one for first impressions, but you've certainly made an entrance, buddy.

Lucifer: Yeah, like the Devil, blame my father for that one-

Adam: I ain't judging man! I think it's cool, everyone has such boring names these days, it's nice to be surprised, nothing surprises me much anymore.

Adam runs his clawed hand through his hair, eyes never leaving Lucifers face. He notices as his eyes travel down to his chest, where his shirt has opened a bit more. Adam smirks, leaning forward, giving Lucifer a better view.

Adam: I would offer you a drink, but I think you want something else~

----

That's all I have! I hope this seems interesting to you 😭

Feel free to continue it, I'll try and participate to! It would be my first time doing these rp type things, so I'm sorry if I'm a bit all over the place lol

Okay- bye!

Ahhh!! Thank you for all your amazing ideas friendo! This too is amazing 🤩

And yes of course you can participate in the rp blogs! What account is it?

-

Lucifer felt a little called out, this man was so good looking he felt like he was trapped in a trance.

Lucifer: I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-

Adam: Pfft it's fine, I get it. I know I'm hot shit and I don't mind you looking. In fact.

Adam leaned in closer until his hot breath ghosted over Lucifer's face.

Adam: I wouldn't mind you doing more than just looking.

He grinned at the way the blonde man's face turned bright red at the implication. Humans were always so easy to work up. And man this one was easy on the eyes as well.

It's been a while since Adam had a visitor. Even longer since he had a rendezvous.

[bridgyrose]

Rosebird week day 2: private moments

Summer smiled a bit once she realized she finally had the house to herself. Tai and Qrow were out on a mission, Ruby and Yang were being looked after by a family friend… all worth it to finally have a break from Ozpin’s missions and to relax. At least, until she heard the door open. 

She slowly took her axe off its mount off the wall, gripping it tightly as she made her way to the front room. As she peeked around the doorway, she nearly dropped her axe when she saw Raven sitting. “What are you doing here?” 

“I saw Tai and Qrow leave, so I figured you could use a little company,” Raven said with a small smile. “So I decided to stop by-” 

“And you cant stop by when the kids are here too?” 

“You… you know I cant.” 

“You could.” Summer sat her axe down and walked over to Raven, gently taking her hand. “I’d love for you to come here more. And for Yang and Ruby to meet you too. I know you left to protect everyone, but there’s still room for you to live here.” 

Raven looked away. “You know exactly why I cant.” 

“I-I know, but…” Summer let out a soft sigh. “I’d… I’d rather we not have to meet privately like this every time. I want to enjoy more time with you.” 

“Qrow and Tai would never let me.” 

“What they want wont matter.” Summer pulled Raven to the couch to sit. “Well, if you’re here, you should join me to relax.” 

“I cant relax-” 

“I’m not asking you, I’m tell you to.” Summer pulled Raven down to sit and smiled at her. “If you’re only going to meet me for our ‘private time’ then you need to at least spend time with me.” 

Raven shook her head and tried to hide the blush on her cheeks. “Can you not call it that?” 

Summer leaned against her. “Its your fault. If you didnt insist on only coming when I’m alone, then I’d call it something else. But instead, it's always a private meeting with you. So, private time.” 

“It sounds like something a teenager would say when they're getting ready to get laid.” 

“Its never anything like that.” 

“Still sounds like that.” 

“If you didnt insist on acting like a shy teenager, then I wouldnt have it call it that.” 

“I dont act like a shy teenager!” 

“You’re scared of letting people close to you and what they’ll think about you caring about others.” Summer pulled Raven close and leaned against her shoulder. “Just like a teenager coming out of a bad home would be. We’re not teenagers anymore, so you dont have to worry what anyone will think about it. We can be together.” 

“We can, but its not… I’m not worried about what others will think.” 

“Then what is it?” 

“I cant tell you. But… I guess there wouldnt be any harm in showing.” 

“What do you mean by show-” Summer paused as she watched small flames start to dance around Raven’s fingertips as she raised her hand. The flames then froze, the ice falling onto the floor and melting as quickly as they came. When she finally looked at Raven again, she could see flames around her eyes just as they went out. 

“This is why I keep wanting to meet with you privately. Why I ran away. And I’m afraid that if I’m here for too long, you and Ruby will be hurt by people who want this power.” 

Summer quietly nodded and took Raven’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Nothing will ever happen to Ruby and I.” 

Raven looked away. “But what if something does? What if someone comes after you just to get to me?” 

“Then I’ll make sure you dont have to worry. So, will you come home to me?” 

Raven started to nod, and then froze as she heard voices from outside. She pulled away and stood up. “I should go.” 

“Wait Raven!” Summer let out a small groan as she watched Raven shift into her bird form and fly out the open window. Just like she always did. Only ever giving her time in private. 

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Roy had, he realizes, half-expected this to happen. He must have suspected on some level that their trip up to Manchester to face off against City would see a repeat of last season’s illicit night-time outing, because when he catches sight of Jamie surreptitiously slinking away from the team movie night just as the film ends, he isn’t surprised.

Just rolls his eyes and huffs a fucking prick, before telling Nate that he’s going out and not to let any of those idiots cause any trouble.

