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manicandobsessive · 2 days ago

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You’re my lady, I’m your fool | L.H.

Summary: Logan missed his girl.

Warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff, the man is lovesick, cursing, pet names, SUGGESTIVE, mdni please, reader is shorter than logan, based on a wham song, not really proofread im lazy, kind of rushed ending but its still cute

WC: 1.5k+

I had a vision after listening to this song and I wrote this in approximately 1 hour. I’m a wham girlie.

Home. You. Dinner.

That was the mantra Logan chose to repeat in order to remain sane on his drive home. Pedal to the medal, at least 30 over the speed limit at all times. The truck rumbled and groaned with the weight of years of memories and use under him, but he continued his trek home regardless.

Gonna have to change the fuckin’ oil soon, too. He thought. The mere inconvenience adding to his already ever-present irritation.

Every douchebag in Canada had decided today was the day to test his patience. From his dumbfuck coworkers at the lumber yard to the asshole currently riding his tail. He’d had enough. He wanted to be home with you. His girl. His sweetheart, angel, darling, the list goes on. The thought of you was the one string pulling him back to reality. The tether to his life he cherished with every bone in his aching body. He truly didn’t know where he would be if he didn’t have you.

Probably jail.

But you taught him the beauty of kindness. Yours being a beacon of hope for him when he accidentally spilled beer on you at a dingy bar. He’d been staring at you anyways, but humiliating himself wasn’t on the agenda for the night. Yet you didn’t scoff at him, didn’t look at him sideways, not even a curse under your breath. You didn’t bat a fucking eyelash and without skipping a beat, you asked if he was okay. The first example of many showing your unwavering selflessness. It was admirable, you were the better half of the pair of you- in his opinion. He often found himself frustrated with your lack of regard towards yourself, brushing it off like nothing. He’d tried time and time again to tell you to take care of yourself, not to worry about him. And you always, always told him the same fucking thing:

“Can’t control it, Lo. Just care about you.”

Hugging him tightly around the waist, resting your chin on his pecs and looking up at him with that sweet, sweet smile. Your bright eyes and soft face making him huff as he instinctively moved his own arms to hold you closer to him. He never could find himself angry with you.

He reminisced on those memories often. On top of plenty of other moments with you that brought a pleasant smile to his face.

He had no idea that accident at the bar almost 3 years ago would bring him to this point, but fuck if he isn’t overjoyed that it did.

Love was never on Logan’s radar. Written off as another extra thing he didn’t need to bother with. He was certain that life would never be for someone like him- that he’d never find someone to accept him for what he is. For who he is. And you did without a second thought. You’d blown life right back into him, showing him what real happiness is. He swears that when he met you the sun shone brighter each day. Something you would always roll your eyes at, calling him cheesy. But he wholeheartedly believed it- which is saying a lot coming from a man who no longer believes in much else.

The soft glow of your shared cabin came into view, practically calling to him by name. The visual had already calmed his racing heart, knowing you were waiting for him. Probably in one of his flannels and old socks. Your hair flowing freely and your entire demeanor relaxed. It was his favorite look on you, other than when you were begging for him, caged between his thick arms. An endeavor for later, to say the least.

He slammed the truck door shut, moving with a newfound purpose to the front door. He kicked off his boots, leaving them on the front porch. If you took care of the house, the least he could do was be mindful of it.

And laundry, he knew you fucking hated laundry.

The door swung open. Logan made a silent note in his head to oil the hinges of that thing, the creaking got on his nerves.

He’d heard faint music from outside, the notes only getting louder the closer he got to where he needed to be- near you. He knew you were cooking, he could smell the various seasonings and vegetables. But most of all the music. You always had something playing, but it was only ever this loud and upbeat when you were in the kitchen. He’d found you dancing and singing enough times to know what the deal was.

And tonight was no different.

He knew you loved this song, something your dad had you listen to as a kid. A song you grew up on and still loved to present day. He was never a big fan of 80s pop, but whatever you enjoyed he was right there with you. Bopping his head along or tapping his foot lightly, it always made you giggle.

He leant against the wall, watching as you moved with ease throughout the kitchen. How you weren’t an extraterrestrial being was beyond him. He swore you had a halo sometimes.

The grace of your smile, the lightness in your steps, even your voice as you sung along to the music entranced him. Like a siren call. He made his way into the room, smiling when you weren’t even phased in the slightest at him catching you mid concert.

