#and so it was SO EASY to hang out with people

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary Eddie’s had a long day, but being with you is enough to turn even the worst days into something sweeter [fluff, artsy reader, mild hurt/comfort, smut, 3.2k]

A/N This is some of my favorite smut I've written. Still very much stuck on him.

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It’s much quieter in your neighborhood than it is in Forest Hills. No muffled music or raised voices carry from the houses around the cul-de-sac. Tired men don’t tinker on rusty cars. Unleashed dogs don’t sniff their way through ailing yards that aren’t their own. The only signs of life are cars in driveways and lamplight through windows. The golden sun hangs low in the darkening sky.

Eddie makes a final attempt to exhale the weight of the day away before he presses your doorbell. Not even a second later, the lock clicks and the door swings open.

The smile you offer has him convinced that every butterfly he’s ever seen now exists within the confines of his stomach. It’s as if familiarity and radiance itself exist in the way your lips lift upwards to reveal the glint of your teeth.

“I heard you pull up,” you say. “In case you were wondering why I opened the door in two seconds…” you trail off when you realize you don’t sound as convincing as you want. 

Eddie smiles with a fond shake of his head. The action causes more of his curls fall onto his shoulders. He’d never make fun of you for being eager to see him. Especially when half the people in Hawkins care more about his skills beneath the hood than him as a person.

“Sorry I’m later than I said I’d be,” he says as you usher him inside. “Wanted to grab a shower before I came over.” 

“Didn’t you hear?” Eddie's brow furrows innocently at your question. “I love the smell of motor oil.” 

He huffs out a chuckle that makes you bite your lower lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Then he laughs again, deeper this time, like a funny thought has struck him. But he takes a step closer, cups your cheek, and kisses you. His lips are slow and easy against your own.

When he pulls away, you catch the weariness in his eyes, softened by gratitude as he takes you in. He could’ve gone home. He could’ve turned in for the night. But he wanted to see you too. He needed to see you. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “Everything okay?” 

You reach out to tuck his hair behind his ears, and he lets you. Any other time, he’d shake it back loose with a playful smirk. Tonight he doesn’t. 

He catches your hand as you pull away, and dots a few kisses over your knuckles. Work and playing guitar have calloused his palms. His steel rings glint in the low light of the foyer. 

“I’m okay,” he says into your skin. You remain quiet in hopes that it’ll coax more out of him. “Long day at the shop.” 

You hum. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. Don’t be. 

“Got you something,” he remembers. "Been holding onto it for a couple days." He realizes he’s empty-handed.

“Shit. I left it in the van.” 

You chuckle as he presses another quick kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go and pulls away. 

When Eddie comes back inside, you’re on the living room couch with one leg tucked beneath you. The TV plays low reruns of I Love Lucy, but you grant him all your attention as he settles beside you. Before you have the chance to ask what’s in the brown paper bag, he pulls out a nice set of drawing pencils and a leather-bound sketchbook. 

Your mouth falls open as he passes them over to you, his expression quietly hopeful. Big brown eyes eager for your reaction. 

“Eddie…” 

“You filled your last sketchbook. And you’ve been needing some new pencils." He rests his forearms on his thighs and licks his lips. "Knew you’d hold off on getting them for yourself so I figured..." 

A smile finally breaks across your face.

“These are the fancy kind too," you note as you look over the pencils. "Thank you so much, baby. Really.” He shrugs like it's no big deal even as he bites back the proud quirk of his lips. It was a privilege to be able to do little things like this when he could.

The leather of the sketchbook is smooth as you flip open the cover to run your fingers over the crisp, fragrant pages. 

When you meet his eyes again, your gaze is soft and observant, like you have an idea. It feels like you're seeing straight into him. He's handsome. Long curls, kind eyes, plush lips. Even then, it's clear he still wears the remnants of the hours prior, though he masks it well.

“Maybe I can draw you," you propose with the quiet hope he’ll oblige. “To break everything in.

"All you've gotta do is sit back and relax. We can talk, watch some TV, eat my snacks." He smiles at that last part. 

After the frustrated customers he had to diffuse today, he can do that. Gladly so. 

•••

The warm lamplight and the glow of the TV cast soft shadows across Eddie's face. His long lashes appear heavy with the relaxed way he blinks at the screen. He’s sunk back into the cushions, legs spread just so, hands interlocked over his stomach, rising and falling with his breaths. An empty bowl of popcorn rests on the coffee table along with a hollow box of Jujyfruits. 

Five separate sketches of him now constitute the beginnings of your new sketchbook. He tilts his head to peer over at you when he no longer hears the familiar brush of graphite against paper.

The cushions shift as he straightens up and rubs his eyes with lazy fists. 

“All finished?” he asks, and you nod. “Can I see?” 

When you pass him the sketchbook, his eyes rove over the drawings with the attentiveness of a critic, but void of any harshness or critique. It’s more of an assessment, an appreciation. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Raises the book to get a better look at the hatching technique you used to shade the first sketch you completed. 

It’s a straight-on portrait that he’d faced you for. There’s a sense of ease about his gaze. A warmth paired with an underlying pensiveness. He knows he’s being studied but feels more seen than exposed. 

Except, Eddie's so much more than you’ll ever be able to confine to a couple sheets of paper. Charming in an awkward way, with one of the kindest hearts you’ve ever known. Loving him is as easy as blinking or breathing. So natural it feels innate. He feels your gaze as he studies the sketches.

When he redirects his attention to you, he offers one of his steady, slow-moving smiles that never fails to make your stomach flutter. 

“Always staring at me,” he accuses, too lighthearted to be mistaken for a complaint. 

In truth, you observed everyone and everything. But never with the same admiration allotted to Eddie. There were so many layers that you feared you wouldn’t have the time to unravel them all. You’d never wanted to know the inner workings of another person so intimately. 

After a lifetime of slipping through the cracks, it sure was nice to be seen in an unadulterated way by you. 

“Can’t help it,” you murmur.

Eddie tracks your movements as you grab one of the accent pillows and toss it to the floor at his feet. A second later, you drop down onto it. His breath catches when you place two gentle hands on his knees and spread his legs so you can better settle between them. 

"Hope your day's gotten a little better since you’ve been here," you murmur.

Eddie swallows. Sets your sketchbook aside with a jittery hand. 

“It has." His voice is thick as anticipation stirs within him. "As soon as I walked through the door.”

You hum as he squirms, hyperaware of your touch as your hands drift along his thighs. His head tips back when you palm him through the fabric of his jeans. Warmth ignites in his cheeks and melts to his torso as his pants tighten in the wake of his arousal. Along the thick column of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobs with another swallow.

It hadn’t even taken much. 

His legs fall open wider, like a gate, when you begin to unbuckle his belt. The metal hardware clinks with your movements, breaking the hush between you. You pop the button, drag the zipper down. 

“Wanna help me get these off?” A sweet smile plays on your lips as you blink up at him. 

Eager, Eddie lifts his hips, and you help him shuck down his pants and underwear. There's a tent in the front of his boxers when you get to them, and he shifts with the new exposure by the time everything pools at his socked feet. 

Featherlight, your fingertips ghost toward the apex of his thighs, his milky skin dusted with sparse hair. His muscles twitch at the ticklish sensation, and he braces for the inevitable.

Except your touch flutters past where he aches. Bypasses where he strains toward his stomach. Instead, your hands sweep over his hips. Slip beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch along the low part of his stomach where a thin, dark trail of hair leads down to his need. 

His chest deflates on a slow, bated breath. You hide your coy smile in the inside of his thigh in the form of a kiss. Right over the small smiley face inked into his skin. Eddie huffs in flustered amusement. 

“This is—” 

“One of your favorite tattoos of mine,” he finishes with flushed cheeks. 

You grin in feigned surprise. “How’d you know?” You trace your nails back down to his quivering thighs. 

His arousal kicks up when you grant him the gentle brush of your fingertips over the rounded fullness that rests heavily between his legs.

“Sweetheart,” he finally sighs, dark eyes molten when they find yours. 

“Teddy,” you coo back. 

He doesn’t have time to brace when you begin to pepper an alternating line of kisses up his thighs until your lips find the part of him that needs you the most. 

His breath hitches. “Baby—“

A pleasured shudder rolls through him as you kiss up the elegant curve of the thick vein along his underside. You follow the path of his need all the way to the rosy tip, where a wet, gleaming pearl beads in a testament to his want. You suckle it away. Savor it.

Eddie's eyes flutter shut, body taut as you spit over him and wrap a secure hand around his base. The slick heat of your palm makes his hips stutter as you begin to pull upward in a steady tug. At the top, you circle your thumb around the mushroom tip. You dedicate another swipe of your thumb to a slow trace along his slit. 

Eddie is warm and rigid in your hold, beautifully at your mercy, and he knows it. Doesn't mind it. The full hum in his throat unravels into a low, shameless moan when his lips part. 

“Yeah, baby?” you meet his gaze and hold it. Heat pools between your legs. “You feelin’ good?” 

Eddie reaches out to stroke his thumb across your cheek. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Please don’t stop.” 

You wouldn’t dream of it.

As you continue your languid strokes, you mouth at his inner thighs. Kisses, nibbles, licks. He’s so wound up that all of it gets to him. Pleasure tugs low in his gut with a radiance he can feel in his fingertips, his toes. 

With a practiced gentleness, your free hand lowers to massage the velvet weight of him that you’ve neglected. A rugged sound escapes him as he writhes. Even more so when you move to lap him again, this time taking him halfway and working what's left over with your hand. 

You pull away to trace your lips along his shaft, mindful of every inch and the tell-tale shudder that startles through him. You peer up through your lashes to find desperation etched across his features. 

He cups your cheek to get you to pause. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he insists. "Wanna feel you—lemme feel you.” 

You clench around nothing as he encourages you upwards. 

After you shuffle to your feet, you push your lounge shorts down, followed by your panties. Eddie strokes himself, gaze heavy-lidded as he watches. 

No sooner do you move forward to straddle his waist, on your knees with your hands braced on his shoulders. His hands find your hips, but one drifts lower in a curious glide between your parted legs. He graces through your slick folds, then brushes his thumb over your swollen bundle of nerves. He’s gauging if you’re ready for him, but you nearly crumble forward at his thoughtful touch. 

“So sensitive,” he notes lightly. A flicker of amusement dances in his eyes as they find yours. 

“Because of you.” You pout as you reach down and align him at your entrance. 

He catches at your slick warmth and whispers a string of curses. It shouldn’t already be this good. You shouldn’t already be this ready. But both things are true because the two of you have somehow stumbled into your own little perfect world. Both his hands find your hips again as you ease yourself down to welcome him in. Inch by slow inch, every vein and ridge. 

You don’t realize you’re whining until you’ve sunken to accommodate all of him. Eddie runs a soothing hand up your back as you lean forward into his chest in an encompassing haze of fullness. Already, he’s touching that devastating part of you that’s so thoughtfully tucked away. He’s the only one who’s been able to reach it. To find it as if the path had been carved for him alone. It’s a homecoming in its own right. 

“You feel so good,” he sighs the news like it's hot off the press. Like the words can't make it out of his mouth any sooner.

For a brief moment, stillness prevails as you adjust around him. You tuck your nose into his hair, where the subtle scent of his sweet, herbal shampoo lingers. Instead of canting his hips upwards like he so desperately wants to, he lets you have the moment. Presses a kiss to the bulb of your exposed shoulder, then allows his hands to find the hem of your tank top. You move to pull it over your head. He does the same with his own shirt, biting back a groan as you shift over top of him. 

Your nipples pebble in the cool air, even more so when he cups your chest and circles them with his thumbs. The sensation throws you into a shiver that jumpstarts a roll of your hips. Eddie’s fingers return to your waist, a silent encouragement. 

Before long, you leverage the bend at your knees to lift off him, then lower yourself back down. A rhythm soon forms, Eddie’s hips rise to meet yours. His thighs quake as a strangled sound of relief spills past his lips. 

A whimper escapes you as an invisible string pulls you forward to dot a few languid kisses across the apple of his cheek as you continue to ride him. 

“Oh—shit,”  he exhales shakily. “You’re perfect, sweetheart.” He sounds panicked and awed all the same. 

All you can do is hum at his words. Every time you lower onto him, it feels like he manages to reach a new depth that makes you want to crawl away. Yet your hands find his tattooed chest for the sole purpose of feeling more of him, his warm, dewed skin. A shiver shakes him when the tip of your nail grazes over one of his nipples. Spurred on, you pinch the peaked flesh next, which earns you a particularly hard thrust as he groans. A jolt of electricity rushes straight between his legs with the threat of being his undoing. 

“You’re gonna make me come, angel.” The shameless, exasperated way he says it makes you clench around him. 

You lower a hand to rub tight, purposeful circles over the tender bud between your legs, the pleasure sharper in the wake of his words. 

“I want you to come,” you attempt to keep your voice steady as you lilt. “Want you to fill me up. Want all of you.” 

Eddie groans and sags back into the cushions in an air of disbelief. Somehow you’re real. Somehow you chose him. And you’d never led him to believe that things should be any other way.

You lean forward in pursuit of him to kiss his throat, then up along his jaw until you’ve arrived at his bitten lips. The kiss carries the neediness of being on the edge. 

“Always gonna want you,” you whisper heavily against his mouth.  

Eddie whimpers. “You have me.” His thighs tense beneath you as he teeters on the brink. This time, when his hand finds your waist, it’s to ground himself in the intoxicating rock of your hips. 

You kiss him one last time, saliva slinking between you, before you touch your sweaty forehead to his. 

“Come with me,” you frantically encourage. “Eddie, please—” 

The broken sound that punches out of him sends you into the thralls of a reckless release. It’s swift and forceful like a lightning bolt zipping from the sky. Your walls flutter around him as pleasure courses in every direction. Eddie has no choice but to let go. He jolts beneath you like stricken earth. His stomach clenches in time with each pulsing wave of release. 

Eddie’s neck becomes your hiding place as aftershocks ripple through you both. Your lips begin to press more deliberate kisses to the space where his neck and shoulder join. Beneath you, he sits like putty and softens within the warmth of you. He’s attuned to every small shift you make. You’re not quite ready to relinquish the fullness. 

A steady, clammy hand glides up your back and settles at the nape of your neck. When you sit up to meet his tired, satisfied gaze, you're struck by a surge of fondness. Of love. If you could erase his bad days, keep them from ever touching him, you would. But you can’t. They’ll come, for both of you, whether you like it or not. 

Still, you had this. Each other. That’s enough to make life a little sweeter, a little kinder. Even on the days that are anything but. 

Eddie’s lashes flutter when you run a gentle finger down his nose. “You okay?” you ask. 

He shifts beneath you, wincing at his forgotten sensitivity. A small smile pulls at his lips as he finally nods at your question, contentment clear in his eyes. 

“Promise?” you ask. 

“I promise, sweetheart.” 

He offers his pinkie as a seal of truth. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all!

MORE EDDIE

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[urdreamydoodles]

X-MEN x FEM!READER

The X-Men Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Emma Frost, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

You aren’t sure what possesses you to send it—not exactly. Maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the way Logan’s been gone longer than expected, leaving you restless. Either way, you know it’s reckless. The second the picture sends, you can already hear his voice in your head: Darlin’, you got a death wish? But you know Logan, know that he’s a beast caged in skin, and there’s nothing he loves more than being provoked by you.

He’s at a dive bar when his phone vibrates. The place is crowded, a few bikers at his table arguing over a pool game. Logan isn’t paying attention—until he glances at his screen. The moment he sees you, bare and sinful, every muscle in his body locks up. His breath hitches, his grip on his beer tightening until the glass threatens to crack. The scent of his own arousal floods his senses, so sharp he’s sure the few mutants around can catch it. One of the bikers nudges him, saying something about his "weird face," but Logan’s already pocketing the phone, jaw clenched.

He needs to get out of here. He doesn’t get embarrassed—not exactly—but the heat that licks up his spine is too much, too distracting. Logan swipes his tongue across his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose as he stands. His voice is a growl, all gravel and heat. “Got somewhere to be.” His movements are stiff, his body thrumming with need as he shoves out of the bar, barely resisting the urge to snarl at the people in his way.

The second he’s outside, he presses a number on his phone. When you pick up, he doesn’t say hello. His voice is low, dangerous. “You got no idea what you just started, sweetheart.” His free hand flexes at his side, his control razor-thin. “You better be home when I get there. And you better be ready.” Then he hangs up, already making his way to his bike, his thoughts full of nothing but you.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

Remy is used to being desired. He knows the weight of hungry stares, the way people fall over themselves trying to get his attention. But you—you’re different. You make him ache. And you know it. Which is why you send the picture when you do, when he’s at a poker table, mid-game, surrounded by half a dozen people.

He sees the message light up his phone and, without thinking, checks it. The second the image fills his screen, his pupils dilate, his breath hitching just enough that the man across from him—some big-shot casino owner—narrows his eyes. “Something wrong, LeBeau?” Remy schools his features quickly, smirking as he locks his phone. “Non, mon ami,” he drawls, voice smooth despite the heat licking at his spine. “Just feelin’ a little… distracted.”

