#and how small neon is compared to him

[deadsetobsessions]

Hera stood, waiting for her turn at last. The Queen of the Greek Pantheon traced the lines of neon green, its light reflecting against her true form in a soothing way. She’s no stranger to patience, to waiting. But there were little of those that had the gall to make her wait, and even smaller of that number that she would tolerate such behavior. Regardless, this was the one being she could not afford to offend and so, she waits. Her many forms, her divine self, perceived the room and compared it to her own halls of residence.

Olympus was much more intricate, carved of noble marble and inlaid with countless of priceless metals and gems and divinity. Twelve seats of power atop an engineering wonder, halls adorned with the brightest of the original flames, an hearth that was roaring at Hesta’s skillful hands.

In comparison, this throne room had been changed much since she was last here. Gone were the spikes of terror and screams of the damned. Now… it looked like the most bare throne room she’d ever bore witness to.

And yet, as she waited for the Boy King, Hera could feel the subtle thrum of impossible power. The new king did not flare his will and might like the previous tyrant, and for that, Hera approved. She has had quite enough of living with and under tyrants who cared only for themselves… and their bed achievements whilst failing spectacularly in their marital roles. Zeus was not a good life partner and Hera regretted ever saying yes to him many times in her immortal life. And yet… she loved him still.

The doors opened, and a small figure floated in, flanked by the previous King’s Knight. Perhaps that is what makes this Boy King so dangerous, Hera thought as she dipped into a bow, because he can turn the loyalest to his side.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted, in ghost speak.

“Heya, Hera!” The Boy King greeted her back, before waving the Knight away. Hera marveled, a bit, at the sheer confidence he had to dismiss his knight in her presence. Even the last king kept the knights around to ensure his power was always in display, always unchallengeable. The Boy King could destroy her with a snap of a finger and he knows it. He knows that she knows it.

“What did you need?” The Boy King asked, grin still on place as he floated to her instead of seating himself on his throne. Hera masked the bit of confusion she felt in pursuit of her goal.

“I have come here to ask of you a favor,” she began. “I am aware that… you are fond of this, the earth in which I reside in?”

Hera carefully picked her word. Everybody knows that the new King Phantom had laid claim to not only the Infinite Realms as is normal of his station, but an entire Earth as his haunt. He had the power to do so, she could finally see, now that she was standing before him. It would not do for Hera to get her strings cut because she claimed what is his.

“Sure. Why?” The Boy King tilted his head, narrowing that predator green upon her true form.

“Do you know of the Justice League, my lord?”

“Phantom’s fine,” he waved a hand. “And yeah, sure do! Why?”

Hera tilted her many forms in acknowledgement of the command. She bowed.

“My daughter, of a sort, is Diana Prince. Wonder Woman. She is… in grave danger. We can not exert our influence over a land that does not have our history. I can not interfere and aid her.”

“Oh, you want me to help her?” His tone was exasperated, and Hera spoke even more carefully in fear of offending him.

“Yes, if it pleases you. And it would be most gracious of you should Your Majesty have time to watch over her. I fear the danger will not leave her so quickly.”

There was a brief period of silence before King Phantom sighed. “And if it does not please me to do so?”

Hera looked up and locked gazes with evaluating green. “Then I am afraid I will be breaking a fair bit of cosmic law, King Phantom.”

He laughed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll check up on Wonder Woman.”

Hera blinked her many eyes, peacock feathers spreading in shock at how easily he allowed her favors. She did not even have to beg.

King Phantom turned to leave before pausing. “Hera, if you need help, just ask. Preferably without beating around the bushes next time. Also, Pandora misses you. You might want to hang around for tea later.”

Hera regarded him with the might of her divinity, which was but hardly a spec of his own kindness. The last one had not had her respect. Fear, yes. But never respect But this one…

“Yes, my King.”

“It’s just Phantom.” He shot back as he left, the Knight returning to his side once more.

Hera transformed into a more mortal form. She had not seen Pandora in a long time, the young woman had made quite an impression on her. Perhaps her old friend could be convinced in helping her punch Zeus and ruin her beloved husband’s day. Hera hummed, the green that used to flicker acidly against her divine form now only soothed. A reflection of its owner.

King Phantom is worthy of her regard.

——

Holy shit, a goddess asked him to check on the Justice League! She was super weird about it and talked in a really old way of speaking, but Danny hadn’t had anything to do for the past few days while entering the zone for his annual check up.

Danny waved away Fright Knight and dived into the portal that would take him directly to the Justice League and Diana!

He floated down from the portal, blinking at group of disheveled and injured superheroes surrounded by a group of demons. Belial?

“King Phantom.” Belial rumbled. Danny waved, not noticing the standstill his presence forced.

“Shite.” The British man cursed, drawing on his magic once more.

“King Phantom?” Diana Prince, Wonder Woman, said quizzically.

“Who?” Batman, Batman! That’s actually Batman, rumbled.

“High King of the Infinite Realms. We’re buggered if he decides to help Belial.”

“Wait, like the god of gods, that King Phantom?” Captain Marvel asked. Ancients, why are all of them electrical based? Danny hates electricity.

Danny floated closer to them, grinning in a friendly way before frowning as they tensed up.

“King Phantom. May I ask why you have graced us with your presence, my King?”

“Hey, Wonder Woman! Your mom asked me to babysit you!” He grinned, sharp and mischievous.

“What…?” The Flash asked, zipping to their side. “Her mom? Queen Hippolyta?”

“No, Hera,” Danny said, and watched Wonder Woman straighten at his words.

“The Goddess Hera.”

“Yep!” Danny rocked back on his suddenly formed legs instead of the whisp of a tail he usually kept in the Zone. He was also still floating. Danny sent a wave of ice and froze the rest of the demons in one fell swoop.

“The rest of you can take care of clean up, yes? Diana has to get some snacks, dinner, and then go to bed.” He pushed gently at Diana’s shoulders, nudging her towards the plane. She went willingly, respectful but amused.

——

Bruce, intellectually knowing that’s a king but only seeing a superhero teenager: *fills out mental adoption paperwork*

——

Hera, a goddess, terrified of misspeaking and dying as a result: he’s so strong even though he’s young omg powerful and could end my immortal existence

Danny, an unserious king: golly gee why is she speaking like a Shakespeare novel

——

Hera, thinking Danny’s gonna be dignified: pls watch over my daughter

Danny, who has a clone he sees as a daughter and therefore has no issues babysitting a grown woman: lol snacks, dinner, bedtime

Diana:… usually I’m on the other spectrum of this but it’s from a higher up so… okay?

——

Danny, terrifying gods and ancients: they’re my friends! The power of friendship!

[mrspiastri]

✩ first and last 🦢

pairing: lando norris x reader

cw: fluff, first time relationships

wc: 3.6k words

an: thank you to @castofstrangerthings for the req! i couldn’t directly respond to it for some reason so here! also i know you asked for oscar but this just felt so apt for lando i had to!! :p

For Y/N, dating wasn’t really something at the forefront of her mind. After hearing horror stories of all the crazy boyfriends her friends had to endure since middle school, she was more than content remaining celibate.

This continued throughout her schooling days, where she never bothered to start dating. And it was a big help to her cause that no boys ever made a move on her.

It wasn’t that she was unattractive, nor was it her personality. She was well-known throughout her school, and the teachers liked her too. She had a few male friends as well, and while they enjoyed hanging out, she was never asked out by even one of them.

So, she was the butt of her friends' lighthearted jokes about how she was the only one graduating high school without ever having a boyfriend, kissing someone, or even being romantically interested in a man. Hell, she hadn’t even been on a date before!

Y/N much preferred it this way—'more men, more problems' was her belief in life. However, this changed when she went to university.

She and Lando Norris met on the same day of orientation, both eager to join their uni’s debate team. After being seated next to each other for almost an hour during auditions, they were called in to debate each other on the topic of whether the ‘male loneliness epidemic’ was real. Much to her chagrin, Y/N had to argue for the motion.

That very debate was the foundation of their friendship, and now, in junior year, the pair remained closer than ever.

🪻🪻🪻

Being raised in a family with a wonderful mother and two sisters really sets a man up for success in the dating world. Lando was always in demand, his alluring and charming personality combined with his ravishing good looks and mild-mannered ways leading to girls constantly trying their luck with him.

At every party, every ten or so minutes, he was either being snogged by a pretty blonde or comparing hand sizes with a striking brunette.

He always admired Y/N’s commitment to being single, knowing her feelings towards the dating scene in today’s world. And somewhere along the line, his admiration for her changed to awe, and from awe, it evolved into emotions he never thought he’d ever feel for her.

After spending the better half of the past two years stuck by her side, with the third one beginning a few weeks ago, he found himself falling headfirst for Y/N and all her quirks and dynamics.

He had found it very difficult to admit it to himself that he fancied her, but on a random Tuesday morning, as she was wallowing over the waffles running out at breakfast, it hit him like a lightning bolt:

He had the biggest, fattest, most irrepressible crush on his best friend.

He had seen her for the first time when they were just freshly turned 18-year-olds, sniggering over the terrible chairs they had to sit on while waiting their turn for auditions. He was there when she was upset over not being able to sign up for a class she was desperate to take in her first semester.

He giggled while she almost keeled over after taking her first-ever shot of tequila at a sorority party at Kappa Alpha Theta, and he was the one who held her hair up while she threw up into a toilet bowl, rubbing her back soothingly as she moaned over how she would never touch alcohol again.

So how was someone supposed to continue being best friends with the girl he was falling for faster than a meteor hurling through space?

To him, the answer was simple: dropping simple but subtle hints to make his intentions known.

🪻🪻🪻

The hints had started small, but now they were practically glaring neon signs. At least, to everyone except Y/N.

Lando had tried everything to make his feelings clear. He was always touching her, always standing closer than necessary, always finding ways to bring her into his space. He carried her books when she complained they were too heavy, sent her good morning texts every single day, and even learned the complicated coffee order she had been too embarrassed to repeat for him.

But nothing seemed to get through to her. And what made it worse was that everyone around them began noticing the change.

“Okay, but seriously,” her roommate drawled one afternoon as they sat in the campus café. “Are you guys, like, together-together?”

Y/N snorted, picking at her croissant. “What? No.”

Her roommate raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “So you’re telling me your best friend, who, by the way, has turned down every single girl who’s tried to ask him out in the last six months, just happens to buy you coffee every morning, keeps your favorite hoodie in his car in case you get cold, and practically looks like he’s in love every time he stares at you for more than five seconds?”

Lando, sitting beside Y/N, didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed. He just leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her flounder for an answer.

“He’s just—” Y/N shook her head, laughing lightly. “That’s just how he is. Lando’s nice to everyone.”

Her friend scoffed. “Yeah, but he’s not doing any of that for me. Or anyone else.”

Lando chuckled, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Y/N’s ear. The gesture was so natural, so casual, that she barely even registered it, except for the way her heart suddenly felt like it was trying to break a world record for fastest beats per minute.

“I mean, I could start buying you coffee every morning,” he mused, tilting his head at the girl in front of them. “But I think Y/N might get jealous.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing. “Oh, please.”

But internally? She was spiralling.

Because the idea of Lando doing these things for someone else, buying their favorite drinks, remembering their order, keeping a hoodie for them, made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t want to analyze too closely.

And it wasn’t just her roommate who had questioned them, either. At a party the previous weekend, they had been standing by the drinks table when a guy in their Stats class had wandered over, glancing between them with an appraising look.

“You two are dating, right?” he asked, casually pouring himself a drink.

Y/N choked on her own sip of beer. “What? No.”

He blinked. “Huh. Could’ve fooled me.”

She laughed it off, brushing the idea away as she always did, but Lando, who had been leaning against the table beside her, hand warm on the small of her back, had simply raised an eyebrow, amused.

🪻🪻🪻

Over the course of midterms week, Y/N was seconds away from throwing her laptop out the nearest window and dramatically declaring herself an academic failure.

She had spent hours buried in notes, highlighting until her fingers cramped, and yet nothing was sticking. Her brain was mush. Her body was tense. Her stress levels were at an all-time high.

Meanwhile. Lando, sitting across from her in their usual library spot, looked annoyingly unbothered.

“How are you so calm?” she groaned, dropping her head onto her open textbook.

Lando smirked, stretching his arms behind his head like he wasn’t on the verge of multiple deadlines. “Because one of us needs to be. And let’s be honest, it was never gonna be you.”

She shot him a glare that had absolutely no bite to it. “You’re supposed to be suffering with me.

“I am,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I just look better doing it.”

She huffed dramatically, rubbing her temples. “I’m so close to losing my mind.”

That was apparently enough for Lando to intervene. Without a word, he stood up and walked over to her side of the table, nudging her chair back slightly before physically turning it so she was facing him. Before she could protest, he crouched down in front of her, settling his hands on her knees.

Y/N stopped breathing.

“Peach,” he murmured, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over her bare skin. “You need a break.”

Her brain stuttered at the nickname, and she knew exactly what he was referencing. It began in the winter break of freshman year, after a visit to Y/N’s house.

Her mom had been all too eager to embarrass her, flipping through old photo albums until she landed on the picture, one of baby Y/N, no older than two, sitting in a tiny plastic chair in her backyard, absolutely covered in peach juice.

There were peach slices in her chubby fists, sticky residue all over her cheeks, and a look of pure, unfiltered joy on her face as she devoured the fruit like it was the best thing in the world.

Lando had lost it.

“No way,” he had laughed, taking a picture of the photo for future blackmail. “You were a menace.”

“I was a child,” Y/N had huffed, cheeks burning as she tried (and failed) to snatch the album from him.

Her mom had only made it worse, recounting how Y/N had been obsessed with peaches, demanding them at every meal and managing to make a colossal mess every single time.

And that is where ‘Peach’ originated from.

She barely managed to remember that moment, when she felt Lando’s warm hands trailing up and down her thighs, fingers grazing the hem of her shorts.

“I can’t take a break,” she whispered, voice embarrassingly shaky.

“You can,” he said, firm but soft, his grip tightening slightly. “And you will. Because if you stress yourself into a breakdown, who’s gonna remind me when all my assignments are due?”

Y/N would have laughed, if she wasn’t mentally losing it at the way his hands lingered on her thighs, his touch burning and grounding.

“Five minutes,” he coaxed, voice a low hum. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

She swore she blacked out for a moment.

Because what the FUCK?

When did he get so touchy? And why did he have to sound like that? Like he was saying something completely normal but making it sound criminally intimate?

“I…” She swallowed hard, eyes darting anywhere but his face. “I don’t know how to turn my brain off.”

Lando sighed, standing back up—but instead of moving away, he settled behind her chair, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently.

“Then let me do it for you.” And holy shit.

The moment his hands started kneading into her muscles, Y/N melted.

His thumbs dug into the tense spots at the base of her neck, slow and deliberate, like he was unraveling her stress with his hands alone. His fingers pressed into the tight knots in her shoulders, rubbing small, soothing circles that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Fuck,” she muttered, eyes fluttering shut before she could stop herself.

Lando chuckled behind her. “That good, huh?”

She wanted to be embarrassed, but she was too far gone to care. His touch was ridiculously good, and for the first time all week, she felt her body relax.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low as he leaned down slightly, his breath warm against the side of her face. “Just breathe, sweetheart.”

She absolutely did not breathe.

Instead, she sat there, skin burning, heart racing, mind spiraling at the fact that her best friend was currently massaging her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And then, because Lando loved making her suffer, he let his fingers slide up, brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of her neck before tracing back down her shoulders.

Y/N jumped.

Lando laughed, his voice right in her ear. “Ticklish?”

“N-no,” she lied, gripping the edges of her chair so tight her knuckles turned white.

“Mm,” he hummed, clearly amused. He gave her shoulders one last squeeze before finally stepping back. “Feel better?”

No. Absolutely not. She felt like she needed to go outside and scream into the void.

But she nodded anyway, avoiding his gaze like her life depended on it.

“Good.” Lando ruffled her hair, grinning. “Now let’s get back to work before you have a full-on breakdown.”

Y/N didn’t have a breakdown over midterms. But she did have one over the realization that she was so fucking screwed.

After hell week, she locked herself in her dorm room, trying to make sense of the past few weeks. For almost 3 months, Lando had been inciting the most out of the blue emotions in Y/N.

He had changed. But it didn’t mean anything.

He had always been tactile, affectionate. He had always been protective, always made her feel like she mattered. It was just who he was.

The problem was, she had started to want it. To crave the warmth of his palm on her thigh when he absentmindedly reached for her during study sessions. To hear the way he murmured "Night, Peach," like it was something soft and fragile and theirs.

And she hated herself for it. Because Lando didn’t like her. Because if he did, if any of this meant something to him, surely he would have said something by now.

Right?

So she did what she had always done.

She laughed when their friends teased them about how they acted like a couple. She rolled her eyes when people assumed they were together. She ignored the way her heart ached every time he pulled away, convinced herself she was imagining the way he looked at her sometimes, like he saw through everything.

Because no matter how much she was falling for him, Lando wasn’t falling for her.

And she just had to live with it.

🪻🪻🪻

From the very first time she visited his home in Bristol, Lando’s parents had welcomed her like she was one of their own. His sisters had immediately pulled her into their group, and his mum and dad never let her leave without offering her enough food to last a month.

So when his parents insisted she come home with him for the semester break, she hadn’t even thought to say no.

Now, sitting in his childhood bedroom, cross-legged on his bed as she flipped through an old photo album his dad had pulled out, she was glad she had agreed.

The photos were a goldmine, including one showing a 6 year old Lando, gap-toothed and grinning, covered in dirt from head to toe after what was probably an ill-advised adventure outside.

“You were so tiny,” she teased, laughing as she held up a picture of him pouting dramatically in a blazer and a pair of trousers that were slightly too big on him.

Lando, who had been sitting beside her, propped up on his elbow, rolled his eyes. “Not anymore I’m not,” he winked at her.

She huffed out a laugh, turning back to the photo. But his gaze lingered on her a beat longer than usual.

Y/N felt it, felt the weight of it, the same way she always did when he looked at her like that. Like she was something worth looking at.

The air between them had been charged for weeks now, the space they usually occupied so comfortably together feeling too small, like something unspoken was pressing against the edges.

She ignored it. She always ignored it.

Because no matter how much she overthought his touches, his lingering stares, the way he felt different lately, she couldn’t let herself believe it meant anything.

But Lando?

He had just about had enough.

He had tried subtlety. He had tried patience. But it had become painfully clear that Y/N, his oblivious best friend, was never going to realize what was right in front of her. So he decided, right then and there, that he was done waiting.

He sat up, closing the photo album in her lap and ignoring the small noise of protest she made. She blinked up at him in confusion, and God, how had he gone so long without kissing her?

“I can’t do this anymore.” His voice was quiet, firm.

Y/N frowned. “Do what?”

Lando inhaled sharply. “This. The hints, the waiting, hoping you’ll get it, I can’t anymore.”

She stared at him, brows furrowing in confusion, and it made him want to scream.

He reached out, cupping her jaw with one hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek in the softest way possible.

Y/N froze.

“I like you,” he said, the words steady and clear. “I like you in a way that isn’t just friendly, in a way that makes me want to pull you close every time I see you.”

“I like you in a way that makes it physically impossible for me to look at you and not think about how badly I want to be yours.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her pulse roaring in her ears. “You’re joking,” she said weakly.

Lando let out a soft, frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “No, Peach. I’m not joking. I’m telling you, finally telling you, that I’ve wanted you for so long, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t.”

Her brain stalled.

Every moment she had overthought suddenly flashed through her mind, the lingering touches, the way he always called her Peach like it was something sacred, the way he had never once left her side, had never once let her doubt that he would be there.

And now, here he was, saying the thing she had never let herself believe. Her silence stretched between them, and for the first time in a long time, Lando looked uncertain.

His hand, still resting against her jaw, twitched slightly, like he was afraid she was going to pull away.

“Say something,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“I—” She swallowed hard, trying to piece together a coherent thought. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

And before she could overthink it, before she could let herself spiral into a million reasons why this couldn’t be real, Lando leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft at first, a question rather than a demand. His lips brushed against hers hesitantly, like he was giving her a chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

Instead, she melted, her hands finding his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing grounding her.

That was all Lando needed.

His other hand found her waist, tugging her closer until there was no space left between them. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to make up for the moments they had wasted.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N’s heart was hammering, her head spinning. Lando rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her lips.

“Please tell me you know what to say,” he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah, I think I have an idea.”

“Good.” Lando grinned, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Took you long enough.”

🪻🪻🪻

It had been almost a year since that night at his family home in Bristol, since he had finally given up on the hints and just told her. Since he had kissed her like he had been waiting his whole life to do it. Since she had stopped pretending she wasn’t completely, irreversibly his.

Now, they were curled up on his bed in his off-campus apartment, the soft glow of morning slipping through the blinds. Lando was still half-asleep, his face buried in the crook of her neck, arms wrapped around her like he had no intention of letting go.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his curls. “Am not.”

Lando huffed out a laugh, pulling her impossibly closer. “Liar.”

“Lando.”

He hummed, still fixated on her in his arms. “Yeah, Peach?”

She smiled. The nickname had never gone away.

She stretched out on the bed, letting her cheek rest against the pillow as she watched him. “Did you know you’re my first in everything?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Everything,” she confirmed, biting her lip. “First kiss, first boyfriend, first person I’ve ever said ‘I love you’ to…” She paused, eyes twinkling. “And, you know. First in other ways.”

Lando smirked. “I’m very aware, sweetheart.”

Her face burned, but she refused to look away. “You’re my first everything. It’s kind of unfair, don’t you think?”

His fingers reached out to her, brushing them over her flushed cheek. “You’re my first real everything too, you know,” he murmured, voice softer now.

She blinked up at him. “Really?”

Lando nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “First girl I’ve ever been completely gone for.”

A kiss on her cheek. “First person I’ve ever loved.”

Another kiss, this time to her nose. “First person I never want to lose.”

Y/N’s heart swelled. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to her. He laughed, letting her hold him close as he buried his face in her neck, his arms slipping around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his curls.

Lando tightened his hold on her, his lips brushing against her collarbone as he murmured, “I love you more, Peach.”

And she believed it, because if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that Lando Norris was her first in everything.

And if she was lucky, he’d also be her last.

i’m going to be so honest i started writing this at like 11 something pm and finished by around 2 am. and i only proof read like maybe the first few scenes and then i gave up bc i genuinely feel so sleepy rn, but yes here you go my geeks ^_^

[sleepymarimo]

୨୧. 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

: ̗̀➛ following a job, toji wants nothing more than to spend time with the person who makes him feel more man than monster.

pairing: toji x fem!reader cw: not much, but i'll give a warning for suggestive themes near the end! very slice of life. the two of you shower together, just talk about your day and plan a date for tomorrow :) wc: ~2.3k an: currently pushing the 'toji is so, so soft with you when he's in love agenda'. blame my moscow mule and whiskey shot for this.

there's something about not having to pretend, about not having to put up a front, that makes toji realize just how tired he is.

his job is finally done, a few hits followed by using some not so friendly methods to gather up a bit of information for one of his clients.

throngs of people, neon lights and the honking of cars fade into echoes as he takes the local subway lines toward your neighborhood. he taps the fare card at each station's exit, it's balance never running dry.

it's one of the little things you do for him, keeping it stocked, allowing the assassin to get to where he needs to go.

he's so damn excited to see you.

this most recent gig has kept him away for a solid three, maybe four days at this point.

his body barely reacts to the jerks and turns of the train's car, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. there's not many people on the train and it's not like they would sit by him, anyway.

with a small grunt he cracks his neck, allowing his mind to wander. he doesn't need to pay attention; he's confident that nothing will slip past his senses. while he wants to believe that you'll be sound asleep in your shared bed, a part of him figures that you're up waiting for him.