He was however surprised when you pulled him in by his arms, swinging them back and forth as you laughed. He was so caught up in your smile he didn’t even register you telling him to dance with you. Slowly but surely he gave in, a deep, warm chuckle erupting from his chest as you jumped and sang with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning. Your soft hands and sweet scent making him all the more taken with you, if that was even possible.

He spun you, lifting you off the ground in his arms as you let out a squeal.

“Logan!”

He put you down, not bothering to even try removing his arms from your waist as he looked down at you with the most lovesick expression on Earth. Scratch that, every universe. There wasn’t a single one where he hadn’t been head over heels in love with you.

“Hi baby.” He smirked when your face flushed as it always did when he called you that. He loved seeing it, it gave him butterflies. Even after all this time.

You slowly inched your arms around his neck, entangling your fingers with the hair on the base of his neck. He hummed and buried his face into your own, making you giggle. He pressed feather-light kisses on your neck and jaw before pulling back to look down at you once again.

You sung along to the rest of the song, Logan even joining in for one part:

“You’re my lady, I’m your fool.”

He sang, making you smile as you pecked his lips and he drew you in for a much deeper kiss.

“How was work?” You asked as he rested his forehead against yours. He groaned, not bothering to ruin the moment with the laundry list of complaints he’d had about people.

“Hell.” He simply replied, “Missed ya too much.” He mumbled against your lips, kissing you yet again.

You hummed in contentment against his mouth, pulling him impossibly closer. He was so intoxicating you nearly fell to the floor every time he kissed you. Always making you forget your name with the way his lips and tongue moved against your own.

He slowly walked you backwards, not breaking the kiss as he led you to your bedroom. He’d needed to show you how much he missed you since he left this morning. He was a lovesick fuck, and was damn proud of it.

You obliged without hesitation, allowing him to take control and softly rest you on your back on the bed. He kissed your eyelids, cheeks, nose, forehead. Anywhere that was accessible to him, he worshipped it- worshipped you. Your breath hitched, arching into him. You’d nearly forgotten you were in the middle of cooking when he came home. The realization hitting you in the face as you squirmed.

“Lo, dinner.” You huffed, trying- and failing- to push him away so you could finish cooking. Of course, you couldn’t fight off a man with a metal skeleton, let alone want to. You needed him, desperately. But you also wanted to make sure the house didn’t go up in flames.

“Logan.” You groaned, he growled against your skin. Pinning you down effectively as he continued his trail of kisses down your body.

“Logan Howlett.” You said with all the authority you could muster up in the moment. He stopped, lifting his head from your stomach and looking at you with a raised brow and that stupidly handsome smirk.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I gotta finish dinner.” You tried to look as stern as you could, but the way his rough hands were gently stroking your thighs made it impossible. Not to mention the look on his face. You knew him well enough to recognize it. Whatever he was about to say would solidify the one thing you knew: you weren’t leaving this bed anytime soon.

“I’ll cook. Jus’ lemme have this, sweetheart. I missed ya.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #logan howlett fluff #logan x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #james logan howlett #logan wolverine #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlet x reader #origins logan my love #x men origins wolverine #origins logan howlett #manicwrites🙀#logan howlett fic #x men movies

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blairxbear · 2 days ago

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How they handle jealousy and would react to someone flirting with you

UA Part 1 / UA Part 2 / Pro Heroes / Villains

How will the guys at UA react handle their jealousy and react to someone else flirting with you?

Featuring: Katsuki Bakugo, Tamaki Amajiki, Hitoshi Shinso, Eijiro Kirishima, Mezo Shoji, Fumikage Tokoyami, Rikido Sato, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Katsuki Bakugo

Jealousy Level: 11/10 – Possessive, territorial, ready to throw hands.

Bakugo? Jealous? Oh, he’s furious the moment someone even looks at you for too long.

He immediately steps between you and the flirter, glaring daggers at them.

“The hell do you think you’re doing talking to MY partner?”

His arm wraps around your waist, gripping tightly like he’s daring anyone to challenge him.

If the flirter keeps pushing, expect a fiery explosion in the background as he growls:

“I swear to god, walk away before I fcking make you.”*

Afterward, he grumbles about it all day, acting extra protective.

Pulls you onto his lap later, burying his face in your neck:

“Dumbass… You’re mine. Say it.”

Tamaki Amajiki

Jealousy Level: 7/10 – Quiet but deeply insecure.

Tamaki doesn’t get aggressive, but his heart starts pounding in panic when someone flirts with you.

He freezes up, his eyes darting between you and the flirter, anxiously fidgeting.