But he is struggling. His heartbeat is unsteady, his palms itching to touch, to grab. You’ve effectively thrown him off his game, and you know it. He shifts in his seat, stretching his legs out, forcing himself to focus. But his mind keeps circling back to the curve of your body, the way your skin looked in the dim lighting. His fingers twitch, itching to shuffle his deck, to channel all this pent-up energy somewhere before it burns him alive.

He doesn’t text back. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he waits until he’s out of the game, until he’s walking down the neon-lit streets of New Orleans. Then he calls you, his voice a lazy purr. “Ma belle, you really gon’ tease me like that?” He pauses, his smile slow, wicked. “Think you should be waitin’ by the door for me, chérie. Don’t want me comin’ in all impatient now, do you?”

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

Kurt is used to wanting. He has spent a lifetime longing for things he believes he doesn’t deserve—love, touch, a home. But then there’s you, and you make him greedy. So when his phone vibrates in the middle of a crowded hallway at the Xavier Institute, he doesn’t think much of it. Not until he sees what you’ve sent.

His tail flicks so fast it nearly knocks over a nearby vase. A choked sound catches in his throat, his golden eyes widening, pupils dilating. He should look away, should pocket his phone before someone notices. But instead, he stares, heat rushing to his face so quickly it nearly makes him dizzy. The image of you burns itself into his mind, searing and divine.

Someone calls his name, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, fumbling to lock his phone. His three-fingered hand twitches, his tail coiling around his waist as he forces a shaky breath. Gott im Himmel, you’re going to be the death of him. He can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears, can sense the way some of the younger students glance at him in curiosity. He clears his throat, tugging at the high collar of his uniform, muttering something about needing air.

The moment he’s alone, he teleports straight to your room, appearing in a burst of sulfur and smoke. His voice is hoarse, thick with something between reverence and hunger. “Liebes… do you have any idea what you have done to me?” He steps closer, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I hope you are prepared to confess your sins… because I am more than willing to be your punishment.”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

Scott prides himself on control. It is all he’s ever known—containing his power, his emotions, his every sharp-edged want. But you? You make control feel like a curse. So when his phone vibrates in the middle of a team debriefing, he barely glances at it. Until he does. And then his world tilts.

His breath halts, heat rushing up his throat so fast it makes him dizzy. The conversation around him blurs, the sound of Logan and Ororo discussing strategy fading into static. He swallows hard, locking his phone, fingers tightening into a fist on his thigh. You are going to ruin him.

“Scott?” Jean’s voice pulls him back. He clears his throat, straightening his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says, voice just a little too tight. “I’m fine.” But he’s not fine. His skin is too hot, his thoughts spiraling. He adjusts his visor, as if that’ll help him regain some semblance of control. It doesn’t. He can still see the image burned into his mind, can still feel the ache you’ve ignited in him.

The moment the meeting ends, he heads straight to his quarters, his movements stiff, controlled. He doesn’t call, doesn’t text. Instead, he waits until he’s inside, the door locked. Then he pulls out his phone, staring at the image for a long, slow moment before finally responding: You just made a very big mistake, sweetheart. And you’re going to spend all night making up for it.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

Jean is used to knowing. She reads people as easily as turning a page in a book. But you—you manage to surprise her. When her phone vibrates, she’s mid-conversation with Ororo, standing in the bustling halls of the X-Mansion. She checks the message out of habit, and then—Oh.

The world around her vanishes. Her breath catches, her fingers gripping her phone tighter. Heat blooms beneath her skin, a slow, simmering thing. She locks her phone quickly, but not before Ororo arches an eyebrow, a knowing smirk curling her lips. “Something interesting?” Jean lifts her chin, feigning nonchalance. “Just a… distraction.”

But she is not unaffected. No, she can still feel the pull of you, the way you linger in her mind like a whispered temptation. She exhales slowly, steadying herself. You’ve always had a way of making her unravel, of setting her pulse racing with just a look, a touch. And now, with that picture—she knows exactly what you’re doing.

So she doesn’t text back. Instead, she closes her eyes, reaching out mentally, brushing against your thoughts with a teasing whisper: You’re playing a very dangerous game, darling. And you know I always win.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

Ororo has always carried herself with grace. There is a quiet strength in her, an effortless command of any room she enters. But when her phone vibrates, when she glances at the screen and sees you, bare and unapologetic in your teasing, even a goddess can stumble.

She is in the middle of the X-Mansion’s garden, surrounded by students tending to the plants under her guidance. The air is warm, the scent of rain lingering from a previous storm. But the second she opens your message, heat spreads through her veins like wildfire. Her fingers tighten around the phone, the wind around her shifting just slightly, enough for the nearby students to glance up in confusion.

With practiced ease, she takes a steady breath, forcing composure to settle over her. She locks her phone, tucking it away in the folds of her robe, but the image of you remains burned in her mind. She has faced gods and walked through storms, but nothing has ever made her this desperate. She exhales slowly, smiling at the students before dismissing them early.

Later, when she is alone in her room, she finally allows herself to look again, to savor. Then, with a smirk, she types out a message: You test the patience of a goddess, beloved. But I promise you—when I return, I will show you the consequences of such boldness.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

Rogue ain’t shy. Not really. But there are certain things she doesn’t expect—like her phone buzzing in her back pocket while she’s in the middle of a conversation with Logan. She pulls it out absently, expecting a mission update. But when she sees your name, when she opens the image—her whole body locks up.

"You good, kid?" Logan asks, eyebrow raised as she nearly drops the phone. Rogue snaps the screen down against her thigh so fast she nearly fumbles it. "I—uh—yeah! Peachy!" But she can feel the heat rushing to her face, burning down her neck. Logan narrows his eyes, but she’s already stepping back, waving him off. "I—uh—gotta go!" She turns so fast her boots squeak against the floor.

She beelines for the nearest empty room, slamming the door shut before pressing her back against it, exhaling hard. "Mon Dieu…" she mutters, staring at the phone again. The sight of you makes her stomach flip, makes her hands itch with the desire to touch—even though she knows she can’t. And maybe that’s what makes it even worse, the sheer torture of it.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard before she smirks, biting her lip. She types back, her accent thick even in text: Ya better be waitin' for me, sugar. ‘Cause I got some real pent-up frustration I need to work out.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

Erik is a man of control. He has spent his entire life bending the world to his will, shaping metal and fate alike with the force of his power. But when he sees your message, all that careful composure fractures like shattered steel.

He is in the middle of a political gathering, surrounded by dignitaries and mutants alike, discussing the future of mutantkind. He is calm, poised, his presence commanding the room. But then—his phone buzzes. And when he checks it—his grip on his glass tightens. The metal bends beneath his fingers, distorting under the force of his sudden, sharp desire.

He exhales slowly, willing himself to focus, but it’s impossible. His thoughts are consumed by the image of you, the sheer audacity of what you’ve done. He lifts his eyes, scanning the room, but the conversation has blurred into meaningless noise. He is no longer interested in politics. No, there is only you now, and the punishment you so clearly deserve.

Later, in the privacy of his chambers, he finally allows himself to react. He sets his drink down, removing his gloves with slow, deliberate movements. Then, he types a message: You are a very foolish woman, my dear. And I am a very dangerous man. I suggest you prepare yourself accordingly.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

Charles is used to knowing things before they happen. His telepathy grants him insight into the minds of others, makes surprises a rare thing. But you—you always manage to catch him off guard. So when his phone vibrates mid-lecture, when he absentmindedly glances at the screen—he nearly chokes.

His fingers tighten around the armrest of his wheelchair, his usually composed demeanor faltering for the briefest moment. He quickly locks the screen, but it’s too late—the image of you is seared into his thoughts. And worse, the faintest flicker of his reaction has echoed across his psychic link with you, letting you feel the way his breath hitched, the way his pulse stuttered.

He clears his throat, composing himself with practiced ease. "Shall we continue?" he asks smoothly, though his mind is miles away. The students remain oblivious, but you? Oh, you know. And Charles can feel your amusement through the bond you share, a teasing whisper against his mind.

Later, in the quiet of his study, he sends a message—not with his phone, but directly into your thoughts, his voice smooth, measured. My dear, if you wished to test my restraint, you have succeeded. But I fear you’ve also ensured that when I return, you will be left utterly undone.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

Emma Frost is not easily shaken. She has built an empire on her confidence, her ability to keep control in even the most delicate of situations. But when she receives your message, she very nearly gasps.

She is at a Hellfire Gala, surrounded by high society, diamonds glittering at her throat. The room is alive with conversation, champagne glasses clinking. She is draped across a velvet chaise, effortlessly poised—until she sees you on her screen. The way her lips part, just slightly, is the only betrayal of her reaction.

With a slow inhale, she tilts her phone away from prying eyes, locking the screen. But inside, her mind is already buzzing. You have nerve, sending this while she’s in public. It’s a power play, a challenge. And Emma does not lose. She takes another sip of champagne, a knowing smirk curling her lips.

Later, when she is alone, she finally lets herself look again, savoring the way you look—so tempting, so utterly hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate tap, she types: My darling, I do hope you enjoyed your little game. But let me make one thing clear—you are mine to tease. And when I return, I will remind you exactly why.

Wanda Maximoff aka. Scarlet Witch

Wanda has spent most of her life feeling like the world was just a little too unsteady. Magic crackles beneath her skin, her emotions tied too tightly to the fabric of reality itself. But when her phone vibrates in the middle of a very serious conversation with Doctor Strange, she has no idea the real chaos is about to begin.

She checks the message absentmindedly, but the second she sees you, bare and utterly wicked, the world around her tilts. The air shimmers—just slightly—like heat rising from pavement. Wanda sucks in a sharp breath, locking her phone quickly, but it’s too late. Strange is watching her with an arched brow, the flicker of mystical energy curling at her fingertips a dead giveaway.

“Are you alright, Wanda?” Strange’s voice is calm, but there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze. Wanda clears her throat, forcing her magic back under control, smoothing her expression into something composed. “Fine,” she says, a little too quickly. But inside, her mind is burning, and it’s all your fault.

When she finally gets a moment alone, she sends a message—not with her phone, but with her magic, a whisper of her voice threading into your mind: You have no idea the kind of spell you’ve just cast, my love. But don’t worry—I’ll break it soon enough. And when I do, you won’t be able to breathe without thinking of me.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

Pietro is always moving. His mind, his body, his thoughts—everything is fast, too fast for the rest of the world to keep up with. But when his phone buzzes, and he actually takes the time to check it, the impossible happens—he stops.

He’s in the middle of a conversation with Clint Barton, something about training drills, when he pulls out his phone. And then—bam. His mouth shuts, his brain short-circuits, and for the first time in years, he is frozen.

“...Pietro?” Clint frowns, waving a hand in front of his face. “You good, man?” Pietro’s fingers twitch, and suddenly, he is gone, zipping out of the room at impossible speed. The moment he stops—several cities away, in the middle of nowhere—he grips his phone, running a hand through his silver hair.

Then he smirks, his heartbeat pounding. He types back, quick as lightning: You are so cruel, bellezza. But don’t worry—I’ll be home in five seconds. Hope you’re ready for me.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

Hank prides himself on his intelligence, his ability to remain rational in even the most unexpected situations. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a scientific symposium, and he—without thinking—checks it, all rational thought leaves his brain.

His glasses slide down his nose. His usually eloquent mind is reduced to pure static. He should lock his phone, put it away, but instead, his blue-furred fingers tighten around the device as his brain short-circuits. A faint growl rumbles in his throat before he catches himself, quickly clearing it.

“Dr. McCoy?” One of his colleagues is staring at him, waiting for a response to a question he definitely didn’t hear. Hank straightens, adjusting his glasses, willing his heartbeat to slow. “Ah—yes. My apologies. I seem to have been... momentarily distracted.”

The second he’s alone, he finally allows himself to breathe. Then, adjusting his tie, he sends a message: My dear, I do hope you’re prepared to be thoroughly lectured on the consequences of distracting a scientist. In great detail. Preferably with a demonstration.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

Laura doesn’t get flustered. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t stammer. But when her phone vibrates, and she checks it in the middle of a mission briefing with Logan, something deep in her animal brain nearly malfunctions.

She sees the image, and every muscle in her body locks up. Her sharp, enhanced senses go into overdrive. Her claws almost unsheathe from sheer tension. Logan is talking, saying something about enemy patterns, but she hears none of it. The only thing in her head is you.

“Laura?” Logan’s voice pulls her back, and she snaps her phone shut, jaw tight. “Tch,” she mutters, shifting in her seat, pretending like she isn’t burning alive under her own skin. “Nothing. Keep talking.” But she’s not okay. She’s seething with the need to do something about this, now.

The moment the briefing is over, she finds the nearest exit, presses her back against the cold wall, and breathes. Then, she types—short, sharp, dangerous: You think that was funny? Good. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I get my hands on you.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

Wade is always unhinged. Nothing shocks him. Nothing catches him off guard. But when his phone pings in the middle of a mercenary bar, and he casually opens your message—his brain leaks out of his ears.

“Oh holy chimichangas.” His voice is too loud, and every thug in the bar turns to look at him. Wade barely notices, his masked face tilting down at his phone, staring. Staring so hard his mask is probably fogging up.

One of the mercs nudges him. “You good, Wilson?” Wade slowly lifts his head, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I have never been better. In fact, I am having a religious experience. Thank you for asking.” Then he stands—abruptly—phone clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

The second he’s outside, he’s already typing, fingers flying: BABE. BABY. LOVE OF MY LIFE. I AM ON MY WAY. DON’T MOVE. ACTUALLY, MOVE A LITTLE, STRETCH OR SOMETHING. MAYBE DO A LITTLE TWIRL. OH GOD. I’M RUNNING HOME IN SLOW MOTION FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT.

[beargirlstink]

"WHAT?!" "...Sorry, yeah. You're not welcome yet. You -" "This is bullshit! Check with St. Peter! Are you telling me I wore this cheap cross and spent my sundays at the church and on my knees for NOTHING?!" "I'm not going to get into that debate, it's somewhat contested, but it's not the important part. The important part is -" "What? What is so important to deny me entrance into the kingdom of the Lord? How can you deny me entrance from the pearly gates?" "...I was getting to that. The important part was that thee early 21st century was a time of hate and judgement, especially focused around things like race, ethnicity, and a whole lot around sexuality. To be clear, "love thy neighbor" means "don't peek through your neighbor's blinds to see what they're doing in their bedroom."" "What, so just because I had opinions on culture and society and - and media and health and CHILDREN means I'm a sinner?" "...Yeah, that's the gist of it. You've kinda got this knot in your head that it's okay to hate people if they deserve it, but that's mostly not the case. The point, like, ideally, is to hate nobody ever, with only a few exceptions." "...Well, then, billions of people are going to Hell. Every single person involved in the culture war... At least those wokists are getting what they belong. Maybe I'll -" "I don't know how to tell you this but... they aren't. A lot of people from there acted on behalf of love and acceptance, and that's a pretty easy in." "Really? Are you telling me every feminist I met online was a kind-hearted angel?" "...Well, not all of them, but... let's get one out for comparison." [Poof!] "This is tigergirl-stretchmarks." "Oh! Hey Zuri!" "Hiiiii! Anyway, you might remember it from-" "Wh- Tiger Girl Stretch Marks is an angel? I refuse to believe that! The Lord didn't send down one of his perfect messengers to post that kind of degeneracy!" "Oh! Oh, this part. So, angels aren't exactly a separate species, it's more of a state of being - you can consider it a job, or maybe a social caste. If you had looked up the original hebrew -" "NO! No, I refuse to believe this! This... FREAK spent every second of their life masturbating, sleeping, eating, ignoring their parents, staying inside, and posting pornographic obsenity! THAT makes them an angel?" "...Yeah. Yeah, actually." "I can back that up. I get to see auras now, and artists who -" "HOW?! How is drawing fat women's engorged stomachs a work of God?" "Well, again, the love-and-equality thing, but, um... I'm not supposed to mention this, but fat fetish pornography boosts your divinity by a LOT. It's considered some kind of saintly material. Jesus personally -" "You're joking me. You're joking me!" "No! No, really. If you'd visit some of our monasteries of -" "Ha. Haha. Hahahahaha! This is a joke. This is an elaborate joke. You almost had me for a second, but did you really expect me to fall for the idea that Heaven is full of stained-glass windows depicting naked obese women holding their stomachs?" "...Hang on, what did YOU think Mary Magdalene looked like?"