"shit." he thinks, one of his hands absentmindedly running through his hair. he was just in shibuya. maybe he could've grabbed you something from that specialty store you trekked to nearly every weekend or checked if that café was still collabing with the series you'd been gushing about.

the thoughts in his head are all but useless now, the train making it's automated announcement before coming to a rolling stop at the station that had become all to familiar to him these past few months.

he steps off, tapping his card to the reader and resisting to urge to roll his eyes at it's chime.

it's not a far walk, though there's a stark difference between this neighborhood and the rowdy inner city streets. there are no brilliant lights or flashing signs, but the occasional lamppost and crossing signal.

each step to your apartment feels like a weight off his shoulders, the corner of his lips curling into a small smirk as he punches in the code to the front door.

as he enters the apartment, the sliver of light from beneath your door tells him all he needs to know.

he kicks his shoes off and lets out a controlled breath, the bedroom door creaking slightly as he pushes it in and playfully scoffes at the sight of you clinging to consciousness on the bed.

the way your eyes light up, almost squinted as they're squished in by the apples of your cheeks, sends a ripple of warmth through his chest that he can only compare to the sensation of being stabbed. the only difference is that he'd gladly run into your blade, no questions asked.

"i thought i told you not to wait up, angel." he chides, through there's no bite in his words as he walks over until he's standing beside where you're laying on the bed.

his gaze flickers over to the television where one of your shows, a rerun, he's sure, is playing on the screen.

"oh shut up." you rise to a seated position, the blankets pooling at your waist as you continue with what you both know is a lie. "i wasn't tired."

he hums in acknowledgement, the sound so soft that he has to wonder if it really came from him. when you hop out of bed, standing before him, his brows raise in mild curiosity, his hands coming up to rest at your waist as he silently marvels at the warmth clinging to you.

"sure, angel." his thumbs lightly massage your skin over your clothes. "so what's the plan then?"

whatever show you're watching is quickly forgotten. you shrug, your hands resting on his. tilting your head toward the bathroom, you respond. "shower. you're not getting in bed all gross like that."

he doesn't protest, instead lowering his head and nudging it against yours, taunting you with a smirk. toji is aware that the scent of cigarettes and the stale air of some shitty bar cling to him like an unwanted coat. "who're ya callin' gross, huh? i'm clean enough."

yet, even as he speaks, he's guiding you toward the bathroom with a strong palm resting on your lower back.

the true white lights cast a somewhat harsh glare on the room, but the familiarity of your touch, of the sanctuary that is your apartment, only serves to soften him.

you navigate through the space with ease, the pipes hissing as the shower comes to life. it takes only a second for water to start spraying, the curtain rod clinking as you patiently wait for things to heat up.

"how'd the job go, anyway?" your hands find the hem of his shirt, gently tugging it up. he gets the hint, tossing the garment off to the side without hesitation before he does the same for you. “it was a long one.”

he doesn't bother hiding his admiration for your bare flesh, a noise of approval emanating from his chest as he leans forward and places a kiss on your cheek before helping you with your bottoms. the routine is familiar, grounding, to the man who thought he'd sworn off of any sort of domesticity.

the light thud of your clothes hitting the floor is drowned out by the sound of water droplets pitter pattering against the walls of the bathtub. "don't worry about that shit, angel." he replies, not unkind, eyes twinkling with amusement as he wraps his arms around you and brings you closer. "it's not for you."

it's hard fighting the instinct to roll your eyes, the water starting to heat up as indicated by the slow building of steam in the bathroom. the warmth of his body is much welcomed, your hands busying themselves with grabbing a shower cap and stretching it over your head.

"oh, c'mon, i can handle it." you protest, ever curious about the things he sees, the things he does. "i watch dateline, i know all about crime."

your words earn a chuckle from him, felt more than heard, his head lifting as he angles you toward the tub. "that right? sorry to burst your bubble, but it's not the same." his free hand comes up to press against your shower cap, the plastic wrinkling under his touch. he's always thought the accessory made you look silly, another gruff chuckle leaving him as his palm lightly swats at your ass. "get in already, it's cold."

the echo of your laughter is a siren's call he isn't about to leave unanswered. he steps in with you, a steady stream of water cascading down his skin and melting away the tension that had been clinging to his frame these last few days.

he's content to be pampered by you, to listen to you, to exist in your presence without pretense. for so long his life had been a series of transactions, whether he was selling his skills or himself. but here, he doesn't feel the need to put up any walls or act like something he's not.

with you, he's just a man.

a satisfied grunt leaves him as you massage body wash into his chest, your hands expertly spreading the soapy mix into the muscle before sliding them up to his shoulders. he can't help but take note of how focused you are, the sight almost comical, especially with that stupid shower cap atop your head.

"you're just feelin' me up now." he accuses, though he makes no move to stop you.

your hands pause for a moment as you let out a sarcastic chuckle, encouraging him to stand under the spray of water to rinse off. "there's not much to feel." you lie, doing your best to remain serious, but a smile unwillingly curls at your lips.

he hums in amusement, knowing damn well that you purred like a cat when you had your face pressed into his chest. "you're a fuckin' liar." he points out without much remorse, his eyes tracking your every movement while he purposefully flexes the muscle beneath your fingertips. "but sure, tell me there ain't nothing there."

in your mind, he's the one acting like a cat, his head tilted back and a lazy smirk on his face. it makes you want to snicker, push his buttons in that way you know he likes. "i spoil you too much."

"hm? sounds like a you problem." he lowers his head, your comment igniting a familiar playfulness. then, it's replaced with a rare sort of thoughtfulness, one of his hands coming up to rest on your hip.

he remembers what he was thinking about on the train, perhaps wanting to do a little spoiling of his own. "say, why don't we head to shibuya tomorrow? get you that mug from the café that’s doing that collab shit for the show you like."

toji feels like the best boyfriend for remembering such a small detail, knowing it was sure to earn him some points.

the steam starts to fog the mirror, the water hitting the tub in sporadic splashes as you rinse off your own body wash. your hands wipe some water off your face, shoulders lightly jumping with the laugh you give.

"they stopped doing it, like, two days ago." you reveal, smile a bit too smug.

he's momentarily dumbfounded, silently cursing himself. one of his hands runs through his still wet hair, pushing it back. some annoyed grumbles leave him, lips almost set into a pout. "shit, sorry angel."

truthfully, it's not that big of a deal, and you can't help but be amused by his mannerisms. you nudge him with your elbow, letting him know that not all hope was lost. "a café in kyoto is doing the 'collab shit', too. that one is still open."

"well fuck, why didn't you say that?" he nods, eyes wandering to the ceiling as he mentally maps out his schedule. "tomorrow then, let's go. we'll get ya all that overpriced shit with your favorite character on it."

the sound of your laugh is enough to make him smirk, his eyes following the path of the water as it runs down your skin. a day with his favorite girl, no crappy jobs or seedy clients, sounds like a damn dream.

"what if i had plans already, asshole?" you counter with a grin, challenging him, playfully goading him on as the last of the suds flow down the drain.

his eyes narrow and he scoffs, his demeanor nothing short of puckish. he knows you too well, figuring that the highlight of your day tomorrow would've been going out to grab a coffee or something. "no you fuckin' don't, angel. don't test me."

your lips press together as you ponder your next move, but you relent. "okay, fine, i don’t have anything to do."

"good." he replies, softer now, palm rising to rest on your damp cheek. there's a moment where he just blatantly admires you, thumb running across your lips. "tomorrow. you and me are gonna take the first train to kyoto, alright?"

you loved when he looked at you like that, but oh you hated how it made you feel like a damn school girl. still, you nod and lean into his hand. "yeah. me and you."

it could be from his gaze or from the thick steam in the bathroom, but you figure it'd be wise to get to bed. turning toward the faucet, you reach your hand out to shut the water off.

toji has a different plan though, a part of him not wanting this moment to end quite yet.

"wait, c'mere." he orders, bringing you close as his voice drops to a murmur. "forgot to kiss ya when i came in."

his actions make your stomach flip, your head angling upward to meet his lips for a kiss. his touch is firm, filled with intent, telling you everything you know he feels but struggles to say. a rough palm plants itself on the base of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

he can't even begin to explain how you feel against him, his senses honing in on all you have to offer. the heat of your skin, the scent of your body wash, the taste of your lips… hell, he swears he can even hear your heart beating in your chest.

it's not enough for him and he pulls away, only to pepper kisses along your neck and shoulder.

a smile curls at your lips and you sigh in delight, hands planting themselves on his bicep, your thumbs running along the contours of his muscle and the occasional scar. when he pulls you closer, when you feel him, you click your tongue in mock protest.

"you're gonna make it hard to take the first train to kyoto." you whine, though each swipe of his tongue or grazing of his teeth breaks you down even further.

toji seems to know this, his grip on you tightening, his smile felt against your skin. "we'll get ya to kyoto tomorrow, angel." he assures, ensuring you're kept warm under the showerhead. "we can spend all day there. i'll buy you whatever you want, yeah?"

there’s no way you could complain about that, so you let yourself go.

nodding, you succumb to your fate, succumb to him, wholly.

it's a blur from there, but by tomorrow morning, the two of you are on the second earliest train to kyoto.

at your reserved seats, you watch the scenery roll by with interest, everything almost a blur due to the high speed. he's given you the window seat, his frame protectively placed between you and the rest of the train car's occupants.

your head resting on his shoulder, arm hooked comfortably beneath his bicep, toji allows himself a moment of respite, no pretending, no walls.

it's just you and him, and he feels like one lucky bastard.

[reidology13]

we could make it better (breaking every habit)

Spencer Reid x fem ex-famous!reader

Summary: After Spencer overcomes his addiction, he seeks out the company and forgiveness of an old flame. cw: talk of addiction, a little sad? mostly fluffy though a/n: technically a part 2 of my fic based off making the bed by olivia rodrigo, but it can definitely be read as a oneshot. maybe they are a bit unhealthy, but they're cute and that's all that matters. also this was so incredibly delayed cause my phone drowned so I'm posting this from my dad's computer

Part 1

They say time heals all wounds, and standing at the door of his past mistake, Spencer hoped it had healed hers the way it had his. It had taken him too long to find her, for his pride to break down enough to ask Garcia to search for her. A few years ago it would have been all too easy, a few years ago she was on the cover of every magazine. Now she was the public's favourite conspiracy theory, the biggest where did she go? post made on some website full of self important nobodies. 

Where did she go? A small house in a small town, a few hours from D.C, just close enough that Spencer had gotten in his car without a second thought the moment he had her address. Maybe it was a slight invasion of privacy, but Spencer had seen much more of her than the house she lived in.

As he lifted his fist to knock, doubt crept in for the first time since the beginning of his endeavour. Was he right to apologise, to show up at the doorstep of the person he hurt worse than anyone else in his life, and say sorry? Sorry. ‘Sorry’ was a puny word that could never hope to mean anything compared to what he had done, how he had used her. But it would have to do, because he had not come all that way to turn back at the flashing neon sign that said ‘CLOSURE’.

Knock, knock, knock. Was three knocks not enough? Knock. God four was too many and the last one had been so separate from the others it was clearly an afterthought that she would think was weird before she even knew it was him on the other side of-

“Spencer?” The door opened, just enough for her face to be visible through the small opening. She was so much more beautiful than he remembered, although he really didn’t remember much from back then. 

“I’m sorry.” Well that was one way to get to the point. He smacked himself internally, scolding himself for being so stupid and inconsiderate, not even saying hello or asking her how she was doing.

“Do you wanna come in? You look like you need to sit down.” She pulled the door open, stepping back to let him in, and Spencer froze. She was allowing him into her home, her space, he who had squeezed her dry, used her up and tossed her aside when he didn’t need her anymore.

Unsure what else to do, Spencer found himself sitting on her couch, the awkward tension between them palpable as he sat silently in regret of every decision he had made in the last week.

“So,” She prompted, gesturing vaguely in his direction, “How are you?”

“Good, yeah, better. You?” He looked around the room, trying to find something that would tell him anything about her life, about her. She was a stranger, really, a stranger that used to be someone he knew. He wanted to know who she was then, on that day, in her house sitting across from him.

“I’m good too. You look better.” He knew what she meant – he didn’t look high out of his mind. The far wall of the room was covered in framed pictures of her and what he assumed were her family and friends. Some were from her childhood, some were taken in front of the very house he was sitting in. 

What surprised Spencer were the photos, though few and far between, where he made an appearance. The Fourth of July party, a bright, sunny photo full of smiling faces. The poor quality of the picture did nothing to disguise the bags under his eyes, nor the dead look in hers. Her birthday, a photo of her blowing out the candles on her cake, blurred from his shaky grip on the camera.

“I don’t remember that one.” He pointed to a picture of the two of them, a dark photo that he nearly hadn’t recognised as himself. The ability to not remember had been his favourite thing back then, now the haze left him with a pit in his stomach.

“Makes sense, you were… you were bad. It was taken right near the end.” 

“I am sorry, really.” Neither of them spoke after that, the silence a warm blanket rather than a thick smog. The apology wrapped around them in a warm embrace, they did not choke on it.

She moved first, after what felt like the most peaceful eternity, slipping her hand around his, holding it in the space between them. He looked down at their joined hands, his gaze slowly drifting up until it landed on the soft smile spread across her face.

“I missed you.” She squeezed his hand gently, although it felt like she squeezed his heart instead, “I missed you from the moment I met you. It’s nice to get you back.”

“I missed you too.” He didn’t know how to explain the way it had taken him a month to get sober enough that reality hit and he realised what he’d lost. At least, he didn’t know how to explain it without having to actually say something about his addiction. He’d always been good at avoiding the topic, skirting around it with suggestions and subtle confirmations. The word ‘addiction’ made him feel weak, like he’d been defeated. He’d talked about his problem once, in a room full of people who had been through the same thing, and even then he hadn’t been able to say it. 

“You’re so strong, Spencer. You’ve come so far.” It was like she could read his mind, see every fear that haunted him and soothe it accordingly.

“So are you, I mean, you got out of everything.” His eyes dropped to his lap in shame of everything that he hadn’t noticed, all of the obvious signs of just how not okay she had been. All that she must have been going through, that he had been too far from reality to know existed, even when it was staring him in the face.

“You say that like you didn’t.” It was a simple sentiment, but maybe that was what hit him like a freight train. It wasn’t some mantra he’d heard hundreds of times, or a complicated conversation with his friends where they tried to talk to him without saying anything that actually mattered.

He got out of it.

“You’re perfect, you know that right?” The way he looked at her in that moment could only be described as reverential, she was the brightest star in a sky that he had never truly seen before.

“No I’m not.” The way she said it like a definite fact made Spencer’s heart start to crack, “Do you know why I have those pictures up?”

Spencer shook his head, “Tell me,” he said the words under his breath, as if they were surrounded by people in the empty room, “I’m not going to find you any less perfect.”

“Hope. I could never get the thought out of my head that you would come back.” She shook her head, gaze locked on the ground like she couldn’t bear to look at him as she spoke. “It was stupid, and then you actually did, and that’s stupid all over again.”

“You’re even more perfect than I thought.” Spencer laughed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, happy and sad and something he couldn’t put a name to. She was still holding his hand, he realised, and he used that information to interlace their fingers, placing their joined hands in his spare palm.

“I’m stupid and lucky, that’s what I am.” She snorted, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“No, not stupid.” Spencer drew circles with his thumb on her palm as he spoke, “Lucky, maybe.” 

“We’re gonna have to talk about this, us, you know that.”

“Eventually, yes. Not right now.”

“Not right now.” She confirmed, nodding slowly. They were both there, and that would have to be enough, at least for the moment.

[woodland-gremlin]

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 6

First Previously AU Summary

“‘Even’ nothing. Now we are going to drop this, summon the new King, beg them for forgiveness and for them to deal with Trigon, and fix those disastrous laws!” Constantine declared while pulling out a book with a strange aura out of his coat pocket.

Red Robin internally sighed in relief. They were finally getting somewhere. He had been worried that they would be stuck getting integrated until Trigon was right on top of them. Not that it would stop them from getting questioned after the whole fiasco was over, but, small mercies.

From the way Batman was glaring at Supernova and Red Robin it was even more obvious that the Bat wouldn’t let it go. The only thing stopping him being the pressing matter with Trigon and the occult magician being very willing to yell at him if he kept poking. Though it did make Red Robin wonder how he planned to do so, it wasn’t like he lived at the manor anymore. No one but Alfred noticed that the only time they saw him was at the cave, and even that was rare. Really makes one question about the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ title that Batman held. Danny certainly doesn’t think so with all his nicknames for him, and after the last few years he was inclined to agree. You really shouldn’t meet your heroes.

The Laughing Magician worked and while watching him make the summoning circle Red Robin and Supernova were suddenly glad that neither offered to make it. If they did they might have never stopped getting questioned. Even Constantine would have probably joined them with how differently their summoning circle would be. While the con man made an intricate circle with the title of Ghost King being the main factor, with candles placed at significant points and fancy offerings, the two boyfriends had a much simpler approach. The biggest differences being name and title. They call Danny by name, which makes it significantly easier than a broad title to summon him. Add on to the fact that most of the titles that Constantine are using are only Danny’s by default the ease in summons is a lot easier. Though them being his boyfriends and offering snacks plays a big factor in it too.

The occult magician then began to chant in Esperanto. Candles began to flicker, changing to Relam’s green. The room’s temperature began to drop, frost creeping across the floor and walls. Wind that shouldn’t be possible in a space station whipped around, flipping Batman and Superman’s capes over their heads. A neon green crack appeared in the air above the summoning circle. Claws clutching the tear in reality before ripping it further.

Out from the tear in reality stepped out an ethereal being. White hair that moved like it was underwater. Lavender skin with freckles spaced out like constellations. Bright green lighting birch scars crawling over their body, cutting all the up to their brow. Eyes glowing the same erie color with the one the scar cut through being that singular color, sclera and all. A crown seemingly made of aurora lights and ice, radiating power. A fur lined coat seemingly made from space only added to the otherworldliness, A ring shaped like a skull, signaling the being as one of death. Armor with small dents here and there showing that it isn’t just for decoration. That this being that they summoned was a fighter, a King forged in battle.

 Everyone but Red Robin and Supernova froze. They thought that they were prepared. They knew that they would be powerful, enough that they could rule over beings like Trigon. But no words could have prepared them for the aura bearing down on them. All their bravo was drained out of the minute they were subjected to the King’s presence. Aquaman was especially shaken. He was a King as well but he felt like nothing compared to the one in front of him. Like a big fish in a small pond thrust to face the ruler of the ocean.

“Were you the ones that summoned me, freeing from the bane that is paperwork?” the being asked.

To be continued . . .

Next

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

body piercer!joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, modern au, no outbreak au

word count: 4.7k

summary: you finally go and get your nipples pierced.

warnings: reader has tattoos & has flat/small nipples which is the only physical description in this fic, nipple play, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, joel miller with a tongue piercing, lots of teasing, sexual tension, tattoo kink??? joel is really into them

a/n: this fic literally wouldn't exist if not for @swiftispunk's fic flesh and metal after reading it and screaming about it (and also reading articles about it) this fic was born, enjoy xx

special thanks to @johnwatsn for the beta! 💞

It’s late. The faint buzz of the neon sign is loud in your ears, taunting, mocking you for just staring inside instead of going in. Your face is illuminated with a red hue, the words BODY PIERCING burning into your irises. And despite the tacky neon sign, the inside looks quite clean. You would know, you’ve been stalking their Instagram page for a while now. 

There’s no one inside and you’re contemplating whether or not you should just get on with it. The idea of getting your nipples pierced had been a vague thought until recently. You desperately needed a change, you wanted something new and exciting. You wanted to feel sexy again. Your ex had certainly done a decent amount of damage to your self-esteem and that, plus your already low view of yourself, did not help your brain to see the good of you. 

So many things could go wrong, you’ve read multiple articles about it. Your body might reject the piercing, it might leave a scar, irritate it. . . 

G Suddenly, a brisk burst of frigid air gently caresses your cheeks, causing you to instinctively step back. Your gaze swiftly shifts from the interior of the shop to the door, where you notice that someone has just opened it, allowing the chilly air from the air conditioning inside to spill out.

Joel Miller, the shop's number one body piercer. Your cheeks burn, your pulse quickens, the sound of it flooding your ears. He’s tall and broad, his brown eyes staring at you with utter amusement. As you continue to just blatantly stare at him, he cocks his head to the side with a crooked smile. 

“I’m closin’ in half an hour, sweetheart. If you’re thinkin’ of comin’ in, I’d do it now.” 

“O–Oh,” you swallow thickly. “I can come back tomorrow if you’re closing up, sorry to bother you.” 

He raises an eyebrow, his smile falling, “Well, I didn’t quite say that, now, did I?” Come on in, darlin’. Tell me what you need.” 

Tell him what you need—your heart beats in your throat, the lazy drawl of his words going directly between your legs. You mentally curse at yourself. How touch-starved are you? He’s just being polite. You’re the customer, it would’ve been weird if he just shooed you away. 

Joel takes a step to the side, silently granting permission for you to enter. You stroll past him, making your way inside without uttering a word. The air conditioning is a blessing on your sweat-soaked skin. Even though you don’t have to, you briefly look at your surroundings. Just like your research had entailed, the shop was squeaky clean. 

“So,” Joel clears his throat. “What can I do you for, sweetheart?” 

Some part of you wishes that he could just understand without you having to form the words. You lick the back of your teeth, suddenly it’s very hard to breathe. 

“I. . . wanted to get my nipples pierced—if that’s okay?” 

“Of course, it is,” he smiles, much softer compared to his crooked smirk from before. “I’m Joel by the way,” he extends his hand and you take it with a sigh of relief, you feel much lighter now— 

“I know.” 

Your eyes go wide, both your hands stopping mid-shake. Joel’s amused glance is back again, his smile stretching into a grin, “You know?” 

“I mean—well, I did research before I came here,” you answer quickly, aggressively almost, and release his hand. His grin only wides, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. “So that’s how I know your name.” 

“Aren’t you the cautious one,” he turns on his heel and points towards the back. “If you’re set on what you want we can just head inside, I can explain the rest there.” 

“Sure.” 

Just as you both take a step you remember what you initially wanted to ask before going through with it and stop. Joel senses your lack of movement, turning around, you notice the furrow between his brow. “I actually wanted to ask something before we went on with it.” 

“I’m all ears.” 

Oh god, this is embarrassing, “So. . . my nipples are. . .flat—or is it more proper to call it small? I don’t know. Would that be an issue?” 

The glimmer in his eyes returns full force, his expression of worry melting away, “I’ve never met a nipple I couldn’t pierce,” he teases. “So no need to worry that pretty head of yours.” 

“Do you sweet talk with all your clients?” you ask, your lips twitching into a smile. You don’t know what it is, but you feel comfortable with him. Maybe it’s because you’ve been stalking his shop for so long. Either way, it’s a nice feeling. 

“Only with the ones that know my name before I meet them.” His eyes gradually move up and down your body, eating you up. His tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. You notice the faint shimmer that belongs to a silver tongue piercing. “And the ones that’ve been starin’ into my shop for least an hour.” 

Joel takes a step closer and you feel your breath dissipating from your lungs. Dark, charcoal eyes sweep across your face. Your heartbeat is like a fearful hummingbird, hitting the bone cage in rapid succession. You swallow. By some miracle, you hold his gaze. 

“You ready to go, little rabbit?” 

All the tension drains from your bones and you burst out laughing, “Rabbit?” you giggle, your amusement only growing when you see his wide smile. “What the hell?” 

“There’s that pretty smile,” he hums, pulling back. Joel stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Now that you’re relaxed we can get to business. We can stop whenever, so don’t feel pressured when you’re in the chair. You can just leave.” 

You nod along as you follow him inside. You’re relieved when you see that it’s a spacious room with bright lighting that doesn’t irritate your eyes. 

“First things first, let's pick out the piercing.” Joel walks towards one of the small glass cases and pulls out one of the drawers. Your excitement builds as he presents them to you. “Any ticklin’ your fancy?” 

The light above gleams against the glass, there are so many and for a split second, you want them all. You never thought you would be labeling piercings as pretty. Looking them over, you decide you definitely want barbells instead of hoops. Now the question is which barbell one do you want? 