The longer it goes on, the more he shrinks into himself, his brain whispering, “They could do better than me, couldn’t they?”

But when the flirter touches you, his shyness disappears, and his hand grips your wrist gently but firmly, pulling you closer.

“P-please don’t… touch what’s mine.” (blushes immediately after saying it.)

Afterward, he becomes extra clingy, his fingers brushing yours nervously.

Later, when you reassure him, he buries his face against your chest, mumbling:

“I don’t want to lose you…”

Hitoshi Shinso

Jealousy Level: 8/10 – Calm but passive-aggressive.

Shinso hates seeing someone flirt with you, but he doesn’t lose his cool.

He watches, arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his eyes hold a dangerous gleam.

Instead of getting aggressive, he just interjects smoothly:

“You really think you have a chance? That’s adorable.”

If the flirter persists? One word. Brainwash.

“Go walk into that wall for me.”

Later, he pulls you close, his voice low in your ear:

“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” (He won’t admit how much he loves it.)

Eijiro Kirishima

Jealousy Level: 6/10 – Protective but trusting.

Kiri doesn’t get jealous easily, but when he does? He handles it maturely.

He’ll laugh it off at first, stepping beside you, resting a gentle but firm hand on your waist.

“Hey, bud, just so you know—Y/N’s taken.”

If the flirter keeps pushing, his sharp-toothed grin fades, and his voice gets deeper.

“I don’t like repeating myself.”

He won’t fight, but his presence alone is enough to make anyone back off.

Afterward, he hugs you from behind, kissing your temple.

“You’re mine, got it? I know I don’t need to be jealous… but I still am.”

Mezo Shoji

Jealousy Level: 5/10 – Observant but rarely reacts.

Shoji is so calm and collected, he doesn’t get openly jealous.

Instead, he watches quietly, assessing whether it’s harmless or disrespectful.

If the flirter keeps going, he steps closer, towering over them, his multiple arms subtly flexing.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” (His deep voice alone scares them off.)

Afterward, he doesn’t bring it up, but he keeps his hands on you more—an arm around your waist, fingers brushing yours.

Later, when you’re alone, he softly says:

“I trust you… but I’ll always be here to protect you.”

Fumikage Tokoyami

Jealousy Level: 7/10 – Silent but possessive.

Fumikage acts like he doesn’t care, but his clenched fists and stiff shoulders say otherwise.

If the flirting goes too far, Dark Shadow takes over before he can react:

“BACK OFF. THEY’RE TAKEN.”

He doesn’t need to say anything—his piercing gaze alone is intimidating.

Afterward, he takes your hand silently, leading you away.

Later, in the quiet of the night, he pulls you against him, whispering:

“I am not usually one for envy… but I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

Rikido Sato

Jealousy Level: 5/10 – Chill but lowkey possessive.

Sato doesn’t get mad easily, but when someone flirts with you, he doesn’t like it.

He just steps up behind you, crossing his muscular arms, his presence looming.

“Hope you weren’t getting the wrong idea.”

If the flirter keeps pushing, he leans down, whispering in your ear:

“Tell me if you want me to ‘accidentally’ spill protein powder on their head.”

Afterward, he bakes you something sweet, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You don’t need anyone else, right?”

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Jealousy Level: 9/10 – Competitive, loud, and protective.

Tetsutetsu? Immediate challenge mode.

The moment someone flirts with you, he puffs up his chest, loudly declaring:

“HEY! BACK OFF! Y/N IS MINE!”

If the flirter dares to challenge him, he’s ready to fight on the spot.

“YOU WANNA GO?! WINNER GETS Y/N’S LOVE!”

You have to drag him away, laughing while he rants.

Later, he holds your face gently in his big hands, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll always fight for you. You know that, right?”

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carnalcrows · 2 days ago

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YANDERE GANGSTER

☆ name: Felix Marino (Феликс Марино | Félix Marino) → "Fortunate and Of the Sea"

☆ ethnicity : Italian-American

☆ age : 34

☆ gender : Male

☆ mbti : INTJ

☆ his story : [click to proceed]

Once just a regular blue-collar worker with a simple dream—build a good life for his wife and their unborn daughter. But fate had other plans. A tragic misunderstanding led to his wife's brutal murder at the hands of a gang seeking revenge for a crime he never committed. Grief turned into vengeance, and vengeance turned into power. One by one, he eliminated those responsible, leaving no stone unturned, no soul spared. But revenge wasn’t enough—it never is. By the time the dust settled, he had built an empire from the ashes of his pain. Now, he rules one of the most feared mafia syndicates in the world, his name whispered in both reverence and terror.