He can feel Beard’s eyes following him as he follows Jamie, out of the impromptu movie hall and the hotel, and into the chilly evening.  

Roy lets Jamie amble on for a couple of streets. Let the little muppet think he got away with it; it’ll make his realisation to the contrary all the more satisfying. Then, as Jamie idles on the pavement while waiting for a lull in traffic, Roy sneaks up to him and grabs his shoulder.

”Oi! Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Jamie startles, which is pleasing. He doesn’t look particularly concerned at catching sight of his fearsomely scowling coach, however, which is less pleasing.

“Fucking hell, Roy,” he says, having the gall to sound mildly reproachful. “How’s giving your best player a heart attack the night before you take on the champions a good idea, eh?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Roy drawls. “Is it a worse idea than letting one of my players sneak off and break curfew the night before we take on the champions?”

Jamie snorts, unimpressed at his coach’s careful omission of the best. Shrugging out of Roy’s grip, he starts walking again. “Weren’t going to get into any trouble or nothing,” he says airily. “Just wanted to see me mum.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Not exactly a leap. (And if there’s a part of Roy that had been concerned that Jamie might slink away to see someone else, well… No need to bring that up. There’s been enough heated discussions on that topic between them ever since Roy learned of Jamie actually going up to see his fucking piece of shit father in rehab.)

For a few moments, they walk in silence, through the chill October air and the increasingly distant rush of Manchester traffic.

“Are you… okay?” Roy asks eventually. It comes out hesitant and it takes all of his willpower not to smash his own stupid face in for how silly he sounds. He’s getting better at this, he thinks – the emotional shit – but he’s still not good at it.

Jamie cuts him a surprised look. “Uh, yeah? Awesome. Why?” Then his face softens into understanding, his soft lips curling into a silent oh. “I’m good, Coach,” he says earnestly, pushing a strand of his carefully styled hair out of his eyes. “Swear down. Just wanted to say hi to mummy, yeah?”

Roy nods. He’d thought as much, but… he’d needed to make sure. “You could have just asked.”

Jamie gives him a sidelong glance. “Yeah, well, but. You’re not Ted. Might have said no.”

Roy’s eyes snap to Jamie’s face, narrowing in incredulity. “And if I had I told you, specifically, that no, Jamie, you may not fucking run off to see your mum the night before a game, then you wouldn’t have tried to slip away?”

“Yeah, man, ‘course.” Off Roy’s sceptical look, Jamie makes a face. “Come on, Coach. I do everything you tell me to, don’t I? Even when it’s stupid,” he adds, not quite under his breath.

And Roy doesn’t know what to say to that because… Jamie is right, isn’t he. He does everything Roy tells him to, and while that’s… good, obviously, hearing it stated so baldly leaves Roy feeling. Well. Something. Not bad, exactly, but slightly like he’s on a roller-coaster and suddenly he’s weightless and breathless and with that sucking sensation in his gut. Or like when he held Phoebe for the first time, awed and terrified of all that frail softness in his rough hands.

He clears his throat, pushing that weird feeling right back down into the dark recesses of his mind where it belongs. “Sneaking out of the fucking hotel when I told everyone to stay in and hit bed before eleven is a weird fucking way of doing what I tell you.”

“Yeah, but that was like, general,” Jamie says, waving away Roy’s fully legitimate argument like an errant fly. “It’s different, yeah?”

“It really fucking isn’t,” Roy snaps, even as there’s small, strange part of him that feels that Jamie – inexplicably – has a point.

Jamie grins at him, then, “And yet you haven’t hauled me back yet,” he notes, exaggeratedly looking around them to indicated the more and more run-down surroundings, and sure enough, if memory serves Roy right they’re already halfway back to the council estate where Jamie grew up.

Fucking hell.

But he’d suspected this, too, hadn’t he. Known that he wasn’t really going after Jamie just to read him the riot act and bring him back in.

“Half an hour,” Roy growls. “Then I am hauling you back to the hotel, and if I hear one complaint about it, I’m making you run the whole fucking way and then we’re doing burpees until you drop and I don’t care if you’re too stiff to play tomorrow.”

Like hell you don’t, Jamie’s laughing eyes tell him, but all he says is, “Yes, Coach. Mint.”

Roy gives a curt nod. Mint. Yeah. Maybe that’s what this is.

At least it could be hell of a lot worse.

At least until Jamie asks, much, much too innocently, “So, Coach, are you coming with me ‘cause you wanna keep an eye on me or because you wanna see me mum too?”

Roy is grateful that there’s no telling if his cheeks redden in the autumn dark, and that his voice is as gruff as ever when he growls, “All right, you are definitively running back to the hotel, Tartt.”

Jamie sighs. It’s a happy sound. “Yes, Coach.”

[brunchable]

𝐌𝐫. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

Part Four | Five Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader | Daughter of Thaddeus Ross (Red Hulk) Words: 4.1K Themes: Forbidden/Off-Limits Reader, Love Triangle, M for Mature, 18+ , Post-Endgame, AGE GAP (24y/o reader). Summary: Y/N needing answers confront Bucky about the party. Steve finds himself sitting on the same couch Bucky has been sitting on once a week.

taggies: @astrelz @pattiemac1 @mrsevans90 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers

Y/N sat on her desk, her phone in her hand, her mind racing. Her father’s words from dinner echoed in her head—the event was fast approaching, and she was expected to play her part. But with every passing day, the pressure grew heavier, and her life felt less like her own.