“So many,” you mutter, eyes scanning over them again and again. You see one that says ‘cum here’ on each heart-shaped barbell. There’s a couple of them that say different things; kiss here, bite me, lick me— a shudder rolls down your spine. Your mind instantly fills with indecent thoughts, most of them staring at the man still patiently holding the glass case. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

You bet he has the most skillful tongue—

“Oh, that one!” you exclaim suddenly, pointing at one in the shape of a heart. It’s decorated in shimmering rhinestones, the metal gold. When he inserts it, the heart would be framing your nipple. “It’s so cute.” 

“You like shiny things, huh?” he smiles. “You gotta good eye, it’ll look good on you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, “Thanks.” 

“Now lay on the bed, darlin’.” 

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the piercing bed. You’re about to lay on it before he stops you with a raised hand. “Take off your top.” 

“Most guys buy me dinner first.” 

“Har har very funny,” he rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, which in return makes you lightheaded. The expression is like a drug and you want to see more of it. More and more and more. “Besides, if you have a flat nipple I’m gonna need to stimulate it.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Joel is unaware of your blundering, he arranges the fresh, disposable drape and sterile forceps, placing it on the small portable workstation, “If you’re uncomfortable with that I can use the suction device too,” he answers nonchalantly. You watch breathlessly as he pulls on his black rubber gloves and finally turns to you. He raises an eyebrow. “Why’s your top still on?” 

“I—I just wasn’t aware nipple play was involved.” 

“You do realize where you’re gettin’ pierced right?” his lips twitch up. “You’re not drunk, are you sweetheart?” 

“Very funny,” you answer, mimicking his tone from before. “But anyway, okay, I guess I’m just a bit nervous.” 

“Understandable,” you point towards the endless draws. “Want me to get the suction device?” 

“God, no,” you let out a low chuckle. “Your fingers are just fine.” 

“Never had any complaints before.” 

Your stomach jumps, arousal caressing your skin similar to a summer breeze. The darkness in his eyes is back, his gaze intense and nerve-wracking. 

“Will it hurt?” you mumble. 

“I ain’t gonna lie so yeah, it will.” 

“How much?” 

“Depends, really.” 

Your shoulders drop. 

“Mine didn’t hurt that bad, to be honest, but my pain tolerance is quite high,” he mutters to himself rather than to you. He follows up with another sentence, probably something to soothe your worry but your brain is locked on to something very specific he just said. 

“You have nipple piercings?” you ask incredulously. “Really?” 

“I do, though it was more of a bet kind of situation. My brother loooves causing me trouble,” he sighs and crosses his arms over the expanse of his chest. “But joke’s on him because I liked how they looked so I kept them.” 

“Can. . . Can I see?” 

“You gonna be a good girl and keep still when I pierce you?” Joel teases. You nod furiously, lips pressed tightly together. “A’right then.” He curls his fingers into the hem of his shirt and lifts it. Your eyes are glued to his chest—his entire torso. You see the way a soft trail of draw hair starts from his bellybutton and disappears under his jeans, you see the soft swell of his stomach, the muscle—your eyes move up, you finally see his nipples, pierced, just like he said, with silver barbells. You lean closer, your ass at the very edge of the piercing bed. 

Joel suddenly drops his shirt, hiding away, he shrugs, “Nothin’ fancy, but still, I like’em,” saying that, he takes a seat on his chair and sways a bit thanks to the wheels underneath.

“Do—” you lick the back of your teeth. “Do they make it more sensitive?” 

His smirk makes your heart skip a beat, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he points to your shirt. “Now off.” 

Without a word, you peel off your shirt and unhook your bra. Joel’s eyes widen momentarily, his breath hitching at the sight of your bare torso. You’re confused for a moment. Surely, in his line of work, he’s seen many tits before— 

Then you realize he’s staring at your tattoos. 

You don’t have many, though you guess compared to others you do have many. Joel’s gaze lingers on your chest piece, two hands reaching towards each other with the sun and moon in between, decorating the dip between your breasts without going too deep. The blood rush of your body fills your ears, and your lips part with a gasp, his eyes instantly snap to your lips. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. 

“Didn’t know you were tattooed, darlin’.” 

“You like tattoos?” you ask, your voice hoarse and barely there. “I have more on my back.” 

You swear his pupils dilate, “I’d love to see them after. If you’ll let me.” 

“Sure,” you answer with a weak smile. “I don’t see a reason not to.” 

He wheels closer, eyes dropping to your breasts. You look away. Your cheeks feel unreasonably warm despite the air conditioning running. Goosebumps blossom over every patch of skin. His mouth is too close, the warmth of his breath fans your chest, a pleasant tingle echoing over your breasts. 

You’ve always felt a bit awkward about your nipples. They always seemed silly compared to your breast size, especially when you started seeing other nipples. 

“I’m gonna touch you now,” he says softly, dragging you away from your thoughts. “I’m gonna massage it a bit to work it out, a’right?” 

You nod and hold your breath simultaneously. He does your right nipple first. Just like he said, he massages the flesh closest to your nipple, easing it out. It feels good, undeniably so. The pads of his fingers work delicately. Deep down you wish he didn’t have to wear the gloves. Your body aches for his heat, his bare touch on your naked skin. Joel pinches a bit hard and you flinch, he mumbles an apology. You don’t have it in you to tell him that it didn’t actually hurt, rather, it felt good. 

Soft whimpers threaten to escape your lips so you bite into the bottom one, hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing with deep inhales. His thumb swipes over your, now hard, nipple. “There we go,” he says. 

You don’t open your eyes. Pain blossoms from the flesh of your lips, you feel them starting to swell. 

“Hey,” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face, then you feel his thumb easing out your lips from between your teeth. “You’re gonna hurt yourself like that. Are you okay?” 

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re just turned on? That this has been the most action you’ve had in months? 

“I’m okay,” you answer. His brows furrow in disbelief and you can’t really blame him. You let out a long sigh. “I’m fine, I promise. I just got a little worked up.” 

“Worked up?” His smile is back and in response, you want to bury your head in the sand. “What d’you mean?” 

His hand slides to your waist, squeezing it gently. You stick your bottom lip out. “You know what I mean.” 

“Hmmm, maybe,” his voice drips with cruel teasing, his thumb begins to draw lazy circles around your skin. You think he’s going to say something else but his gaze once again drops to your chest. “Looks like it disappeared, gonna need to work it out again.” 

You expect his fingers—maybe for him to pinch a bit harder this time. 

What you don’t expect, however, is his burning mouth on your cold skin. 

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, your body instinctively arching towards him. He groans as a response, taking more of you into his mouth. His tongue flicks your peaked nipple. You feel his teeth nipping the tender flesh and you gasp once more, a sharp moan rattling in your throat. 

His eyes look up at you, momentarily he parts away, his lips are swollen, spit glistening at his lips, “This okay?” 

“Yes.” 

And he continues to devour you. 

Your fingers bite into the leather bed, he laps at the pebbled flesh, purposefully rubs the tongue piercing into it. The sudden hardness of metal makes you jump and then melt into it, he repeats the movement of his tongue again and again, swirling it until your thighs start to shake. His hands briefly move to your tattoo, thick fingers dancing along the ink. 

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, directing his attention to your other nipple. He flicks at it first then closes his lips around it. Your underwear is sticky with slick, your legs in constant motion to relieve some of the tension from your throbbing clit. He cups your mound, presses his fingers into your clothed slit. “Be patient, I’m gettin’ there.” He sucks on your nipple and teases the other with his fingers, pinching and pulling them. 

“Won’t be able to do this when we pierce them,” he growls, teeth sinking into your nipple, he flicks his tongue over it. “And you better not let anyone else touch’em too.” 

Your head falls back with a groan. He flicks his tongue again when you grind into his palm, the friction not enough to quench your need for him. You grip his shoulder, urging him to move back. He does. You immediately feel guilty at the worry crossing his eyes. 

You grip his shirt, slightly sliding it up his stomach, “Can I see how sensitive you are?” 

A brush of color spreads from his neck to his cheeks. You smile. Red looks good on him. 

He stands up, the chair wheeling away. Joel is quick to discard his shirt and you’re glad that the piercing bed makes it so that you’re in perfect tasting range. You spread your legs wider as he comes closer, taking his place between them. His skin touches your own, his warmth overwhelming yet welcomed. 

You kiss his neck first. Then his collar bone, you suck on his skin, teasing the sensitive flesh with your teeth. He shudders. Slowly you make your way down, your thumbs push at the pierced nipples and he moans behind gritted teeth. Smiling sweetly at him, you swirl your tongue around one, playing with the other. Your tongue moves over the bead of the piercing, you tilt it which in return twists the nipple. Another tremble overwhelms him, his body curling around you even further. The outline of his cock is prominent through his jeans, his body impulsively grinding against your stomach. You moan at the hardness, and he moans at the pressure. 

“Fuck, that’s nice,” he rasps, hips jerking. “But let’s take care of you now, I bet your panties are soaked, darlin’.” 

Fuck, it is. 

Joel drags his lips down your cheek, he kisses your neck slowly, the metal on his tongue forcing a shudder up your spine and making you curious about how it’ll feel on your cunt. 

“Want to eat you out from behind, sweetheart, wanna see those tattoos.” 

His hands are a constant on your skin as you hop off the bed and bend over, he helps you with your jeans, reaching around and unbuttoning it for you. The fabric suddenly feels too tight on your skin and you need to get rid of it—now. 

The harsh fabric pools at your ankles and you kick them away. His fingers play with the elastic of your underwear, pulling and twisting. The heft of him rubs between the crease, thick cock straining against his zipper. You expect him to take off his jeans too. Your piercer is full of surprises, though, and instead of doing the predictable thing, he continues to roll his hips whilst tracing the pads of his fingers over tattoos. 

“Fuck, they’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he mumbles. His touch is ticklish, yet arousing at the same time. More slick gathers at the fabric. You’re desperate for his touch. By the movement of his fingers you guess which of them he’s stroking. First, it’s the fox that stretches over your spine, beams of sun framing its face. Then it’s the smoke-like lines that are closer to your shoulder and the other one near your hip. Joel can’t seem to get enough of it. His palms are flat against inky skin, trying to feel the thought of you while you got them. 

You gasp at the touch of soft lips and soft tongue. He licks a slow line up your spine, tracing over the fox and sunlight. By pure instinct you bend over further, your breasts completely pressed against the leather. You’ve never been more glad to have tattoos in your goddamn life—he’s worshipping them, the figures that adorn your skin. 

His velvet tongue is replaced by sharp teeth, your back arches, ass pressing further into his clothed cock. Joel trembles and follows your eager movements with another tender bite. 

“I love them,” he mouths over the inky smoke near your shoulder. “I love feeling you, touching you. I could just do this for hours. You feel amazin’ against my skin, my sweet little rabbit.” 

This time you don’t laugh at the absurd nickname. His name drips from your damp lips like honey, sweet to say and sticking to your tongue. 

His hand dips between your legs and his mouth moves down to your ass, he kisses the plump flesh as two fingers stroke you from over the fabric of your underwear. His groan reverberates on your skin, teeth skimming the flesh, “Fuck, you actually are soaked,” Joel hums and slips them under, gathering you around his fingers. “All this for me?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, raising your hips. “P-Please—”

Joel shushes you, “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he gets down to his knees and as he does, a small grunt leaves his lips. 

“Are you okay?” you ask. 

“Just fine,” he kisses your pussy and you’re instantly melting towards his mouth, a groan ripping from your throat. “A sacrifice I’m willin’ to make.” 

Joel doesn’t give you the chance to reply or offer to change positions, he slides your panties to the side, licking into you hungrily. You shudder and your upper body jolts, forming the perfect arch. He presses deeper. Licking and teasing your clit with the tip. He cups both sides of your ass and gives them a gentle smack. Your eyes roll at the mild pain, your slick coating his lips, tongue, and chin. The rough hairs of his beard chafe your skin, only adding to the pleasure. 

“Taste so good, beautiful,” Smack. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, make you come until there’s a goddamn puddle on the floor.” 

“Oh god—” you choke on air, a moan locking in your throat the same time you’re trying to gasp for air. His words and the swirl of his tongue are downright sinful. He flattens his tongue and parts your folds with the soft muscle, teasing your entrance. 

Joel pulls you back against him, his lips teaching your clit, your jaw drops, a jolt of pleasure rushing through you and tightening your nipples. It’s filthy, that’s all you can think. If someone walked through those doors right this instant, they would see his face between your cheeks, drinking from you like a man dying of thirst. 

Your head drops, mouth flooding with saliva, you roll your hips; begging, asking for more. He gives it to you. Two thick fingers slide into you with ease, his mouth leaving wet open-mouthed kisses on your ass. 

“Gonna come for me?” he asks, voice full of gravel. “Come on, give it to me, let me see how your pussy throbs, sweetheart.” 

He curls his fingers and you imagine him smirking as he breaks you apart. You cry out his name, your entire body shuddering as if lightning struck it, “That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. . .” He continues to thrust his fingers in and out, you feel yourself dripping, imagine yourself making a puddle just like he asked for. “Give it to me, honey. You’re fuckin’ beautiful, look at you. . .” 

Joel spreads you with his fingers and delves back into you, he draws circles around your clit, his jaw constantly moving with every lick. He doesn’t stop until he’s coaxing another orgasm out of you—your head fills with bliss, your body lifeless. 

When he’s done feasting, he slowly gets up with his hands sliding to your back. He leans down to pepper more kisses onto your tattoos, your skin tingling and singing at the contact. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, lips sucking at your neck. “Then let’s get those pretty nipples pierced.” 

“W—What about you?” you ask breathlessly. 

Joel helps you sit back up on the bed, you part your legs so he can come closer, he accepts the invitation with a wide smile, “I have a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ more of each other, sweetheart. You can make it up to me then.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your lips part. 

You have a strong feeling that he’s right. 

With gloved hands, Joel carefully opens a sterile needle package. You watch with rapt attention as he takes out the fresh needle, inspecting it. Your body is still thrumming with pleasure, your head still swimming in a daze. All you can hear is his breathing.

He had already walked you through everything while preparing for the procedure. No touching, no swimming. You had to clean them softly in the shower and that was meant to be the only source of water your nipples touch for a while. If there was any irritation or marks, you were to reach out immediately. 

Honestly, you found it cute that he’d gotten so serious all of a sudden. It was nice to see him so professional too, so competent. 

He comes closer and your body seizes. You hold your breath. With a sudden need to distract yourself, your eyes linger on to the walls. Your brows furrow in surprise when you notice the tattoo designs. You thought this was only a piercing shop. 

“You do tattoos too?” you ask nervously. 

“My brother does,” he answers. “He works the tattoo side of the business and I do the piercings.” 

“It’s nice that it’s in the family. . .” 

“Sweetheart, I know what you’re doin’. You’ll be fine I promise.” 

“Okay. I trust you mister man-I-just-met.” 

He grins, “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it ten minutes ago.” 

“Touché.” 

Joel prompts you to lay on the piercing table, he approaches you with a reassuring smile on his face. You can feel your heart racing as you nervously anticipate the pain of getting your nipples pierced, you imagine the worst, your heart beating in tune with your fear. 

He carefully cleans the area around your nipples and marks the spot where the piercing will go. He double-checks the placement with you to ensure you're happy with it. You give a slight nod, still feeling a bit apprehensive.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs. “It’ll only hurt for a second.” 

With steady hands, Joel takes the needle. You feel a sharp pinch as it punctures through your skin, but the pain dissipates quickly. You let out a small whimper, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just a bit more,” he comforts you and you nod with a long exhale. 

After the needle is through, he quickly follows it with the jewelry, securing it in place. You watch in awe as he attaches the beautiful barbells to your nipples, the adrenaline and endorphins making the pain feel less than it is.

Once the piercings are in place, Joel gently cleans the blood before you can get a look.

“Aaand done, tell me what you think.” 

You’re surprised that he has a mirror in hand when you sit back up. Your gaze finds your reflection and an instant smile spreads across your face. 

“You like’em?” he asks, his tone shy. 

“Like them?” you gasp. “I love them! Thank you!” 

“Oh that’s a relief,” he leans back into the chair, slightly rolling away with a relieved smile. “No matter how many times I do it, I still get nervous.” 

“I definitely love them,” you say, you get up to wear your shirt but end up wincing at the sharp pain. You look at Joel between squinted eyes. “When did you say the pain would stop again?” 

“It’s gonna take a while,” he answers with a sympathetic smile. “You don’t know how much your nipples touch stuff until you get’em pierced.” 

“Well, at least they look good.” 

He shoots you a wink, “They sure do, little rabbit.” 

“That nickname is still ridiculous.” 

“Should I remind you that the last time I used it you came on my tongue?” 

“Nope no reminder needed,” you put your shirt back on, smiling. “I’m still going through the aftershocks.” 

“Good,” he stands with you, hands on your waist, he pulls you as close as he can without your nipples touching his chest. “So, you wanna go out?” Joel’s gaze drops to your chest and he licks his lips, “Gotta make sure you’re takin’ care of them properly.” 

“My hero.” 

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦

Kenji Sato x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐔𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Coach’s daughter AU, Fluff, lots of shameless flirting, teasing, secret relationship

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Over coffee and conversation, Ken finds solace in a café, far from the chaos of the baseball stadium.

Ken had never felt his heart gallop this intensely before. Not even during his rise to stardom with the Dodgers back in LA could compare to the thrill and anticipation coursing through him right now.

This was more personal— unpredictable in a way that no game or spotlight could prepare him for. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t chasing a title.

It was a moment with someone special that made everything else feel secondary.

Tucked away in a quiet street of Tokyo’s lesser known district, the glow of the neon signs reflected off slick pavements as he watched you navigate the path, weaving between parked bikes and stray vending machines.

The faint hum of the distant train was the only sound that filled the night’s silence.

“Ken!” your voice rang through the empty streets, bright and familiar. As you drew closer, Ken couldn’t help but notice how the muted lights reflected in your glossy eyes, giving them an otherworldly sparkle.

He didn’t say anything until you were close enough for you to hear him without yelling.

“You made it…” His lips curled into a smile, meeting your gaze with a tender look. “Did you get enough rest? You look a bit tired.”

“Barely,” you confessed, a playful tilt painted on your lips. “I’ve been counting down the minutes until I can see you again.”

Ken was used to fans clamoring for a moment of his time, expressing their excitement to see him. But something about the eagerness in your voice and the slight bounce in your step sent a flutter through him.

He glanced around, checking that the streets were still empty before reaching out to cradle your cheek.

“You’re so clingy.” he teased, still holding his grin.

“I would’ve kissed you right now if we weren’t in public.” you shot back with a small smirk.

Ken leaned closer until his face was eye level to yours, his voice dropped to a heated whisper

“I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

The impulse to close the distance simmered under his skin, but the risk of being seen was enough to keep him rooted.

“But I also don’t want an angry mob of your dad’s supporters coming after me after catching us in a compromising position.”

Your smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of worry. “Right…my dad. I don’t want anybody from the press finding out either.”

“Yeah, the press…” Ken’s expression hardened, his tone turning bitter.

The media always lurked, threatening to expose what little happiness he could claim. He wished he didn’t have to sneak around like this.

He envied those who could show affection openly, like some of his teammates who left games with their families in tow. The normalcy forever felt out of reach for Ken.

“Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like…” he murmured, eyes drifting past the dim glow of the distant lights. “If we dated openly, without worrying about your father, or the fans, or the media.”

Ken rarely admitted these things, but seeing how you aligned with his unspoken thoughts made it easier to voice his fragile feelings— especially about your relationship.

“What could the fans do anyway? It’s not like they could control your life.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ken said with a hint of edge. “There are some intense fans out there that take their idols' personal lives way too seriously.”

Ken didn’t want to think too deeply about a situation blowing out of proportion. If rumours began, he knew all too well how quickly fans would start prying on your life, looking for any reason to judge.

Even the slightest flaw could unleash a tornado of online harassment. He didn’t want to bring that sort of trouble into your life.

His jaws clenched, a grimace flashing across his features before he shook the thought away.

“I’m more worried about dad. If he ever found out about us…I can’t even imagine how he’d react. Especially after that latest press conference. He came home moping,” you said, the last words trailed into a tired groan.

“I know, I could’ve handled it better.” Ken chuckled, before it was shadowed by guilt as he remembered his altercation with Coach Shimura. “I hate when the press digs for gossip.”

A low rumble of an approaching car snapped him out of his thoughts. Its headlights illuminated the empty street, casting fleeting shadows over the both of you, before disappearing down the narrow road.

You take a hold of Ken’s hand and gently tug him forward. “Come on, let’s head inside.”

You slip into a small, dimly lit cafe— a hidden gem that seemed to be empty from the outside view. It’s secluded places like this that makes your relationship feel safe, untouched by the eyes of the world.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries enveloped him, a silent call of the rare moment of peace you shared.

The cafe itself was modest in size, with wooden chairs and tables neatly arranged beneath the dim ambiance lighting.

There were a few patrons scattered here and there— a couple sharing a quiet intimate conversation near the window at the high table, and a few students hunched over textbooks.

Sparse decorations adorned the walls: faded vintage poster advertising sodas and sweet treats with its vibrant colours faded over time.

At the centre of each table sat a miniature cherry blossom tree, the soft pink petals contrasted against the dark wood.

Together, you crossed the cafe's interior, where a lone worker was wiping down the countertops. The glass display case in front of you showcased an array of cakes and pastries, though the selection was limited at this hour.

“You gonna order anything?” you asked, eyes scanning over the hanging menu above the counter.

“Yeah…a latte and maybe a cake, too,” Ken paused, gaze flickering over the cake display before shifting back to you. “You want anything?”

“I’ll probably get a bowl of anmitsu,” you mused, turning to meet his eyes. “What kind of cake will you be getting?”

Ken hums in thought for a moment, leaning in closer to the display. Rows of desserts were neatly arranged.

Fluffy cake rolls on the tile shelf with their swirls of cream peaking our— flavours ranged from strawberry to matcha. Slices of chiffon cakes in pastal colours on the middle shelf. And finally, tiny containers of pudding at the bottom.

“Not sure yet,” he murmured, his mind wandering over the cake display. His smile took a slight wicked edge as he added. “Maybe a cake I can feed you a bite of…”

The image of him holding out a spoonful to you flashed through his mind, followed by your lips closing around it. His imagination reeled, and he caught himself chewing his lower lip, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Just as his thoughts threaten to wander further, your voice pulls him back to the present.

“Their chiffon cakes are always good.” you said, gesturing towards the pastel cakes.

“Yeah?” Ken followed your gaze to the neatly placed cakes. “But they’re crumbly. I’ll get cake all over your face.”

“It’ll be worth it though.” you teased.

Ken chuckled, glancing at the display again and taking another moment to look at the options again. His eyes shifted to the pastries with their delicious golden crust glistening under the light.

“Maybe I should get something messy, then,” he leaned in close to your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper again. “Like…one of those cream puffs with the sweet, sticky filling. I could lick it off your lips.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out an exaggerated gasp, swatting his chest. “Shhh! You can’t say that out here.”

“Why not?” he grinned, voice lacing with his smugness. “No one’s paying attention to us.”

Despite your playful scolding, Ken’s chest swelled with satisfaction and his ego soared.

He was aware that he shouldn’t push things too far, especially in public, but seeing how flustered you were and your stunned expression was too irresistible not to enjoy.

“Still…what if someone was eavesdropping on us.” you said, a hint of caution in your voice as your eyes darted briefly towards the other patrons.

“Then they’ll just hear me flirting. Harmless isn’t it? Doesn’t matter if they know how badly I want to taste the cream puff from your lips.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“What? I can’t tell my girlfriend how badly I want to kiss her?”

“Hmph, just order already.” You crossed your arms with mock indignation.

“Alright I’ll order for us, you go and find us a seat.”

His eyes followed your form as you weaved through the tables, your movement unhurried but purposeful. You found a table in the corner of the cafe that offered both privacy and a clear line of sight to the entrance.

Ken couldn’t help but hold his gaze at you with the cafe’s lighting cast a warm glow over your features.

Dragging his focus back to the task at hand, Ken stepped up to the counter and placed the order— a latte and a slice of cake for himself and a bowl of anmitsu for you.