He’s a ghost of the man he used to be, his heart long buried with his wife. He tells himself love is no longer for him—his wife would have hated the monster he’s become. But in a world of blood and betrayal, the past has a way of creeping back in when least expected.

☆ appearance:

Dark brown hair, always neatly styled but never too perfect—like he doesn’t care, but somehow, it still looks effortless.

Dark green eyes with brown flecks, almost black in the shadows, but strikingly green in the sunlight—if he ever lets himself stand in it.

6'2" with a lean but powerful build—every move he makes is calculated, every step, deliberate.

A face that looks carved from stone—strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, an expression that rarely changes.

Wears expensive but understated suits, always in dark colors—nothing flashy, just powerful.

Tattoos: His wife's name on one wrist, their unborn daughter’s name on the other, the only softness left in him. He has various other tattoos of flowers and snakes running down his arms and his back.

☆ personality:

Cold, calculating, and terrifyingly efficient—he doesn’t waste words or emotions.

A master of control—of himself, of his enemies, of the entire underworld.

Speaks in a quiet, measured tone, but when he gives an order, it’s absolute.

Loyalty is sacred to him—betrayal is met with ruthless consequences.

His patience is legendary, but once it runs out, there’s no going back.

Haunted by his past but refuses to show it—his grief is a private wound, one that never truly heals.

Believes emotions are a liability, yet can't fully extinguish the ghost of the man he used to be.

☆ with a lover:

He doesn’t do casual—if he lets someone in, it’s serious, but that’s a rare occurrence.

Overprotective to a dangerous degree—if you’re his, no one touches you. Period.

Doesn’t believe he’s capable of love anymore, but if it happens, it’ll be deep, intense, and consuming.

Shows love in subtle ways—protecting, providing, making sure you’re safe before you even realize you’re in danger.

Will never say "I love you" easily, but his actions will speak louder than any words ever could.

Doesn't do jealousy—he does ownership. If you're his, he makes sure you know it.

☆ strengths:

Unmatched strategic mind—he sees five moves ahead at all times.

Ice-cold under pressure—he never panics, never loses control.

Deadly with both words and weapons—he can end someone with either.

Inspires fear and loyalty in equal measure—his presence alone is enough to command a room.

Never forgets a debt—whether he owes one or is collecting one.

☆ weaknesses:

His past—no matter how much he buries it, it never truly stays dead.

Love—he tells himself he’s incapable, but if he ever lets someone in, they’d become his greatest weakness.

His wife's memory—she is both his strength and his curse, the one thing that can still make him hesitate.

He doesn't know when to stop—revenge, power, control—he always wants more.

Has built his empire alone and trusts almost no one—loneliness is his own prison.

☆ relationships:

Wife (deceased): The only woman he ever loved, the only person who ever made him truly happy. Her memory haunts him, and he wonders if she’d still recognize him now.

Unborn Daughter (deceased): A life that never got to begin, but one he still mourns every single day.

Right-Hand Man: The only person he trusts, the only one who dares to speak freely in his presence.

Enemies: Too many to count, but they all share the same fear—crossing him means death.

Potential Love Interest: If someone ever manages to break through his walls, they’ll find a man who is both terrifying and deeply, painfully human.

☆ extra:

Speaks fluent Italian, English, Russian and a handful of other languages (for business reasons).

Has a soft spot for old jazz and classical music—not that anyone would dare comment on it.

Never lets anyone see his wrists uncovered—those tattoos are the only vulnerability he has left.

Keeps a single photograph of his wife tucked inside his wallet. No one has ever seen him look at it.

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deswhomst · 2 days ago

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See You Again (Will I?) — @black-brothers-microfic — WC: 1366 | Warnings: implied (sacrificial) suicide

Hogwarts circa June, 1978.

“Regulus,” Sirius said, the name foreign on his tongue, the sound wrong in his ears.

The younger boy gave a short nod. “Sirius.”

Oh—his own name sounded wrong, too.

It was a well-established fact that Sirius hated the Blacks and that included the hollow shell of a brother he once knew—who was now staring back at him with a razor-sharp gaze.

Regulus used to be such a soft kid—annoying and snobbish, yes, but polite and sweet, too. It was like Sirius had blinked one day and Regulus had shattered into a mosaic of broken glass, all jagged edges that threatened to leave the deepest cuts. A part of Sirius knew that he had missed out on his brother’s life by his own choice but he couldn’t help the wound that opened up in his heart at thought.