The thought of the upcoming reveal made her feel trapped. She knew what was expected of her: smile for the cameras, be the perfect daughter, and make her father look good. But it wasn’t what she wanted, and the weight of it all was starting to crush her.

She glanced at her phone. Ethan had called her a few days ago, asking her to trust him, to hold on for a little longer. He said he had a plan to break things off without causing a scandal. Y/N had been hesitant. Trust wasn’t something that came easily between them, and the idea of prolonging the engagement left a sour taste in her mouth.

But now, as the pressure from her father mounted, she found herself picking up the phone again. Maybe Ethan’s plan was the only way out.

Y/N took a deep breath and dialed his number. It rang twice before Ethan picked up.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice calm and monotone as always.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About holding on for a while.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, then Ethan spoke again. “I know it’s not ideal, but trust me. If we just play along for a bit longer, I think I can figure out a way for us to break things off without causing a scandal. We both know how important that is—for your side and mine.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the phone. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Ethan. I just hate pretending.”

“I get it,” he replied softly. “But we don’t have to pretend forever. Just a little longer. We’re both trapped in this, but we can get out of it—cleanly. No drama, no backlash.”

Y/N let out a slow breath. She hated that he was right. The last thing she needed was a scandal on top of everything else. “Fine,” she said, her voice tight. “I’ll trust you. But this can’t go on much longer.”

“It won’t,” Ethan assured her. “I promise.”

Y/N hung up the phone, feeling a mix of relief and dread. She had bought herself a little more time, but the clock was still ticking. The event was looming, and her father’s expectations weighed heavier than ever.

× × × ×

Her eyes drifted to the pile of patient files on her left. She’d been staring at them for far too long, her mind distracted by everything except work.  

She had been thinking about Bucky more than she should have. The nagging feeling that he was the man from the party refused to leave her alone. And she hated dwelling on things. She wasn’t the type to sit in confusion, letting questions fester too long. She liked answers.

Skimming at the patient files, her eyes landed on Bucky’s. She hesitated for a moment before opening it. His phone number was listed, and before she could overthink it, she picked up her phone and dialed.

Bucky picked up after a few rings, his voice gruff but calm. “Barnes.”

“Hey,” Y/N said, trying to keep her tone light. “It’s Y/N.”

There was a pause, then a slight chuckle on the other end. “Didn’t think I’d be getting a call from my therapist.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “I was wondering... are you free for a drink later? Bar of your choice?”

Bucky’s chuckle turned into a low laugh. “A drink, huh? Sounds suspiciously like a date.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “Not a date. Just drinks.”

“Sure,” Bucky replied, still sounding amused. “I’ll be there.”

× × × ×

Y/N sat at the bar, nervously swirling her drink, waiting for Bucky to arrive. The dim lighting and soft chatter of the bar did little to ease her nerves. She glanced at her watch—had she been waiting long? Or had Bucky already been there?

For a brief moment, she couldn’t remember how long she had been sitting there, or even how long ago Bucky had said he would come. Time seemed to slip away from her, a small sliver of panic bubbling up inside her chest. She took a deep breath, telling herself to relax.

It’s just stress, she thought, glancing toward the door.

The sound of the door opening caught her attention, and she finally saw Bucky walk in. His presence grounded her slightly, but the disorienting sensation lingered in the back of her mind.

He wore a dark navy jacket, the fabric slightly worn, giving him that lived-in look of someone who was always ready to be on the move. Underneath, a simple black T-shirt hugged his frame, just tight enough to show the broad muscles of his chest and shoulders. His dark jeans were well-fitted, faded in places from use, and his heavy boots thudded softly against the floor as he walked.

But it was his left arm that always caught her attention—the vibranium glinting subtly under the bar’s dim lights. The sleek, matte finish of the metal contrasted sharply with the rugged, everyday clothes he wore, a constant reminder of the battles he'd fought, both physical and internal.

Bucky’s expression was relaxed, his eyes sweeping the room until they found her. He gave her a small nod before making his way to the table, his steps deliberate but unhurried.

“Hey stalker,” She greeted Bucky with a smile.

“Hey, stalker. Where did you get my number again?” Bucky greeted her with a pointed look, taking a seat beside her at the bar. “You didn’t have to buy me a drink just to ask me something.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “I have my ways. Besides, I thought I owed you one after our last session. You looked like you could use a drink.”

Bucky chuckled, glancing at the whiskey in front of him. “Well, can’t say no to that.”

They made small talk for a few minutes, discussing trivial things—the weather, recent news, even the usual café’s new pastries. Y/N found herself relaxing as they talked, but the question still lingered in the back of her mind. It was only a matter of time before she had to bring it up.

She hesitated, glancing down at her glass. “You’ve been laying low lately,” she said. “I haven’t seen you around much.”