Ken watched as steam erupted with a high-pitch hiss from the milk frother, the aromatic scent of the coffee mixed with the faint sweetness from the pastries.

The barista poured the milk into the latte cup with grace and precision, creating a delicate foam on top. Besides her, another worker arranged your anmitsu, layering the sweet toppings before placing it alongside with a spoon.

When the tray was finally ready, Ken paid and carefully carried it across the room. The clinking sound of ceramic cups and murmurs of the patrons accompanied his steps.

Setting the tray down on the table with a small smile on his lips, he slid into the seat across from you, feeling the soft cushioned chair beneath him.

Your eyes swept over the content of the tray before landing on the cream puff besides the latte. Your brow arched in disbelief. “Oh my God, you actually got it.”

“I did. Why? Did you think I wouldn’t? You thought I was bluffing?”

“Well, yeah. You’re always bluffing.”

The corner of his lips curled into a smirk at your surprise. Ken pushed your amnitsu closer to you before claiming his own plate. A faint whiff of the dessert’s sweet and rich scent rose to his nose, stirring his anticipation.

Picking up the fork, he scooped a bit of the cream cake and popped it in his mouth. He deliberately closed his eyes and let out an exaggerated, drawn-out moan of pleasure at the taste.

Even with his eyes shut, he could feel your gaze burning into him. He even took it a step further and started licking the cream off his lips.

When he opened his eyes, he found you pulling a face and he couldn’t help but give you a cheeky grin. “It’s delicious, by the way…”

“Hmm, it does look good.”

“Come on…you’ve been staring at it long enough. Have a bite.”

Ken took another spoon full of the dessert before holding it out to you. The moment you leaned in to reach for the spoon, he felt his heart spike and his senses on high alert— taking in every single detail of your action.

His eyes never left your mouth as they parted and closed delicately around the fork. He felt the fork grow lighter as you took the bite.

His focus stayed on your tongue flicking across your upper lip to catch the traces of cream and powdered sugar.

Witnessing it happen in real time was far more tantalising than his imagination— the sight was intoxicating.

He swallowed thickly, forcibly pushing the heat stirring in his chest.

A heat pooled in his gut, seeing you chew on the cake thoughtfully, completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

Ken inhaled sharply, trying to ground himself as he reached for a napkin. His hands trembled more than usual as he leaned forward and dapped the corner of your mouth to wipe away the cream you’d missed.

But instead of pulling back after, his thumb lingered, brushing over your lower lip— the same lips he had kissed feverishly in the past. The contact was light and featherlight but enough to make his stomach flip.

You froze under his touch, meeting his gaze. Your lips parted slightly to speak.

“Light and fluffy…”

“Mhm…” Ken hummed, completely distracted. Though he wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the cream puff you just had or the softness of your lips.

“Do you wanna try mine?”

Ken blinked rapidly, snapping out of his trance. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from your lips, the warmth of your skin fading too quickly.

But his attention turned to your bowl of anmitsu, taking in the vibrant layers of fruit, glossy jelly cubes, and the soft mochi balls.

“Sure…looks delicious.”

Taking the spoon you offered, scooped a piece of mochi and fruit from the bowl.

The fruits were cool and refreshing in his mouth, and blended with the mochi which gave a pleasantly chewy texture.

He handed the spoon back to you, still chewing on the mochi. You pushed the fruit and the mochi around in the bowl with the spoon meticulously.

“They put a lot of mochi in this.” you commented.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

You reached for the brown sugar syrup that came with your anmitsu and poured it over the bowl. “Try it now.”

Ken scooped another bite, now coated in the syrup. The sugary bursts mixed with the fruits tang, and he let out a low hum of approval at the sweetness. “Hm…it does taste better.”

“Too sweet?”

“It’s already sweet enough, though I think you’re sweeter.”

“Corny.” you said, dragging out the word to emphasise your disapproval, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed you.

Ken chuckled at your reaction, he knew you were only disguising the effect his words were having on you.

He propped his elbow on the table, leaning his chin against his palm with his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“It’s only corny because you get flustered every time. Did you see your face earlier? When I was talking about the cream puffs?”

You only rolled your eyes at his words, a grin forming on your lips now. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“So, you’re only putting up with me because I’m cute?”

“And maybe because you’re a star player and super rich and whatever.” you replied, twirling the spoon through the anmitsu and waving your hands dismissively.

Ken tilts his head, the back and forth banter bringing a warmth in his chest. Being with you like this— relaxed and unguarded— was a relief in ways he rarely allowed himself to think about.

Having conversations like this with you felt refreshing knowing he would tease and you’ll do it right back.

He tapped his finger against his chin in a mock pensiveness before responding back. “Right, so you’re telling me it's my money and status you’re after, not my dazzling personality or good looks?”

“Oh, that too, I guess.”

“Is that how it’s gonna be, princess? Pretending you don’t secretly like me for more than my money or looks.”

“And what if I said yes?”

“Well,” he said in mock contemplation. “I’d have to work extra hard to win you over. Though I’d say that I'm pretty confident I have a head start.”

“I think you might need to focus on getting on dad’s good side first.”

Something struck inside him at your words— like a whiplash. The mention of your father always hit differently, a reminder of the uneasy dynamic that lingered between them. Ken let out a short sigh, his chest tightening.

It was still a sore spot for him that Shimura initially disapproved of him and his less-than-stellar past behind— though it wasn’t unexpected.

Despite everything Ken had accomplished back in LA— leaving his troubles behind and earning his respect in the field— it seemed his reputation preceded him.

Shimura, along with his teammates, had always treated him like the brash American kid trying to catch up, even though he came back to Japan to prove him among his own people.

With you, however, it was the opposite. You didn’t see him as an outsider or just another player in your dads team. You made him feel like he belonged.

That contrast made moments like these jarring, as if he was living two different lives— one as your boyfriend, and the other as a player constantly trying to win over your father.

Ken’s tone shifted quickly to be more serious, exposing his vulnerability in his words.

“Yeah…I’m trying, princess. It’s just, I don’t want to screw things up and risk not being able to see you again like this.”

Ken took a sip from his latte, the beverage now lukewarm against his tongue, but his mind was elsewhere and far from the cozy warmth of the cafe.

He knew he shouldn’t be dwelling on the ‘what-ifs,’ not when he was on a date with you. But as he sat there, he couldn’t ignore the nagging thoughts that pulled him under. How different would his life be if things had turned out another way?

What if his mother had never taken him to LA? If he’d stayed in Japan, would Shimura still look at him with the faint edge of distrust?

Would he see him different— one who wasn’t marked by a childhood spent feeling like an outcast in a foreign country?

Ken’s jaws clenched. He had spent most of his life in America, trying to fit into a culture that didn’t quite know what to do with him. The bullying had been relentless, the teasing cutting deep in ways he hadn’t fully healed from, leaving the scar of isolation.

Friendships were distant at best. Romantic relationships were practically nonexistent. For a long time, he felt like no one truly saw him.

Even the rise to stardom with the Dodgers hadn’t changed that much. Sure, people admired him, celebrated with him— but it still felt hollow and fragile.

None of it felt real, not like this. Not like you.

He glanced at you across the table, your head down as you inspected your dessert in front of you. If he’d never returned to Japan, he wouldn’t be sitting here right now, sharing this quiet, intimate moment with the only person who truly sees him.

Still, a bitter reminder lingered in the back of his mind. Would he have risen to stardom at all if he hadn’t gone to LA? Despite how brutal it was, the isolation and struggles had shaped him— it made him resilient-driven.

Without those years of grit and loneliness , would he have had the means to lead the Giants to victory? Would he have been ready to take his father’s Ultraman duties when the time came?

Ken sighed again, finishing off the last bite of his cream puff before taking another sip of his latte. It really was strange, the way life worked.

The very things that had made him feel out of place— his complicated family history, his American upbringing, the expectation of following his father’s footsteps— had somehow led him here, with you.

However, the weight of those ‘what-ifs’ still pressed onto his chest. His life with you— a fragile happiness— was precarious. He couldn’t shake the fear that one wrong move could send it all crashing down.

Being caught in the act by your father. It made his throat constrict with anxiety. He already knew that Shimura didn’t trust him. What if that made him believe that he wasn’t good enough for you? That he couldn’t take care of you the way you deserve?

He took another sip from his latte, though it did little to sooth the knot in his chest.

“You know,” you began, not looking up from your bowl as you stirred the syrup into the anmitsu, “being with you makes it easier to forget about everything else.” you said, not looking up from your bowl as you spoke.

Your words caught him off guard, but the tension in his shoulders started to melt. His stunned expression softened, replaced by something gentler.

“Yeah…that’s part of why I like you so much. You make me forget about everything.” His cheeks flushed slightly how openly heartfelt he was now as the words left his mouth, but he didn’t shy away from their weight. “It’s like…you make me want to be a better man.”

He reached out and let his fingers skim across the back of your hand— a subtle touch that carried all his unspoken emotions that he struggled to articulate.

You paused, looking up at him. “I don’t think I can imagine your struggles…especially considering your money and fame overshadow all of that.”

“Everyone thinks that it's easy.” Ken’s lips quivered into a humourless smile. “Being a player admired by thousands. I guess some parts of it are great. But there’s still a lot of stress and pressure.”

He glanced down at the flakes of his cream puff on the empty plate with his thoughts flickering like the steam rising from his latte.

Expectation pulled at him from every corner of Ken’s life— like a massive tree, sprawling yet burdened.

The roots that ran deep were from his fathers influence. They were planted firmly in the soil of his childhood and enchtranched his upbringing and identity.

The roots were unshakable, just like his fathers legacy of being Ultraman— something he was expected to fulfill.

No matter how far he had gone, across the Pacific to LA, he’d never truly escape those roots. Even now they wound tighter around him, tethered to the ground he was expected to nurture.

Then there was the bark— the protective layer. That was Coach Shimura and his teammates. It shielded him from the eternal storms, but it wasn’t invincible. It still demanded so much from the tree itself.

Shimura’s expectations weren’t harsh, but they were heavy and carried their own weight. The bark was strong and steady, but sometimes, it felt like it was tightening. As if holding the tree too firmly in place.

But it was the branch of the tree that weighed him down the most— the fans and the public image. They reached far and wide, growing outwardly. Branches were supposed to flourish.

But how were they expected to grow if you don’t cater to its needs. That’s what it felt like for Ken.

One wrong move; one bad game, and they could snap off. Every game felt like a performance of those branches, trying to keep those intact, making sure they don’t fall under pressure.

But no matter how strong they appeared, Ken knew how easily they could break.

And then there were the leaves, fragile and fleeting— the opinion of the critics, the headlines of papers, the ever-shifting opinions on social media.

Leaves changed with the seasons. One day could be lush and green, full of praises and admiration. The next, they withered and fell, leaving the tree bare and exposed. Their praises were temporary and their critics were choppy.

Though the leaves were less permanent, they still needed care and their loss could hurt the tree entirely. However, Ken couldn’t stop the seasons from changing or the wind from blowing.

Ken swallowed thickly, his eyes glued to the table as his train of thoughts spiraled further. Being that tree sometimes felt like he was stretching thin, trying to meet the demands of every root, branch and leaf.

And then there was you.

You weren’t a part of that endless tree. Not another branch to hold up, nor another leaf to nourish. At least, not yet. But the fear gnawed at him, dark and persistent, whispering at the edges of his mind.

What if you have expectations too?

You hadn’t said much or demanded anything, but it was only natural, wasn’t it? Relationships are always built on unspoken agreements of needs, hopes, and desires.

What kind of boyfriend did you want him to be? What were you looking for in him? Would he ever be enough?

It wasn’t that he doubted your feelings for him. It was the pressure he felt to be the person that you deserved.

To always be charming, supportive, attentive. To make time for you despite his demanding career.

For so much of his life, he had been judged by the outside world— his performance, his persona, his wins, and his losses. The thought of being seen by you that way made his throat tighten.

What if one day, you grew tired of him or wasn’t getting what you wanted from him and left? The thought alone of the empty space you would leave behind broke his heart and made his mouth dry.

It was worse than losing a game, worse than headlines calling him a failure.

Even with the lighthearted conversation and teasing you just shared earlier, his doubts were almost impossible to shrug off.

His mind were a battlefield of his insecurities and worries, but the warmth of your hands that pulled him out of his dark thoughts startled him.

You brought his hand and gently kissed over his knuckles. “Even if things do turn out bad for you, I’ll still think you’re incredible.”

The affectionate gesture unravelled him, nearly spinning him off his axis from being flustered— his mind momentarily going blank.

It wasn’t just the kiss— it was the conviction in your voice. The quiet, unwavering way you said it.

He let out a quiet sigh, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned a little closer to you. The warmth of your kiss still lingered on his hand.

“You always know how to make me feel better.” he murmured, his voice carrying a sincerity he rarely let show.

“You’ll still have all of me, even if you mess up. And I know you’ll do the same.” You brow arched as you added, “Right?”

Ken tilted his head, an amused smirk played on his lips at your remark at the end. The tension in his chest was replaced by fond amusement.

“Of course I will. You think I’d trade you in for someone else?” his voice lowered, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made his next words feel like a vow. “I'm not letting you go princess…not for anything.”

At that moment, the weight of the world seemed distant, as if the noise of expectations and pressure had diluted to a low hum.

He was so focused on looking at you, Ken didn’t notice you sneaking your hands across the table to reach for his coffee mug until you announced it.

“I’m taking a sip from your coffee.” you said, already snatching the cup.

Ken blinked, catching up to the present. “Hey…that’s mine.”

“I don’t have anything to wash down the mochi.”

“Hmm, can’t say no to that.”

Your face scrunched slightly in distaste after you took a sip. “You don’t put sugar in coffee?”

Ken shook his head and chuckled at the face you made. “No…I like the bitterness of the coffee. It’s more enjoyable that way.”

“I suppose the cream puff makes up for the sweetness.”

“No cream puffs for you any time soon if you keep stealing my drinks.”

“I don’t want anymore anyways,” you huffed in feigned offends. “Too bitter.”

“Awh what’s wrong? Can’t handle the taste of something that’s not over-sugared.”

“It’s not that…how do you drink that raw with no sugar?” your nose scrunched in mock indignation.

“I’m just used to it, I like the stronger taste of my coffee.” he glanced down at his coffee mug before looking back at you. “How could you drink something that’s so sweet?”

“It won’t be too sweet. The sugar just cancels out the bitterness.” you said, matter-of-factly.

Ken only rolled his eyes, responding with an exaggerated sweet tone. “Sure, princess. It’s not too sweet…just enough to make it a sugary drink instead of actually having a coffee taste.”

You pushed the mug back to him, waving off his dramatics. It was almost cathartic how the conversation could go from heartfelt and tender to teasing and flirting, like a flip of a switch.

With you, it always felt right, like stepping into the sun after being caught in the rain.

Ken shook his head at your dismissal, lifting the mug to take another sip of the latte. He didn’t mind the bitterness, especially if it meant sharing more moments with you.

Your eyes flickered past him, freezing on something near the cafe entrance.

“Crap.” you muttered.

Ken’s brow furrowed before turning to see where you were looking. Blood rushed in his ear the moment he spotted his teammates walking through the door.

Their presence wasn't loud or disruptive, but rather casual as they made their way towards the counter. The familiar jerseys and laughter sent a jolt of panic through him and a look of slight trepidation crossed his face.

“Crap…” he echoed your words, quickly turning back to you. “I think that’s our queue to leave.”

What were the odds? The cafe was in a quiet area, far from the usual hotspots, and yet here they were. His shoulders stiffened as he scanned the room, trying to gauge if anyone had spotted you.

Ken stood up first, his chair scraped softly against the floor. They weren’t looking in your direction but it was only a matter of time if you both stayed there any longer.

His voice lowered in your ear. “Come on.”

His hands found your wrist, lightly gripping it as he guided you towards the door without being noticed.

“They haven’t seen us, yet.” you said, glancing nervously at the group.

“Let’s not give them the chance.” His voice was barely audible, and his grip on your wrist tightened as you both made it to the door.

The air in the cafe felt heavier with every step. Ken’s pulse quickened and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder.

The brass of the door handle was cool against Ken’s palm as he pushed it open. The cool breeze brushed against his face, a welcome contrast to the tension that had knotted inside.

The cafe, once a warm refuge that provided comfort, now felt like a minefield— every glance a potential threat.

Ken scanned the area of anybody potentially following you both. The buzz of distant traffic and the rustle leaves were the only signs that greeted you. Once he was satisfied, he let out a loud sigh of relief.

“So, where to now?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“We should probably get off this street and go somewhere else more quiet…and private.”

Ken turned down the corner, his strides confident but unhurried. The two of you emerged into an empty car park bathed in the dim, orange glow of streetlights.

Everything else felt insignificant now, far from the predicament from the cafe or the traffic beyond. Ken led the way toward the far corner, where a sleek bike rested— its polished surface gleaming under the lights.

“Is that your bike?” you gasped, taking in the sigh that was in front of you.

“Yeah, that’s my ride.” The pride was evident in his voice and his expression, seeing the look on your face.

“It’s beautiful.” The genuine awe in your voice sent a ripple through him.

He didn’t say anything, only gave the bike a fond pat before throwing his leg over it and settling into the seat.

“You up for a quick cruise?”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Have you ever been on one?”

“No….” you admitted sheepishly, your eyes darted to the floor out of shyness. He felt a hint of his male ego spike at that, his eyes roaming at your figure.

“Well,” he said, shifting forward on the seat to give you room. “I guess I’ll be your first ride, then. Hop on— I’ll take care of you.”

You hesitated for a moment, your hands brushing against the cool leather of the seat.

“Have you ever had a woman ride behind you before?” you asked. Ken didn’t miss the flicker of doubt in your voice

His hands tightened on the handlebar, looking back at you. It wasn’t the question that threw him off but the way you asked it.

He recognised the insecurity, the way it slipped out almost against your own will. And it hit him harder than expected.

The idea that you might think he was the type to collect fleeting connections and one night stands stung.

“Of course not.” His voice was steady, stripped of its usual tease. “You’re the only one I’d ever want to give a ride to.

You let out a small, nervous laugh at that. “I guess I’ll be your first, too.”

Ken chuckled, patting the seat behind him. “Damn right you will be.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but making you feel secure in this moment felt more important than anything else.

Ken’s joyrides were something sacred— his personal retreat from the noise and chaos. The familiar rumble of the engine had always been his companion, a constant source of solace.

It wasn’t something shared with anyone. Ever.

But now, as you stood next to the leather seat, it struck him how different this felt. Letting you into this part of his life was like cracking open a private door, one he’d never let anybody step into.

The thrill of it sent a flutter through him, both exhilarating and unnerving.

You finally took your seat behind him, and the shift in weight sent a wave of awareness through him. He swallowed hard when it suddenly hit him how close you were behind him.

Then your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and he felt his nerves spike. The heat of your fingertips grazed his abdomen sent little sparks of electricity through his body.

It wasn’t fear he was feeling but an intensity he wasn’t prepared for.

He let out a shallow breath as he felt your body pressed even closer. The sight of you behind him in the side mirror was enough to draw in a quick breath.

With a flick of the kill switch, the bike roared to life beneath him. The vibration and the sound broke the stillness, carrying you both out of the car park and into the Tokyo streets at an incredible speed.

The neon glow of the city painted streaks of light across the dark streets, and the hum of the traffic blurred in the background.

It was just you and him with the quiet rhythm of your trust that kept him grounded.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @despacito-uwu16 @roserfz27

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 9

Pairing: Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Attempted SA, Angst, language

A/N: So i have like 4 other parts done but i wanted to do more of an insight on Bucky and her relationship, so this is strictly just a chapter filled with Flashbacks!

P.S i do plan on updating my links to my masterlist & masterposts but links arent fricking working for me rn

1 Year ago

It was a Saturday night, and you, Bucky, Sam, and a few others had headed out to one of your favorite bars. The place was packed, neon lights casting a warm, vibrant glow over the tables and booths, music pulsing just loud enough to fill the space without drowning out conversation. After a few drinks, the energy in the room had settled into that perfect, cozy buzz.

You and Bucky were at the bar, leaning against the counter, laughing as you recounted a ridiculous story from your college days. He was right next to you, his arm resting on the bar behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His gaze hadn’t left you, his blue eyes alight with that look he sometimes had—a mix of mischief and something softer, something that made your heart race.

“You’re the worst,” you say, shaking your head with a grin. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

He laughs, his hand brushing against your arm as he shifts closer, his voice low. “Oh, come on. You’re not that surprised. You know I’d do anything for a laugh, especially yours"

You roll your eyes warmth creeping up your neck to your cheeks, trying to ignore the thrill that sparks at the brush of his fingers. “You just like the attention, Barnes.”

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “And you don’t?”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Please, I’m a saint compared to you.”

“Oh, really?” His grin widens, and he leans in, his face so close you can feel his breath against your cheek. “Guess we’ll have to see who’s the real troublemaker tonight, won’t we?”

For a moment, your breath catches, your heart pounding as you meet his gaze, feeling the air between you grow thick with anticipation. His hand lingers on the bar behind you, fingers inching just a little closer to your arm. You’re not sure if it’s the drinks, the atmosphere, or just the way he’s looking at you, but there’s a flicker of hope in your chest—a spark that maybe, just maybe, tonight could be different. Maybe this time, he might see you the way you see him.

Just as you’re about to say something, to lean into the moment a little more, Sam walks up, nudging Bucky with an all-too-knowing grin before tossing his arm over your shoulder.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam says, nodding toward the other end of the bar. “Girl over there by the corner table? She asked for your number.” Sam winks, then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I just kept her friend busy for you, told her our little Stevie was single.”

You glance over to the area Sam pointed to, and sure enough, Steve gives you a polite smile while he’s in the middle of what seems to be a very animated conversation with a brunette.

Bucky pulls back slightly, and you feel the shift immediately, that warm intensity slipping away. He turns to glance over his shoulder, a grin tugging at his lips. “Did she now?” he asks, smirking at Sam.

Sam shrugs. “You know how it is. She’s cute too. Don’t keep her waiting.”

Bucky chuckles, then turns back to you, his gaze meeting yours, and there’s a glint in his eye—a playful lightness that makes your heart drop. “Well,” he says, his voice low, his eyes lingering on yours for just a beat too long, something swimming in those blue depths that you can’t quite decipher. “Duty calls.”

Your stomach twists, and you force yourself to smile, giving a small shrug as you try to brush it off. “Yeah, go work your charm,” you say, injecting as much playfulness into your voice as you can manage. “Wouldn’t want to keep the girl waiting.”

He stares at you for a second, almost like he wants to say something else, like he’s about to—but then he gives you a small, regretful smile, and the moment slips away. “Catch you in a bit,” he says, squeezing your shoulder before he turns and heads toward the girl waiting across the bar.

You watch him go, the hope you’d felt moments ago dissolving into something familiar—a quiet, persistent ache that you know all too well. As he laughs with the girl, you turn back to your drink, forcing a smile as you remind yourself that this is just the way it is. He’s Bucky, your best friend, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

Sam steps in front of you, raising an eyebrow. “If you want, I can be your wingman too. Can’t be that hard to find someone for you.”

You let out a soft sigh, shaking your head. “I’m good, Sammy. Thanks, though. I think I’m just gonna go over and gossip with the girls,” you say, nodding toward Natasha and Wanda, who seem deep in a debate about something.

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

You grab your beer and, with one last glance over your shoulder, your eyes meet Bucky’s. He’s looking at you again, even as the girl next to him leans in closer, talking animatedly. For a second, it’s just the two of you, caught in the kind of look that makes your heart ache with everything unsaid.

But then he blinks, turning back to the girl with a charming smile, and the spell is broken. You swallow hard, blinking back the sting of tears as you head toward Natasha and Wanda, already preparing to laugh and distract yourself from the quiet ache in your chest.

6 months ago

You and Bucky had the apartment to yourselves, waiting for the others to arrive for a long-promised game night. The coffee table was scattered with board games and cards, and you were already a couple of drinks in, feeling that familiar warmth that made everything just a little funnier, a little sweeter, a little more electric.