[pinksugarberries]

Hey, do you write for min su? Just him being a bit of a pervert

pervert min-su x fem!reader

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﹒　૮꒰◞ ◟ ꒱ა　⸝　new upload!　❜

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　⸝⸝　　◦　　tags: pervertness, suggestive staring/language, min-su acting clueless and dumb to get his way, reader is more clueless, game au, mentions of jerking off, i wouldn’t call this smut but some people may so idk, min-su overshares with the wrong people and they fuck him over, female reader intended (sorry fellas…), ooc? (most likely)

　⸝⸝　　◦　　a/n: how late am i to this…? shut up. also im sorry if this isn’t what you wanteddd people being perverted isn’t my favorite thing to write about but i had no other ideas and decided to do my request so i hope this is good for you!! i also just don’t like writing about me unless it’s like nam-gyu hehehehehhe also sorry if this isn’t short it is currently 1:33AM while i’m writing this sentence…

BLUE: MIN-SU

GREEN: NAM-GYU

PURPLE: THANOS (his english is in italics)

PINK: READER

masterlist • rules

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min-su is a perv, but not on purpose… his eyes just wander and happen to land on you…!

…right?

yes, min-su is naturally shy and a people pleaser, who is usually timid and gets under pressure extremely easy, but why wouldn’t he use that advantage of him being ‘clueless’ or shy all the time to ogle at the girl that’s also in the group with him?

ever since you, se-mi, min-su, nam-gyu, thanos, and gyeong-su have been hanging out, he’s found himself staring more and more at your lips, or at your chest while your talking. enjoying the way your lips move and fantasize on how they would feel against bist, and how your chest would feel if he’s holding them in his hands. wait, is he drooling? fuck.

it’s not his fault you just are the definition of eye candy.

past that, he would always want to attempt to protect you or become someone you could lean on, but he’s to shy to really do anything about it.

when you two are alone, he gets really scared, as if he wasn’t already before, while you talk to him you can’t help but he his eyes ‘innocently’ graze your figure. you didn’t think anything of it, he didn’t mean any harm!

after a game, or talking to you alone, he feels all this pent up emotion that he just goes to the bathroom and relieves some stress.

by imagining you sucking or jerking him off in the stall.

he can’t help it!

cutting to lights out, he finds himself admitting his feelings to nam-gyu and thanos out of peer pressure

(during this section if you didn’t read the cor coded text names before this started, please go back! it’ll make sense!)

“i—i mean she’s cute.. i—i don’t really know..”

”dude—“

thanos put a hand out and looked up at the both of them from where he was sitting “nam-su i got this, bro”

“dude, we’ve seen the way you look at her tits, it’s okay man.”

min-su attempted to save himself, but let out a shaky sigh, putting his head down as he spoke.

“…yeah well, i’ve liked her since she’s joined the team. i mean, she’s kind, funny, endearing, very… very beautiful… and… um… very beautiful…yeah…” he rambled to them, not on purpose, but everything just flowed perfectly.

“min-su, when you had to go to the bathroom as soon as we got back from grabbing our lunches, why’d you immediately have to go to the bathroom?” “oh! i know!”

“we all heard you by the way, bro”

min-sus heart sank as he listened to the boys, shrugging them off.

(to cut this short, nam-gyu and thanos told you and you eventually started avoiding his slightly more since you were creeped out)

ok scenario over!!!

while he was sitting next you, he accidentally gripped your waist,

as you felt the grip of his hand on your waist, you turned to him with a concerned and scared looked on your face.

“min-su?” “are you okay?”

he looked completely shaken up as he let go quickly, turning the other way from you.

“yes— i’m so— so so sorry.. i’m sorry.. that was an accident.”

“it’s okay, just give me a warning next time..!”

[dadsdog]

Sorry I've never done one of these before, but for your prompts/imagines could you please maybe do one about a "girl" joining a fight club because she's so angry and full of teenage rebellion and he slowly gets bloodied and forcemasced by all the other older guys in the club, thank you

age gap forcemasc you will always be famous. i wrote literally SO MUCH for this i might have to make it multiple parts. so i guess if you boys like it i can post some more :]

they didn't treat me any differently than they did each other. when we wrestled and traded blows, they didn't go easy on me. i had grown so used to being treated like a delicate commodity, always in danger of injury or embarrassment. here, the guys make me feel like a person. strong, ruthless, capable. one of them. getting the wind punched out from my gut excited me. all the bruises and bloody noses, they felt like trophies. these guys, my friends, hurt me just how i needed it, and they let me do the same in turn.

they insisted upon shaving my head, as all the long hair was always getting in the way.

"don't worry, you're going to look so good man. the long hair is gonna hold you back."

"man... the buzz cut really shows off your face. a lot of guys would kill for your features, kid."

"if it weren't for your clothes, you'd look like a guy. maybe we should swap those out next, huh bud?"

i would walk into the locker room and feel their eyes linger on me. they would say "have you ever considered going on t? i think it would give you a leg up at your age."

"i could share my t gel with you, if you want to try."

"there's no harm in seeing if it works out. i think it's gonna be the perfect fit for you."

a few of them sat me down and took my shirt off to expose my arm.

"speaking of, have you ever worn a binder? no reason, just curious how you would look is all."

"i think i have a clean one in my gym bag. i'm gonna go grab it."

all the changes came on so quickly. suddenly when i looked in the mirror, there was a happy trail leading down to my boxers. when had i started wearing boxers? i started having to shave my face in the morning, and stopped shaving everything else. i was wearing a binder when i wasn't fighting or exercising. my clothes no longer fit like a girls. i had barely even noticed.

when we weren't trading blows, they were giving me lessons on how to posture myself, how to speak.

"it'll help people to know not to overlook you. take up more space."

"yeah, and stop sitting with your legs together. there you go."

"good boy."

they started to call me that. whenever i did something they approved of, one of them would ruffle my hair and say "that's my boy." i had tried to tell them im a girl the first few times.

"what? c'mon, even you aren't buying that."

"look at you, you're just as much of a guy as the rest of us."

"don't say stuff like that, kid. unless you want us to really kick your ass."

their touches lingered. a playful chokehold would turn into hanging an arm around my shoulder. grabbing me from behind would lead to their hands on my waist. they would ask how i was feeling on t. comment on how good i looked with more body hair. how easily i was building muscle now.

"have you had any bottom growth? yeah?"

"i'm so proud of you, champ. do you wanna let us see?"

"i bet you do, kiddo."

they were right. i wanted them to see how much i'd grown. suddenly, the towel around my waist was being pulled away. leaving me completely exposed to them. they stepped closer, surrounding me. i felt strong, calloused hands hold my shoulders and waist, keeping me still. spreading my thighs wide, so they could get a proper view.

"aw, your cock is so cute baby boy."

"guys do this all the time, don't worry."

"maybe one day you'll be as big as the rest of us."

at that, i looked down to see their towels cast aside. they were older, been on t longer, but jesus. their tdicks were huge compared to me. i gasped as i felt myself being pulled towards another body by the hips. "look how different ours are, kiddo. maybe yours will be bigger once it's hard."

i was pulled along to sit on the bench, my thighs being spread apart. "now what did we say about sitting with your legs together?" i let out a whine as kisses were being trailed up my hairy thighs, stubble tickling my skin. i look to either side of myself and realize im eye level with their cocks. i look up at them as they pet my hair and rub my shoulders.

"you wanna taste?" i nod and feel a hand tighten its grip on my hair. "a boy your age, it's about time someone showed you how to suck cock, huh?" my face was pushed against his crotch, letting me smell him.

suddenly i felt lips finally meet my tdick, he was giving my cock gentle kisses, occasionally pausing to put it between his fingers and stroke me. the moan that escaped me let the other man's cock slide into my mouth. "yeah.. there we go boy, you can do it." he used the hand in my hair to push my head up and down the shaft of his cock, using my mouth as i whimpered and moaned.

pulling me off his cock, letting me pause for breath, i felt another pair of hands bring my face towards his cock instead. they surrounded me, standing over me, their cocks hard around my face. they were touching and groping me. making comments about what a handsome young man i was becoming, how well behaved im being, how proud they are of me. as my mouth was being passed around, they traded places a took turns on my cock as well. i could hear the grunts of pleasure as one man fucked my face, as well as the satisfied growl of another man with his mouth around my cock.

"you're turning out to be such a good boy," one said, holding my face in his hand, "aren't you glad we taught you how?"

[cece693]

could I maybe request something for a male reader and hannigram? something where the reader is always really quiet and generally avoids people so everyone thinks he’s shy, but one conversation with him shows that he is NOT shy—he’s just on the verge of murdering someone constantly. ‘Never plan a murder out loud’ type shit

so idk like quiet, anger issues-y type of reader? anyways thanks :3

On the Tip of Your Tongue

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader isn't who he seems, hannigram is supportive, no murder today, short but sweet, kinda au

You’ve always been the quiet type—or at least, that’s what everyone thinks. You’re the coworker who slips in and out of the office with barely a nod in passing. The neighbor who’s so hard to catch in conversation that people decide you must be shy or painfully introverted. After all, you rarely speak unless spoken to, and even then, it’s usually just a few carefully chosen words.

But Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham know better.

They see the way your eyes linger a second too long on potential threats. They hear the deliberate pace of your breathing when you’d rather lash out than listen to unwelcome commentary. They’ve witnessed how your fists tighten and then relax at your sides, an exercise in self-control so you don’t do something you’d regret—or maybe something you’ve been itching to do all day.

No one suspects that you’re coiled tight like a predator, mentally skirting the edge of violence at every sharp word or rude glance. Well, no one besides your boyfriends.

You live with Will and Hannibal in a large, old house on the outskirts of Baltimore. It’s tastefully furnished—Hannibal’s touch, of course—with warm wooden floors and richly colored walls. Tucked into a corner near the fireplace is a battered armchair that’s Will’s favorite spot. When you get home from work tonight, you find Will curled up there, jacket tossed over the chair’s arm, while Hannibal stands by the mantle, hands clasped behind his back.

“There you are,” Will says, sounding relieved. “Busy day?”

You loosen your tie with a quick tug and hang it over the coat rack. “Something like that.”

“‘Something like that’?” Hannibal repeats with a faint tilt of his head. He steps forward, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “It’s rare you come home so tense.”

You offer him a crooked half-smile. “I had a run-in at work.”

Will sits up straighter, frowning. “Everything okay?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you say, your voice low. You’re aware, in that moment, that anyone else would have shrugged it off with a polite, noncommittal phrase. But you don’t bother hiding the edge in your tone. Not in front of these two men. “Let’s just say I gave someone a wake-up call.”

It’s Will’s turn to smile, the corner of his mouth quirking with interest. “I’m guessing there’s more to the story than that.”

You shrug. “Maybe a bit.”

Earlier That Day

You work at a forensic consulting office attached to the FBI. You’re not a profiler—Will’s got that covered, and so does Hannibal, in his own capacity—but your role is instrumental. You file case reports, cross-reference data, catalog evidence, and do some background research that often proves vital. It’s not glamorous, but you do it well. Quiet competence, that’s your calling card. Nobody expects the seemingly shy, unassuming coworker to have sharp claws.

Apparently, Joseph Sykes in the archives department was in the mood to push buttons today. He’d made an offhand remark about your “lack of communication skills,” implying you were borderline useless in a high-stakes environment. Maybe if you were more gregarious, you’d climb the ladder faster.

You could practically feel your temper thrumming. There’s a little tingle in your fingertips, that familiar rush of heat across your temples. The darkness that’s always lurking on the edges of your mind wanted to creep in, to let you imagine just how easy it might be to…

No. Not here. You repeated the same mantra you always do. Never plan a murder out loud, and never lose your cool so publicly.

Instead, you turned to face him slowly. You allowed the silence to stretch until Joseph got a little uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet enough that only he could hear, but laced with a menace that forced him to pay attention.

“Joseph,” you said, leaning in slightly, “I don’t need to be loud to get results. If you want to see me really speak up, keep trying to push me.”

His expression froze as he realized that, beneath the polite exterior, something lethal flickered behind your eyes. You gave him a small, dangerous smile, then calmly walked away. He was left standing there, mouth slightly open, unsure of what to say.

Back Home

Will’s eyebrows lift as you finish recounting the incident. “You put him in his place without even raising your voice?”

“Didn’t have to.” You shrug, crossing the room to where Hannibal stands. He places a hand lightly on your shoulder, warmth radiating through his long fingers.

“We all have our own ways of asserting dominance,” Hannibal murmurs, a private amusement in his tone. “I’m glad you didn’t escalate things. Though, one day, perhaps you’ll indulge me and share how you control that hunger.” His eyes flick over yours, curious and admiring.

“I don’t know if you’re the last person who should be encouraging that or the best person,” you tease. “But it’s not about control so much as picking the right moment. I’m not going to waste my time or energy on something that small.”

Will stands, padding softly over to the two of you. “That’s what I love about you,” he says. “Everyone thinks you’re just quiet and shy, but the reality is far more interesting. You’ve got more bite in you than half the people at the Bureau combined.”

You offer a wry smile, stepping closer so that Will can take your hand, and Hannibal, your other. “There’s a lot they don’t know, that’s for sure.”

A small silence settles over the three of you—comfortable, warm. Even with your smoldering anger from earlier, you can’t help but feel at peace here. In their presence, your edges don’t feel quite so sharp. There’s an understanding that hums beneath the surface; you don’t need to watch your every word or apologize for the way your thoughts naturally veer. Will and Hannibal know who you are in your quiet moments and in the moments where the darkness tries to seep out from behind your eyes.

And they accept you, entirely.

Later that night, you’re in the kitchen with Hannibal. He’s slicing vegetables for a late dinner, and the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board is almost hypnotic. You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a lazy sort of fascination.

Without looking away from his task, Hannibal speaks up. “There’s a question on your mind.”

You exhale slowly, pushing off the counter to stand at his side. “I’m not sure it’s a question so much as an observation. Everyone at work still thinks I’m meek. Even after all this time. When someone like Sykes decides to test me…some part of me wants to prove them wrong in a very, very final way.”

Hannibal’s lips curl into that refined, knowing smile. “The instincts we share can be…difficult to restrain. But you have an advantage: clarity. You know when to yield, and you know when to stand your ground. That’s more power than you realize.”

He sets the knife down and meets your gaze, eyes dark with a fond, predatory glint. “And perhaps you enjoy having them underestimate you.”

Will appears in the doorway then, shoulders relaxed. “Dinner almost ready?” he asks lightly, though he picks up on the electricity in the air. His gaze dances between you and Hannibal, reflecting his quiet understanding of the unspoken tension you both carry.

“Almost,” Hannibal replies, returning to his slicing.

Will moves close enough to rest a hand on your lower back. “And you? You alright now?” His tone is gentle.

You let out a tight breath and allow yourself to lean into his touch, if only a little. “I’m fine.” Your voice drops, turning wry. “Calmer than I was earlier, anyway.”

“Glad to hear it,” Will says. He presses a light kiss just behind your ear. It’s casual affection, but it’s enough to smooth out the last of your lingering frustration.

You smile, truly smile, for the first time that evening. Because this moment—this comfortable, domestic moment with Hannibal and Will—is what keeps you anchored. You can keep your secrets and your darkness close, but never alone. You can unleash your quieter, deadlier side at will, knowing they won’t turn away from you. If anything, it only draws you closer.