"Yeah, you know me," he said quietly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Sometimes it’s easier to keep to myself. Less complications that way."

Y/N smiled softly. “Yeah, I guess that’s your thing.”

There was a brief silence before Y/N took a deep breath. She couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, she leaned forward, her gaze meeting Bucky’s directly. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

Before she could stop herself, Y/N blurted out, “You didn’t happen to go to a party recently, did you?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, clearly caught off guard by the question. He hesitated, and Y/N watched as his jaw tightened slightly. “A party?”

“Yeah, a big one. A lot of people, loud music, dancing…”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, not wanting to give too much away. He cleared his throat, glancing up slightly. 

“I might have, yeah,” he muttered, taking a swig of his whiskey. “Why do you ask?”

Y/N tried to play it off cool, though her pulse quickened. “Just curious. You looked like someone I met there.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s gaze remained steady, though Y/N noticed the subtle shift in his posture, the slight tension in his jaw. 

“I just... I can’t shake the feeling that it was you,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Bucky didn’t respond. Then, with a tight smile, he shook his head. “And if it was? What then?”

Y/N’s heart raced. She hadn’t expected him to turn the question back on her so quickly. She swallowed, trying to think of an answer, but all she could do was stare at him.

“I… I guess I just wanted to know,” she said, her voice faltering.

Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on hers, and his expression grew more serious. “Why?”

The question hit harder than Y/N had anticipated, making her heart pound in her chest. Why did she need to know? Why couldn’t she just let it go? She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her glass.

“I kissed him. And I can’t stop thinking about it, I felt a spark I hadn’t felt in a while. And it keeps bothering me whether it was you.”

“You think it was me?” Bucky repeated.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, frustration creeping into her voice. “I can’t shake the feeling that it was you—and you called me a party animal and I didn't even remember seeing you.”

Bucky leaned on the counter, letting out a slow breath. “You really want to know?”

Y/N leaned forward, hope flickering inside her. “Yes.”

Bucky’s eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. “Then why don’t you go figure it out yourself?”

Before she could stop herself, she pressed her lips to his, her heart racing as the kiss ignited something inside her. It was quick but intense, her body responding before her mind could catch up.

For a second, Bucky didn’t react, caught completely off guard. His eyes widened in shock as her lips met his, but then he froze, pulling back slightly, his gaze locked on hers.

“Y/N—” Bucky’s voice was strained, and his hands gripped the edge of the table as if to steady himself. 

Y/N pulled back, her cheeks flushed, realizing what she had just done. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for his reaction, unsure if she had crossed a line.

“I thought... you wanted me to figure it out,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Bucky blinked, still trying to process what had just happened. “That’s... not what I meant,” 

Y/N’s eyes widened in embarrassment. “Oh.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, the back of his hand pressed on his lips, clearly thrown off balance. “I meant you should go talk to your friends or... ask around. I wasn’t telling you to—”

Y/N’s face turned crimson. “I—oh my god. I thought—”

Bucky glanced away, blinking, looking like he wanted to disappear into thin air. “Yeah, no. That’s… not what I was saying.”

“I’m sorry—oh my god, i want to crawl into a hole and never leave.” Y/N muttered, still covering her face. Her fingers dug into her palms, wishing she could vanish. 

For a moment, they sat in silence, Y/N stared down at her drink, too mortified to say anything more. Her face was burning with embarrassment, and her mind raced with how badly she had misread the situation.

Bucky cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. “So... does that answer your question?”

Y/N’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She felt even more flustered now, her thoughts a jumbled mess.

“Well... I didn’t really kiss him like that,” she blurted out, unable to stop herself.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh? What, you want to go again?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her face burning with embarrassment as she stared at him in shock. “No! I didn’t—”

Bucky met her gaze and gave her a small, crooked smile. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

“You’re not a nice man,” she muttered.

Bucky’s smirks, “Yeah, maybe. But you started it.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, a nervous habit she couldn’t quite stop, and Bucky’s eyes flicked down to catch the movement. He let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair again, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re not making this any easier,” Bucky muttered, his voice low but not unkind.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening at the tension still lingering between them. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks again. “I just... I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Bucky looked at her, his expression softening as he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. 

“Look,” he said quietly, his tone gentler than before, “you don’t need to apologize. You just got confused. Maybe it's the alcohol.”

Y/N swallowed, her gaze flicking back to him. “Yeah, right.”

Silence.

Bucky looked away, his metal fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table, his leg restlessly shaking. It was clear that neither of them quite knew how to handle what had just happened.

Bucky sighed again, his voice dropping even lower. “I didn’t mean to mess with your head, Y/N. I just...” He trailed off, his eyes meeting hers again, this time with a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, the vulnerability in his voice surprising her. “Sorry.”

Silence.

Bucky cleared his throat again, breaking the moment. “We’re not going to talk about this, are we?” he asked, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N smiled back, a small, awkward laugh escaping her. “Probably not.”

Bucky nodded his head, and chuckled. “Figured.”

× × × ×

Y/N threw herself onto her bed, face-first into her pillow, and let out a muffled scream of pure frustration and embarrassment. She kicked her legs into the air, flailing them wildly as she groaned into the pillow. Her cheeks were burning, her heart racing, and her mind replaying the last few moments with Bucky over and over again.