“Alright, your move,” you say with a grin, watching him frown as he studies the board like it’s the most serious puzzle in the world.

Bucky groans, running a hand through his hair. “You think you’re gonna beat me at this, but you’re dead wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Pretty sure I’m about to wipe the floor with you, Barnes.”

His eyes light up, and he leans forward to match your energy, his face only inches from yours. “Big talk for someone who’s two turns away from total disaster,” he teases, his voice low and playful. There’s a sparkle in his eye, something mischievous and warm, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

You laugh, taking another sip of your drink as you try to focus on the game instead of the way his gaze lingers on you. “I don’t know, you look pretty nervous to me,” you say, flicking a card onto the table. “Face it, Buck. I’m the game night champion.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’d like to see you prove it.”

The banter flows easily, a familiar back-and-forth that makes your heart race in a way you can’t fully control. You’ve been friends for so long, but there are nights like this, nights where you’re alone, laughing, sharing drinks, and leaning just a bit closer than usual. Nights where you feel that little flicker of something more, and you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he feels it too.

As the game goes on, Bucky’s hand finds its way to the back of the couch, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. You’re hyper-aware of every small shift, every slight brush of his hand against your shoulder when he leans in to check the board, and your heart races each time, a small thrill sparking at the possibility that this could be… more.

Suddenly, he looks over at you, his face serious, his voice softer. “You know… we make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Your breath catches, and for a second, you think you see something in his gaze—something that feels as real as the pounding in your chest, as tangible as the way his arm brushes against yours. You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips, feeling bold and just tipsy enough to flirt back.

“Maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “But I think I’m the one carrying this team.”

Bucky laughs, a soft, warm sound, and he leans a little closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Is that so?”

Bucky’s voice is low, teasing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now. The playful edge in his grin softens, his gaze dipping briefly to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. The space between you feels smaller, more intimate, and the usual banter takes on a weight that makes your pulse quicken.

You tilt your head slightly, your smile turning sly. “Yeah, pretty sure I’ve been carrying this whole operation.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest, and then, almost without thinking, his hand shifts. His fingers brush against your knee, just a light, casual touch, but it sends a spark through you. You glance down briefly, then back up at him, your heart pounding.

“Well, maybe I just like letting you think you’re in charge,” Bucky says, his voice softer now, almost a murmur.

You can’t help but smile at that, leaning in just a fraction, testing the waters. “Oh, is that it? You’re just letting me win?”

“Maybe,” he replies, his hand sliding just a bit further along your knee, his thumb brushing gently against the fabric of your jeans. It’s subtle, but the warmth of his touch is undeniable.

Your breath catches, and you lean closer, your faces now only inches apart. His eyes flicker between yours, searching, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of you. His hand moves from your knee, trailing up to lightly rest on your arm, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Bucky…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper, but he cuts you off with a soft smile, his tone earnest.

“There’s no one else I’d rather be doing this with,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “You know that, right?”

Your heart swells, the words hitting you in a way that feels both comforting and exhilarating. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice shaky but steady. “I know.”

His hand drifts up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as his fingers graze your cheek. His gaze dips to your lips again, and you swear he’s leaning in. The air between you is electric, charged with everything you’ve never said but have always felt.

Just as his nose brushes against yours, the front door bursts open with a loud bang.

“We’re here!” Sam’s voice echoes through the apartment, followed by the sound of boots thudding on the floor.

You and Bucky pull apart instantly, the moment shattering as Steve, Natasha, and Wanda pile in behind Sam, all carrying snacks and drinks, their laughter filling the room.

Bucky lets out a quiet, frustrated sigh, his hand falling away as he leans back, plastering on a grin. “About time,” he calls out, his voice slightly strained. “Thought you guys got lost.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you as she sets a bag of chips on the counter. “Interrupt something?” she asks, her tone playful but curious.

You quickly shake your head, forcing a laugh as you grab your drink. “Just Bucky losing at game night already.”

“Losing?” Bucky scoffs, giving you a pointed look that’s equal parts teasing and frustrated. “We both know who’s winning here.”

Natasha smirks but doesn’t push further, and soon everyone is settling in, chattering and laughing as the game night kicks off. But as you glance at Bucky across the room, catching the way his gaze lingers on you for just a moment too long, you can’t help but wonder what might have happened if you’d had just a few more minutes alone.

For the rest of the night, you can’t shake the lingering feeling, the memory of his voice, of that look in his eyes. It was just a moment—one small moment—but it was enough to spark the hope that maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

2 Years ago

The apartment was still in chaos, boxes piled high and scattered across the floor, but it didn’t matter. You and Bucky sat in the middle of it all, the weight of the day settling into a calm, contented silence. The others had just left—Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda had helped you haul everything up, cracking jokes and making the place feel alive. But now it was just you two, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by your new life together.

Bucky let out a long breath, leaning back on his hands as he looked around. “We did it,” he said, a soft grin spreading across his face. “We finally did it, doll.”

You smiled, watching the way his eyes lit up despite the exhaustion written across his features. “Yeah, we did,” you said, your voice filled with quiet pride. “Out of that shithole town, finally graduated university… and now we’ve got our own place.”

“Our own place,” Bucky repeated, like he was tasting the words. He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Feels like we’ve been talking about this forever. And now we’re here.”

You nodded, leaning back against one of the boxes. “Feels kinda surreal.”

Bucky shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “There’s no one else I’d rather do life with than you, you know that, right?”

His words sent a warm flutter through your chest, and you could barely breathe as his hand reached up, grazing your cheek lightly. His touch was soft, almost reverent, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken, something deeper.

You swallowed, leaning into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. “Best friends for life,” you said, trying to keep your tone light even as your heart raced.

Bucky smiled, his thumb brushing against your skin for a second longer before he pulled his hand back. “Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours. “Or… something like that.”

For a moment, it felt like time slowed, the weight of his words hanging between you. You wondered if he felt it too, this quiet pull that seemed to draw you closer every time you were alone together.

But before you could say anything more, the buzzer rang loudly, breaking the spell. Bucky blinked, then let out a laugh, standing up quickly. “Must be the pizza,” he said, shooting you a grin as he walked over to the intercom.

You stayed where you were, heart still beating fast as you watched him, the warmth of his earlier words still lingering in the room. But of course, that's all it would ever do…linger.

High School Junior Year

The school hallways buzzed with the usual Friday afternoon energy. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed, and plans for the weekend floated through the air. You were at your locker, pretending to search for a book, but really you were just trying to hold it together. The tears that threatened to fall were barely contained, your heart still raw from the breakup that had blindsided you during lunch.

You’d thought he was different. Ryan, the quiet, sweet boy from your English class, had seemed so perfect. But today, he’d told you it wasn’t working, that he wanted to see other people, well that he already had been seeing other people, well that you caught him with said other person…..Trina.

You took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. The lump in your throat only grew as you heard his laugh down the hall, carefree as if nothing had happened.

“Hey, you okay?” Natasha’s voice pulled you from your spiralling thoughts. She leaned casually against the locker next to yours, her sharp green eyes studying you.

You quickly wiped at your eyes, forcing a smile. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Tired or heartbroken?”

You let out a shaky laugh, but before you could answer, Steve appeared, his face immediately softening when he saw you.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, glancing between you and Natasha.

“Ryan,” Natasha said bluntly, crossing her arms.

Steve’s face darkened, his usual calm demeanor shifting into protective mode. “That idiot. You want me to talk to him?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, Steve, please don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Before he could argue, Natasha’s gaze flicked down the hall. “Uh-oh. Here comes Bucky.”

Your stomach twisted as you turned to see Bucky walking toward you, hand in hand with Stacy, his girlfriend. Stacy was all smiles, tossing her long hair over her shoulder as she talked animatedly. Bucky’s expression softened the second he saw you, his sharp blue eyes narrowing with concern.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” Bucky said the moment he reached you, his voice low and familiar in a way that made your defenses crumble.

“I’m fine,” you lied, trying to brush past him. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Hey, wait—” Bucky grabbed your arm gently, his eyes searching yours. “What happened?”

“Bucky,” Stacy said, clearly annoyed, tugging on his hand. “We’re gonna miss the movie.”

Bucky ignored her, his full attention on you. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “It’s nothing. Just… Ryan cheated on me, okay? It doesn’t matter.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his gaze flicking over to where Ryan was laughing with his friends. His protective instincts kicked in immediately, but before he could say anything, you pulled your arm free.

“I just need to be alone,” you said, your voice cracking as you turned and rushed down the hall, ignoring the concerned calls from Steve and Natasha.

You made it outside, the cool autumn air biting against your skin as you walked aimlessly down the street, the tears falling freely now. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, stop.”

You turned to see Bucky jogging toward you, his face filled with worry. Stacy was nowhere in sight.

“Bucky, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be with Stacy, its movie night"

“Forget Stacy, forget the stupid movie” he said, his voice firm as he closed the distance between you. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you broke down completely.

You clung to him, the weight of your heartbreak finally crashing over you. “Why does it hurt so much?” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

Bucky stroked your hair gently, his voice soft. “Because you cared. But you’re gonna be okay, doll. I promise.”

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. Bucky’s presence was steady and grounding, and for the first time that day, you felt like you could breathe again.

“Bucky!” Stacy’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. You looked up to see her standing a few feet away, her arms crossed, her face a mixture of anger and hurt. “What the hell is this?”

Bucky sighed, but he didn’t let go of you. “Stacy, not now.”

“Not now?” she repeated, her voice rising. “I’m your girlfriend, Bucky! And I’m so sick of being second to her.” She jabbed a finger in your direction, her voice trembling with frustration. “It’s always about her. You’re always running after her, putting her first.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he finally released you, stepping forward. His voice was calm but firm. “Stacy, you knew how important she was to me when we started this. She’s my best friend.”

“She’s not just your best friend! Not the way i see it!” Stacy snapped, her eyes filling with tears. “If you’re not willing to put me first, then maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice steady and certain. “If it’s between you and her, Stacy, I’ll always choose her.”

Stacy’s face crumpled, and she let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head before turning and walking away, her footsteps echoing down the street.

Bucky stood there for a moment, watching her go, then turned back to you. His expression softened as he reached out, gently wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You didn’t need to see that.”

You shook your head, your heart aching in a different way now. “Bucky, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly. “You’ve always been the most important person in my life. I’m not gonna let anyone change that.”

You stared at him, your heart full of emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. Finally, you managed a small, shaky smile. “Best friends for life, right?”

Bucky’s lips curved into a soft smile, and he nodded. “Yeah, doll. Best friends for life.”

And for that moment, it was enough.

University Year 2

The air was thick with the mingling scents of bonfire smoke, cheap beer, and the faint tang of weed. Laughter and music drifted through the clearing, blending into a chaotic symphony that pulsed through the crowd. The college bush party was in full swing, and you'd thought being here with your friends-and Nick-would be a good way to unwind.

But now, you were far from the warm glow of the fire, your back pressed against the rough bark of a tree as Nick leaned in, his hands sliding lower and lower. At first, you didn't think much of it. A kiss here, a touch there. But then his hands started to roam places you weren't ready for.

"Nick, no... I'm not ready," you murmured, pulling back slightly.

"Come on," he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, ignoring your words. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer. "We've been together for a month. You trust me, right?"

You stiffened, your heart starting to race-not with excitement, but with unease. "Nick, I'm serious. Stop," you said, your voice firmer now.

But he didn't stop. His hands moved to your chest, squeezing, and you froze for a moment, shock and panic locking you in place.

"I said no!" you shouted, your voice shaking as you shoved at his chest.

He barely budged, his grip tightening.

"Relax," he muttered, his tone annoyed now. "Stop being so uptight."

Fear and anger surged through you, and you pushed harder, your voice cracking. "Get off me!"

Before he could respond, Nick was suddenly yanked backward, ripped away from you with such force that he stumbled and fell to the ground. "What the hell?" Nick gasped, but his words were cut off as

Bucky loomed over him, his jaw tight, eyes blazing with fury. "She said no," Bucky growled, his voice low and deadly as he grabbed Nick by the collar. "You don't fucking touch her when she says no."

Without waiting for a response, Bucky's fist connected with Nick's face, the crack of bone meeting bone cutting through the night. Nick's head snapped back, and he let out a strangled curse, but Bucky didn't stop. He landed another punch, his face twisted with rage.

"Bucky, stop!" you cried, your voice trembling as you stumbled forward, tears streaming down your face. "Please, stop!"

Nick raised his arms in a feeble attempt to shield himself. "What the fuck, man? Get off me!" he shouted, his voice muffled by Bucky's relentless assault.

The commotion quickly drew attention. Steve appeared out of nowhere, his face a mix of confusion and alarm as he grabbed Bucky's shoulders, yanking him off of Nick. "Buck, what the hell are you doing?" Steve demanded, holding him back.

Bucky's chest heaved, his fists still clenched, his knuckles already bruised. "He wouldn't stop, Steve," Bucky spat, his voice raw with fury. "She told him to stop, and he wouldn't fucking stop."

Steve froze, his eyes darting to you. The second he saw your tear-streaked face, his expression shifted, the anger fading into something colder, sharper. "Is that true?" he asked softly, his voice low.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as a fresh wave of tears spilled over. Steve's jaw tightened, his fists clenching as he turned back to Nick, who was still lying on the ground, blood trickling from his nose. "You piece of shit," Steve muttered, starting to step forward.

Bucky caught Steve's arm, holding him back this time. "Don't," Bucky said, his voice steadier now but no less dangerous. "He's not worth it."

Nick groaned, sitting up and wiping at his nose. "You're both fucking crazy," he muttered, staggering to his feet. "All this for some prude?"

Bucky's grip on Steve tightened, but he stayed rooted in place as Nick continued. "She's not worth it," Nick sneered, his voice laced with bitterness. "A month of dating, and she won't even put out? She's not even that hot. Stupid bitch."

You flinched at his words, but before you could react, Bucky's jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened. He turned on his heel, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. "It's okay," Bucky murmured, his voice soft now, his hand cradling the back of your head. "You're safe. I've got you."

You broke down completely, your hands clutching at his shirt as sobs wracked your body. His hold was steady, grounding, and you felt the tension in your chest start to ease, even as the pain of Nick's words lingered.

Steve, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on Nick, his expression cold. "You need to leave. Now," Steve said, his voice like steel.

Nick scoffed, spitting blood onto the ground. "Whatever," he muttered, turning and staggering away into the darkness.

Steve let out a breath, his fists slowly unclenching as he turned back to you and Bucky. "You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded weakly, your voice barely audible. "I will be."

Bucky tightened his hold on you, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. "You'll never have to go through that again," he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. "I promise."

Bucky continued to hold you, his hand gently stroking your hair as your breathing began to even out. His heart was still racing beneath your cheek, but his touch was steady, grounding you as the fear and panic slowly ebbed away. For a long moment, the two of you stood there, wrapped in a cocoon of quiet comfort, the distant sounds of the party fading into the background.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His face was softer now, the sharp edges of his anger replaced with a quiet concern that made your chest ache. “Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice still shaky but full of sincerity. “For everything.”

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable for a moment before he gave you a small, gentle smile. He reached up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”

Your heart swelled at his words, the weight of them settling over you in a way that felt both comforting and overwhelming. You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah… I know.”

Bucky held your gaze for a moment longer, his hand lingering on your cheek before he finally let it fall. He glanced over at Steve, who stood a few feet away, still watching you both with quiet concern.

“You good?” Steve asked, his tone softer now.

You nodded again, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah… I think so.”

Steve gave a small nod, his jaw still tight, but he didn’t push further. “Let’s get you home,” he said. “This party’s over.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around your shoulders, keeping you close as the three of you made your way back toward the clearing. The warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in his presence, reminded you once again that with him by your side, you were never truly alone.

And as you walked away from the chaos of the night, you couldn’t help but feel a little more whole, knowing that no matter what, Bucky would always have your back

[heliosunny]

Can you write for Fyodor x reader but Fyodor breaks the 4th wall? Like let's say Reader is playing a dating sim (a Fyodor x player but he made the game for the reader only), and he suddenly came to the real world or maybe he brings reader to his world.

- 🐢🐢

Game Over

The pulsating bass of the party still rang in your head, a dull ache accompanying the regret of ever agreeing to attend. Those old classmates of yours hadn't changed, still caught up in their endless cycle of bragging, comparing salaries, and reminiscing about a past you’d rather forget. You had drowned your discomfort in liquor, yet even that hadn’t dulled your irritation.

Somehow, in your drunken stupor, you had stumbled out into the cold streets. The neon glow of the city blurred, the night swallowing you whole. And then, the shop—an old thing nestled between towering buildings, its presence oddly out of place. It hadn't been there before, had it? Yet the warm glow spilling from within, the strangely inviting air of it, had pulled you in like a moth to flame.

The shopkeeper had been a peculiar man. His smile too knowing, his demeanor too welcoming. But in your haze, you'd ignored the way his gaze lingered as he handed you a small, nondescript box. "For you" he'd said, as if he'd been expecting you.

Now, morning had come, and with it, confusion.

Your room was a disaster- clothes strewn across the floor, the scent of alcohol lingering in the air. Your phone, barely clinging to life, vibrated against your nightstand.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Your blurry vision struggled to focus on the notification. A message? No, an app. One you didn’t remember installing.

[Y/n! Where are you!]

The text flashed urgently on the screen, the sender’s name standing out like a brand against your sleep-addled mind.

[Fyodor]

Your pulse stuttered.

That name, it was from the game. A dating sim you barely recalled playing, a strange little thing you had downloaded on a whim. But why was it sending you real-time notifications? Why was it acting like it knew you?

Another vibration.

[Don't make me come find you, dear.]

Your breath hitched, the eerie affection woven into the words sinking in like cold fingers tracing down your spine.

Then, your screen flickered. And for the briefest second, in the reflection of your phone’s darkened screen, you swore you saw him.

A knock echoed through your apartment.

Your body went rigid, the sound slicing through the hazy remnants of sleep. No one ever visited unannounced. Heart pounding, you hesitated before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The floor felt unnaturally cold beneath your feet as you forced yourself toward the door.

Another knock. This time, softer. Almost...patient.

With a deep breath, you unlocked the door and cracked it open.

Dark eyes stared back at you.

Fyodor stood there, impossibly real, a slow smile curving his lips. "Ah, there you are" he murmured, stepping forward before you could even think to close the door. "Did you really think you could ignore me?"

You blinked, and he was gone.

The door stood ajar, the hallway empty. A chill ran down your spine as you stepped back, shaking your head. Had you imagined it? The notification, the knock, the voice? Your hands trembled as you shut the door, locking it this time.

But he didn’t stop.

Every time you turned, a flicker of shadow, the edge of a smirk in the mirror, the lingering feeling of being watched. Your phone continued its relentless messages, each one more intimate, more knowing.

[You look lovely today.]

[Still doubting me, my love? You’ll understand soon enough.]

And then, one evening, you turned and he was there.

No flickering illusion, no hazy afterimage. Fyodor stood in your room, arms crossed, expression filled with something terrifyingly tender.

“You can’t keep pretending, Y/n” he whispered, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I am here.”

His fingers were warm, real. Your mind reeled, struggling to comprehend how—how he had stepped from the screen into your world.

The soft brush of his touch sent a jolt through you. "How—?" The word barely left your lips before he chuckled, the sound a dark melody.

"Does it matter?" Fyodor mused, tilting his head. "I’ve always been watching. And now, I’m finally home."

At first, you were the only one who noticed him. The world carried on as if he didn’t exist, as if he was merely a hallucination. But slowly, that changed. Your neighbors greeted him by name, spoke of your supposed relationship as though it had always been there. The barista at your favorite café asked how long you two had been together. Your coworkers assumed he had always been part of your life.

And the scariest part? He played along effortlessly.

“My darling has always been so shy about us” Fyodor would say, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “But we’re inseparable, aren’t we, love?”

You considered him a threat at first, a nightmare made real. But you had no means of getting rid of him. He was untouchable, undeniable. So you did the only thing you could—you lived with him.

Living together was an adjustment. At first, you avoided him. "Don’t you have something better to do?" you'd snap when he lounged on your couch, flipping idly through a book.

He’d only smirk. "Why would I? You are my purpose, after all."

Small things changed. He memorized your routine, always having a meal ready when you got home. "You don’t eat enough" he chided when you raised an eyebrow at the plate of food.

"What are you, my mom?"

"No, love. But I can be anything you want." His smile sent shivers down your spine.

You grew used to his presence, even his dry humor. One morning, you groggily sat at the kitchen table, sipping your coffee. "You made this?"

"Naturally." He sat across from you, resting his chin on his hand. "Did you expect poison?"

"Wouldn’t be surprised."

He chuckled, his gaze lingering. "If I wanted you gone, milaya, I wouldn't be here ensuring you wake up in my arms every morning."

Eventually, you let him stay.

You even introduced him to your parents.

He was charming, effortless in his deception, painting a perfect picture of a devoted lover. And in time, you found yourself wanting it to be real.

But then, near your parents’ house, you ran into your childhood friend.

“Y/n? Wow, it’s been years!” Your friend grinned, pulling you into a warm hug. “You look great! Still remember all those dumb games we used to play?”

Fyodor’s grip on your shoulder tightened, almost unnoticeably. "Oh? A childhood friend?" He tilted his head, his smile pleasant. "How endearing."

“Ah, and this must be your boyfriend?” Your friend turned to Fyodor, offering a handshake.

Fyodor took it, his grip firm, his smile unfaltering. "Yes. We've been together for quite some time now." His fingers curled slightly around your waist. "Haven't we, darling?"

You swallowed, nodding. "Uh, yeah."

Your friend beamed. "Well, I should catch up with you sometime!"

"No need" Fyodor said smoothly. "Y/n is quite... occupied these days. Aren't you, love?"

And just like that, the illusion of safety shattered. But when you looked at him, all you saw was his usual, gentle smile. Something bad will definitely happen, not to you, of course. You looked away, so was he, but the direction where he was looking is at that childhood friend of yours. He will vanish, soon.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Saturday Night Laundry

Worst! Wolverine X GN! Reader

You take Logan to a new dig

A/N: Yay! I finally made something! Also yes, I'm using an aesthetic image instead of Logan gif. I want to broad my horizons...Yafeelme?

Warnings: Fluff, laundry (ugh), small description of rotting into the earth, mentions of Wades antics, established relationship, implications of previous sexual activity

“See? I told you it’s not so bad!” 

Logan looked at the building with distaste. This wasn’t his idea of a good time on Saturday night. You insisted, however, maintaining that this place was the best to hit up on nights like this. You claimed that its vibe and energy were unmatched by any other like it. 

The laundromat. 

A place with a blue neon sign above its doors, called Fold It Like It’s Hot. On the window was a small red neon sign, flashing 24/7. Another sign with Laundromat flashing blue.

Sitting between an organic foods market, and a chiropractor’s office, the cold inflorescence lights inside poured out onto the empty street, over you and Logan’s figures. He held a large laundry bag in one hand hanging over his shoulder, and a smaller laundry basket, his arm wrapped around it. You had a basket perched on your hip. 

He looked down at you, a frown on his face as you beamed up at him. 

“I’m still not convinced.” He shakes his head. 

“Oh, you will be.” You nod confidently. You walk forward to the door, pulling it open for Logan as he steps inside. 

The place was very clean, compared to the place he usually went to for laundry. Wade and Althea went there, so naturally Logan ended up there too. It wasn’t exactly a high quality laundromat. The washers don’t seem to do good in actually washing, and he’s had to run his clothes through a dryer more than two times to actually get dry. The floors were always strangely sticky, there was a bullet hole in one of the windows the owners never patched up, and the worst part of it was Wade always insisted on doing laundry there with him; Then proceeded to tell everybody in there that they were newlyweds. 

He still gets congrats from neighbors in the building. 

He doesn’t even live with Wade anymore. He has since moved out and you and him have gotten a nice little place together. Away from Wade. The fucker always knows what you two were up to though. 