[sugurusladyknightt]

what i'm thinking of right now is what if someone tried hitting on you out while out on a date with your love.

satoru would've stepped away to grab the ice cream that had you waiting in a line for what you thought would feel like forever. it was fun though, the two of you pausing your initial conversation about the days plans in favour of people watching and listening in on the very scandalous conversations of those who stood with you in line. your eyes meeting in shock or surprise every so often, doing your best to disguise your laughs and gasps with charades of idle conversation and your own scandalous conversations referencing drama that, mind you doesn't really exist in your lives at the moment.

while he was a way your getting hit on by some creep. it didn't come off that way initially, but man was this getting uncomfortable fast. can this guy not take a hint? he's asking for your number once again and your refusing once again politely at first, and more stern as the advances keep coming. your not used to people that won't listen when you speak. since when did back off mean come closer? since when did i'm not interested become im just playing coy. since when did im taken, leave me alone translate to my relationship isn't real or isn't important to me and id throw it away for someone who doesn't understand basic boundaries and uses those suffocating, nauseating colognes?

drawing closer and closer to you. face far too close to yours, breathe stank too. yuck. he's gaining confidence now,convinced the 'boyfriend' you were talking about was an excuse you'd made up. your just nervous is all. playing hard to get.

panic starts to set into your bones. he's leaning back, all cocky now.

come on doll face, this 'boyfriend' of yours doesn't have to know. quit playing so high and mighty i know you want me.

you think you might throw up. when an ice cream cone hits him right in the centre of his face. comically sliding down his face. and satoru enters the scene. sun creating a halo around his fluffy white hair, your ho is glowing. signature classes sat pretty low on his nose his skin a little flushed from the heat (hence the ice cream) he's holding two more cones in his hands, walking towards you and and the offender, mock sympathy in his voice. as he expresses apologies that to just might seem sincere if your that stupid if you tried hard enough. grabbing the cone of his face to meet his eyes.

satoru has a incredibly towering stature, and while this wasn't news to you, it's quite impressive to see its advantages in real time.

peaking down at the face behind the sweet creamy mess, satoru recoils. "ew." his tone dripping with absolute disgust. turning around to make his "bleghh" face as he presses the now ice cream less cone into the man's hair. like a sad party hat above his head an sticks on of the other two, being careful to use the flavour he knows you like least, straight back into his face. massaging it around to cover as much of the monstrosity as possible before nodding proudly for his work. a pat on the make, and he's turing on his heel towards you with that blinding smile on his face.

dramatically, satoru drapes his hands over you shoulders, and leans his weight it, a pout on his strawberry glosses lips. "babyyyyy, the sight will haunt my night mares, scary people out there" he tuts standing straight with a satirical furrow between his brows. he should have been a theatre kid with all these dramatics. though you were greatful, and relived. he makes life feel so easy. it's contagious.

he looks down at you through his sunglasses small smile playing on his lips, face no longer contorted by an expression of discomfort or disgust.

satoru hands you the last cone. after all the two he got for him have served greater purpose than satisfying his sweet tooth. strong arm loosely hangs from you shoulder as you walk off leaving behind the cheap excuse of a man now covered in creamy deliciousness far too good him. your laughing at something satoru said as he glances back to see yhe newest addition to his hit list muttering to himself as he try's to get the ice cream of his over gelled greasy hair, fake designer top and horribly ugly face. satoru thinks he should just keep it as it was. ice cream was a far more pleasant sight. he looks back down at you eating away at your cone, there's a little caught at the corner of you lips.

smirking he leans down to lick it off, taking advantage of the angle of your head above his to make his eyes wide and pretty for you the same way he would when he was licking something else. your flustered, mouth open, paused mid sentence and your eyes wider than his now. wide eyes portraying his faux innocence drop to a sultry lidded gaze leaning in to kiss away another but in the other side. your fingers going up to feel if there's anything there on instinct.

he stands up quick, back to his regular self, pinching your check acting as if nothing had just transpired. like the subtle innuendo was felt only by you. "are you blushing?? god baby your such a pervert. is that all i am to you???"

and he's back to the dramatics. rolling your eyes your shrug him of and continue. he stays, watching you, his beloved walk ahead, he feels himself let out the dreamy exhale of a lovesick fool, he'll be the first to admit that for you, he is nothing else.

a quick jog is all it takes to catch up to you. arm coming back around your shoulder he leans in like he weighs the same as the feather. burying himself close to you. you smelt sweeter than ice cream. his hair tickles your neck, and your his face.

"baby"

a hmm is all he gets in reply, to busy lapping away at your cone to pay attention to the kind sexy clown you call you boyfriend. he got your favourite flavour after all.

extravagant gestures weren't something satoru shied away from, as we have gotten to see up close today. he was loud and carefree but he was yours. and you his. walking side by side, his arm around your shoulders, head resting close to you. he can feel your pulse (his posture must've looked horribly uncomfortableto someone watching from outside the two of you). it's peaceful like this. despite the bustling crowds and busy chatter around you, you shared a feeling of peace in that moment. body held close to the one you loved, despite the heat your far from bothered by the proximity. he smells so good.

then it hits him. no sweet treat :( the gravity of the situation makes it self clear to him, but his salvation, as always, is being held delicately in your hands.

"you wouldn't mind sharing with your brave, fearless, super funny, super hot, saviour knight now would do you baby"

[darnell-la]

𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 ... 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬

pairing: dark!pervy!professor!logan howlett x student!reader

summary: the job of a mentor shouldn’t be hard, but for Logan Howlett, it was when one of his best students wasn’t so innocent after all. professors are trained to hold themselves, but something within Logan wanted to release all out on that so-called innocent student.

warnings: Logan is a slight perv, nudes, anal, forced anal, rough sex, age gap, overpowering, degrading, jealousy, anger, cnc/SA, etc.

note: many of our supporters are asking for out-of-pocket Logan Howlett, and it’s so hard finding ways to write him in that way. REQUEST!

DO NOT READ IF CNC/SA MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

There has been a situation going on around the school. Some kids have made a hook-up app for mutants around the school. The professor found out after having to confiscate a student's phone for texting during class.

Professor Howlett has been investing, and trying to get several student's names to call the office and shut the app down.

By doing that, he used the student phone he had to take during class. Sadly, that student wasn’t a student people wanted to hook up with, or even go on a date with. Logan had no luck until a few minutes ago when an anonymous student messaged him.

“Hey, I know it’s hard to find people on here, but I was thinking we could maybe hang out?”

Logan couldn't stop laughing to himself, happy that he could put this shenanigan situation to the side until several attachments popped up on the phone.

At first, he didn’t think of anything, but as soon as he tapped on them to reveal what was sent, his jaw dropped.

The student was y/n, and the attachments she sent were something he would’ve never thought of her doing. Half of what was sent were videos while the rest was her masturbating with toys.

A specific one had stood out to him, which made him feel like the biggest creep there could be, but he couldn’t stop watching.

She had laid on her back so when she spread her legs, everything was exposed. She rubbed so much lube onto herself, that he was confused until she pulled a dildo out and pushed it against her back door.

The way she moaned, made him lost in the video. He hadn’t even known the video was five minutes long. He could tell she could barely take it up her ass, but the way she struggled and still tried was amazing. Especially when she finished all over the place.

“I’ve never done anal, so I’m afraid that’s off-limits. Anything else is completely fine though!”

Logan looked at her message, still thinking if that was all real. Was that really y/n? If this was anyone else, he would’ve called a school meeting in seconds, no matter how late it was, but y/n — He didn’t know what took over him.

“Send room number. Be there in 5. Look pretty,”

In y/n’s head, she thought how oddly the student typed. She hadn’t been around the student to know him fully, but she knew no student typed the way he did.

“Could I perhaps have some videos of you?” Y/n asked, making Logan’s heart skip a beat. “No need, Bub. I’m real,” Logan typed, making y/n gasp. Anyone could’ve figured out who the person was behind the phone after using that word. Bub.

“Logan? What the hell are you doing on here??” Y/n asked, only making Logan’s heart drop further. “What?” Logan tried covering himself off, but that only made y/n laugh on her bed.

“It’s fine, Logan. I like older men anyway. Have you done anything like this before?” Y/n asked. Logan wanted to throw the phone and spazz on how he could’ve blown his cover this bad.

“No,” the man replied, not knowing his cock had grown hard at the thought of y/n still wanting to proceed with the conversation. “Just come up to room 411,” Y/n said before going offline.

Logan had thought this would be easy to deal with since y/n never seemed like a student to blackmail people, but something ran through his head as he got up from his office chair.

How many people has she done this with? That thought alone boiled his blood. He had thought y/n was innocent, and one of the good students. She lied to him, telling him a few months ago that all she cared about was her training and education.

Y/n had fallen asleep after the first hour of Logan not showing up. She had thought he had maybe backed out, and she was fine with that.

Little did she know, Logan had been keeping himself back for the past hour. Everyone in this school is still training, even the professors, and though they can usually control themselves, this was a small situation that turned big.

Logan was mentally and physically going insane, wanting to teach a student he had trust in, a lesson for lying and doing this that wouldn’t help her training and education in the future.

He held himself back for as long as he could, but now he was walking through y/n’s bedroom door. Y/n had woken up from her sleep after hearing her bedroom door close and lock.

“Oh, hey! — I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you might’ve changed your mind,” y/n said as Logan basically ripped off his clothes until he was exposed. Y/n’s eyes widened at his huge and throbbing size.

“Where’s the lube?” Logan growled as he stared y/n’s figure down. She had fallen asleep in the little bit of clothing she wanted to surprise him in. “Uh, the desk right here, but, I’m not really into anal,” y/n assured for the second time tonight.

Logan ignored her and went through the desk she had pointed out to him. “On your stomach — Edge of the bed,” Logan said. He had barely given her time to move before he put her into the position himself.

“Sir, just my pussy, okay? I-I didn’t really prepare for anal tonight,” y/n said, hoping her professor would listen. Instead, Logan spread a bunch on her upper hole, and the rest he stroked his cock with.

“Okay, sir?” Y/n asked to know if he heard her. He did, but he didn’t care. Why would she tease him with that one video if she wasn’t thinking about her hole getting used tonight?

“Mr. Howlett, I said the other-“Y/n tried to get up, but Logan pushed her face into the sheets as his cock pushed through her walls, instantly feeling her grip him as tight as she could.

“Oh fuck,” Logan couldn’t believe how amazing she felt within seconds. “Mr. Howlett, please — I-It hurts a little,” y/n whined, shifting under him to feel more comfortable, but that didn’t matter as he pushed further into her until she was filled.

The scream she let out, was enough to make him leak in her already. “Be as loud as you want, Bub. Hank designed these walls for the privacy of the professors and the students — No one’s gonna hear how un-innocent you are,” Logan whispered in the young girl's ear before he leaned back up and began pounding.

The room filled with nasty noises in seconds. Logan couldn’t seem to get enough of what he was doing. It’s like something took him over once he felt the insides of y/n and the noises she could make.

“Logan, please,” y/n cried out, feeling like he would break her any second now. At first, she hated the way he didn’t listen to her, but after the first few pumps, she couldn’t get enough of it herself.

The feeling of her the Wolverine coming in her to have his way with her, degrade her, and even groan at how perfect she was, only send her gushing around his cock in seconds.

“You’re not so innocent, princess, so how about you cum on my cock again, yeah? Because this ain’t gonna be the last time I have you,”

[popcornforone]

Upon One’s Self

A Dave York Fan Fic

It’s been a while but happy Dave York Saturday. You’ve missed them haven’t you? I have. This was never the plan for this week, but then last Saturday someone in a conversation gave me an idea & now here we are with filth for our stabby stabby.

Synopsis:- you’ve come back from a top secret mission with the army, but you need to go through protocol first.

Word count:- 5800

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! DAVE YORK COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING AS THE MAN IS A MENACE! PIV unprotected sex, fingering, lack of consent, previous relationship, hook up, easy fuck, squirting, swearing, daddy is used once, work colleague having sex, dominating & controlling behaviour, choking, spitting.Basically standard Dave. This is also Young Dave so he isn’t seen as being a cheater.

Thanks as always everyone for the read. Hope you enjoy peoples.

8 months you’d been undercover. Very few people knew. You only told your family you were going on tour with the army. But no you had a special mission. One only a handful knew to about. It’s been scary & multiple times you thought your cover would be blown, but you survived, flashes of the nightmare you endured creep into your sleep even before you were out. It’s been hell.

4 days ago your supervisor called you back. Enough intel had been gathered, enough for a strike to happen. But you had to be out of harms way within 30hours or you would join as an unfortunate. You were told to report to the nearest outpost. That’s someone high up would come & get you within a week, & explain the situation, you would be rewarded beyond anything you could imagine for a low level corporal. Not many Americans are in this area, with your training & previous special ops experience you were prepared for a hostel hosting from the outpost, to be questioned, to be intimated, to even possibly be taken out of an equation, those are the rules. You knew this was the game, but that’s also part of the reason why you were sent on this mission. You’re strong & you know what you’re capable of. You are one of the best at what you do. Only a handful are better.

You were greeted by 4 guns pointed at your head as you arrived. All shouting at you to drop to your knees before getting within 10ft of the outpost. You did as you were told. Your Hands on the back of your head, making sure they can see your US army dog tags hanging around your neck, you’d remembered to put them on as soon as you knew you weren’t being followed. You’re a little bit breathless & tired, walking for more than 2 days in the desert has had its toll. All you had was the rations on you, & 2 bottles of water.

“Name & rank?” & voice over a tannoy booms & you reply clearly with your full name including all of your military information.

“Why are you here”

“Classified, contact Admiral Loughton, tell him the detachment is back” you say & lift your head. You blink, unable to see in the scorching sun. So bright, it had not been your friend. You are trying to make out how many people are near you. But then you are plunged into darkness. A black bag thrown over your head. You don’t mean to scream but it’s instinct as you are pushed to the ground. The material the only thing protecting your face from getting scuffed up by the dirt, dust & stones your face was being buried into. You’ve been in worse situations than this. You are Completely flat face forward, hands still on your head, as another hand pushes you down. You can almost taste the dust in your mouth.

“Check her pockets” it’s a voice you recognise & you gasp. Surely not. Not here. You’re then dragged to your knees & across the dirt & into the compound, wondering if the voice was a ghost or if it really was him.

The bag is lifted off your head about an hour later. You squint & blink before then adjusting to the dim light. It’s a small grey room. One window, a matress, a sink, a toilet, a table, 2 chairs & a hole in the wall for food to be delivered. Compared to where you had been on the mission in the last 8 months this was an improvement. You knew this was protocol, you knew this would happen. You’ve previously had to observe people who claimed to be us army officials who have come back or arrived at the wrong out post. It’s not nice but you are all fully aware of the drills. It’s just worse for it to happen to a woman than a man.

The door creeks open a while later, sounding like the hinges have never seen oils. The sound of army boots heavy on the floor clonking. You lift your head as the door shuts & your eyes are wide. Your ears didn’t deceive you. It was his voice.

Standing before you is Dave York. He was 2 years above you when you joined army training. He taught you a lot. You used to come up with strategies in notebooks, plan the missions you would one day both hope to be on. Often you exchanged rations, decided to split your phone calls you were allowed when it was someone’s birthday or celebration you knew. You looked out for each other. He was a confident first, then a friend, then a teacher & for one brief afternoon a lover. You were nervous before going on your final training assignment, that you didn’t think you were ready for & Dave calmed you down in medical examination room by sticking his hand down your trousers. You weren’t caught but Dave railed you that afternoon. Making your cunt contract in the most exquisite ways. The look on his face as you came & he snarled before his own orgasm, will be a look you will never forget. It worked. You were much calmer before the assignment. When you got back & told Dave excitedly how it had gone, he informed you he had been posted to a special operation & he wouldn’t be back for a few months, but to wait for him. You watched him pack his bag, taking one of your note books with a couple of jokes in, just to make him smile when he was down & alone. This was 5 years ago.

You’d tried to keep tabs on him but he was a ghost, a very good ghost, you did this up to going on this recent mission. Part of your brain always Wondering if he would look for you too. That’s why you became a special operations recruit, to find Dave. But you’ve never been put on the same mission or exercise. Maybe he was too good, or maybe you weren’t or maybe you were even better than him, you weren’t sure. But every time since that afternoon when you’ve thought about him or had sex with anyone, it’s just not the same as the release you had with him.

Dave stands there & looks you up & down. You can’t deny you do the same. He’s still in brilliant shape. That green tshirt touched every mussel on his torso, those shoulders are so broad. The way he grip the clipboard tightly, with those large hands. Not one hair is out of place. Yea he’s still glorious, unlike you, you think. You’ve not washed for a week & you’ve had to escape & track through a Harsh desert. Your clothes still stink of the camp fire from your mission. Your hair hasn’t been cut in months, there’s dirt & dust in every crevice. Blisters on your skin, sunburned in places. You are not the girl Dave would ever want to come back for.

“So…” he says softly reading out your name. He scoffs reading out your paper work. “Long time no see”

“Yes corporal…”

“It’s first sergeant now” he interrupts. A smug look on his face that he’s leapt up the ranks.

“I still prefer Dave” you reply.

“& id prefer sergeant York or sir” he’s very formal, as he rubs his bare forearm.

“Yes sir” you say & nod with a polite smile. You know this will get rough but at least it’s someone you know. “I gotta be honest, it’s nice to see a familiar face” you state. “8 months is a long time being undercover”

“I can imagine” he says as he walks further into the room & grabs one of the small chairs & sits behind the table. The clip board you can see has all your official data on, clearly they have checked you are who you are. It’s only as you look at it that you realise your dog tags are attached to it, you hadn’t even realised they were not around your neck anymore. “So 8 months, why such a long mission?”

“It was compulsory, could have been longer. special ops take time to deliver intel, to make sure we get the right person, surely you know that” you say presumptively. Dave looks up at you. Dave exhales sharply through his nose, tapping the clipboard against the table a couple of times. His gaze is unreadable, but you catch the flicker of something in his eyes, curiosity, irritation, or maybe even something softer.

“I know how it works,” he replies, voice measured. “What I don’t know is why you were sent. Why you specifically.” You lean back against the cold wall as you are still standing, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’ll have to take that up with Admiral Loughton.” His lips press into a thin line.

“I already did.” He tilts his head, studying you. “They were very keen for me to keep you here until further notice. Which means either you’re extremely valuable…” His eyes darken slightly. “Or you’re a liability.”

“Surely You don’t believe that.” Your jaw tightens.

“I don’t believe anything yet,” he replies smoothly, lacing his fingers together. “All I know is you walked into this outpost alone, with no backup, carrying classified intel that I don’t have clearance for. That makes you a security risk, regardless of how well I used to know you.” You swallow, watching the way his forearm flexes as he leans forward. He’s playing the role well, keeping the professional barrier between you. But you know Dave. Beneath the cool, disciplined exterior, there’s a flicker of something else.

“I didn’t come here to be interrogated,” you say finally. “I followed protocol. If they told you to hold me, fine. But you know I’m not a threat.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“Do I?”