What were you thinking? she scolded herself, her legs kicking the mattress in frustration. Why would you kiss him again?!

But no matter how much she tried to push it away, the memory kept flashing in her mind, like a scene she couldn’t stop replaying. She had been standing with him, the quiet tension between them growing, and then, in a moment of complete insanity, she had leaned in again.

Her lips had met his for the second time, and this time, it wasn’t just a quick kiss. It had deepened almost immediately. His hand had come up to grip her waist, and her body responded by writhing against his solid torso.

It was just like the kiss at the party—the way their bodies pressed together, the electricity in the air, the intensity of it all. Her mind had flashed back to that moment, remembering the feeling of the man’s lips moving with hers, the taste of his kiss lingering on her tongue.

But as the kiss with Bucky continued, something felt... different. The way Bucky kissed her wasn’t like the man at the party. It wasn’t playful or light. No, Bucky’s kiss was... possessive. His vibranium hand held her tighter, like he couldn’t let her go. His lips were commanding, full of intent, like he was staking a claim.

Y/N’s mind raced, torn between the memory of the party and the reality of the kiss happening right in front of her. And that’s when it hit her.

It wasn’t him.

She groaned again, flipping over onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. You idiot, you have crossed the line. Her body still felt warm from the kiss, and her mind was a whirlwind of confusion. She couldn’t believe she had kissed him like that—and now, she was left with even more questions than before.

Her legs kicked out in frustration once more, her cheeks still burning from the embarrassment. She had kissed Bucky with the same passion she had kissed the man from the party, hoping it would give her the answer she needed. 

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the noise. But no matter how hard she tried, the image of Bucky’s face lingered, along with the nagging question she couldn’t let go.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.” She screamed into her pillow.

× × × ×

Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that ever since Steve had retired, he’d felt adrift. His friends told him to move on, to find a new life now that Captain America was in his past. But who was Steve Rogers now in this modern world without the uniform, without the shield? 

He had tried to move forward, to make sense of the new world he was living in. But it wasn’t that easy. His life had always been about duty and purpose, and now that he was free of those responsibilities, he felt... lost. And now, on top of that, he couldn’t get the mystery woman from the party out of his head.

Sighing, Steve glanced at his phone. He had saved Dr. Raynor’s number—Bucky’s therapist. Maybe it was time to try something different. He had been hesitant, unsure if therapy was what he needed, but the more time passed, the more he realized he couldn’t keep everything bottled up.

With a decisive breath, he dialed the number.

“Dr. Raynor’s office, how can I help you?” The receptionist’s voice was friendly and professional.

“Hi, this is Steve Rogers. I was wondering if I could schedule a session,” Steve said, his voice steady.

There was a brief pause before the receptionist responded. “Dr. Raynor is not taking new clients right now. However, her intern, Y/N, has been handling many sessions. Would that be okay?”

Steve hesitated. Y/N. The woman who's kept Bucky spiraling. Still, something in his gut told him to take the appointment.

“That works. When’s the next available time?”

“We have an opening tomorrow at 3:30 p.m.”

“Tomorrow at 3:30 is fine,” Steve confirmed, though his mind raced.

“Great, we’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Rogers. Y/N will be expecting you.”

As Steve hung up, he leaned back in his bed, staring at the phone. We didn't know what to expect but there were deeper issues—his identity, his future—that had been weighing on him for months. He needed help finding a new direction, and maybe this session could give him the clarity he was looking for.

Tomorrow at 3:30 he thought, standing up. Whatever happened next, he hoped it would finally give him the answers he needed.

× × × ×

Steve sat in the waiting room, feeling a slight unease creeping over him. It had been a long time since he felt this unsure of something. He hadn’t expected this. Y/N, the intern taking over Dr. Raynor’s clients was nothing like the flustered, casual woman he’d met briefly some other day. 

Now, sitting in front of him, her hair was neatly tied back, her glasses perched on her nose, and a notebook open in her lap. She looked professional, one that felt far removed from the woman who had seemed to be having a long day when he’d seen her last.

Is this really the same person? Steve wondered. He hadn’t expected her to be so composed in this setting, so distant. The energy felt different—colder.

“Captain,” Y/N greeted with a polite nod. “Thanks for coming in today.”

“Please, call me Steve,” he replied, feeling slightly off balance.

She smiled briefly, making a note in her book. “Alright, Steve. Let’s get started.”

Steve wasn’t sure how to begin. He hadn’t anticipated feeling this out of place. Sitting there, he felt like he was being studied—like a subject. And for some reason, it didn’t sit well with him. 

“So, what brings you in today?” Y/N asked, her voice steady and measured as she met his gaze.

Steve shifted in his seat, his thoughts swirling. He wasn’t sure if he was more unsettled by her professionalism or by the fact that he was here, opening up about things he wasn’t even sure how to articulate. 

“I guess I’ve been feeling... lost,” he began, his voice slow, as if testing the waters.

Y/N nodded, her pen ready, but she didn’t push. “Lost how?”