White walls with painted bubbles across it. Squeaky clean blue tiled floors- so shiny he could see his reflection. Dryers lined two walls opposite of each other, with two rows of washers that sat in the center of the space. Two vending machines filled with snacks and drinks sat by the door, and another at the end of the room dispensed detergent. Plenty of fine, comfortable chairs are placed everywhere. The lights were harsh with the inflorescence, but there were small neon signs with laundry puns everywhere- and plants decorated the space, bringing out a liveliness to it. Perhaps he could understand where you were coming from. 

It was deserted. 

“People don’t come here on Saturday nights to do laundry. Perfect for us!” You smile. “Empty, open washers and dryers. Pleasant music-” You referred to the classical jazz playing on the speakers. 

“I don’t like the lighting.”

“Okay I give you that. Very cold.” You say glancing around, you set your basket on top of the washer. “It makes it feel clean though?” you turned to face him, a shrug of your shoulders and tilt of your head as you smiled. 

He curled a brow, and finally a glimmer of a smile came across his lips. He walked over to where you were, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Yeah, it’s clean at least.” He hummed. He sat the basket on another washer, and the bag on the floor. “You got the quarters?”

You reached into your back pocket, pulling out your wallet, which you then pulled a card out. “No coins. We go digital in this house.” You wink. He sighed. “What? At least you don’t have to worry about it jamming in there and losing it. You just put how much you want on the card, and poke it in there and it’s done. Easy!” 

“Damn machines are going to corrupt us all.” He shakes his head. You giggle, stepping forward to wrap your arms around him.

“You really are an old man. You know that?” You tipped your chin up at him. You mimicked his voice, “Those phones are bad for you! That TV is going to rot your brain! Get off my lawn whippersnappers!” 

He growled, his arms wrapping around you and dipping you, making you shriek and giggle profusely, attempting to grab on to him but he had himself wrapped tight around you. He leans his forehead against yours. “If I’m an old man, what does that make you huh bub?” 

“A golddigger.” You smiled, your lips brushing over his as you talked.

“I don’t have any money sweetheart.” 

“Mm, I guess it’s the personality then.”

He chuckled, tilting his head to capture you in a searing kiss. You melted into him, your body laxing in trust that he won’t drop you. He brought you back to your feet, leaving you giggly and lightheaded as he snatched the card from your hand, winking at you with a smirk as he went to a washer. 

He stopped at the washer, staring at the machine and the laundry card, observing them both. Then shook his head. 

“Where the hell does this go?” 

After you showed him how to pay and operate the washer properly, you both worked on starting multiple loads of laundry in comfortable silence. With the empty laundromat, you had all the washers needed. A combination of you and Logan’s clothes, both of your underwear, and the bedsheets that had become very messy from your proclivities early this morning. 

While you were pushing in the last load of laundry, Logan went to the vending machine, dispensing your favorite snack. He presented it to you casually, but you beamed up at him and thanked him as you opened the snack and gladly feasted. 

You both sat down on one of the more comfortable chairs presented to the area. You leaned on his sturdy shoulder, closing your eyes as you quietly chewed on your snack. You felt him take a deep breath, his muscles finally relaxing.

“I guess this place isn’t so bad. It’s quiet.” He mutters. You opened your eyes, a twitch of your lips, as you nuzzled into him. He moved his arm, wrapping it around you and pulling you closer. “Never thought I’d be…doing this.” 

“What. Laundry?” You giggled. “Did you not do laundry? You must have smelled awful before we met.”

“Hush.” He says, but you could hear his amusement. “No I mean just something so…. Normal. Quiet. It’s nice.” 

“It is.” You say, you tilt your head up at him. “You okay?” You ask, saying the reflective look on his face. His eyes met yours, and a reassuring smile grew on his face as his eyes softened.

“Yeah bub. I am.” He says. He leaned forward pressing another kiss to your forehead. You hummed, before standing up, and reaching your hand out to his, pulling him up from his seat with you. He looked at you quizzically but you pulled him close.

“The music is nice. Dance with me?” You asked. 

He wrapped his arms around you, obliging in your wish as tilted his head down to yours. Slowly, you both began rocking back and forth to the melody of the smooth jazz over the speakers. The rumble of the washers filled the room. You both were wrapped in each other's arms, lost in each other's eyes. 

At one point in his life - actually, multiple points. He begged for death. To be able to finally close his eyes and take the eternal rest. Let his body rot into the Earth and actually do something good for the world by letting the bugs and critters and detritivores eat away at him and provide some kind of nourishment to life that he couldn’t do himself.

He’s fought men and monsters. Endured pain that would make anyone go insane. Saved a few lives, and ended more. He carried a heavy weight inside him everyday, both physically, and metaphorically. 

Now here he was, doing laundry. With you.

He’s not exactly sure what the universe’s goal is. To put him through hell, and then place him in this life of domesticity; He was glad to be here though. As long as you were there.

“I hope we can do laundry every Saturday night like this, for a long time.” You whispered to him. He hummed in agreement. 

Maybe this place wasn’t so bad.

[sugurouge]

— i feel my mind slowly fading : stripper au! togame jo, umemiya hajime, suo hayato x f!reader

summary: at your bachelorette party you are presented with a very special kind of surprise just for you. enjoy the show!

content warnings: nsfw, alcohol consumption in all three scenarios, handcuffs in umemiya's scenario, mentions of infidelity as well as sensory deprivation (blindfolding) in suo's scenario, pet names

a/n: i think, i wanted to add some dimension to these imagines and make them more unique. i hope you enjoy!! (i put full blame on seeing umemiya as a cop)

TOGAME JO — THE PROFESSIONAL

The neon lights of the strip club flicker above you; your head already feels dizzy from the sweet cocktails you have been fed all night long to keep the spirits high. Well, at this point they might be a little too high to keep you in check as you are set on the stage, part of a well-loved stripper's act.

The announcer welcomes you, asking the bride-to-be to take her spot for a very special surprise. And the surprise is handsome, through and through. Tall, very tall, extremely well-trained, his clothes fight to stay on his body. Those charming green eyes shine through despite the colourful lights, staring into yours with a silent invitation to lose yourself tonight.

You can’t help but giggle as he pushes you into the chair, the air being knocked out of your lungs upon the impact. The arousal pooling in your eyes is naughty, a dirty secret that will be kept between him and you once this show is over.

You’re allowed to touch, you just don’t dare to—afraid this moment will turn into a half-finished dream if you move. So, instead, Togame turns his back to you, his police cap sits deep on his face as he looks down, his hand running over his chest and abdomen to bask in the screams of the crowd.

They all watch him unbutton his shirt, hips dancing to the beat as he leans back. The neon lights move above his ripped body, every ab highlighted to perfection. Once the shirt lands on the ground, he grasps your hands with precision, luring you in to feel him, to explore his figure for all those hungry eyes watching from the crowd.

You might lose your sanity on the spot.

Meanwhile, his own hands stay busy with unbuckling his belt before throwing it aside and turning around, his hands finding purchase on the back of your chair as he grinds into the air, eyes boring into your own. How could you not give in to curiosity? How could you hold back now? No, not when his oiled body invites you so well to touch him again, to squeal like you never did in your entire life upon those chiselled abs, to forget about etiquette and your usually controlled self.

Decency? Lost at the threshold.

Replaced by confidence as the alcohol buzzes in your system and Togame frees himself from the tight pants, a well-trained tug and the buttons unpop for the item to be cast aside. He is on his knees for you in seconds, sliding forward for his face to ghost over your chest, your stomach, your throbbing pussy. You practically drool at the sight of his flexing back, your hands look pathetically small compared to his size. The strain this act causes brings sweat to trickle along the crevices of his skin as the flush under his pale skin deepens.

If you didn’t know any better you’d have your hands in his hair, thighs encasing his face to drown him in you.

But instead he pulls back, brings distance between your bodies as the show slowly comes to an end. The cheering of the crowd is almost as thrumming as the racing of your heart and pussy.

UMEMIYA HAJIME — THE AMBITIOUS

You never, never would have expected to spend the late hours of your bachelorette party at a strip club. Your friends had to swear not to plan anything odd, anything that could make your fiancé feel uncomfortable. You were more than just content in your relationship—absolutely thrilled to get married to the man of your dreams.

But now you’re seated on the horribly cheesy throne at the center of the stage, all the visitors of the club cheering for you. The sounds grow louder as you notice a figure coming from behind the curtains to take the spotlight. The first thing you notice is the tacky policeman getup, the handcuffs hanging from the cheap leather belt—you don’t dare to look up. You don’t dare to meet the stranger's face, praying your fiancé would come to pick you up on the spot.

Oh, but he feels good. Large hands ghost along your shoulders, lips brushing over your throbbing pulse point before the handcuffs click shut around your wrists. Yep, you’re stuck with this good cop, bad cop, whatever type of stripper.

And either one of your friends studied your fiancé’s touchy habits very closely and told the performer, or this guy is just very good at guessing your weaknesses.

The pads of his fingers feel so comforting as they tilt your chin up, encouraging you to open your eyes to fully appreciate the dashing man leaning above you.

You could die on the spot.

Your body jerks with shock, eyes widening as if they are about to roll out of their sockets as you’re met with the familiar blue eyes of your fiancé. “Haji!” you exclaim, but he shushes you, tutting once, twice, as a confident smirk forms on his lips. “Not now, princess,” he warns, quirking an eyebrow as his knee finds rest between your thighs on the chair. If he feels nervous, he’s damn good at covering it up. Eyes zeroed in on nobody and nothing but you as he makes a show of unbuttoning his shirt, every button causing you to feel more shameful, more needy.

You want to touch him. You want to touch what’s yours.

The rattling of the handcuffs makes him chuckle lowly—oh, you are so desperate. You stare at Ume’s tongue the moment it darts out to wet his lips before speaking. “No, no, not tonight; we’re not allowed to have sex tonight, darling.” There we go; your thighs press into his knee, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. He throws his shirt off, the crowd goes wild—and you go mad.

“You can look,” Ume continues, his own hands running over every spot you wish yours were, “but no touching,” his smug grin returns. Your eyes get lost in the flexing of his muscles, the bulging of his biceps as his hands unbuckle his belt to throw it aside, slowly grinding against your form, you feel his cock, your body yearning for the familiar stretch whenever Hajime fills you up. “I know it's hard, but you’re going to be a good girl.”

What you don’t know is that Umemiya only agreed to this because he doesn’t want any professional stripper on your lap. No, he’d rather grind against you, he’d rather make a show for everyone else to stare at, knowing that in a few hours he’s going to promise to respect and protect you for the rest of your life.

SUO HAYATO — THE PRETENDER

Nobody knows who he is. Possibly another newbie trying to get his career going, your friends assume. But not the big, brawny police officer they actually hired to strip for you tonight. They all swallow their thoughts of wonder down with more alcohol as Suo approaches your party, with only one goal in mind: you.

His hands lace around your neck, gently holding you in the chair as he whispers, “Congratulations to the bride-to-be,” into your ear, the familiar tassels of his earrings tickling your sensitive neck. Your stomach turns, eyes already fluttering shut upon the sensations that course through you. He must be good, your friends all conclude upon your reaction.

You left him behind years ago, scratched him from your life. You couldn’t be together, but you also couldn’t be apart. Every encounter ended in pure desire, a need for the familiarity of his love like none other. Suo accepted your move, tolerated that you needed to force distance. He couldn’t be the man you deserved, so someone else had to fill that spot—as difficult as it was to accept.

Difficult, more like impossible. He never moved on, never imagined letting you walk down the aisle for someone other than him. He spent years growing into a responsible man, perfecting the art of being a gentleman, only for you to fall into the pits of hell with him tonight.

A silky blindfold restricts your vision, inviting you to remember the nights spent with your ex-lover. The familiar scent fills your senses as Suo smoothly dances around you, fingertips tracing every inch of your exposed skin until you lean into his touch, chasing after the lost sensations once he pulls back.

Only to lean above your frame, to place his hands on the edge of the lounge chair, shamelessly leaning into your space, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” he starts. You could already moan. Instead, you chew on your lower lip, fighting yourself and your still evident desire for the man on top. “I had the chance to show up here tonight, or tomorrow at your wedding, giving an awful speech right before you would have given your life away to someone else…”

Your friends reel. You’re not sure why. Too afraid to reach out, to touch this fantasy you left behind. “Hayato…” nothing but a pleading whisper, followed by a whimper as he grabs your hands to help you unbutton his shirt. He feels good. Strong, solid. You miss the warmth of his chest. “I can’t remain silent. I can’t let you live a lie,” he continues, while your hands shrug open his shirt, nails grazing his abs and running along his well-trained thighs. “Run away with me, be mine again, forever.”

The idea makes you laugh. It sounds ridiculous. Who would throw their entire life aside to drown in the shadows of a past relationship? It doesn’t seem so bad anymore once soft hands crane your head back, once those familiar lips ghost over yours. “I can’t, Hayato,” you urge him, pushing against his chest in your final fight. “You can,” he promises you, “give into it, into me. Trust me.”

Your mind feels hazy. The sensations of alcohol and long-lost passion push the angel off your shoulder as the pretentious stripper performs his deceitful show for your friends.

What will you choose?

[bakuchrome]

Habits pt.2

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Previous part

Master List

The morning after your last night with Gojo, you spiraled harder than ever. The moment you woke up to an empty bed, a deep, gut-wrenching hollowness settled in your chest.

You had known, deep down, that he wouldn't stay. That he never would.

But that didn’t stop the pain from swallowing you whole.

That day, you didn’t leave your apartment. You barely moved from the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. The hangover from the night before pulsed behind your eyes, but it was nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

Gojo had been your biggest weakness. Your addiction. Your highest high and lowest low.

And you were tired.

Tired of waking up in places you didn’t remember. Tired of dancing with ghosts in crowded clubs. Tired of trying to numb something that refused to fade.

That night, you made a decision.

No more drinking. No more strangers. No more self-destruction.

Because if you couldn’t forget Gojo, then maybe—just maybe—you had to learn how to live without him.

The first week was hell.

The nights felt endless, your body itching for something— anything— to distract you. The club’s neon lights still burned in the back of your mind, calling you back to that hollow, intoxicating oblivion.

But you resisted.

Instead of drinking, you started running.

You ran through empty streets in the early mornings, sweat dripping down your back, lungs burning with every step. The pain was different from heartbreak— it was cleansing.

You started eating properly again, cooking meals instead of ordering greasy takeout. You cleaned your apartment, threw away the empty bottles, washed the sheets that still smelled faintly of him.

And slowly, bit by bit, you started feeling human again.

But the ghost of Gojo still lingered.

You still thought of him whenever you heard a bad joke, wondering if he’d laugh. You still found yourself looking at your phone, expecting a message that never came.

The hole he left behind was still there.

But for the first time in months, you weren’t trying to fill it with self-destruction.

You were learning how to live with it.

It had been nearly four months since that last night with Gojo when fate decided to be cruel.

You were sitting at a small café, sipping on a hot cup of tea, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. The soft chatter of customers, the scent of fresh pastries— it was peaceful.

And then, a voice you hadn't heard in months cut through the air like a blade.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Your entire body stiffened.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. That voice— warm, teasing, laced with something deeper— was burned into your soul.

But you turned anyway.

And there he was.

Gojo Satoru, standing a few feet away, his signature sunglasses perched on his nose, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. He looked the same— tall, effortlessly beautiful, a little out of place in the real world like he belonged to something bigger.

Your heart clenched painfully.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay even. “Gojo.”

His lips twitched, but his usual smirk didn’t fully form. “I’d say it’s nice to see you, but… you don’t exactly look happy to see me.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “It’s not that. It’s just—”

You stopped yourself.

It’s just that I spent months trying to forget you. It’s just that I finally learned how to exist without you. It’s just that seeing you now makes it all come rushing back.

Gojo shifted on his feet, tilting his head slightly. “You look… better.” His voice was softer now. “Healthier.”

You exhaled, nodding. “I had to make some changes.”

He studied you for a moment, then pulled out the chair across from you without asking. He sat down, elbows resting on the table, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

There was a stretch of silence before he finally said, “I thought about reaching out.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup. “Then why didn’t you?”

Gojo hesitated.

“I thought you were better off without me,” he admitted. “I thought— maybe I was part of the reason you were falling apart.”

Your breath caught.

“You were,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But losing you hurt more.”

Something flickered across his face, something raw. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You looked down at your tea, fingers trembling slightly. “Then why did you leave?”

Gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was scared.”

That made you look up.

His sunglasses were off now, revealing those piercing blue eyes. For the first time, there was no arrogance in them. Just honesty.

“I’m good at a lot of things,” he said quietly. “But I’m not good at love. I loved you so much it terrified me. I didn’t know how to be what you needed. I thought… if I walked away, maybe you’d find someone better.”

Your throat tightened.

“I didn’t need someone better,” you whispered. “I just needed you.”

Gojo inhaled sharply, his jaw clenching. “I know. And I was a damn fool to think walking away would fix anything.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and thick.

Then, cautiously, Gojo reached across the table, covering your hand with his. His touch was warm, familiar, grounding.

“I don’t deserve a second chance,” he murmured. “But if I asked for one… would you give it to me?”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes.

Could you risk it? Could you open your heart again, knowing what it meant?

You thought of the nights you spent trying to forget him. The pain. The loss. The emptiness.

And then, you thought of the love. The laughter. The moments that made your heart feel full.

Maybe Gojo was your greatest weakness. But he was also your greatest love.

You exhaled shakily, squeezing his hand.

“One condition,” you said.

He leaned forward, hopeful. “Anything.”

“No more running.” Your voice was firm. “If you stay this time, you stay.”

A slow, genuine smile spread across his lips. “I can do that.”

And this time, you believed him.

The days that followed weren’t perfect. There were still wounds to heal, words left unspoken that needed to be said.

But this time, you weren’t trying to forget him.

You were building something new.

Gojo held your hand when you walked down the street, made you laugh when you felt the weight of the past creeping in. He apologized for leaving, for hurting you. And in return, you let yourself trust him again.

Because love wasn’t about being perfect.

It was about choosing each other, despite everything.

And this time, you and Gojo Satoru were choosing

Taglist: @exclusiverinaa @fairygardenprincesss @dekusdante

���Open Request☆

[yaut-jaknowit]

So. Uihoy x Male Yautja (bottom) reader… 

(Okay maybe it’s like a bit Mr. Preg… AAHH..)

Just the reader and him not both getting mates bc it’s that time of the year, but they both hate each other so they try to make fun of one another (one of them actually secretly likes the other and you can choose who), even get into a small fight which later turns into them getting too touchy bc of the heat. Shit gets crazy, rough sex, Like absolutely DOG pounding, breeding, size difference. I’m begging.

Hate Until You're Knotted

Pairing: Uihoy (Male Yautja) x M!Yautja!Reader

Word Count: 3259

Summary: You loathe Uihoy. He's top of the chain. He can get any female he wants. You, a lowly new blooded, have to scavenge and fight for just the taste or smell of a female. What does Uihoy do with this honor? Wastes it. He comes to you, out of his way, to find you.

Author Note: Don’t worry, I also want to get railed by Uihoy too. This is before Vic and Uie met since they were in a relationship before meeting reader. Gonna be honest, I unusually don't write Yautja x Yautja stuff but fuck, I loved writing this.

Masterlist

Ao3

Heavy, thick pheromones ran rampant through the village. Clouding everyone’s judgement, turning hunt brothers against each other. All in the name of breeding, continuing the bloodline. Only the strongest survive in a world designed to maul and slaughter the weak.

Like many of your sex, you were unsuccessful of gaining the favor of a female. A young, less scared male compared to those that have bested you in spars to near death. Anything to prove their worth for a chance to breed. Here you were, nursing your wounds, away from the dense population. There were a few others, scattered about like you, licking their wounds. You had chosen a high tree to pull yourself to the near top. From here, you could keep an eye on the crowd in the main square of the village.

Neon green blood dripped from wounds gained in battle against fierce opponents. As much as you hated to admit it, they were better, deserved whoever choose them after defeating you. Yes, there’s always next year for the season but only Cetanu could only tell if you would make it. Life was life. Death was death. You don’t know if you’ll be there to greet the next season.

Through it all, you caught a whiff of a scent that caused your blood to boil. Uihoy. The older Yautja was… arrogant in his own ways. Rude in others. Downright irritating if you must say. The male wasn’t one to mess with often. He did stick out like a sore thumb. His sexuality something that wasn’t popular among the Yautja kind. It did not produce offspring.

It is not frowned upon but discouraged. Yautjas were strong, mighty, and hunters. If males or females copulated with their own sex, the birth rate would decrease. Death was already high, especially for those that are young, learning.

Not that you had anything against mating with the same sex. No. But Uihoy was an icon for the village and he wasted his talents, his seed on something that wouldn’t produce anything. You scowled. How does a male like him not take pride in breeding with the females who are willing? You have to fight for your right while many females request him by name.

The tree shook from added weight. Your claws dug into the bark from the slight disturbance. Your head whipped down to find the face you wanted to cave in so badly closing in. Your jaw dropped behind closed mandibles at the sight. What the pauk is he doing? He knows I’m up here. This was purposeful.

Uihoy stopped to perch on a branch a foot above you, on the other side of the thick tree. A look of passiveness barely readable on his face. Not cocky. He knew his limits, where he stood on the chain of power within the village. Intelligent but respectful. He was about a hundred years from being deemed an elder. A title you believed he wouldn’t take. Not with the way he moves with ease.

Blazing eyes flicked between the cuts that marred your skin. You saw the way his chest rise with a deep breath. “Don’t speak,” you snapped at him and began to close up a cut along your thigh. The deepest, longest of any others. It required to be burned closed. You held your tongue when pain stung as the laser worked.

The purple Yautja snorted airily. “And why should I listen to you?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you over a mandible while exposing his neck. Your eyes twitched at the sight before narrowing on form. The laser was forgotten about and drove off course. You snarled and turned off the damned thing. Your jaw and lower mandibles jerked at the unneeded pain. Yet, in the moment, you steel your facial expressions the best possible. Uihoy didn’t need to see you weak, weaker than he saw you as younger male.

A scoffed then light scratching from nails digging into bark filled your ears. Before you had a chance to take notice was happening, Uihoy hopped over onto your branch and knelt next to you. Uihoy snatched the laser from your hands. “Youngling, you must pay attention or else you risk injuring yourself more,” he scolded and began to work on the rest of the wound.

If you didn’t want the laser to stray from its path, you willed yourself not to jerk away from him. His touch was prominently warm on your thigh. The hand not holding the welder was resting right above the wound, close to the apex of your legs.

Instantly, you blamed the scents that filled the air for the feeling growing in your stomach, for the way your cock roused in its sheath. It was the pheromones that clouded your judgment. Your jaw was locked, throat closed to stop any sounds from escaping.

Then, his hand shifted higher. You had enough.

You shoved the bigger Yautja away from you then your feet were underneath you. A glare settled on Uihoy, ready pounce if it came to it.

Uihoy nearly slipped off of the branch he was perched on but easily corrected the unbalance. He stood a fair distance away from you with a large grin on his face, tongue flickering out to smell the air. C’jit. His head lowered just enough he stared from underneath his brows. C’jit.

A drop of freezing water dripped down the length of your spine, then Uihoy sprung. The older Yautja could move. Fast. Faster than you were expecting. His body slammed into yours. Claws dug into your shoulders as his weight throw you backwards. Off the edge of branch and heading towards the ground closing in quickly.

To save yourself from pain of a mild fall, you twisted your body and latched onto the nearest branch. Your shoulder jarred, nearly pulling out of the socket at the weight of not only you but Uihoy gripping onto you as well. You release a snarl and kicked out a knee at Uihoy. The male grunted yet took the hit. His talons dug into the flesh of your shoulders, deeper and drawing rivets of blood. You growled and attempted to throw him off. Your one handed grip was weakening.

Your other hand latched onto thick bark as you held on. The purple Yautja snickered and lifted himself up enough to hold onto the same branch. This was your opportunity to kick him, using his body as a spring board and land on another branch further down. The leaves rattled at your landing. You lowered yourself into a ready position as Uihoy lifted himself and crouched as well.

Cocky but not, Uihoy held an aura of confidence around him. His body was lax enough to let his guard down. He did have the high ground and left you at a disadvantage. You didn’t let him take any opportunities to attack though.