You feel a twinge of something dangerously close to hurt. Has he really forgotten how dedicated you were, it may have been 5 years since you last saw each other but the man must still remember certain things, be it personal or professional, were you really the friend who kept a a lot of information in a notebook or were you just an easy shag who he befriended. Before you can respond, he pushes back his chair & stands, looking over you. His expression is unreadable again, but his eyes, those sharp, knowing brown eyes, are scanning you, looking for something. A crack in your armour.

“You’ll be in here until I get further orders,” he says. “Until then, you eat when I say, sleep when I say, & answer when I ask you something. Understood?” You stare at him, heart pounding. The way he’s looking at you, it’s not just authority, it’s something else. A test. A challenge. You recall that he likes a challenge.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, voice steady & do the training salute you used to do to each other as a joke. Dave holds your gaze for a moment longer. There’s a small smile on his face, he remembers.

“So you know how this part has to go” he states sternly.

“Yes sir” you gulp. Suddenly remembering that it’s about to get extremely intrusive.

“Good” he throws a chair your way. “Sit” you do as obliged. He reaches into his back pocket & puts on two black latex gloves. “Legally I now have to say for the recording that I First Sergeant David Christopher York am about to conduct a strip search to insure that there is no contraband…” you both know this is legally bound to be said. After this point the recording will end & then Dave will destroy all of the clothes you are wearing & inspect every inch of you. It will be violating but it must be done. Who knows what you could have on you or inside you. If anything is found Dave has the right to do whatever he has to, to remove it. When he finishes his speech about your rights you gulp.

“I consent & I can calmly before we start, state that I have nothing upon one’s self, I am clean.”

“I’ll be the judge if that” in the corner of your eye you see the camera light blink 3 times & then go off. It’s now just you & Dave.

Dave exhales & stares before believing orders.

“Stand up”

You obey without hesitation. Your pulse quickening, suddenly there is no saliva is in your mouth, it’s dryer than the dessert you walked through. Usually a strip search is by someone you don’t know but today, it’s someone you know, who you’ve searched for. It’s Dave.

Each touch even with the gloves on makes you flinch, your arms out stretched as he pats you down. When he kicks your legs apart you try not to think of the naughty things he would do in other circumstances, with this move. The way his hand skims down your spine sends shivers, you’re just not sure if they are of desire or from being scared.

“Tshirt, off”

It wasn’t a request, & you don’t hesitate. Your modesty disappeared a long time ago. You slowly reach the hem & peel it over your head. Your body battered & bruised, you’ve lost weight in the last 8 months. Daves trying to keep it calm & professional he has a job to do. But he looks at your bra, memories of sucking on your breasts, flag back to him. How your nipples respond with each lick. How you whimpered his name. He know his jobs going to get harder the more he orders your undressing.

His hand instinctively while checking your skin, skims over your bra, he can hear your breath hitch. It makes him smirk, he try’s not to show you, but you can sense it.

“Trousers too, belt first, throw it towards the door.” His voice is hoarse.

With the belt gone as you step out of the trousers (your shoes were taken on arrival) you feel the most vulnerable & petrified you have been in the last 8 months. In your bra & panties as your body shows your increasing pulse standing in front of Dave. He’s more of a challenge than any special operation.

His gaze never leaves, his own heart pounding. He remembers it all so well. He remembers his intention of coming back too, now filled with guilt, but maybe just maybe he could set this right.

You hear the knife blade spring free. It’s from behind you as is Dave. It slices through the back of your bra with ease. You shake your shoulders so it falls to the floor without you touching it. His large hands go up & down all over your bare back. Dave exhales sharply. His touch lingering on your exposed skin.

“Turn around” another order & you do so. Your eyes closed, no wanting to see Dave’s reaction to your breasts. He sighs as he looks. There they are, the pillows of joy he once tasted, still perky, the coldness of the room & their exposure making them erect already. His hands gently lift them up & check nothing is underneath. You gasp & wince at one touch & he stops. His hand softly goes back & sees as incision to the side of your left breast.

“What happened?” He asks softly, concerned by the wound. Clearly older than the mission you have been on, but still a violent shade, enough to make him ask.

“Syria 2 years ago, I was the lucky one” he sighs, he had been in Syria too, he lost a friend in a lobby when a building fell down on them.

“Sorry” he says before he softly rubs it. Hands that kill being extremely gentle with you.

The room falls still & silent for a few moments. Your eyes flutter open as his hands Grace your ribs. But there is no time to mourn the loss of friends & colleagues you know the drill, & this is no time to get personal either. Dave then takes your hand & walks you in just your panties over to the table before he drops to his knees. Your stomach clenches, butterflies appear as his gloves fingers go into your waist band. You don’t realise you’re panting, but Dave does. He slowly & deliberately rolls them down from your hips & down your legs, lifting your feet up to free you from them. Along with the rest of your clothes they are tossed in a pile to be destroyed. Your hands grip the table behind you As he slowly parts your legs. Your hadn’t shaved in the 8 months & you should not be feeling aroused but feeling this hands even if through a glove on your thighs heading for your sex make you whimper. You can’t stop it escaping your mouth. You look up to the ceiling telling yourself in your mind that it’s just a usual strip search, but you’re also then thinking it’s Dave. & you know where those fingers have to go. Those fat delicious fingers.

His jaw tightens & hes trying to be calm. He has a job to do, he stands there looking at it. That perfect little cunt, that was so tight for him, that made him feel so good. What he does next is instinctive.

You hear the spit & you gasp. He’s got moisture on his gloves & your eyes bolt open even before he gets close & you look down at him.

“Let’s at least make this comfortable for your” it’s a steal line delivery. You see the spit in the black gloves as he spreads your open. You try to stay silent but your can’t. You moan. Three fingers slip inside your pussy, curling up, stroking your walls. Your body has missed this sensation from anyone, but to get it here when you can’t say no from Dave, your walls contract.

“Fuck” you pant as he softly moves around. He’s trying to keep his mind in the job but he can’t. Your hips are moving, he can sense the arousal that will be covering his gloves. He should withdraw them now, he knows your cunt has nothing inside it but he’s here, a few more pulses to make your feel good won’t hurt. He thrust his fingers in a few more times. Your toes curl.

“Fuck Dave”

“Sir”

“Fuck Dave Sir” you whine. He tries to cough over his laugh but you hear it. You then moan at the loss of being filled before his hands grip you & spin you around, you bend over the table you know what’s coming, & you know this is the best position for this professionally & sexual. Dave does the exact same inspection on your arse hole. You stand on your tip toes trying to not moan, wondering if he would take you from behind. You are breathless when his fingers come out. He looks at the mess of your privates, clearly aroused, your sex dripping, your arse puckering. He takes his gloves off & tosses them into the pile. He’s feeling his trousers tighten, but he knows he can’t or shouldn’t. Not when you’re so vulnerable. He sighs & shakes his head.

“On the chair” again more demands. You pull yourself off the table & sit down. Your hands in your lap to cover your modesty, which even if you didn’t have much to start with has now been completely stripped away. He drags the other chair over & sits on that. Your head was lowered but he’s lifted it up with his fingers. “Cavity check” he says & you open wide. Dave then inspects every tooth to check there’s nothing unusual, except for the back molar with the suicide pill. Standard issue for special ops. He sighs when he’s done & you close your mouth.

“All clean” he state & you let out a big sigh of relief. You look propely into his deep brown eyes for the first time since he started getting intimate with this strip search. He also lets out a sigh before saying “good girl”. Before then standing up abruptly & marching towards the door. He pounds it 3 times & is delivered some clothes moments later that he put on the chair he had sat on.”For you, for protocol” he says seriously.

“Yes sergeant” you reply & you see Dave twitch. Clearly he likes it when you say that. You try to not make it too obvious that you know he likes that. He always liked it when you called him by his rank. “Problem sergeant?” You ask, his face is flustered & blushing, he gulps, his Adam’s Apple quivering. Dave clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s not sure whether to fold them behind his back or shove them in his pockets. You’ve never seen him this flustered before. The temptation to lick your lips is growing.

“There’s no problem,” he says, though his voice betrays him, a slight waver in his usual authoritative tone. He lifts his chin, trying to regain some composure, but his blush is still there, creeping past his collar.

“Good. I’d hate to think I’d done something to rattle you, sergeant.” You smirk as you say the line, before moving your hands to your side. Your legs do part but it’s a clear sign to Dave of your intentions. His jaw tightens, & for a moment, you think he’s about to rebuke you, to remind you of protocol, but instead, he exhales sharply through his nose. His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity there that wasn’t present a moment ago.

“You’re pushing it,” he murmurs.

“Am I?” You start to twist your hair with one hand as the other trails down your body, to that place he wishes to plunder, your voice softer now. Teasing. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sergeant.”His breath catches. Just slightly. But you hear it.You shouldn’t enjoy this as much as you do, but there’s something about watching Dave, from memory he was Always so composed, so in control, but now fall apart under the weight of something unspoken between you.For a long moment, neither of you moves or speaks. The air is thick with tension, the kind that crackles like a live wire.

And then, finally, he speaks.

“Fuck you” he shouts & the kicks over the chair & marches over to you. His face is like thunder. As red as a strawberry that’s about to burst. But his eyes are wide & filled with desire. Those heavy boats stomp over to you & he gets to you then grabs you around the throat. You gasp & your legs part.

“Wanna play it that way darling?” He questions “want a proper search? Want to be properly violated?” His grip is harder, you gasp but croak the words out.

“Yes sergeant” you lick your lips. Suddenly his spare hand is down your throat attacking the gag reflex. You splutter.

“You don’t just obey, or eat or sleep when I say” he snarls forcefully removing his fingers which now drip in saliva. “You also don’t cum until I say you can” your cunt quivers just thinking of that.

“Yes sergeant” there’s no pleasantry’s. Those sodden fingers are thrust inside you. You go to gasp but can’t make a sound as he kisses you in a frenzie, not waiting for permission. His tongue being more thorough than he was earlier with the inspection. Only breaking to spit in your mouth & then continue again. Moans escape you when you have a chance to breathe. Over stimulation is happening. Your clit, so neglected over the last few months. This fat thumb making sure it experiences the pleasure it deserves.”so fucking needy” he says but doesn’t return to kissing you. He’s concentrating on his rhythm, while those eyes burn a hole into your skull, they are filled with lust.

“We’re gonna count down from 5 & on 1 you’re gonna cum” he says & you pant but don’t reply.”answer me god damn in” he grips your neck a bit more. Your eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

“Yes sergeant” it’s a whimper.

It’s the slowest count down you’ve ever heard but as soon as Dave mumbles 1 which is just audible you combust. Drenching his hand, squirting, your slick coating your thighs, pubes & the chair beneath you. Your whole body trembles. You had little time on your 8 months mission for self pleasure, so this feels like an ungodly power to suddenly have. To find that release of ecstasy.

“Good girl” he says before removing his fingers & sucking two clean before letting go of your neck & slipping the two sodden fingers in your mouth. “Forgot your cunt tasted this good” he says & then tuts. “But look you’ve made a mess,” he shakes his head sarcastically. He then grabs the hem & pulls off his green T-shirt. Every muscle defined. A few scars from past missions but other than a small trail of hair going from his belly button to where was now tight, he looks spectacular. You lick your lips, still tangy from the cum. “Like what you see” he says has he undoes his belt before lifting you up. Your naked body pressed against his bare torso. He feels firm, your hand automatically glides down his body. Over those abs, down the happy trail & into his trousers, gently tugging his penis once you’ve made contact. He closes his eyes & groans, his face full of want & need. To have this cunt once more. He then remembers he’s meant to be calling the shots & pulls your hand out of his trousers. “Who gave you permission?” He says sternly.”I could have you suspended for sexual harassment?” He says coldly as he unzips his fly.

“I could say the same Dave” he raises an eyebrow as you say this before he lifts you up & plonks you on the table. You lie down already a mess but waiting for pleasure to consume you.

“Didn’t hear you complaining 5minutes ago?”

“& you shouldn’t have got me aroused during the strip search”

“Do you always answer back?”

“Yes” you say forcefully “you always liked the challenge back in the day”

“Yes I did” his trousers & boxers pool on the floor & he kicks them away. He strokes his length a few times before pulling you near the edge of the table. He licks his lip as he rubs his length against your dripping cunt. “& I know you liked it hard & fast”

“Yes…. Oooooh fuck” no words are needed, he’s not even slowly edged in. You’re filled to the brim. He’s so girthy, so big, bigger then you remember. Your whole body judders in delight as the special spot it already being hit.

“Fuck sweetheart” he groans on the second thrust. “So fucking tight” his large hands grasp at your flesh. His hips already moving at a rapid pace. “best cunt” his eyes close & he rolls his head before they blister open as you moan.

“Fuck Dave more more” his eyes bolt open

“Needy little whore”

“I’m in need of a good fuck”

“Are you?” He leans over & grips your neck again. “Well it might be quick, but I’ll have you wishing for a special strip search every day” the grip is tighter around your neck. You sit up a little trying to get air into your lungs. Your thighs turn to jelly, your pussy contracting. Pleasure hits you with each thrust as Dave increases his movements. The sweat dripping off him more precious than water in the desert. He’s glorious. The intense eye contact & tension in a room filled with wants & moaning as you both give into your lust. You know you could both be in huge trouble for this. Dave would be much more fucked over than you but all the while he is fucking you, he doesn’t care. He is enjoy each contractions inside you, your cunt gripping around him. He’s looking as your eyes glaze over. He listens intently each time you say fuck. It makes his heart leap & makes him thrust more. He’s at one with you like this is the last time he will fuck anyone. He doesn’t break the eye contact until he can feel your own rhythm change.

“Usually I’d be more dominant” he grunts, feeing his own release coming”but I want you to cum for as long as you can” he looks down at his penis which is sodden. “Cum for me, cum for daddy” you don’t deny him. You see all the stars as you let go. Your body feeing like it’s on fire in a good way, every nerve tingling, a release like no other.

“Fuckkkk” you scream. “Yes yes yes” that sets Dave off. A couple of seconds & thrusts later & he can’t hold back. He quickly withdraws knowing he wasn’t using a condom & ropes off his cum cover your torso. White & sticky. He closes his eyes as he jerks it all out.

“Oooh yes sweetheart yes” it splatters as he mumbles, before he then grips the table so he doesn’t fall down. You lay there completely spent, panting. Feeling more on edge that you had for the mission. You dare not move. You close your eyes & try to calm down.

You suddenly feel something damp & wet grace over your sex. Not again you think but also secretly wanting more. Dave had got a cloth to clean you up. Being delicate with those large hand that had been choking you only minutes ago.

“Dave” you whisper. He pauses & then looks softly at you.

“Yes”

“I’m guessing this goes no further”

“Yes” he says & he then throws the cloth in with the clothes that are to be destroyed & looks at you. Memorising every inch of you, from your horrible scars to your beautiful brown eyes. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing you delicately. This was the Dave you remember from the past, you cup his face, as you let his tongue dance with yours & you both moan, as you move closer together. Your hand runs down his back & squeezes his bum. He lets out a soft giggle. “& it’s sergeant” he says with a wink. He then steps away & starts to redress as you put on the new clothes he got you.

“Yes sergeant” you reply. As you fasten the last button on your shirt, you glance up at him, watching as he adjusts his belt & straightens his tshirt with practiced precision. The air between you still hums with the heat of your lust, but the moment is already slipping away, replaced by the weight of unspoken rules and the reality of your situation.Dave clears his throat, his expression unreadable once again.

“You stay here until you receive the all-clear. Shouldn’t be long.” You nod, shifting on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you still feel despite the fresh clothes. He notices, of course he does he’s Dave York, but says nothing. Instead, he steps towards the door, his hand resting on the handle before hesitating.

“What else am I gonna do Sergeant” you hear him sigh softly.

“I dunno, but I know you’ll be good to go soon”& then he’s gone, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts & the lingering taste of him on your lips.

6 days later you’re released. Your mission a success, your superiors proud & the strike was hit with precision. You know you have served your country & the world well.

As you cross the tarmac to get onto a plane, you are a different person to the girl who arrived at this outpost. Shiny prestige uniform, a hair cut, clean, well fed, you feel more like you again, ready to head back home. As you walk, you hear your name being called. You stop & remove your aviators, your uniform & medals as perfect as they can be. A far sight from the girl who arrived at this outpost a week ago. Fast walking towards you is Dave, with a little book in his hand.

“Sergeant” you say wondering if he will call you by your new rank.

“Major” he says & you try not to laugh & look smug. He salutes you with the gesture you both used to do, as you are now higher ranking than he is. “This is yours” he says. You grab the book wondering if it was from your mission, but it isn’t. It’s the little note book he packed. A note book you both used in training years ago. Worn & damaged over the years. “It was always my intention.” He gulps Looking awkward, scuffing his shoes on the ground…”to return this to you but you were off on your own missions when I returned from mine & so I kept it upon one’s self, just so then I knew part of you was always safe” he lifts his head bashful, the dominant man drifting away to show his own vulnerability “…so that you were always with me”

You turn the book over in your hands, the faded cover rough beneath your fingertips. Flashes of the past come rushing back, late-night study sessions, scribbled notes in the margins, inside jokes no one else would understand. You swallow, caught between the weight of nostalgia & the gravity of the moment.Dave had always cared.