Steve let out a sigh, feeling the weight of his words. “I’ve spent so long being Captain America. That was my life. Now that it’s over, I’m not sure who I am anymore.” He paused, his thoughts briefly drifting back to the party, to the woman who made him feel something different for the first time in a while. But he shook it off. That wasn’t why he was here. “I just... don’t know what comes next.”

Y/N made a few notes, her expression unreadable. She was so composed—so controlled. It threw Steve off. He had half-expected some casual banter or warmth, but what he got was the cool professionalism of a therapist. 

“It’s not uncommon,” Y/N replied, her tone calm. “After dedicating so much of your life to a cause, stepping away can leave you questioning your identity. It can be difficult to adjust.”

Steve nodded, though part of him felt like he was watching this conversation from the outside. She seemed different now. Completely different. He couldn’t shake the thought, and it distracted him more than he wanted to admit.

“You're... different,” Steve blurted out, not even sure why he said it.

Y/N looked up from her notes, raising an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Steve chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know... more serious.”

Y/N smiled slightly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Therapy mode, I guess. It’s different from casual conversations.”

Steve nodded, though he still felt like he was in unfamiliar territory. “Yeah, I see that.”

They sat in a brief, tense silence before Y/N gently steered the conversation back on track. “You mentioned feeling lost without the Captain America role. Can you tell me more about what that feels like for you?”

Steve began to speak, his gaze steady as he tried to articulate the feelings of disconnection that had been plaguing him since leaving behind Captain America. But he couldn’t help but notice that she seemed distracted, her eyes drifting away from him every few seconds, as if she wasn’t fully present. Steve paused mid-sentence, watching as she blinked a few times, her expression slightly dazed.

“You okay?” Steve asked, tilting his head.

Y/N’s eyes snapped back to his, and she quickly nodded. “Yeah, sorry. I’m listening.”

But Steve wasn’t convinced. He could see the faint lines of tension on her face, the way her fingers gripped her pen just a little too tightly. She seemed... distant. Unfocused.

Steve continued talking, but his eyes kept flicking to Y/N, noticing how her attention wavered. At one point, she even scribbled something down, only to pause and stare at the page, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve asked again, his voice soft but concerned.

Y/N blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... a lot on my mind.”

× × × ×

Steve exited the building, the afternoon sun hitting his face as he tried to shake off the weight of the therapy session with Y/N. 

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing up just in time to catch sight of her again. Y/N was standing near the curb, looking at her phone. His feet slowed instinctively. Then, a sleek black car pulled up beside her. 

Steve’s eyes narrowed as a man stepped out—well-dressed, formal, and carrying a bouquet of flowers. He didn’t know who the guy was, but the way he strode toward Y/N with confidence made something in Steve’s gut twist. He couldn’t help it—Y/N was beautiful, and he’d have to be blind not to notice that.

The man handed her the flowers, and Steve caught the way Y/N’s smile barely reached her eyes. Polite, almost forced. Steve’s gaze lingered, curious. She didn’t look thrilled, and there wasn’t the warmth or ease you’d expect between a couple. 

She got into the car anyway, the man holding the door open for her before climbing in himself.

Steve stood there for a moment longer, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the car pull away. “Huh,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but one thing was clear: she wasn’t available. 

He turned and started walking again, forcing the thought from his mind. It wasn’t his place to think too much about it, and besides, it wasn’t like he had any right to be curious. She was someone he found… intriguing. Attractive, sure. But that was it. . .he tells himself.

[fullhavelstonearmor]

Am I sleep deprived? Yes. But, imagine the following.

Batman is away with the Justice League. He’s saving the planet from Brainiac or some shit.

Bane is in Gotham. Plotting. Scheming. Thinking about crime, but most importantly, Batman.

You thought joker was fucking obsessed? Wait until you see bane’s bedroom. Dartboards with the batfam. Various articles of clothing he’s torn from their suits. Where they go to school. Everything. He even has the fucking x-ray scans from Batman’s broken back. He knows Batman’s identity, and everyone else’s too. He says nothing, because Batman is HIS to break, and nobody else’s.

Bane comes up with a plan. A great plan. He’s a little cuckoo off venom, but it’s perfect. He’ll do something heinous, Batman will come, and he’ll break his back again. He’ll get that feeling from breaking the bat again.

So he does something ridiculous. Robs a bank or something. He isn’t stopped by Batman though. It’s Nightwing. He remembers beating Batman when Dick was a boy. He remembers Dick beating him for the first time. He turns on the venom.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t see the broken body of a teen, and he’s got several bruises. (Yes, he forgot Nightwing is a grown ass man now. Venom, dude.) He’s also in an entirely different part of Gotham. He can infer that he lost. It doesn’t matter. Batman didn’t arrive for Bane, so that means Batman isn’t here. Now how could Bane get to Batman when he comes back?

Obviously he could beat up Alfred, or graffiti crime alley, or something minuscule that just warrants him an extra hard beating when Batman finds out. So what if… he hurt the entire Batfam for something they couldn’t beat him for? What if he attacked their pride, and not their spines?