Sirius decided to speak up. “I’m leaving.”

Regulus raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

“I mean—” Sirius grimaced at the wording. “Hogwarts. Seventh Year done and whatnot.”

“A bit surprised, if I’m being honest,” Regulus said. “I always imagined that you would get expelled.”

Why did he speak like that? Absolutely zero emotion on his face. He had changed so much in the last two years—him arguing with Sirius and being a little bitch was much better than … whatever this was.

“Yeah, well,” Sirius shrugged, passing him a toothy grin. “Came close once. Or ten times.”

“I’m sure.”

Usually, Sirius would be mean to Regulus. He would look at him and turn away in pure contempt. Today, however, with all the goodbyes and a war looming ahead, Sirius found himself overcome with a fondness for his brother that hasn’t been there in … six years? Longer?

Sirius has heard the rumors about Regulus already becoming a Death Eater. He knew that even if it wasn’t true, yet, that was still the path Regulus was heading down. That has always been his big goal in life. The thought of it brought back some bitterness but the more prominent cloud in Sirius’ mind was a heavy reminder that he would be on opposite sides of a war with his own brother.

He had no confirmation that Regulus had actually taken the Dark Mark and as long as he didn’t, Sirius reasoned, he had one last chance to say the goodbye they had put off for two years.

Sirius didn’t think much about it. Words were failing him, anyways, and so he moved forward, bringing his arm around Regulus in a hug that neither of them were prepared for.

Regulus went rigid instantly, his entire body locking up as if he had been petrified. The hesitation, the instinctive recoil, it all vibrated through Sirius’ own body, but then—slowly, stiffly—Regulus started to return the embrace. In all honesty, it was not much at all. There was no warmth—in fact, even under the glare of the summer sun, Regulus felt colder than ice. But it was there, he was there, and Sirius decided that this would have to count. It would have to mean something, and it does.

Sirius exhaled through his nose, gripping the fabric of Regulus’ robes for just a second longer before pulling back. His hands lingered on his brother’s arms, giving them a brief squeeze before letting go entirely.

“This is the last time,” Sirius said, voice not as steady as he had intended.

Regulus blinked, something flickering across his face but it was gone before Sirius could place it. “Hmm?”

“This is the last time,” Sirius pressed more firmly, “we will ever see each other.”

Regulus did not argue. He only nodded, paused for one second, then promptly turned on his heel and walked away.

This time, Sirius watched Regulus leave.

Knockturn Alley circa August, 1979.

Regulus stepped out of Burkin and Burkes, the replica of Slytherin’s locket safely tucked into his pocket. Time was moving slowly for him tonight, which probably made sense since he was quite literally on his way to trade his life for the real locket.

For someone who was about to die at eighteen, Regulus didn’t have much that he wanted to do. He wished that things had been different but, honestly, even without the war, Regulus Black would not mean anything to anyone. That was his reality, it was his burden, and he will rot the water with it soon.

Perhaps the universe wasn’t done punishing Regulus, though, because as he turned down an alley, he came face to face with his brother. The estranged, disowned brother he hadn’t seen in a year. The brother who was actively fighting against him.

Where the light bled into the dark, where the flickering streetlamps didn’t reach, that’s where Regulus saw Sirius again.

One last time.

“I don’t want to fight,” Regulus found himself saying, immediately, voice small. He was exhausted—bone-deep and soul-deep. There was nothing left in him to give anymore. “Please, Sirius.”

Sirius was accessing him carefully, jaw clenched tightly, but Regulus caught the hint of concern in his unforgiving gaze. He must look like a special brand of shit for Sirius to put aside his hatred.

“You look like hell,” Sirius muttered, confirming that theory.

Regulus huffed. “Don’t we all?”

Sirius didn’t smile. Regulus hadn’t expected him to. With that, a silence settled over them, and calling it uncomfortable would not do it justice.

None of it mattered, anyways.

Regulus was already dying.

He was dying, and Sirius hated him.

He was dying, and no one loved him.

“I know we’re on opposite sides,” he admitted, keeping his gaze fixed on the cold stone wall behind Sirius’ shoulder. “And I know what that means.”

“Do you?” Sirius’ voice was sharp, edged with something dangerous. Something awful, something hateful. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

Regulus shook his head, a bit desperate. “I do,” he hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t expect you to understand, but this—this is something that I have to do.”