“You kept this all these years?” you murmur, flipping through the pages, the ink smudged but the words still clear. Dave shrugs, his usual confidence faltering.

“Yeah… figured you might want it back one day.”He try’s to bluff. It had meant something all those years ago. You look up at him, studying his face, the same, yet different. Older. Wiser. Just like you. The silence lingers between you, thick with unspoken words. You should say something meaningful, something to acknowledge everything this gesture carries. Instead, you offer him a small smile.

“Thanks, Sergeant York,” you say simply. He exhales, almost relieved, & nods.

“Anytime, Major.”

With a final glance at him, you tuck the notebook into your jacket & turn towards the plane. Your heart wanting to leap out of your chest & Wishing you could give all this up to be with him.

He made you who you are & you made him into the sergeant standing a few feet behind you wondering if he should join you. His thoughts betraying him.

As you reach the stairs on the plane you hear that familiar tone.

“Wait…”

You pause & smile.

[moonmaiden1996]

The interview

Could you imagine Rupert giving an interview and the interviewer gets stuck on the subject of how Rupert romanced and married his own personal Goddess. I sort of feel like this could be a little series. What do you think?

The laughter died down as the interviewer leaned forward, adjusting his notecards with deliberate care. The transition was subtle, but the shift in tone was palpable. The studio lights above cast a soft, golden glow, bathing the set in a comforting warmth, while the audience, now quieter, leaned forward in anticipation. The mood had gone from the easy, playful banter of the earlier portion of the interview to something a little more serious, a little more probing. It was a subtle change, but one that both Rupert and the audience could feel.

"Now, let’s get into something a little more serious," the interviewer said, his tone shifting as he folded the notecards carefully in his hands. "You’re widely regarded as the best Minister of Sport this country has ever seen, so why did you never go for Prime Minister? You must have been tempted, right? I mean, it seems like it would be the logical next step for someone with your… profile."

Rupert Campbell-Black gave a slow, almost lazy smile. He leaned back into his chair, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that had made him a household name—not just in politics, but in sports, in business, and in the social circles that buzzed around them all. His dark eyes gleamed with an almost mischievous amusement as he considered the question, his fingers tapping idly on the armrest of the chair. His posture was perfect, his presence commanding yet relaxed.

"No," he said, drawing the word out slowly. "Not really. You see, sport was always my dream. It was the job I was born to do. I was damn good at it, and I loved every minute of it. Running the Ministry of Sport, overseeing the nation’s athletic legacy—it was everything I ever wanted." He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "And, now that it’s coming to an end, I’m content. I get to focus more on running Venturer, my business, and more importantly... my family."

There was a softness in his voice as he spoke of his family, a hint of something deeper that caught the interviewer off guard. The audience, too, seemed to react to it—a quiet murmur running through the crowd.

The interviewer arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "See, that surprises me. You’ve built quite a legacy in sport, Rupert. But I thought that politics—especially the role of Prime Minister—would have been an inevitable next step for someone like you. But it seems that... family has become your focus now? I mean, you know what they say. There have been quite a few rumors about your marriage. Some say it wasn’t entirely... conventional."

Rupert chuckled, the sound deep and rich. It was the same laugh he used when he found something particularly amusing, the kind that made you feel like you were in on the joke. The laughter seemed to hang in the air for a moment longer than usual before he responded, tapping his fingers on the chair’s armrest with a casual precision.

"Ah yes," he said, with mock sincerity. "The endless speculation. It’s always good for a laugh, isn't it? People seem to think they know everything about my life, but of course, they don’t. They never do."

The interviewer leaned in slightly, sensing an opening. "Many of your critics saw your marriage as a strategic move—a way to clean up your image. Your past… well, it’s been colorful, to say the least. Before you married your current wife, there were plenty of rumors, plenty of… indiscretions. Some would say your reputation was, how shall I put this, somewhat tarnished."

Rupert gave another laugh, this time with a hint of self-deprecation. "Tarnished? That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think? I’ve never been one to shy away from my mistakes. I was a cad, a true villain of the tabloids. But who I was... isn’t who I am now. People can judge me all they want, but I know who I am, and I’m at peace with that."

The interviewer sat back slightly, taken aback by Rupert’s frankness. But he wasn’t done.

"Then what changed, Rupert? How did the nation's most notorious playboy end up married to the woman who seems to have... tamed you?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Rupert’s smile softened, just for a moment. It wasn’t the cocky, world-weary grin that the audience had come to associate with him. This one was different—genuine, almost tender, as his dark eyes flickered with something more personal.

"I fell in love," he said quietly, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "And when I say love, I mean real, honest-to-God love. It hit me like a freight train. I didn’t expect it. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming. I was blind-sided." He paused, his gaze drifting momentarily, as though caught in the memory of a moment long past. The audience was silent now, completely riveted.

The interviewer, too, seemed caught by the sincerity in Rupert’s voice. "As simple as that? You fell in love just like that? The man who was feared and adored, suddenly, completely devoted to one woman?"

Rupert smiled again, but this time it was more wistful, as though he were holding something precious just beneath the surface of his usual bravado. "It’s never that simple, is it? But yes, in a way, it was. It was just one of those things, you know? When it happens, you realize it. She was everything. She still is."

The audience reacted almost audibly, some of them exchanging quiet whispers among themselves. The interviewer was clearly fascinated, his next question practically spilling out. "How did it happen, Rupert? How did the great Rupert Campbell-Black, the man who is Thatcher notorious dog, find himself so... hopelessly devoted to one woman?"

Rupert chuckled softly, the sound almost bittersweet. "It wasn’t easy," he said, his eyes twinkling as he remembered the first time he truly saw her. "I had seen her flittering around, but I’d never really seen her. Not like that. It was in a garden, Charles Fairburn’s garden, to be specific. I didn’t think anyone saw me, but I was there, and she was there to help dear Charles, looking so perfect, so unassuming. Caring. Gentle. She was like a vision, and that was it for me. I was done."

He shook his head, a slight, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corner of his lips. "It took me a while to get it right. But once I saw her for who she really was, I knew I had to win her over. And, trust me, she didn’t make it easy."

The interviewer’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "You? Rupert Campbell-Black? You, the man who never had to work for anything, actually had to—what?—earn her affections?"

Rupert smirked, the slightest hint of pride in his voice. "You’d be surprised what love makes a man do. She had high standards. And I had to prove I could live up to them. I had to work for her trust. Work for her love. It wasn’t just about charm anymore. I had to show her who I could be, not just who I was."

The interviewer leaned forward, clearly intrigued by this side of Rupert Campbell-Black that no one had really seen before. "So what did you do? How did you finally win her over?"

Rupert sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, an uncharacteristic flicker of vulnerability crossing his features for a brief second. "I begged," he admitted, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, but also sincerity. "I got down on my knees, and I begged her. I asked her to forgive me for being the man I had been and to let me prove I could be the man she deserved."

The audience gasped, some audibly laughing at the thought of Rupert Campbell-Black—so self-assured, so larger-than-life—getting down on his knees. Even the interviewer seemed stunned for a moment.

"You begged?" the interviewer asked incredulously.

Rupert just shrugged, his trademark grin returning in full force. "What can I say? She had standards. And, thankfully, she was merciful."

The laughter that followed was warm, genuine, and filled the studio. The audience was utterly charmed by the idea of this notorious playboy admitting to something so rare for a man like him—humility.

"Well, clearly, it worked," the interviewer said, smiling as he glanced at Rupert. "But what made her finally say yes?"

Rupert leaned forward again, his face taking on that signature confident glint. "It wasn’t about me changing. It was about me finding something worth fighting for, something worth being better for. And trust me, there’s only one person in this world who can tame me. And I’m more than happy to let her."

The audience erupted in applause, their approval ringing loud and clear. The interviewer shook his head with a chuckle, clearly amused. "Rupert Campbell-Black, you never fail to entertain."

Rupert winked, his usual mischievous charm back in full force. "I do my best."

The interviewer smiled, leaning in for the final words. "Well, there you have it, folks. The one, the only, Rupert Campbell-Black—politician, businessman, sports mogul... and the man who met his match in love. Stay tuned for more about Rupert Campbell-Black’s mysterious goddess."

The audience cheered again, their applause echoing in the studio as the lights began to dim

Please let me know what you think!!!!

Like. Comment. Request- Especially for Rupert!

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

"𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙚"

Synopsis: In the heart of Chicago, under the glow of city lights and the weight of unspoken truths, they were the other man. The secret, the escape, the forbidden love you could never fully claim.

Characters : gojo Satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento , toji fushiguro and choso kamo

(Nanami's version ,Geto's version, toji's version, choso's version, sukuna's version)

First up we have gojo

The meeting at the Chicago bridge

Chicago was cold that night. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones, making you pull your coat tighter around yourself as you leaned against the railing of the bridge. The city stretched out in front of you lights flickering, cars passing below, the distant hum of life continuing as if nothing had changed.

You wished you could say the same for yourself.

"Did he leave you at the altar or something?"

A voice smooth, teasing cut through the silence. You turned your head slightly, only to find a man standing beside you, his arms resting on the railing. White hair, round shades despite the lack of sun, and a grin that was too smug for someone you had never met before.

"Excuse me?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You just have that look," he continued, tilting his head toward you. "Like you’re either running from something… or waiting for someone who’s not coming."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked back at the skyline. "And what? You just make a habit of analyzing strangers on bridges?"

"Only the pretty ones."

His confidence was effortless, but there was something behind it something more than just charm. You should’ve ignored him, should’ve walked away. But instead, you found yourself laughing softly.

"For your information," you said, glancing at him again, "I’m not waiting for anyone. I’m just… passing through."

"Oh?" He turned his body slightly to face you. "Tourist?"

You hesitated. Then you lied.

"No. Divorced."

It was the easiest explanation. The simplest way to say I’m alone without really saying it.

His expression flickered just for a second but then he smirked. "Damn. Guess that means I have a chance then, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t leave. Neither did he.

And that was how it started.

Too fast

You weren’t supposed to see him again.

That night on the bridge should have been nothing more than a passing conversation, a fleeting moment between two strangers in a city too big for coincidences. But somehow, Gojo Satoru kept showing up.

It started small accidental run-ins that didn’t feel like accidents. A coffee shop you didn’t remember mentioning, a bookstore you swore was your secret. Each time, he’d act surprised. “Wow, we really gotta stop meeting like this, sweetheart. People might think fate’s involved.”

And each time, you stayed.

Maybe it was the way he made everything feel lighter. How he could turn a simple conversation into something effortless, something easy. You had spent so long feeling trapped Gojo was the first person in years to make you feel free.

It was dangerous.

And yet, you let it happen.

One night, it was raining soft, cold droplets soaking into your coat as you walked along the quiet street. You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt him before you saw him.

"You really like walking alone at night, huh?" His voice was warm despite the chill in the air.

You smirked, not looking at him. "You really like following me, huh?"

"Not following," he corrected. "Just… making sure you don’t get snatched up. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let that happen?"

You turned to him then, taking in the way his hair clung to his forehead from the rain, his glasses hanging off the collar of his coat. His usual cocky expression had softened just a little.

"You don’t even know me," you said quietly.

"I know enough."

It was a confession in itself. A warning you didn’t heed.

And when he stepped closer, you didn’t step back. When his fingers ghosted over your wrist, you didn’t pull away.

When he kissed you, you kissed him back.

Relationship (forbidden love)

It wasn’t supposed to turn into this.

One night became two. Two became a routine. And before you knew it, Gojo Satoru had slipped into your life like he had always been meant to be there.

It started with small things late night walks that turned into breakfast dates, his coat draped over your shoulders when you forgot your own, texts that made you smile at your phone like a lovesick teenager.

Then came the bigger things.

His apartment became familiar the scent of coffee and something distinctly him clinging to the air. His touch, once teasing and fleeting, became something else entirely.

Possessive. Intimate. Worshiping.

"Stay the night," he murmured one evening, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare shoulder as you lay tangled in his sheets.

You should have said no. You should have reminded yourself that this was dangerous. That this was wrong.

Instead, you turned to him, brushing your lips against his jaw. "Okay."

And that was all it took.

He loved you recklessly. With laughter that filled every room and kisses that left you breathless. He memorized the way you liked your coffee, the songs that made you hum under your breath. He held you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You told yourself it was okay. That it wasn’t hurting anyone.

But every time your phone buzzed with a message you couldn’t answer in front of him, every time you slipped out of his bed before the sun rose before he could wake up and pull you back in you knew.

You knew this couldn’t last.

You just didn’t know how much it would hurt when it fell apart.

The Discovery

Gojo wasn’t stupid.

You could fool yourself into thinking he was oblivious too carefree, too playful to notice the cracks forming in the perfect little world you built together. But deep down, you knew.

He had started noticing the way your phone was always on silent when you were with him. How you never let him pick you up or drop you off at your place. How there were parts of your life you never let him touch.

And yet, he never asked. Maybe because he was scared of the answer.

But fate was cruel, and the truth always found a way to surface.

It happened on a cold evening, much like the night you met.

You had just left his apartment, wrapped in the warmth of his hoodie, your lips still tingling from his goodbye kiss. You barely noticed the car pulling up beside you, the familiar sound of a window rolling down.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Your heart stopped.

Slowly, you turned and there he was.

Your husband.

He looked furious, his jaw tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. Your stomach twisted as you took a step back, your mind scrambling for an excuse. A lie.

"I was-"

"Don’t," he snapped. "Just get in the car."

Your hands trembled as you reached for the door handle. You didn’t want this to happen. You didn’t want it to end this way.

But the worst part?

Gojo had been watching.

He was standing by his window, his hand still in his pocket, the usual playful smirk completely gone from his face. His eyes uncovered, piercing, devastatingly blue watched as you got into the car.

And for the first time since you met him, Gojo Satoru didn’t chase after you.

Love just makes us fools

Gojo didn’t show up for days.

Not at the café where he used to meet you. Not on the late night streets where he used to "accidentally" bump into you. Not even at the bridge where it all started.

You had lost him.

But then, one night, he found you first.

You barely made it two steps out of your building before you felt it his presence. A warmth in the cold night air, something familiar and suffocating all at once.

"You really had me fooled, huh?"

His voice came from the shadows, smooth but hollow. And then he stepped into the streetlight Gojo Satoru, looking nothing like the man who used to kiss you like you were his whole world.

Now, he just looked tired.

"Satoru"

"Don’t," he cut in, his hands in his pockets, his usual cocky smirk nowhere to be seen. "Just answer one thing for me."

You swallowed hard. "Okay."

He took a step closer. Then another. And when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Almost fragile.

"Tell me you don’t love me."

Your breath hitched.

"Say it," he whispered. "Say you don’t love me, and I’ll walk away. I swear it."

It would be easier if you could. If you could just lie, let him hate you, let him move on.

But you couldn’t.

Because you did love him.

So you just stood there, your silence answering for you.

Gojo let out a soft, bitter laugh, looking away. Then, before you could stop him, he reached for you one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist and kissed you.

Not soft. Not sweet. Desperate.

Like he was trying to memorize you. Like he was trying to carve himself into your soul so you’d never forget him.

And when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven.

"You make it really fucking hard to leave, sweetheart."

And that’s how you knew

He wasn’t going anywhere.

I had this idea while I was in my exam hall like shit it was so good i just had to write this story, as soon as I reached my house.

I m know it's a bit fast and short but bear with me actually it was so long I had to shorten it and that's what you got muhehe I wrote all the characters so don't worry

[marsdql]

through rose-coloured glasses [P.SH] v.4

synopsis: After falling asleep on Sunghoon’s lap, you wake up to a conversation you were never meant to hear. Hidden in the quiet murmurs of the living room, Sunghoon exposes the truth—you were never more than a convenience, a distraction. The weight of his cold words shatters the illusion you had clung to for so long, leaving you heartbroken and afraid. As you flee the room, Jay follows, offering the warmth and comfort Sunghoon never did. With Jay by your side, you begin to see the truth: love isn’t supposed to hurt like this. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to finally let go.

toxic!sunghoon x (not so)naive!reader x jay | wc: 1.4k | cw: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, toxic relationships, possessiveness, abuse of power in a relationship, self-doubt , insecurity, mild violence (psychological), themes of control and dependency, angst(fluff at the end with jay though..!!!)

Want to see other versions of this drabble? Click here!

The living room was unusually quiet for a group of people, the tension hanging in the air thick enough to suffocate. The members were scattered around the room, some lounging on the couches, others standing, but all of them seemed to be quietly talking about something—something you weren’t meant to hear.

You had been curled up on the couch, exhausted from everything going on. You had found solace in the warmth of Sunghoon beside you, his hand resting on your head while you drifted off to sleep in his lap. It was supposed to be peaceful. But everything was about to shatter.