Commissioner Gordon, sits, and stares at the bat signal. He flicks it on. He always does this, every night, to see if Batman came back and, if he didn’t, give whatever info needed to Dick or Jason. Whoever lost the coin flip. He didn’t. He flicks it off, and just past where the beam of light had started, Bane is there. Or, he tried to get there. Do the ominous thing. He is more or less still climbing over the ledge of the roof. Bodybuilding doesn’t exactly make you an acrobat, okay?

Gordon, logical individual he is, draws his gun. Points it at Bane. Bane eventually crawls up and stands tall. There is a dumb little beak on Bane’s mask. He says that he is “The Hawk.” Gordon laughs at him. Bane says he wants whatever file he was going to give to the bat family member. Gordon thinks it’s stupid of him to make such a demand. So Bane mentions Barbara. That he knows her secret. Gordon knows it too, of course. He’s been in her bedroom, and she just sort of has an entire stand for her batgirl suit in the closet. Bane knowing this intimidates Gordon. Gordon shouts threats, and Bane calmly reinstates that he can be trusted. He’s never broken Batgirl’s spine. Gordon doesn’t know what Bane’s doing. He does, however, begrudgingly hand over a Joker case file.

Joker is plotting. Don’t get me wrong, he’s obsessing over Batman, but he’s thinking about how to get to him like Bane would had Nightwing not clocked him on the head a little too hard. He thinks he’ll kidnap little Damian and see how far the others will get to rescue him. He of course, doesn’t understand that kidnapping Damian isn’t easy, but you know, definition of insanity.

Outside though, a group of goons see Batman, but realize that it’s not Batman. For one, no bat ears. For two, he’s fucking jacked. Like, Batman is big but not 6’8” tall. And finally, he’s standing at the entrance, in plain sight. And soon, they breath a sigh of relief. It’s bane. Boss probably invited him for the plan. Bane steps out of the darkness. They laugh at him as he calls himself “The Hawk” and denies being Bane.

So Bane counts. He does things Batman wouldn’t. He breaks an arm. Eighteen muggings stopped. A leg. Five bank robberies prevented. A big ass kick in the nuts. A million potential child abuse victims gone forever.

Joker continues plotting and laughing, when Bane jumps through his skylight. Bane says he’s “The Hawk.” Joker laughs at him again. So Bane counts.

As he throws Joker’s crippled, still laughing body from his van and through a GCPD window, he thinks about how many lives he’s saved. Probably more than Batman will the first week of arriving back home. He laughs to himself. He LIKES being better than Batman at his own game.

When Batman returns, chaos ensues. He’s confused as all hell when Alfred tells him everything. It’s been a month, and Gothamite criminals felt a fear like they haven’t since Batman admittedly got a bit softer. He goes to congratulate Bane. Not in some spectacle, but in his gloomy way. For the first time in a while, he makes a mistake. When congratulating Bane, he looks away, exposing his back. So Bane counts.

Guys can you tell I love Bane?

[to-thelakes]

i wanna listen (lip gallagher x reader)

content warning(s); mentions of blood, descriptions of wound care, hints of angst, angry!lip

summary; when lip finds out karen fucked frank, he finds his way to your door. he needed you to tell him it was okay.

series masterlist

lip beating the shit out of frank?? HOT but this man needed comforting. so here is another installment of my lip comfort series bc i want to wrap him up in bubble wrap and kiss his forehead

“He fucked her!” The sound of the front door slamming startled you. Your parents weren’t home, you had told Lip that earlier that day. You had been hoping to see him. You had only managed to briefly see him after he had gotten out of fucking jail and here he was, angry. You were confused.

“Lip? What’s going on?” You abandoned your peanut butter and jelly sandwich you had been halfway through making to move through the house towards him. He was seeing red, you could tell and his knuckles were bloody, a cut on his forehead. He looked angry, he looked upset, “Lip, baby.” The nickname rolled off your tongue with ease. It was reserved for moments like this.

“She fucked him!” He shouted, his rage not really directed at you. He sounded broken, his scarf wrapped haphazardly around him. You didn’t understand. He must have been talking about Karen. That was easy to tell but who?

Ian. No that didn’t seem likely. Ian was with Mandy as far as you knew and seemed uninterested in anyone else.

Kev? No that wouldn’t ever happen. 

Which only left one other man in Lip’s life that could make him this upset. His dad.

“Your dad?” You asked, eyes widening. He nodded, pacing back and forth. His hands were clenching and unclenching continuously, fingers running through his hair. You didn’t know what to say or what to do or how to approach this. 

What the fuck was going on?

“Can I look at your face?” You asked, approaching him cautiously. He would never lay a hand on you, never dare, you knew that but the anxious feeling still sat heavy in your stomach. You were mainly worried about him, what he would do to himself or someone else. Lip was self-loathing at his best.

“I fuckin’ hate him,” Lip stated as he stopped his pacing. You approached and gently pushed some hair out of his face. The cut didn’t look awful but it was still trickling blood. You frowned and took a hold of his hand.

“Can I take care of these?” You asked, eyes lingering on the wounds. Lip shrugged, breaking away from your hold. He had to keep moving, he wanted to hit something. You frowned, looking up at him. What were you supposed to say to that? How could you even make it better? You couldn’t, “Lip, come here,” You said softly, stepping towards him. You placed a hand on his bicep, gently pulling him to a stop.