The trunk of the tree was used as a foothold to launched yourself high up, above Uihoy. His eyes watched your actions, body moving into a position to take anything you served.

The first punch of the day was thrown, right at Uihoy’s beautiful face; ready to send him flying off of the tree. But the male ducked and counterstruck with a fist straight to your stomach. It almost sent you careening off the edge once more. Your claws dug in to steady yourself once more.

He eyed you up and down, scanning for points of weaknesses. The same thing you returned for the shy moment given to the two of you before the giants clashed again. He came at you this time with claws. The skimmed acrossed your chest, drawing trickles of blood down your sweaty skin. You couldn’t help the keen before returning the same fire at him.

Unlike the purple Yautja, you weren’t as lucky to draw blood. Uihoy was pushing hard, fast, throwing things you hadn’t even trained about at you. At points, it was dizzying. Now, you were just trying not to fall off or perish to him. He had every right to do so. It wasn’t against the code.

Your foot takes a step back but the way the branch dips means this was the end. Anymore and you could meet the ground harshly. When Uihoy takes a swing at your face, you lower yourself down to a crouch. The fist flies milliseconds later over your head. You spring and pushed with all of your force backwards.

Midair, you arch your back and force all of your weight over yourself. Then, your feet touch down on a branch on a different tree. It wavers at the sudden, new weight added to it but held strong enough for you to back up away from the oncoming purple Yautja.

From one branch to other trees, the two of you dance for what felt like hours. Possibly could’ve been. You only come to release the overwhelming scent from the mating grounds is faint when Uihoy pins you to the trunk of a tree. A grunt surpasses your throat, eyes clued onto his burning ones. Filled with fire. A fire you didn’t know what sourced from.

A firm hand had found its way to your throat, encasing it and keeping you to the trunk. Instantly, your body went lax. Uihoy could snap your neck before you had a chance to even raise a hand.

It was a stern, mighty gasp that held you. Yet, you didn’t fear it. Anger filled your veins at the fact this pauk-de was taunting, teasing you like prey. You had little chance to win against. It was idiotic to challenge him in the first place. It won’t cost you your life. Not while that fire blazed in his orange eyes.

The male leaned in and let his breath fan over your features, eyes blinking slowly. Your scales prickled. His tongue flickered out and tasted upon your skin. His hand tightened. The other palmed along your hip, nails creating divots in the flesh there. “There has been something about that has intrigued me since I first laid eyes upon you,” Uihoy chitters lowly next to your ear. You shivered, throat bobbing from a heavy swallow.

That’s when you smelt it. Heavy, thick in the air yet sweet to draw you in. N’dui’se. You felt the blood in your body screeching to a halt and immediately rushing towards your core. Unsure, uncontrolled, your own musk entered the air. It swirled, combed with Uihoy’s as the Yautja grunt and pressed harder on your hip.

All of your muscles strained into action to pin the male down. Uihoy locked his own down and kept you there. The claws attacked to the hand around a vital part of your being dug into flesh. He released a chest rumbling bellow of a warning. He had you. You could only watch as the male leaned back enough to find your eyes.

The other limb skimmed down just a couple of inches then grabbed a fistful of cloth. Your waistband was promptly ripped off in one go and absentmindedly tossed to the side. Before you could even squeak something pathetic, warm flesh palmed at the wetting slit close to the apex of your thighs. Your head was thrown back, exposing your neck to the male before you. An action that could cost you your life if it was anyone else. Uihoy attacked.

Sharp, lethal teeth latched onto the flesh of your throat. Just enough pressure to warn you who had the cards in hand. Uihoy purred pleased and let his upper hand fall away rest on your hip. The other kept working away, causing more slick to build up.

His touch was driving you wild. He knew it. He was doing it on purpose. Your mandibles gritted together at the bubbling rage at him. Like a volcano with molten rock rising to the surface, ready to blow when the time was right. And you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of coaxing your cock out.

Gathering all of your energy, you shoved at Uihoy with everything you had. For once, you believed to caught the male off guard as he stumbled back, adding a fair amount of distance.

How wrong you were.

He was back on you in a split-second. Hands. Claws. Teeth. All seared across your scales until you were forced onto your front on the branch. Uihoy’s heavy weight draped over your back like shadows swallowing you whole. It was enough to keep you underneath him. A roaring bellow sounded from the Yautja as he made his claim vocal. “Ze-rei.” Fire. “You have fire that I want to consume.”

Despite Uihoy pinning you to the branch, you still wiggled and struggled. It wasn’t enough to throw the male off though.

All movements stopped at the feel of something blazing and wet resting against the tight ring of muscles behind your sack. Your eyes jerked wide open, head yanked up at the feeling. The head of your cock speared through your slit but didn’t move an inch more.

The body on top of you sat up. Hands grabbed at globes of your cheeks and spread them as far as possible. You squirmed this time uncomfortably at the fact he was putting you on display for him. Your claws dug into the bark underneath. “This is my new favorite sight,” Uihoy mumbled lowly to himself, a wide grin marking his face.

Then, the tip speared into you. Pain rocketed inside of you, eyes rolling back into their sockets at the feeling. Your mandibles flared open in a silent cry. But… you pushed back on Uihoy. More of his shaft disappeared inside of you, even if it was only an inch. Uihoy took the signal and thrusted his hips flush with your thighs.

Uihoy’s weight nearly collapsed on top of you as he struggled to stay upright. Something you never thought to see from the older Yautja. He tensed his muscles, talons prickling the skin along your cheeks and lower back. “I lied… this, this is my new favorite sight,” he growled before drawing his hips back.

The drag of each ridge and bump on the sides of his thick cock had you seeing stars already. All the way until just the tip was snug inside. Without warning, he forced his length back into you. The strength behind the thrust had you scrapping forward.

A low groan vibrated along Uihoy’s spine. “You’re so tight,” he stated like it was a fact. It was to be honest. You’ve never ventured outside to learn more about yourself. But after just the tiny taste, the littlest of drop from this, you’ll never be satisfied. “You’re going keep squeezing me out.” Uihoy bent at the waist. “Relax.” A hand placed next to your head while the other kept an even pressure on your shoulder blade. “I don’t know if you can even take my knot.”

Bark groaned as claws raked across the layer. You fantasized the thought of knotting another but never being knotted yourself. That ignited a hunger you never knew existed inside of you.

Fingers and claws ghosted down the length of your spine then diverted where your hip meets your thigh. Uihoy started a beginning pace to warm you up, to loosen up the muscles locked. Heat flared at the base of your spine as his touch palmed at the space below your slit. Your cock still barely peaking out. You weren’t going to give in easily. He had to take what he wanted.

The limb next to your head prevented you from slipping away from him, trapped under his thick body. His movements increased with speed but more importantly: harshness. Like any other male in the season, he was losing himself. His control slipping right of his fingers. There wasn’t a single thing he could do to stop it.

Thick finger grasped at what peaked out from between your legs. You gasped and rutted into the hand before a dark snarl had you stopping. The digits moved down where two rested apart from each other. They were in the space between your sack and slit, on either side of where your straining cock resided still inside of you. Uncomfortably. Very uncomfortably.

A single roll of his fingertips had you seeing stars. The rest of your length shot out like a plasma shot that it hurt at out fast it unsheathed. You choked out a harsh gasp and jerked back into the male controlling you. His hips went flush with yours while your muscles locked tight around his shaft. Uihoy roared. A hand flying to your hip while his claws dug into your flesh.

“Pauk!” he snarled into the tense air.

Something shifted in the air. You didn’t know what but could feel something change.

Uihoy reared his hips back just until the tip just sat inside. Without remorse, he bullied it back into you. This new pace was harsh, rough, uncaring. He was dominating you; taking what he wants and not caring about anything else. The only thing keeping you from sliding off the branch was the limb next to your head and his claws piercing your skin.

Your own talons dug into the bark, clawing away at the trees barrier for purchase. His thrusts are a driving force to reckon with. The ridges along his cock adding to the friction that winds you up. Pleasure growing at a rate you couldn’t fight, couldn’t stop if you wanted it.

His thick waist started to stutter, pace growing wary. The claws tearing into your flesh, drawing blood were pulled out. The pain in their wake was brushed off.

Between your trembling legs, your cock was painfully hard, weeping from the tip. As desperately as you wanted to reach underneath and touch yourself, Uihoy beat you to the punch.

A firm grip wrapped around your shaft. The pressure sent your eyes rolling into the back of your head, hips faltering on either to drive back or forward. Drool hung from your jaw. You were an utter mess of pre-cum, drool, and blood.

The grasp slipped down to your growing knot and squeezed. A vice grip. Stars exploded in your vision. You shattered like glass. Your cocked twitching wildly at each new pump of sperm staining the tree. His hand never relenting the pressure even as the overstimulation began to hurt.

He switched his other arm to wrap firmly around your torso and kept you flush to him. Snarls, growls, bellows poured from the male’s throat before he keened a high pitch. His hips slapped to yours. A pleasurable pain sprouted to life as you felt his knot inflate inside of you. The feeling completely foreign to you. You grunted and squirmed.

Uihoy snarled at you in warning. In reaction, you growled back at him.

Sharp teeth punctured the muscle that corded your shoulder. You choked on a gasped and went ridged underneath him. He had made his point and untangled his fangs from you. The Yautja leaned up, all he could do while tied to you.

“Look at that. You were able to take my knot,” he snarked down at you. You huffed. The energy once in your body was depleted for the moment. Yet, you could already feel your core filling the same need as before.

Pleasure shot through you like a plasma shot when his hand tugged at your sensitive cock. You bucked back at Uihoy to stop but the grip tightened. C’jit. And you were at his mercy.

[anakinca]

Hi nina ✨️ could you please write a sweet story of Anakin and senator reader where Anakin takes her to Dex's restaurant. Something like Anakin has a day off from jedi duties and wants to spend time with his lovely girlfriend. He asks her to take the day off from her work.It is the first time he takes her there he knows she is used to fancy places but he wants to share everything with her, he can tell her that when he was padawan Obi wan took him there and it is a place where they don't have to worry , but she doesn't care she loves Anakin and is happy with him. For a moment they can be free and be a normal couple.

—❝comforting❞

anakin skywalker x reader

tw ; nothing, just pure fluff

a/n ; hey, angel !! this was such a beautiful prompt im SOBBING. i had so much fun with this !! i took a lot of components from anakin and padme's little coruscant date in the brotherhood novel, so that's why some parts may be a little recognizable to people who've read the book. i'm always looking for more requests cause i'm seriously dying from writers block, so never be afraid to send one in !!

CORUSCANT’S GLITTERING SKYLINE SPARKLED IN THE DISTANCE AS ANAKIN GUIDED THE RENTED SPEEDER THROUGH THE WINDING LANES OF TRAFFIC. The lower levels of the city seemed quieter at this hour, the hum of life muted compared to the chaos above. Beside him, you leaned back in your seat, your laughter mingling with the whir of the speeder’s engine, your heartbeat a little faster than normal due to Anakin’s not less than reckless piloting. 

The city’s glow reflected in your eyes, your hair swept by the breeze, and a joyous grin on your lips as you gaze at all the city lights. Anakin takes a couple glances at you every now and then, and in his eyes, all he sees is a pure angel. 

Neither of you two could risk being caught together, which is why the lower levels of Coruscant were best for a night out. Your Senatorial robes had been traded for some dark trousers and a dark green cowl—an unassuming outfit that wouldn’t have you noticed. It blends in with the surroundings and matches Anakin’s own clothing—a simple mechanic’s coat draped over his Jedi tunic to give the appearance of an everyday laborer and not a Jedi Knight. 

“Anakin,” you teased, your voice lilting with amusement, “Are you ever going to tell me where you’re taking me? Or do you plan to keep me in suspense all night?”

He laughed a little, a grin adoring his features, and his hands steady on the controls. “If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, though the smile on your face betrayed you. “I’m beginning to think you’re stalling because you don’t actually have a plan.”

“Oh, I have a plan,” he assured you, the playful mischief in his voice making your heart flutter. “And you’re going to love it. Trust me.” Anakin reaches over to gently squeeze your shoulder in a loving gesture, then puts his hand back on the throttle. 

The speeder dipped lower, weaving through the neon-lit streets of Coruscant’s mid-level districts. Now going into a quieter district, the neon lights of small shops and diners cast colourful reflections on the speeder’s polished surface. You couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly Anakin maneuvered through the chaos. His confidence was as natural as the wind in your hair, and you found yourself relaxing, simply enjoying the moment. 

When Anakin finally pulled into a secluded spot outside a retro-style diner with the words Dex’s Diner glowing in bright blue above the entrance, you tilted your head in curiosity.

“This is where we’re eating?” You asked, studying the modest establishment, your lips quirking up at the sides.

“This is it,” Anakin said, hopping out of the speeder and coming around to open your door. He offered his hand, his expression softening with a slightly sheepish look. “I know it’s not like the Senate’s finest banquet halls that you’re used to, but… it’s special to me.”

Your fingers slipped into his as you stepped out, your gaze now fixed on him. “Special?” You echoed, your voice gentle.

He nodded, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “When I was a Padawan, Obi-Wan used to bring me here. It’s one of the few places on Coruscant where I could just… be myself. No Jedi Code, no missions. Just me. And I wanted to share that with you.”

Your heart swelled at his honesty. “Anakin,” you whispered, stepping closer, “I don’t care about fancy places. I care about you. If this place is special to you, then it’s special to me too.”

His grin lit up his face, the boyish charm that you adored shining through. “You really are incredible, you know that?”

The warmth of the diner wrapped around the two of you as you stepped inside. The air was filled with the aroma of sizzling food and the cheerful hum of patrons of all species chatting. The colorful decor and warm lighting gave it a welcoming, cozy feel—a stark contrast to the polished halls of the Senate you’re used to, but it felt... comforting. A droid server on wheels rolled up to your table as you two slid into a booth away from the windows.

“Welcome to Dex’s Diner! May I take your order?” The droid chirped, its metallic voice cheerful.

Anakin handed you the menu, but you didn’t even glance at it. “You choose for us,” you said with a bubbly smile. “I trust you.”

He smirked, handing the menu back to the droid. “Two orders of nuna drumsticks, a plate of fried tubers, and two blue milkshakes.”

“Coming right up!” The droid replied before wheeling off toward the kitchen.

As you both waited, the weight of your secret relationship and your respective duties melted away. Anakin leaned back, looking more at ease than you’d seen him in weeks. “This place has so many memories,” he began, his tone softer now. “Obi-Wan used to bring me here after tough missions. I remember one time I ate so much I could barely walk out the door.”

A laugh left your lips, picturing a younger Anakin with wide eyes and a bigger appetite. “I can’t imagine Obi-Wan approving of that.”

“He didn’t,” Anakin said with a chuckle. “But Dex just kept piling food on the table, saying, ‘The kid’s gotta eat!’”

Your laughter rang out, warm and bright, and Anakin found himself watching you with a look of pure adoration. The feelings he holds for you can be quite overwhelming for him at times, never knowing how to handle them. But in quiet moments such as these, he relishes in those feelings, utterly grateful for them. They bring him life—you bring him life. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Your cheeks flushed a little, cocking your head to the side as you feel butterflies flutter in your stomach. “And you’re sweet when you’re not trying to be a show-off.” You reply, making him laugh.

When the food arrived, it was exactly what you expected—no-frills comfort food served on mismatched plates, steaming and fragrant, and you adored it. You couldn’t help but smile as Anakin eagerly dug in.

Anakin swallowed his bite and watched you nervously as you took your first bite, fidgeting with his fingers on the table.

Your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you savour the flavours, a warm smile appearing on your face. “It’s delicious, you were right,” you said, a content sigh leaving you, before your eyes opened again to look at him. “You know, I might just prefer this to some of the so-called ‘delicacies’ at the Senate.” You playfully rolled your eyes, giggling a little as you took another bite.

His relief was evident, a small breath of air he didn’t know he was holding in escaping him, and his features all relaxing as he grins at you. “I told you, Dex’s is the best.” 

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours and intertwining your fingers together, bringing it up to your lips to place a kiss on his knuckles. “Thank you for bringing me here. I know how much it means to you.” You whisper softly, his eyes softening and his cheeks dusting a light pink at your actions. 

“I just wanted you to see this side of me,” he admitted, his thumb tracing small patterns into your soft skin. “Here, we don’t have to be a Jedi or a Senator. We can just be us.”

You squeezed his hand tenderly, your eyes shining with affection. “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

For the rest of the afternoon, you both shared stories, laughter, and the kind of quiet moments that felt stolen in a galaxy filled with chaos. You both weren’t a Jedi and a Senator navigating a galaxy at war. You were just a boy and a girl in love, letting the war, the Jedi Order, and the Senate fade away, leaving only two hearts intertwined.

And when you left Dex’s, hand in hand, the weight of your two’s responsibilities would return soon enough. But for now, you were free.

[cupidkay-666]

“Corruption”

Warning: Cnc, Knifeplay, breeding kink if you squint, cuckholding, unprotected sex, choking, praise kink, degradation, etc. 🫶🏻

“Darling, we are going to be late for church.” Your heard your boyfriend yell up the stairs of the small town house that you and him had bought 6 years ago. “Coming!”, you yelled back down. This was an every Sunday routine. You would get up in a separate bedroom than him, the two of you would eat breakfast together, and then you would take alittle to long in the shower because you couldn’t stop touching yourself under the hot water. It was all the same routine just like every other day in your ordinary life. You looked into your closet before deciding on a light pink frilly dress. It was your favorite.

As you walked down the stairs you saw Jack, your boyfriend of 7 years. He was tall, with a skinny build, he had golden hair and light green eyes. He had on a light blue button up shirt, with white dress pants and polished shoes. So put together. Always. “You look beautiful as always y/n .” He said in a sincere tone. You looked down at your figure to take in what he was seeing. You looked at the way your body curved, you hade a slimmer waist compared to the rest of your body, your hips were noticeably larger than your waist accompanied by thick thighs and a plump rounded ass. Not to mention your breast, they weren’t huge, or small. Just a perfect medium.

As you rode to church, you wondered if your figure had anything to do with the fact that jack hadn’t touched you. Of course he had kissed you and held your hand but nothing more in 7 years. Was he simply not attracted to my body? Was he with me out of sheer convenience? You pushed the thoughts aside and got ready to put a smile on your face as you entered the church. The service was nothing out of the ordinary. After, you and Jack went to the same diner you went to every Sunday. The rest of the evening continued how it always did and always had.

The next morning you woke up for work and quickly got dressed. You threw on a cute tan skirt that fell right above your knee, a white v-neck sweater, and some loafers from under your bed. You left your hair down, it curled at the end as it fell to the middle of your back. You worked at the local paper office as an editor. The work day went by without anything of interest, that is until you was getting ready to leave. That’s when you got a text from Jack saying,” Hey Y/N I’m going to have to stay late at work. Which means I won’t be able to pick you up from work tonight, do you think you could walk home or take a bus?” You looked at the text message with an unsettled look. Instead of letting your boyfriend know of your worry, you simply text back “that’s fine! I can manage.” If the truth was know, you didn’t really enjoy the idea of being alone at night. You decided there was no reason to dwell on things out of your control and started up the sidewalk, you was only a few blocks from your house after all.

As you was walking home, something stopped you in your tracks. You had caught a whiff of cigarette smoke that make your head feel alittle fuzzy. You turned to see bright neon lights blinding you. You looked up at the sign and began to mouth the words,” THE LEAKY BARREL” in huge bold letters. You shuffled your thighs as you felt your core become warm. You took a step forward…. Was this huge red fucking flag in front of you the change of scenery you needed? Was god tempting your temptations?

You couldn’t stop yourself when your feet began to carry you through the front doors. As you entered the establishment you took in the environment around you. It was dark, you could barley make out anything in the small building, you could see tables and chairs scattered about, and a few slot machines in a corner, as well as the many eyes that were tearing you apart as you walked to the bar to find a seat.

“What will y’a have?” You looked up to see an attractive man, with short voluminous hair, he was tall…taller than your boyfriend, he was absolutely huge, his muscles were quite apparent under his black tee shirt, you noticed the name tag on his shirt “Dean”. You looked up to his eyes to see the darkest black eyes you had ever seen. You felt your breath fall short as you responded “Could I just get a water with lemon, Dean.”, you emphasized his name as you looked at his name tag back to him. Loud thunder of laughter came from him as he turned to get you a drink, “Ok princess, a “water” it is.” You felt your cheeks flush at the nickname. As he sat your drink down you looked down at the clear liquid. As you took a huge drink you felt alarms go off in your head, “not water… NOT WATER”. You felt your throat burn and your eyes start to water at the brims. You couldn’t stop yourself as you started to cough immediately. Through strangled coughs you managed,” What was that?!” You looked up at him with a piercing stare. “Calm down princess it’s just liquor, you’ll be fine. To come into a bar and order water is a joke.” Dean said while trying not to chuckle at you. You rolled your eyes and started to sip on your drink while in deep thought about your relationship. What would Jack think if he saw me here? Drinking? You had barley noticed when Dean had slipped into the back room to make a phone call. The more glasses you had to drink, the less you seemed to notice. Like when it was just you and Dean left in the Bar. Or when a tall man had took a seat right next to you. You turned to peak at the man just to realize he was wearing a mask. That’s when reality hit you. You needed to leave. As you got to your feet everything felt heavy, like the force of the earth was dragging you down. You slowly made yourself to the front door just to realized it was locked…. But why? When did the doors get locked??

A cold chill ran down your spine as you heard Dean speak from behind you “Sorry princess, doors are locked…. looks like you’ll be staying here tonight.” And with that Dean grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you over his shoulder, through your panic you saw the masked man start to close the blinds on the front wall of the bar. Nobody would be able to see you. You started to kick and scream but Dean just chuckled lightly “Nobody is gonna hear you princess…. Except me and him.” He said as he gestured towards the masked man. Dean took you to the back room of the bar and threw you on a cheap bed. As soon as you tried to get up to run he was on you, cuffing you to the bed rails. You could feel the tears flooding your eyes as you realized you couldn’t do anything but beg. “Please, please I have money in my purse just take it and I can leave” your voice was barley more than a whisper. Dean just looked at you and back at the masked man “What do y’a say? I’ll leave it up to you.” He was speaking to this masked stranger. My heart dropped when he just silently shook his head no in response. This pleased Dean as his lips curled up into a slight smile.

Before you could react Dean was holding you by your waist as the masked man ripped the skirt from your body. “Not as innocent as you seem princess…. Tsk tsk tsk, lacy red panties.” Dean said as his mouth seemed to start to drool. The masked man spread you legs open so they could get a better look at you. You turned your face away from them. The humiliation was too much. The masked man used his index finger to feel you through the light fabric of your panties. He brought his finger up, when Dean saw he grabbed you by your hair to force you to look. “Soaking fucking wet, for two strangers. Awww turns out our little princess is just a needy little slut.” He said as he started to grab into his pocket. His hand returned with a huge pocket knife. Your breath stopped as you started to thrash around violently. Dean’s voice is the only thing that made you stop immediately “It’ll be your fault if this knife accidentally slips and cuts you Princess, if I was you I would calm the fuck down and be still for me.” You felt the knife cut your tight fitted sweater from your body. “Goddamn look at those, absolutely beautiful.”, Dean said as he took in your breast cupped in a red bra that matched your panties. He wasted no time cutting the bra down the middle, the second the fabric was gone your tits sprung free. You could feel the cold air hit them immediately. You was humiliated at the light moan that left your lips. Both men took notice of the noise that came from you. “Looks like princess is going to enjoy this more than we thought.” Dean said as he moved down to your panties to cut them free.