As your mind drifted between sleep and waking, you started to hear snippets of conversation. The murmur of voices caught your attention, and you could just make out what was being said in the living room.

“Is he really still doing that to her?” Jake’s voice was the first to cut through the silence, his tone calm but filled with concern. “She’s been acting so different lately, like she’s not even herself anymore.”

Sunghoon’s voice was next, low and dismissive. “It’s not like she’ll ever understand. I’m just keeping her around because it’s easy. She’s so predictable. I don’t have to try. She believes everything I tell her.”

Your heart sank, the words cutting deeper than anything you’d ever expected to hear. He doesn’t care about me. The realization hit like a ton of bricks, and you could feel the weight of it sinking in.

“You can’t keep treating her like that,” Jay’s voice joined in, firm but careful. “She doesn’t deserve it, Sunghoon. You need to stop leading her on if you’re not serious about her.”

Sunghoon’s response was filled with frustration, a sigh escaping him. “I don’t need to be serious with her. She’s not that important. She’s just a distraction. She doesn’t even realize it.”

Jake’s voice was soft, yet full of empathy. “Man, you’re really pushing it. You know how much she cares for you. You’re playing with her emotions, and it’s not right.”

You stayed as still as you could, hoping they wouldn’t notice you were awake. But your heart was pounding too hard, the sting of Sunghoon’s words still burning in your chest. You wanted to leave, to get as far away from the suffocating air around you, but your body wouldn’t move. You couldn’t move.

The conversation continued, each word they spoke about you echoing in your mind.

Sunghoon scoffed, a cold laugh leaving his lips. “She’s too clingy. I told her I was busy, and she still expects me to drop everything for her. It’s annoying. I don’t need her pulling at me all the time.”

Jay’s voice softened, though there was still a firmness to it. “Sunghoon, she’s not pulling at you. She’s just trying to get the love she thinks you’re giving her. If you really care about her, you wouldn’t treat her this way.”

But Sunghoon wasn’t listening. He was beyond the point of caring.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The betrayal, the hurt, the realization that everything you had believed in was a lie. You quickly stood up from Sunghoon’s lap, not sparing him a glance, and rushed out of the room, unable to hold back the tears. Your feet moved without thinking, and before you knew it, you were in the hallway, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jay’s voice broke through your panic as he appeared in front of you, his presence a welcome comfort. He didn’t ask, didn’t push you to explain. He just knew you needed space.

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “I—I didn’t know he felt that way. He… he doesn’t care about me. He never did.”

Jay didn’t say anything at first, just pulled you into a gentle embrace, offering the kind of comfort that felt like home. He rubbed your back soothingly, whispering soft reassurances. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. You’ve always been there for him, and he’s been using you. You deserve better, sweetheart.”

Your shoulders shook with the weight of the words, and Jay held you tighter, grounding you as you tried to calm yourself.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Jay murmured. “But I need you to know something—Sunghoon’s not worth your tears. He’s not worth your heart. Don’t let him define you.”

You tried to pull away, but Jay wouldn’t let you go. He kept you close, his voice unwavering. “Sunghoon’s your past. Let him go. I’m here for you, alright? You’re not alone in this.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice just yet. But Jay wasn’t finished. He gave you one last squeeze before pulling away slightly, looking at you with a mix of concern and determination.

“Stay here for a bit, yeah? Let’s talk this out. You don’t have to go back there right now.”

You weren’t sure where to go or what to do. Everything felt so overwhelming, like the rug had been pulled out from under you, and you were falling, unsure if anyone would catch you. But Jay was here. Jay wasn’t going anywhere.

As you followed him into the living room to sit down, you could hear faint murmurs from Sunghoon and the others in the background, but Jay was standing strong between you and everything that was hurting. He wasn’t going to let you go back to the toxic mess that Sunghoon had created.

When you entered the living room, the atmosphere changed immediately. Sunghoon, who had been oblivious to your exit earlier, looked up, his face twisting in a mixture of annoyance and apathy. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone cold.

Jay stepped forward, his eyes meeting Sunghoon’s with a firm stare. “Cut it out, Hoon. She’s done. You’re not going to keep playing with her like this anymore. She deserves respect.”

There was a moment of silence. Sunghoon looked like he was about to snap back, but Jay’s stance was unwavering, and something in Sunghoon’s expression faltered. Finally, Sunghoon scoffed, muttering something under his breath, and turned away.

Jay turned back to you, his expression softening. “You don’t need him, sweetheart. Not anymore.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight on your chest lighten a little, knowing that Jay was right. This wasn’t love, and it never had been. But there was a future ahead, one where you were strong enough to move forward, even without him.

[suguslve]

thinking about loser (perv) idia .ᐟ

♰ pairings. idia shroud x shy fem! reader

♰ warnings. suggestive content. loser! idia at first but then he becomes a pervert (yum). noncon (?). pantie sniffing and stealing. stalking. uhhh idk what else. mdni

♰ word count. 1.5k

♰ a/n. i was on idia brainrot these past few weeks and decided to whip a lil something up ;) enjoy reading and lmk your thoughts!

— loser! idia who kept his head down, ignoring everyone, why does crowley need ALL housewardens to attend to a stupid meeting in the first place? he was busy uttering curses in his mind when your sweet voice broke the ruckus. his head snapped up just slightly, just enough to steal a glance at you. w-wait were you stuttering?! and you weren’t just stuttering—you were anxiously fidgeting with your hands too!! are you nervous because of the meeting? because of someone? or—wait—what if you’re nervous because you hate crowds too?! oh god, did he just find a fellow social avoidance expert??

— loser! idia who actually wanted to approach and talk to you, but obviously he’s a coward. yeah, nope, definitely NOT happening. he’d literally rather fight a final boss solo with no revives than approach you right now. and so, as the meeting adjourns, he quickly and quietly leaves the room (with his heart racing wildly and his face burning). 

— loser! idia who desperately tried to avoid you at every turn—but it was like the universe had other plans. no matter where he tried to hide, there you were. his carefully scouted, ultra-secret, 1000% normie-free safe zones? infiltrated. by you. of all people. what kind of cruel RNG was this?! ugh, this was turning into a way bigger side quest than he signed up for. his usual gaming hideout behind the school? you were there, sitting on the steps, quietly reading. the abandoned hallway near the library? you showed up, looking just as startled to see him as he was to see you. EVEN THE ROOFTOP—his ultimate last resort—had somehow become your preferred quiet spot?! and the worst part is sometimes, he’d see you there… and instead of running, he’d hesitate. just for a second. because—ugh, he’d never say it out loud—but you weren’t loud like the other normies. you weren’t disruptive. you were just… there. quiet. fidgeting. existing in your own little world.

— loser! idia who finally gained the courage to approach you. oh but trust him, it wasn’t like he wanted to—he just… happened to be in the same spot as you (again), and instead of immediately running in the opposite direction like usual, he somehow convinced himself to stay. which, might have been a huge mistake because the second your eyes flickered up to meet his, his brain immediately started screaming. abort, abort, abort— but you’d already seen him. his escape route had been cut off. and he just stood there, shifting on his feet, pulling at the strings of his hoodie like it was a lifeline. his mouth opened. closed. opened again. say something, you coward! 

— loser! idia who mumbled the weakest, most pathetic greeting ever known. “u-uh…yo?” his voice cracked, and he wanted the ground to swallow him up whole there on the spot. that was so cringe!! seriously?! ‘yo’?! what am i a generic background delinquent?! while he was having a crisis, you chuckled softly before greeting him in return. idia.exe has stopped working.

— loser! idia who didn’t know how this “friendship” between you even started. at first he avoided you like the plague and the next thing he knew, you two were hanging out like it was normal. at first, he figured you were just another shy person suffering through NRC, but the more you talked, the more he realized—wait, you actually get him?! you didn’t just tolerate his rants about games, anime, and how normies were a blight upon existence—you joined in. he slowly let his guard down around you. he didn’t even mean to, but you were just… easy to talk to. there were no expectations, no forced small talk, no annoying social pressure. if you two sat in silence, it wasn’t awkward. if you talked, it wasn’t exhausting. before he knew it, he was complaining about gacha rates and actually making jokes without wanting to crawl into a hole and die afterward.

— loser! idia who slowly fell for you and your little quirks. but hey! it’s not like you can blame him. you were stupidly cute in ways that made his heart do dumb things. you matched his energy—avoiding crowds, hiding from normies, nerding out over random things. you got excited about the smallest details, and somehow, somehow, you even made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the biggest loser in existence.

— loser! idia who slowly became possessive and obsessive over you. it started as just worry, okay?! totally normal levels of concern. but then his mind started spiraling—what if something bad happened to you and he wasn’t around?! NRC was a literal villain academy, full of shady, power-hungry weirdos, you can’t trust any of the students here—well, aside from him and ortho but that’s besides the point! you—with your big doe eyes and painfully sweet personality—were basically walking around with a giant “EASY TARGET” sign on your back. you can be easily taken advantage of!

— loser! idia who swore to be your protector. it wasn’t even a choice at this point—it was a necessity. so what if he wasn’t exactly the heroic, sword-wielding, normie-approved protector type? he had brains. he had strategy. and most importantly—he had a highly advanced AI-powered little brother who could do background checks on anyone who so much as looked at you funny. he might be a loser, but if he notices someone teasing or making you uncomfortable, he’ll reluctantly step in. “H-hey, back off, normie… uh, I mean, don’t be rude, or whatever…” then he drags you away like a panicked introvert escaping a social interaction.

— loser perv! idia who set up cameras all over ramshackle dorm to “keep an eye out on you.” it wasn’t stalking! no no, this was just preventative security measures! NRC was dangerous, okay?! a totally defenseless, magicless, too-trusting person like you? living alone in a rundown, ghost-infested dorm? that was basically asking for trouble. anyone with half a brain would’ve done the same! (right?)

— loser perv! idia who watches you 24/7 watching everything. the way you got ready for bed. the way you sighed and stretched when you thought no one was looking. the way your shirt slipped off your shoulder sometimes. and oh god, when you absentmindedly played with the hem of your skirt or chewed on the end of your pen? yeah. he was so beyond saving. okay so maybe he checked the cameras a little too often. maybe he kept the feed open on one of his monitors at all times. maybe he watched you even when there was no actual danger. but it’s not like he was doing anything weird! just… making sure you weren’t lonely!

— loser perv! idia who became utterly obsessed with you. he’d watch you from afar, his eyes tracing every movement, every smile. his room was filled with pictures of you, some taken without your knowledge. his obsession grew darker, more twisted. his obsession became all-consuming. he hacked into your social media accounts, reading your private messages and learning more about you than you ever intended to share. he’d watch you through hidden cameras he installed in your room, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction as he invaded your privacy.

— loser perv! idia who snuck into your dorm one night as you were asleep. he watched you for hours, his heart racing with excitement and fear. oh how he wanted to touch you, to feel your skin against his. but he knew he couldn’t risk waking you up. instead, he roamed your room. touching your things, smelling the perfume you use, looking at the plushies you kept, but it wasn’t enough, so he made his way to your bathroom and went through all your dirty clothing. sniffing the clothes you wore, rummaging for ages until he found it. your soiled panties. he took them all, moaning as he smelt your scent on them. god he can feel himself growing hard right now. he took your underwear and kept them all on the pocket of his hoodie. but before he left he made sure to give you one look, and well maybe a peck on your cheek, but it’s not like you’d find out, right?

— loser perv! idia who rushed to his dorm room and locked it to make sure no one would disturb him. 

— loser perv! idia who watched various amounts of hentai that night, imagining it was you writhing and moaning under him. he pulled off his sweats and boxers and let his cock free. he hissed as the cold air hit his cock—then, he pulled your panties from where he had kept them. one hand sniffing it, and the other jerking himself off. he was so close, he could feel it, and so he took your underwear and jerked himself with it. oh fuck, he couldn’t take it anymore.

— loser perv! idia who couldn’t help himself from moaning your name over, and over until he came hard. his mind filled with dirty thoughts of defiling your innocence. god, he can’t wait to ruin you. he jerked himself faster, and faster until he came. his fluids soiling your panties. his breathing was labored, cheeks flushed. ah shit, this wasn’t gonna cut it, he needed more.

all rights reserved to © suguslve.

[kathlare]

moth to a flame

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie finds herself at a celebratory party in Monaco, trying to drown her complicated emotions with alcohol. A casual encounter with Mick Schumacher offers a brief escape, but Max Verstappen steps in to ensure she doesn't make decisions she'd regret. The night takes an unexpected turn when Amelie ends up in a car with Lando, who is also struggling with unresolved feelings.

Wordcount: 1.8 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

May 30th, 2022 - Monte Carlo, Monaco

The bass of the music vibrated through the yacht’s deck, mixing with the sounds of waves and laughter. Amelie was already drunk—like really drunk. Her body felt light, her mind a little too carefree, and everything around her was a blur of flashing lights and celebratory chaos.

Monaco had always been his place. A city she had deliberately avoided since last year, but there was no way in hell she’d miss this win. Checo deserved this. Her brother-in-law had made history today, and for that, Amelie was willing to drown whatever complicated emotions Monaco brought her in tequila shots and expensive champagne.

She leaned against the yacht's railing, her head tilted back as the night air hit her flushed skin. Callum approached her, an easy grin on his face, his own drink in hand.

—You’ve been having fun, huh?— he teased, nudging her with his shoulder.

—The best— she slurred, taking another sip of whatever she had in her glass.

Callum chuckled, shaking his head before casually dropping the bomb.

—I ran into Lando earlier.—

Her stomach twisted immediately, but she forced herself to act indifferent.

—Oh yeah?—

—Yeah, he looked good— Callum continued, oblivious to her stiff posture. —I also met his girlfriend, Luisinha. Really sweet girl, super pretty too. They seem happy.—

Fucking hell.

Amelie suddenly needed a new drink. She nodded stiffly, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she fought against the ridiculous sting of jealousy.

—Good for him.—

—Yeah, right? I always thought you two were a thing for a while there.— Callum continued, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. —He seemed pretty into you. I remember all those Instagram posts you two used to share. Looked like you were having a great time together, especially during that whole F1 gaming thing. I never knew what happened between you two, though. It was kinda sudden when you stopped hanging out, wasn’t it?—

Amelie’s heart sank as Callum’s words dragged her back to a time she desperately wanted to forget. She forced a smile, raising her glass in an exaggerated gesture.

—Yeah, well, you know… life gets in the way. People move on, I guess.—

—Fair enough, but I’m glad to see you’re having a blast tonight. You deserve it, Amelie. You've been working so hard lately.—

She couldn’t look at him anymore, not with the rising discomfort in her chest. Her brother had no idea how much Lando’s presence in her life had torn her apart. She had tried to move on, tried to bury the past in the same way she buried her pain from Cam’s death. But Lando… Lando was something different.

—Anyway, I’m gonna go get another drink. You should go find someone else to talk to, Cal. Maybe someone a little more interesting than your drunk sister.— She gave him a playful shove before quickly turning away, desperate to escape this conversation.

Amelie staggered a few steps, her heels clicking against the deck, eyes scanning the crowd for someone to distract herself from Callum’s harmless but loaded words. The last thing she needed was more talk of Lando—especially when her stomach felt like it was a mix of tequila and regret. She wanted out. She needed out.

Her vision blurred, but then, like a beacon in the haze, she spotted someone familiar. Someone who might just offer the escape she needed. Mick Schumacher.

He was standing at the bar, laughing with a group of people, and for a moment, Amelie hesitated. She’d never had a particularly serious conversation with Mick, but they’d shared flirtatious exchanges here and there, especially last year before everything with Lando became… complicated. Mick was the kind of guy who knew how to have fun, and right now, that was exactly what she needed.

Her feet moved before her brain could catch up, and in a few steps, she was beside him. He glanced over, his face lighting up when he saw her.

—Well, well, look who we have here— Mick’s voice was playful, and he gave her a teasing wink. —I was starting to wonder if you were avoiding me on purpose. Can’t blame you, after all. The way we left things last time...—

Amelie raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at her lips as she took the seat next to him. —I wasn't avoiding you, Mick. Just… been busy.—

—Busy, huh?— Mick leaned in, clearly not buying it. —With the Wicked thing? Or something else keeping you away?—

Amelie bit back a laugh, aware of the light flirtation in his words. She could feel the energy shift between them, the playfulness in the air thickening. She knew he was still trying to get under her skin, the same way he had last year. And maybe… just maybe, she was letting him.

—Maybe I’ve been busy… dodging people— she said with a wink, her voice laced with that same playful tone.

Mick chuckled, clearly pleased with her response. —Well, dodging people sounds like something we have in common then. At least now I know you're not here to avoid me. Cheers to that— he raised his glass, toasting her with a smirk that made her pulse quicken just a little.

They clinked glasses, and as she took a sip, Amelie noticed the way Mick was watching her, his eyes a little too intense for just a casual conversation. She smirked, savoring the attention, the way it made her feel in control. Her thoughts blurred in time with the beat of the music, and for a brief moment, she forgot about everything else. Lando, Callum, the tension in her chest—all of it faded into the background.