His eyes had gotten glassy, words stuck in his throat and anger coursing through his veins but he didn’t know what to do with it. Beating his own dad up hadn’t made him feel any better. He didn’t know what to do.

“Come here,” You whispered and pulled him into a hug. You let his head bury into your neck as you held onto him tightly. He was squeezing you so tight, a vice grip and it was a little painful but you didn’t say anything. He needed an outlet and then the tears started. It was always like this.

You were convinced that if you weren’t there, he wouldn’t ever cry. He kept everything in until you were right in front of him. You were sure of that.

“Let it out, baby, it’s okay,” You whispered as you rested your head against his. He just cried, you didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. His dad was an asshole. He always had been and you had watched as Lip fell in love with Karen day-after-day. Yeah, it was painful to watch but you couldn’t blame him.

She liked him, he liked her. He was a whore, so was she. It worked. It still hurt though. Not that you ever told him.

No, you weren’t ever gonna do that.

Just like your whispered ‘I love you’s, the pain was something just for you. Yours alone to bear.

After a little while, his tears subsided and you coaxed him to the couch. He took the seat first, discarding his scarf as he scrubbed away the tears from his cheeks. You let him, grabbing a tissue from the tissuebox before you sat in his lap, his hands rested on your thighs.

You used the tissue to mop up any residual tears before you wiped his snotty nose. He avoided your gaze the whole time, embarrassed. 

Once you were done, you balled it up and turned around to place it on the coffee table. Lip’s hands instinctively came up to your waist, keeping you stable. But based on the pained hiss he let out when he did, you were sure he’d bruised his hand. It probably wasn’t broken but it was definitely sprained at least.

The damage to his upper eyebrow was easier to heal even if he’d hate it all the same. Despite his exterior, Lip hated getting his wounds cleared. He hated the peroxide. The smell, the sting, the feel but he’d usually  just kept his hand on your hip and his focus on anything but the incoming sting.

And he followed the same pattern once you’d returned to his lap with a first aid kit in hand. You unzipped it, pulling out everything you thought you’d need to make it better, to make him feel better.

“Can you talk? I wanna listen,” Lip said after too long of a silence. You nodded, trying to grasp at anything to talk to him about. You weren’t sure what would piss him off. You didn’t know what to talk about. You didn’t want to frustrate him more so you decided to just talk about your parents. He liked your parents. They were better than his.

“Was talking to my mom the other day about you, she thinks we’re dating. I don’t know why. Well, I do, you stay for dinner more than anyone else and you’re always here when they’re home from work. But I told her we weren’t,” You explained as you placed the peroxide, cotton buds and antiseptic cream on the couch beside your two bodies, “She doesn’t believe it. My dad doesn’t seem to really care either way. 

“You know, I told him about the whole jail sentence threat and he called you a ‘good kid’. I mean, considering he works for some dumb fucking corporate overlords, he’s not really into the whole goody-two-shoes shit,” You were rambling, desperate to keep Lip’s mind distracted as you dipped a cotton bud into the peroxide solution. You then used it to clean up the edges of his cut. A soft hiss escaped his lips but you kept talking, as requested;

“I think he likes you and my dad doesn’t really like anyone. Oh and you know I’ve been looking at colleges. I know we still have another year or whatever but I was thinking about what literature programme to do. I know it’s a useless degree but I think it’d be nice. Or maybe some teaching or some shit. Like Miss Rosenthal that taught us in Freshman year. I think being like her would be nice, y’know.”

Lip just listened, feeling soothed by your rambling words and the wound on his forehead didn’t feel so painful now. He felt you gently dab antiseptic cream across it before you used some butterfly stitches to keep the wound closed.

“Think you should go for it,” Lip muttered. You smiled down at him, that pretty smile that he loved. 

“Yeah, we’ll see. Depends how well Senior goes,” You shrugged as you grabbed the first-aid kit again. “How’s your hand?” You asked as you shuffled back so you could lift it up to your face. He hissed out. There was obvious bruising and cuts on his knuckles from pummelling Frank. It seemed sore but hopefully fine.

“Feels broken,” He admitted. You scoffed.

“Dramatic,” You teased. He rolled his eyes and you grabbed an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit. You tore it open, “Last thing and then you can go home,” You muttered as you unravelled the wipe. You then gently wiped away the blood from his knuckles. They didn’t need much tending other than the wipe and some cream. Lip had survived worse.

Once you were done, you climbed off his lap and grabbed all the trash together before putting everything you didn’t use back into the kit. You then walked back to the kitchen, dumping the kit under the sink and getting rid of the trash.

“Need to go home,” Lip said as you walked back into the living room. You nodded. You knew he needed to. Probably had shit to do and so you just let him. You stayed in the doorway, not wanting to get too close in case you begged him to stay. You hated when he left, “I’ll give you a call,” He added. You nodded.

“Yeah, I’m always here,” You nodded. He smiled tentatively before he disappeared out of the front door.

You sighed.

You hated this.