“Please… I’m a virgin. Please don’t do this… what will my boyfriend think…” you could barley look at them as you croaked out the words. Deans eyes glazed over in lust,” shhh shhh princess don’t worry about him right now, you have too men here happy and ready to split that tight little virgin pussy in half” he said as he softly caressed your cheek. “By all means you can get started first, I plan on starting up here anyway” he said to the masked man behind him with a smirk. With that said, Dean took one of your breast into his mouth and started to suck away at your rosy pink nipple. Using his other hand to flick and pinch the other breast. The masked man was just looking at you, you could feel his eyes on you through the mask. He settled in closer to your core, when you tried to close your legs he spread them open and landed an open handed slap to your pussy. This must have enraged him because nothing could’ve prepared you for the two thick fingers being stuffed in you. You screamed as you felt yourself stretch around his fingers. Dean looked up and was simply mesmerized by the sight. He moved down to get a better look while rubbing circles on your clit as the masked man continued to probe you with his fingers. “Look at the way she’s sucking you in, fuck she looks so fucking tight…not to mention how wet she is.”, Dean said before looking back up at you slightly. You was trying your best to hold it in, but when Dean started doing circular motions on your clit you couldn’t stop the small high pitched noises from escaping your throat. You didn’t know what was about to happen but you could feel your abdomen tighten, your head start to become blank, and you knew it was coming. “God I can’t wait to stuff this little pussy full of my cum” Dean whispered in a low growl and that did it, you came hard around a strangers fingers. You felt the tears fall from your cheek as you let out a sweet moan. The masked man held the two fingers up while looking directly at you. He slide his mask up slightly just enough to lick his fingers off before smirking and returning the mask back into place. “My turn, don’t worry I’ll break her in for you.”, Dean said as he patted the masked man on the back and began to strip his clothes from his body.

You couldn’t help but admire his body, he was absolutely beautiful. He came up close to your face “If I uncuff you, are you gonna be good for me?” He whispered in my ear. I turned my head away from him too embarrassed to look at him and replied “Yes…” “That won’t work princess, I need a yes SIR” he said in a dark tone as he pulled my hair so I would have to face him. My eyes were burning from his gaze. He looked at me like he was going to devour me whole on the spot. “..yes sir.”, I whispered. “Good girl, you are finally learning your place Princess.”, he said as he kissed my forehead while unlocking the cuffs. “Now I want you to lay just like that, and spread those pretty thighs for me, be a good little whore for me now.”, he said as he positioned himself in between my legs. The whole time I couldn’t stop from looking over at the masked man who was quietly just watching this all unfold. Dean was positioning himself at my entrance, lightly rubbing the tip of his cock at my wet hole. His cock was longer than it was thicker, with distinct veins, his tip was more girthy than the rest of his shaft. “Ok princess, now just hold real still for me, gonna make you feel so fucking good.” He said as he started to push himself inside me at a slow pace.

“Oh god, it’s too big!” you pleaded as you tried to squirm away from the burning stretch in your pussy. “No God here princess, just us. Now sit still so I can take good care of you” he said as he pushed into me further. You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming away, just as you thought maybe you was getting used to it, you felt him grab my hips and slam his whole length into you. A gut wrenching scream pulled through your throat, you could barley hear him when he growled out “I told you to fucking sit still, fuck you feel amazing around me, and would you look at that, so you really was a virgin….. well not anymore.”, he chuckled. “He started to move at a agonizing pace, you could feel him in every crevice of your pussy, you could feel him beating into your womb. You felt yourself start to lose focus of everything as you felt your body because overly hot. “Awe look at that, she’s already becoming a cock drunk little whore, hmm maybe she needs something to pull her out of her bliss.” Dean said to the masked man in the corner. Dean pulled completely out of you and flipped you over to where your ass was in the air before slamming back into you all at once. The second you went to moan you felt your mouth become full. The masked man had stuffed his cock down your throat. He grabbed the back of your head as they fucked you back and forth between them. His cock was bigger and longer than Dean’s. You was starting to lose the ability to breath it seemed like. “Goddamnit I’m getting close, fuck, can’t wait to fill you up.”, you heard Dean moan from behind you. “Fuck you’d like that wouldn’t you princess, to feel my cum all in your tight wrecked pussy.” You didn’t have it in you to protest, plus how could with your mouth stuffed to the brim. You felt the hot ropes shoot through you as Dean finished. He pumped it all deep into you so none of it was wasted.

Just then they both pulled out at once. Your body went limp and you fell to the mattress. “I think I’ll leave you two, y’a know to get better acquainted with eachother.” Dean said as he planted a kiss on your forehead. The masked man flipped you back over on your back, you could barley keep your eyes open through hooded lids. He noticed this and immediately slapped you hard across the face. Your eyes popped open immediately. He never spoke. It was terrifying. He simply unzipped his pants and positioned himself between your thighs. Unlike Dean who took his time more, this man didn’t. He slammed his full length into you without warming you up at all. Using Dean’s cum as lubricant. You lost your breath as you felt him bottom out in you. He lifted your legs above your head and started to reach into the depths of what felt like your entire soul. “Please please I can’t take it, it’s too much! Please it hurts!”, you cried out but he wasn’t listening. He continued to absolutely fucking wreck you until you was a teary eyed, drooling, wet mess. When you wouldn’t stop crying he placed his hand around your throat and squeezed until you saw stars. Causing your pussy to tighten around him more than you knew possible, it felt like he was absolutely ripping you apart. Just as you was about to fall over the edge he whispered “who knew an “innocent” thing like you would actually just be a filthy fucking whore.” That did it. You immediately began to cream all over his cock, and he followed right after you filling you completely with his cum. That voice. It was familiar. Before you could think it through, your reached up and pulled the mask off him.

“…..Jack?”

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 8: You're All I Need To Get By

One day, Logan decided to enter a bar and his life changed forever.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, alcohol, D&W.

A/N: hello everyoneeee!!!! here is one of my most favorite chapter of this series!!! so this is a flashback obviously, it takes place about 6/7 years before the main timeline AND it's basically how Logan and Wade met... I love them, your honor.

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part / Next Part

The rain fell in a steady rhythm, tapping against the concrete like a metronome keeping pace with Logan’s heavy steps. His jacket was soaked through, but he didn’t care. The damp cold gnawed at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill in his chest, the gnawing sensation he had been carrying for what felt like years. That sense of being adrift, of not belonging to any moment or place.

It had been two, maybe three years since he’d left the army. Time felt blurred, like one endless cycle of meaningless days. He could still feel the weight of the past pressing down on him— his time in the service, the things he’d done, the people he couldn’t save. Sometimes, it was as if his memories were trapped in a fog, creeping up on him when he least expected it.

His new job at the special education center had been a lifeline of sorts, something to keep him anchored. It had only been three months since he’d started, and though he’d grown fond of the kids, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was barely holding on. The stress, the nightmares, the pressure of everyday life— it all felt like too much.

Logan wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going like this. He’d managed to get through another week at work, but tonight, he felt particularly worn down. Exhausted. The faces of his students, the weight of his responsibilities, everything seemed to pile on top of him. That’s how he ended up here, standing in front of a random bar, hoping for a moment of silence, something to quiet down the constant noise in his head.

The neon lights flickered weakly, reflected in the wet streets as Logan pushed open the door. Warmth and the low hum of voices greeted him, but it wasn’t comforting. It was loud, too loud, just like everything else in his life. But at least here, surrounded by strangers, he could disappear for a while. Just sit, drink, and maybe forget. And drink again. 

Logan moved towards the bar, head down, making sure to keep his distance from the clusters of people laughing and talking. The seat he chose was near the end of the counter, a quieter spot, just far enough from the action. He sighed heavily as he sat down, barely glancing at the bartender who appeared in front of him.

"Whiskey. Neat," he muttered, his voice rough, barely audible over the noise.

The bartender nodded. “Sure thing, Mr. Serious,” he quipped, pouring the drink with a bit more flair than necessary. “Rough day?”

Logan didn’t even look up, keeping his eyes trained on the amber liquid as it was placed in front of him. “You could say that.”

He wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Hell, he wasn’t in the mood for anything other than silence. But the bartender didn’t seem to care about Logan’s mood—or his obvious desire to be left alone.

“Yeah? Well, I got just the cure for that—alcohol and terrible jokes,” the bartender added with a wink, before moving off to another customer.

Logan took a slow sip of his drink, letting the burn of the whiskey settle in his throat, grounding him for a moment. He kept his head down, trying to block out the noise, the laughter, the life happening all around him. A part of him wondered how everyone else did it—how they moved through the world with such ease, while he felt like every day was a battle just to stay afloat.

He tried remembering if he ever had that in his past. If his life had ever been that simple, maybe less miserable or dangerous. The fact he couldn’t recall one happy memory made him want to lean over the counter and take all the bottles there, downing them straight in one go.

His thoughts drifted back to work, to Charles’ center. It wasn’t easy, but it was… something. Something that, on good days, gave him a sliver of purpose. His students—those kids—had already been through so much, and they were only just beginning to find their place in the world. He saw a lot of himself in them, in their struggle, in their quiet resilience. But most days, he felt like he was failing them, like he was still failing everyone.

Logan rubbed his temples, the weight of his thoughts sinking deeper. Another long sip of whiskey followed, and he let the warmth spread through him, hoping it would numb the ache. But even as the alcohol took the edge off, he couldn’t shake the exhaustion pressing down on him.

Maybe if he couldn’t recall his happy memories it was because he was drunk in most of them?

Time passed— how much, he couldn’t say. He stared into the glass, his mind lost somewhere between past regrets and the crushing weight of the present. He was vaguely aware of the bartender moving in and out of his peripheral vision, tending to customers, laughing, telling some stupid joke that had the whole bar roaring with laughter.

Logan didn’t want to laugh. He didn’t want to join in. But every now and then, he found his eyes drifting to the bartender— Wade, his name-tag said —and the way he seemed to effortlessly command the room. There was something about him, something disarming.

At first, Wade had been an annoyance, just another loud presence in a world that felt too loud already. But as Logan sat there, watching him move through the crowd with ease, throwing out jokes, making people laugh… Logan found himself almost envious. Wade made everything look so simple, so easy. He moved through life like he didn’t have a care in the world, like nothing weighed him down.

It wasn’t long before the bar started to empty out, the noise fading as the night grew late. Logan had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize the bar was about to close until Wade appeared in front of him again, wiping down the counter with an exaggerated flourish.

“You’ve been sitting there for hours, man,” Wade said, leaning against the bar with a grin. “Bar’s about to close. You alright?”

Logan blinked, suddenly aware of how late it had gotten. He hadn’t even finished his drink, the ice long since melted. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way.”

He reached for his wallet, ready to pay, but Wade waved him off.

“Nah, this one’s on the house,” Wade said, his grin softening into something that resembled actual warmth. “You looked like you needed it.”

Oh. Logan paused, surprised by the gesture. He didn’t say much, just nodded, feeling an odd sense of gratitude he didn’t know how to express.

Before he could stand to leave, Wade spoke up again, this time a little quieter, a little more sincere. “Hey, feel free to come back whenever. It’s not the worst place to hang out when you need a break.”

Logan didn’t say anything at first, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the urge to push someone away. He nodded once, quietly, before heading for the door. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and reflective under the dim streetlights.

As he stepped out into the cool night air, Logan couldn’t help but feel… lighter. Just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And right now, he’d take anything he could get. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

———

A week had passed since Logan’s last visit to the bar, but the weight on his shoulders hadn’t lifted. His job at the center was growing on him, and the kids were starting to feel like a reason to keep going. But there was still that constant murmur of unease, the anxiety that clung to him like a second skin. Most days, it was bearable. Some days though, it felt like drowning.

Tonight, the streets were quieter, and Logan made his way back to the bar. He didn’t have a specific reason for returning there, it was just something he felt drawn to, like a familiar place where he could sit in silence and, for a little while, forget everything else.

The neon sign above the door flickered in the same weak pattern as the week before. When he stepped inside, the place seemed less crowded. It was game night, and most of the customers were glued to the large screen mounted on the wall, the roar of the game commentator filling the room.

Logan walked to the same spot at the end of the bar, near the far wall where it was a little more secluded. He wasn’t expecting anyone to pay attention to him. But just as he sat down, he heard the same familiar voice.

“Well, look who’s back!” Wade’s voice was louder than the low hum of the bar, cutting through Logan’s quiet thoughts. “Mr. Serious, right on time. Thought I scared you off last time.”

Logan looked up, surprised to find Wade already moving towards him, his grin wide and easy. Wade didn’t wait for Logan to order— he was already pouring the whiskey, setting the glass in front of him before Logan could even open his mouth.

“I didn’t—” Logan started, then stopped, unsure how to respond. He hadn’t expected to be remembered, let alone for Wade to remember his drink.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Wade interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I got it. Whiskey, neat. Same as last time. You’ve got that ‘I need a drink but don’t wanna talk about it’ look again.”

Logan blinked. He wasn’t used to people paying attention to him like that, and it unsettled him, even if it was just about his drink.

Wade leaned against the bar, glancing around at the tables where most of the customers were focused on the game. “Ugh, I hate game nights,” he sighed dramatically, wiping a nonexistent spot on the counter. “I mean, look at this. All these people, and no one’s here for me. They’re all staring at that damn screen like I don’t even exist.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, unable to help the small flicker of amusement that sparked in his chest.

“Boring as hell,” Wade continued, shaking his head. “Normally, I’m the star of the show, you know? People come here to be entertained. But on game nights? Pfft, forget it. I’m just here to pour drinks and watch people yell at a TV.”

Logan sipped his whiskey, the corner of his mouth twitching in the barest hint of a smile. Wade was different from anyone he’d ever met. Loud, sure, but oddly genuine. It was like he didn’t care about making an impression— he just was.

Wade caught Logan’s almost-smile and pointed at him, his face lighting up. “Oh, wait a minute. Is that a smile I see? Careful, man, you’ll ruin your reputation.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “ Is it?”

Wade shrugged, wiping down a glass with a rag. “You’ve got that whole brooding thing going on. It works for you, don’t get me wrong. But if you ever wanna, you know, change the channel in your brain’s TV, I’m your guy.”

Logan didn’t reply, just took another sip, but he couldn’t deny that Wade’s antics were… refreshing. He had a way of filling the space, his presence loud and bright, in contrast to the usual suffocating silence Logan carried with him.

“So, what do you do, anyway?” Wade asked, resting his elbows on the counter as he leaned in, clearly curious. “You look like a firefighter or one of those ex-military types. Maybe a cop? Come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

Logan hesitated, unsure if he wanted to share that part of himself. Wade had hit closer to the truth than he knew, and Logan’s time in the military was something he wasn’t ready to unpack for a stranger. So he sidestepped. “I’m a teacher.”

Wade froze, mid-wipe, his face twisting in confusion. “Wait. What?”

Logan gave a small nod, raising his glass to his lips again. “Special education teacher.”

For a second, Wade just stared at him, mouth slightly open, as if processing the information. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. “Man, you—you’re a teacher? I mean, no offense, but I was really expecting something like, I don’t know, ‘I wrestle bears for a living’ or ‘claws come out of my hands when I’m angry’ type of superhero. The author really took the no-powers AU to the letter.”

Logan’s lips twitched again, and before he knew it, a low laugh escaped him— unexpected, warm, and real. It had been so long since he’d laughed like that, he barely recognized the sound of it.

“So, what else does a teacher do on a night like this?” Wade asked, smoothly continuing the conversation, as if nothing had changed.

Logan shook his head, still chuckling under his breath. “Not much. Usually grading papers, I guess.”

Wade made a disgusted face. “And I thought my job was boring tonight.”

Logan huffed, the tension in his chest easing with the rhythm of their conversation. Wade had somehow broken through. But he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. He let Logan breathe.

Logan settled back in his seat, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. Wade drifted off to serve the other customers, but he returned often, refilling drinks or making some sarcastic comment about the game on TV. And every time he came back, he checked in with Logan, like he was making sure the conversation didn’t end too soon.

It was strange. Logan wasn’t used to this. Someone breaking through the walls he’d spent years building. But Wade seemed to make it easy. It wasn’t that Logan had let his guard down completely, but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to keep it up so tightly.

By the end of the night, when Wade started wiping down the bar and flipping chairs onto the tables, Logan realized that once again, he’d stayed until closing. He hadn’t even noticed the hours pass, caught in the flow of the conversation.

As Logan stood to leave, Wade shot him a quick smile. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Logan nodded, slipping a hand into his pocket. “Same time next week?”

Wade grinned. “You bet. I’ll have your whiskey ready. I’ll even throw in some peanuts if you’re kind enough.”

Logan turned to leave, the door swinging shut behind him. And for the second time in two weeks, he left the bar feeling… lighter. The world outside still pressed in on him, heavy and cold, but Wade had managed to crack something open, just a little.

And for that, Logan was grateful.

———

Over the next few weeks, Logan became a regular at the bar, showing up almost every night like clockwork. He never said much, but he was always there, always at the same seat, nursing the same drink. Wade, in his usual style, would chat away, spinning wild stories and throwing quips, never needing much from Logan but his presence.

One night, as Wade slid the usual whiskey in front of him without even asking, Logan glanced up and said, “You never asked my name.”

Wade paused for a second, an exaggerated look of realization crossing his face. “Sweet baby chimichanga, you’re right! I’ve been pouring whiskey for months to a stranger. What kind of a gentleman am I?” He shook his head dramatically, a hand on his heart. “Alright, mystery man, spill it.”

Logan smirked, a subtle but telling expression. “Logan.”

Wade grinned wide and slapped the bar. “Logan. Well, I’m Wade, though you probably figured that out from all the autographs I’ve been giving.” He leaned in as if sharing a secret. “I’m kind of a big deal.”

Logan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, I bet.”

From that point on, their banter grew more familiar, the teasing easier. Wade didn’t ask too many personal questions, and Logan appreciated that. He liked the way Wade kept things light, but every so often, he’d throw out something real, something that tugged at the corners of the silence between them, that would make them grow closer.

One night, weeks later, after the bar had quieted and the crowds had thinned out to just a few people, Wade leaned against the counter, wiping a glass and sighed. Logan noticed the change in his usually dynamic demeanor. Wade’s grin wasn’t there, replaced by a quieter version of himself. Logan never thought he would actually miss it.

“Long day?” Logan asked, taking a sip of his drink.

Wade chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nah, just... life, you know?” He glanced up at Logan. “Ever told you about Vanessa?”

Logan shook his head, listening closely now.

“We were together for years,” Wade continued, wiping the same spot on the glass absentmindedly. “Loved her more than anything, but... I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good for her. Too much... too much of me to deal with, you know?” Wade’s voice dropped slightly. “She deserved better, and I knew that. But it still sucked.”

Logan was silent, just watching Wade, waiting for him to say more if he wanted to.

“I kept thinking I’d change, fix all the mess in my head, but... that’s not how it works, right? No one can fix you. You gotta do it yourself.” He looked up, meeting Logan’s gaze. “I wasn’t ready to do that. Still not, really, but... I knew we couldn’t keep going. And she had all these big projects for herself. I was an obstacle. I saw it. And I…I mean we agreed, not that there was an actual choice, anyway, we agreed to end it. The relationship.”

Logan didn’t say anything right away. He just nodded, understanding something in Wade’s words. “It’s not easy,” he finally said, voice low.

Wade gave a short laugh, more bitter than anything else. “No kidding.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the muted TV in the background barely noticeable. Wade, for once, didn’t fill the space with his usual chatter, and Logan found himself respecting the quiet between them.

“You ever been through something like that?” Wade asked, his tone still casual but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

Logan exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “Not exactly. But... yeah. Different demons but…same struggles.”

Wade smiled softly, not pushing for more. He understood that Logan wasn’t the type to spill everything in one go, and that was fine by him. He’d gotten further with him than most people probably had.

Over the next few months, they grew even closer. Logan found himself looking forward to their conversations, whether at the bar or somewhere else. They started hanging out outside the bar, exchanging their numbers and all. Logan would say they were friends. Wade would add the « best » before the word.

They’d fall into these deep talks, ones that started with Wade’s humor and somehow drifted into something more real. Logan talked about his struggles as a teacher at the special ed center, and Wade, despite all his jokes, listened seriously.

The more they talked, the more Logan realized that Wade’s loud, chaotic energy was a front, a shield for his own pain. And in Wade, Logan saw someone who understood the dark places he tried to bury, even if they had different ways of dealing with it.

One evening, when the bar was quieter than usual, Wade threw a towel over his shoulder and sat down across from Logan at the counter.

“You know,” Wade said, smirking, “I think I’m rubbing off on you. You’ve been laughing more lately. Not that I’m surprised. I am incredibly funny.”

Logan snorted. “Maybe I’m just getting used to your terrible jokes, bub.”

Wade grinned. “That’s what they all say. Until they admit I’m a comedic genius.”

Their bond had formed into something solid, a real friendship. Wade became one of the few people Logan could actually stand to be around, someone who saw past the walls and the quiet brooding and still stuck around. And Logan, despite himself, found that he cared more than he ever expected to.

Time passed like that—quiet nights at the bar, loud nights at other places, and conversations that lasted longer than either of them had planned. Wade’s energy was exactly what Logan needed, and in turn, Wade found a steadiness in Logan that he hadn’t expected.

Their friendship felt natural, inevitable. But neither of them realized just how much they’d come to rely on each other until the day Wade needed a place to stay.

———

Another late night at the bar, Wade was ranting as usual. He wiped down the counter with exaggerated frustration, talking to Logan like he was the only person in the world who would understand.

“I swear, my landlord is out of his damn mind,” Wade grumbled, tossing the rag aside. “I mean, who raises rent by that much? How am I supposed to afford this place and still have money for essentials? Like food. And beer. The important stuff!”

Logan took a sip of his whiskey, eyebrow raised. He didn’t say much, but Wade could tell he was listening. Wade always knew.

“And don’t get me started on finding a new place,” Wade continued, flopping dramatically onto the barstool in front of Logan. “It’s like a full-time job just looking for somewhere decent. You gotta call a million people, view a bunch of tiny shoeboxes, and then probably sell a kidney to afford it. Meanwhile, my paycheck? A joke.” He leaned back, throwing his arms up. “I might as well live in this bar.”

Logan smirked slightly but remained quiet. As Wade rambled on, Logan found his mind wandering. He’d been struggling with his own place for a while now, too. Rent was higher than he liked, and the isolation wasn’t helping. But earlier that day, his colleague, Scott, had mentioned something— a big apartment nearby was looking for new roommates. The place was empty, ready to be filled.

Another late night at the bar, Wade was ranting as usual. He wiped down the counter with exaggerated frustration, talking to Logan like he was the only person in the world who would understand.

“There’s this place,” Logan said, interrupting Wade’s rambling. Wade looked up, surprised Logan was chiming in. “One of my colleagues said something about an apartment. Empty. They’re looking for new roommates.”

Wade’s eyes lit up. “Wait, seriously? That sounds amazing. But... where the hell am I gonna find people to room with? I mean, strangers? That’s a recipe for disaster.” He shook his head. “I don’t do well with randoms.”

Logan was quiet for a moment. The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“I could.”

Wade froze mid-rant, his mouth hanging open in shock. “Wait. What?”

“I could be your roommate,” Logan said, as casually as if he’d said it a hundred times before. But it was the first time. And it surprised even him.

Wade blinked, then a huge grin spread across his face. “Holy freaking guacamole! Are you serious? You and me? Roommates? We could be roommates?”

Logan shrugged, a little awkward but still firm in his offer. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Why not?!” Wade’s eyes widened as he leaned forward on the bar. “Peanut, this is perfect. Perfect! You’ve got the whole brooding, quiet thing going on, and I’ve got, well, everything else. And—” Wade paused for dramatic effect, “I’m very tidy. Mostly. Sometimes. But I can be, for you, buddy.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Oh, you will, peanut. You will.” Wade slapped the bar with excitement. “This is going to be epic. EPIC.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head at Wade’s enthusiasm. He wasn’t sure how they had reached this point, but the idea of sharing a space with Wade didn’t sound as bad as it should have. In fact, it sounded... kind of right.

“We need the info!” Wade exclaimed, bouncing on his feet.

“I’ll send a text to my colleague.” Logan said, still getting used to the idea.

“Deal, roomie!” Wade slapped the counter, already full of energy about their new future together. “We’re gonna crush this. You’ll see!”

Logan smirked, taking another sip of his drink. It felt like a step forward. One he didn’t realize he needed to take until now.

The rest, as they say, was history.

XXX