—So… What’ve you been up to?— Mick asked, his voice low, almost like he was trying to keep things intimate.

—Filming, mostly. A little bit of this and that. You know how it goes.— She shrugged, leaning back into the cushions, her legs crossed under her. —But really, I’ve just been trying to figure things out. It’s been a hell of a year.—

Mick’s eyes softened, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. —I get that. Life can be a lot to handle. But hey, we’re here now, right? Let’s make the most of tonight. Whatever happened… leave it behind for a few hours. Deal?—

She held his gaze for a long moment before she finally nodded, a slight smile tugging at her lips. —Deal.—

Their laughter blended with the music, and for a moment, Amelie lost herself in the fun of the evening. It felt good to let go. She had spent too much time with her walls up—too much time pretending to be okay when nothing felt okay. But here, in this moment, with Mick’s attention on her, it felt like she could just… be.

It was when they were leaning closer, the playful tension thickening in the air, that things took a turn. Mick’s hand brushed hers, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. She knew what was coming. There was a brief pause, a second too long, before Mick was about to lean in and kiss her...

But before their lips could meet, a loud, deliberate cough interrupted the moment. Amelie’s head snapped up, her vision swimming as she tried to focus on the figure who’d broken the spell.

—Sorry to interrupt.— Max Verstappen’s voice was sharp, laced with amusement. He had a way of making his presence known without saying much at all.

Mick, looking mildly annoyed, glanced at Max, then back at Amelie. He forced a tight smile, clearly trying to mask his frustration. —Nah, Max, just catching up with Amelie. No big deal, right?—

Amelie, for her part, felt the heat rise in her chest. Max knew damn well he was interrupting, and he knew exactly what he was doing. Her pulse quickened with a mix of frustration and something else—she couldn’t quite place it. Max had always been protective in his own way, and he knew exactly how to wield it.

—Well, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to steal Amelie from you, Mick,— Max continued, his eyes flicking briefly to Mick before landing on Amelie. He smiled, but there was something about it that wasn’t quite friendly. —I think she owes me a dance.—

Amelie stiffened, but before she could protest, Max had already taken her hand and was pulling her away from Mick, guiding her toward the yacht’s lower deck.

—Max, I’m really not in the mood for this,— she muttered under her breath, tugging slightly to free her hand from his grip. But Max just smiled that damn smile of his, the one that always made her feel like he was in control, even when she didn’t want him to be.

As they reached the lower deck, Max leaned against the railing, watching her with a certain intensity. —You’re wasted, Amelie,— he said, his tone softer now, though still firm. —And I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna want to remember anything tomorrow, but right now… you need to go somewhere where you’re not surrounded by people trying to get in your head.—

She narrowed her eyes at him, swaying slightly on her heels. —You’re not my damn babysitter, Max.—

—No, but I am your friend, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t make a mess tonight. That includes staying away from people who… might make you do things you’ll regret.— His eyes flickered with something unreadable. —That includes Mick.—

—What the fuck is that supposed to mean?— she spat, trying to pull away from him. But Max held her steady, keeping her close.

—I’m saying I know what’s going on. And I’m not letting you make a mistake. Not tonight, not with everything going on in your head.—

He turned toward the stairs, gently guiding her along with him. —Come on, I’m taking you back to my place. I’m not letting you get caught up in this mess tonight.—

Amelie stumbled after Max, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and irritation. She knew he was right, deep down, but the alcohol-fueled defiance in her wanted to fight him on it. She was so tired of being told what to do, of being protected, of being treated like she couldn’t handle herself.

—I can handle myself, Max— she slurred, her voice laced with frustration. She tripped slightly on the stairs, and Max steadied her with a firm grip on her arm.

—Sure you can, Amelie— he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. —That’s why you were about to make out with Mick Schumacher in front of half the paddock.—

Her cheeks flushed, and she yanked her arm away. —That’s none of your business.—

—It is when you’re my friend, and it involves a guy who’s been trying to get into your pants since you were fifteen— Max retorted, his tone sharp. —And it’s especially my business when you’re clearly not thinking straight.—

They reached the car, a sleek black Mercedes parked discreetly away from the main party. Max opened the back door and practically shoved her inside. She landed on the plush leather seats with a groan, her head spinning.

—Just get in the car, Amelie— Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. He closed the door, and she heard him speak to someone outside the car, but she couldn’t make out the words.

She closed her eyes, letting her head loll back against the seat. The gentle rocking of the car lulled her into a semi-conscious state. She felt the car moving, but she was too drunk to care where they were going. She just wanted to sleep.

The car’s smooth ride lulled Amelie further into a haze, but then something about the silence in the backseat felt off. She blinked slowly, trying to focus on the voices up front, but her brain was too fuzzy to make sense of them. She heard a familiar voice, one that made her stomach lurch—a voice she had tried to avoid for months.

Lando.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Her heart sank, and her breath caught. She barely had time to process what was happening before she felt the car stop.

Amelie tried to sit up, her body still not fully cooperating, but it was too late. The door opened, and Max’s shadow filled the doorway. He offered his hand to help her out, but she didn’t want it. She didn’t want any part of this night, not now, not with him.

But Lando.

Her head was spinning, and when she lifted her eyes, it became clear. Lando was sitting in the front passenger seat, his eyes not meeting hers as he spoke softly to Max.

Lando had been sitting in the front seat of the car, his fingers tapping against the door handle. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything—of why he was here, why he couldn’t stop thinking about Amelie, and why he had to be the one to help her now, of all times.

The night had gone on longer than he'd anticipated. The yacht had been a swirl of bright lights, laughter, and distractions, but nothing really registered. He’d spotted Max earlier, giving him the usual nod of acknowledgment, but Max’s words had stuck with him more than he’d realized.

Amelie, drunk, disoriented, but still undeniably Amelie. He hadn’t expected to see her tonight—not like this. He had avoided her for a reason; too many things left unsaid between them, too much left unresolved. It was better this way. At least, that’s what he had told himself.

But now, there she was, in the back of the car, leaning against the seat, her hair messy, her face flushed. She looked both vulnerable and defiant at the same time, and it was more than he could bear. Lando’s hand had instinctively reached out to her, a habit from the time they had spent together, but when she shoved his hand away, it stung more than he cared to admit.

Max was right beside her now, guiding her out of the car with a careful touch. Lando followed, his eyes glued to her as Max led her toward the door of the apartment. It was a moment Lando wanted to step in, to do something, anything, but he stayed back. He didn't have the right.

Inside, Max quickly took control of the situation, helping Amelie into the spare room. Lando, still rooted at the door, watched quietly as Max helped her onto the bed, his actions practiced and quick. Amelie’s body collapsed onto the mattress, her eyelids fluttering shut, and Lando could feel the ache of regret gnawing at his chest.

Max paused, standing near the door, before turning to Lando. There was an unreadable expression on his face, but Lando could feel the subtle tension in the air.

—She’s out for the night,— Max said, his voice low but firm. —She’s going to regret this when she’s sober tomorrow. But right now, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.—

Lando didn’t respond right away. His gaze lingered on Amelie, watching her sleep as her chest rose and fell steadily. He had missed her in ways he couldn’t put into words, but he knew better than to make this about himself. Not now, not like this. He had burned that bridge.

—Right,— Lando finally managed, his voice a little rough. He knew Max was right. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be anywhere near her. But he couldn't just leave. Not yet.

Max gave him a knowing look, a look that said, "I know what you're thinking, and it's a bad idea." But Max didn't push it. He simply nodded and turned to leave the room.

Lando waited until he heard Max’s footsteps fade down the hallway before he moved. He slipped into the room quietly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stood in the darkness for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. The only light came from the moon filtering through the window, casting long shadows across the room.

He could see her now, lying on the bed, her face turned towards him. She was still, her breathing even and deep. He moved closer, slowly, cautiously, like a thief in the night. He didn't want to wake her. He just wanted to… look at her.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheek, and he resisted the urge to reach out and brush them away. He remembered the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, soft and warm. He remembered the way she would laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. He remembered… everything.

He had tried so hard to forget her. He had told himself that it was over, that they were over. He had even started seeing someone else, someone… safe. Someone who didn't make his heart ache every time he looked at her. Luisinha was sweet, kind, and everything he thought he wanted. But she wasn’t Amelie.

Seeing Amelie tonight, so vulnerable, so lost, had shattered the carefully constructed wall he had built around his heart. He knew he was playing with fire, being here, in this room, watching her sleep. But he couldn't help himself. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, even though he knew he would get burned.

He leaned closer, his breath catching in his throat. He could smell her perfume, a faint mix of something sweet and floral, a scent that was inextricably linked to his memories of her. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent fill his senses.

He stayed there for what felt like an eternity, lost in his thoughts, lost in his memories. He knew he had to leave. He knew it was wrong to be here. But he couldn't bring himself to move. He was trapped, caught in the web of his own emotions.

He opened his eyes, his gaze lingering on her face. He wanted to touch her, to feel her skin beneath his fingertips, but he resisted the urge. He knew that if he touched her, he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He would want to pull her close, to kiss her, to tell her everything he had been holding back for so long.

He knew he couldn't do that. Not tonight. Not ever, probably. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it.

He stood up slowly, careful not to make a sound. He took one last look at her, memorizing every detail of her face, every curve of her body. Then, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He walked down the hallway, his steps heavy, his heart aching. He knew he was going back to his apartment, back to Luisinha, back to the life he had chosen. But as he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was leaving a part of himself behind. A part of himself that he would never be able to get back.

[corpusdilecti]

Room for one more?

As they pulled up to the house, Sam noticed the small brick building tucked behind a modest yard, the warm yellow light spilling from the windows. It was nothing fancy, but there was a quiet charm to it—something comforting, something real.

“Here we are,” Paulie said, with a grin. “Ma’s gonna love ya, Sam. She’s been asking about ya.”

Sam, ever the stoic, gave a tight nod. He wasn’t sure what to expect. The world of his life was one thing—business, loyalty, and blood. But a family dinner? That was something different. He followed Paulie up the steps, feeling the nerves creep up his spine.

The door swung open before Paulie could knock.

“Paulie! You finally brought him!” Mrs. Lombardo greeted, her voice rich with warmth, her hands already reaching out for Paulie to embrace her. Her smile was wide, and her eyes twinkled with that kind of genuine affection that Sam hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the kind of smile that made people feel welcome, like they belonged. She took a step back as she tucked a strand of fading grey hair hanging loose behind her ear. Sam analysed her, and the more he looked, the more features he saw in Paulie. Just like a spitting image of his mother.

“Ma, this is Sam,” Paulie said, the usual swagger of the man gone as he softened in front of his mother. “Sam, this is my Ma.”

Sam extended a hand, his expression neutral, though he couldn’t deny that his heart clenched a bit. This was different than anything he’d ever experienced.

“Nice to meet ya, Mrs. Lombardo,” Sam said, his voice deeper than usual. There was something about the atmosphere that made his usual bravado slip.

She looked at him for a moment, as though measuring his sincerity, then pulled him into a hug—one of those big, motherly hugs that enveloped you completely. “Oh, don’t be silly, Sam. You’re family now. No need for formalities. Come on in.” She was just as enthusiastic as Paulie.

Sam’s hands hung awkwardly at his sides, unsure how to react. He wasn’t used to this. He had grown up in a world where affection like this was scarce. His own mother had been absent in his life, her love replaced with coldness. And as Mrs. Lombardo led them into the kitchen, Sam couldn’t help but feel the prickling sensation of envy. He was raised to keep his emotions locked up, but in that moment, it felt impossible.

The kitchen was bustling with the smells of a homemade meal—garlic, fresh herbs, and a simmering sauce. Paulie’s Ma moved with ease, pulling dishes from the oven, setting the table, all while chatting away with Paulie. Sam stood back for a moment, watching how Paulie interacted with her—so casual, so comfortable. Paulie didn’t seem to notice it, but Sam did: the way his Ma always had a hand on his shoulder, the way she spoke to him with such pride.

It was a strange feeling, watching it unfold, seeing Paulie receive the kind of love that Sam could never seem to grasp.

“Sit, sit, Sam,” Mrs. Lombardo urged, smiling at him from across the table. “I made enough for an army tonight.”

He nodded, taking a seat across from Paulie. As they ate, the conversation flowed naturally, and for a moment, Sam almost forgot the tensions that simmered under the surface of his life. Paulie laughed at his mother’s jokes, and Mrs. Lombardo teased him about his work, all the while treating Sam like one of her own.

“You know,” she said, glancing between the two men, “I’m glad you boys have each other. It’s good to have people who got your back.”

The words seemed innocent enough, but to Sam, they stung. It was so easy for Paulie. His Ma cared, she genuinely cared. Sam’s mother had never been like that. She had never been there, never cared for him the way Paulie’s Ma cared for her son. Sam had been raised on the streets, taught to trust only himself, never anyone else.

But in that moment, as Paulie joked about his childhood mischief and Mrs. Lombardo laughed so openly, Sam felt the weight of what he’d never had. His stomach twisted as the food lost its taste.

As the evening wore on, Mrs. Lombardo leaned back, wiping her hands on her apron. “Ah! I have something to show you, Sam,” she said in her broken English, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint. “You have to see Paulie when he was little. He was such a troublemaker.”

Paulie groaned and rolled his eyes. “Ma, no—”

But Mrs. Lombardo was already pulling a dusty photo album from the shelf above the refrigerator. She flipped it open with pride, showing off page after page of baby photos. There was little Paulie, his face round and cherubic, wearing ridiculous outfits, crying in one picture, smiling in another. Sam had to fight a smile as he looked at the young boy in those photos, but the embarrassment in Paulie’s eyes was too obvious to miss.

“Look at this one!” Mrs. Lombardo laughed, pointing to a particularly hilarious photo of a toddler Paulie, he was on a worn out rocking horse with cheeky grin plastered on his face.

Paulie’s face turned red as he sank into his seat, his hands over his face. “Ma, please! Come on!”

Sam wheezed covering his mouth with his hand trying to stop laughing “oh boy Paulie, the boys ain’t gonna believe this at work-“

Finally, Paulie had had enough. He stood up abruptly, grabbing the album from his mother’s hands. “Alright, alright, Ma, you made your point. Enough with the baby pictures.”

Mrs. Lombardo giggled in Italian, her voice soft and affectionate. “Ah, Paulie, you’re always so serious. You were a sweet baby. You should show more of that side, no?”

Paulie grumbled, shooting Sam a look of mock annoyance. “Don’t start, Ma.”

Sam held back a grin, but his stomach was turning again. He looked down at the table, fiddling with his fork. He was beginning to realize that he was never going to have those moments, those family memories. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if he’d had a mother like Paulie’s.

As the night wore on, the tension in Sam’s chest grew thicker. He wanted to leave, to escape the quiet reminder of the family bond he’d never had. When the meal finally ended, and Paulie’s mom insisted on sending them home with leftovers, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place.

“Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Lombardo,” Sam said quietly, his voice more subdued than before. “It was great.”

Paulie clapped him on the back, oblivious to his friend’s inner turmoil. “Ma’s cooking, you can’t beat it, huh? We’ll be back for more, Sam.”

But Sam’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, “can’t beat it.”

As they stepped outside, the cool night air hit Sam like a slap in the face. The calm of the house, the laughter, the easy affection—it all seemed so far away now. He forced a smile as he followed Paulie to the car, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Paulie, oblivious to the quiet storm brewing in his friend’s mind, stayed light-hearted, chatting about some job they had lined up. “Ma’s great, huh? You can tell she really likes ya.”

Sam said nothing at first. His jaw clenched as the bitterness rose inside him. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to feel this way, but he couldn’t help the jealousy, the ache in his chest.

“She’s good to you,” Sam muttered, his voice low.

Paulie glanced over at him, brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, she is. Been through a lot with her. I guess… I got lucky, huh?”

Sam’s eyes flickered over to him, something in his gaze hardening. “Yeah… lucky,” he repeated, his tone almost bitter. He shook his head and stared out the window, the jealousy building in his chest.

Paulie, sensing something was off, stayed quiet as they drove away. The distance between them, for the first time, felt unbridgeable.

And as Sam stared out into the night, he couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might’ve been if he’d had a mother who cared. But that was a reality he would never get to live.

[israalmiraj]

Have you noticed that everyone will befriend you and support you as long as you support falsehood and do not show any reluctance while following your evil desires but the moment you shift the topic to Islam then nobody is interested. Nobody wants to hang out with you anymore because they find you boring. It's hard to follow the truth and easy to follow the path of falsehood but it is Decreed by Allah that the Truth will win and falsehood will fail. So when you feel like you are the 'odd' one for sticking to Islam then remember so were the Prophet's of Allah in the eyes of ignorant people. If Allah Has put you in a situation where you feel like you are the only one who wants to follow the truth and everyone around you is amusing themselves then acknowledge that there must be goodness in Allah's plan.