Sirius’ expression twisted, frustration flickering across his face. “You’ve never had to—”

“Listen,” Regulus cut in, digging crescents into his palm. “I meant what I said about not wanting to fight. Please, Sirius, don’t be mean to me today.”

It was unfair. It was pathetic, too, but again—Regulus was dying so nothing mattered. What was Sirius going to do? Leave him again? Kill him more?

None of it mattered.

Regulus didn’t matter. He never had, never will.

“Reggie—”

And maybe it was simply the fear of dying alone or maybe it was the use of the nickname the Regulus hadn’t heard in years that made him pull Sirius into a hug in that moment.

Regulus had never initiated an embrace with anyone before—and he never will after this. This had been his last chance to do so and he has done it. Now, at least, Regulus can claim that in the eighteen years he got, he had given one hug.

It was warm despite his own inherent coldness. Unlike Regulus, Sirius didn’t hesitate before retuning it, arms circling around his shoulders. It was then that Regulus realized that he had grown taller than Sirius. The older Black seemed to have come to the same conclusion, his response being a tight squeeze.

In another life, Regulus would have teased him about this. In another life, Sirius would have been annoyed by this.

Regulus didn’t let go of his brother for what felt like an eternity. He wished that Sirius would ask him to stay, but how could Sirius know where he was headed? Would it change anything, Regulus wondered? If Sirius knew that Regulus was going to give up his life to bring down the Dark Lord, would he stop him?

Will he mourn him?

Will anyone?

“Alright. Alright,” Sirius sighed. He was the first to pull away and it had to be him because Regulus wasn’t brave enough to face reality again. “Stupid question but … are you okay?”

Regulus supposed that’s something he hasn’t done yet. Be okay. He pulled back further, shrugging.

“You were wrong, Sirius,” Regulus muttered. “This is the last time we will ever see each other.”

Sirius had left once, so Regulus had to be the one who left at least twice.

And for good this time.

Edit: Moodboard I made inspired by this

#first micro did i do it right idk lmaoo #reg’s pov is less expressive because it became triggering to me lmao i’m sorry #it would be too heavy for this & too many words #also to be clear i don’t think this is how it would go in canon #black brothers angst #rereading and cringing 😭😭#black brothers #sirius and regulus #marauders microfic #black brothers microfic #sirius black #regulus black #jegulus #james potter #dead gay wizards from the 70s #starchaser #sunseeker #marauders #hp marauders

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pencilpat · 3 days ago

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The Scout RED v. BLU sketch pages were fun, I might keep doing that until I run out of steam. Take some Snipers.

Like the Scout ones, some brief related headcanons below.

RED:

-Likes bugs a lot. Will go out of his way to pick up and play with even the 'ugliest' or most dangerous ones. Fond of roaches and beetles. If he could wake up tomorrow and be a beetle, he'd finally be content with life.

-Smokes, both tobacco and weed. He tries to not smoke too much weed though, because if he smells like it he would be easy to track down during battle. Tobacco really helps his nerves and paranoid thinking.

-Sewed animal teeth onto his own hat. He likes his hat a lot, it was a gift from his father. Hunting also reminds him of spending time with his dad & mum, and he likes to go hunt birds to cook, or to go fishing to pass the time off work.

-Enjoys a GNC look sometimes. Considers himself a bit of a girl too, but doesn't really know how to express that to the people around him. "I'm probably nonbinary but I've got a job so idrc about that rn."

-Pierced his ears himself. Has longer, unruly hair that he contains with ponytails and braids. Is very tan because of spending so much of his time outside. Generally dresses in darker clothes during work, as it makes him feel like he blends into the shadows (even though it really makes him stand out a bit more). Always has a slight smile, like he's making fun of you in his head.

-Rarely seen without a weapon of some sort on his person. Also pretty much never seen without his sunglasses on.

BLU:

-Peeked through the brain-scooping-induced veil once and realized he had the same face as someone on the other team. So they scooped his brain even more til it got muddled up. Now he gets frequent, intense migraines and struggles with his balance, and with limb control on his left side. It mostly affects his legs, meaning he can still snipe with good accuracy. He sometimes uses a cane if he feels particularly weak that day.

-Hates his face but can't remember why without his head pounding. He can barely even see it, it feels like. Like a big pixelated mass where it should be. So he covers it a lot, especially during battles and missions.

-Hats make him feel more anonymous. Ranges from very cool ones to the dorkiest bucket hats you've ever seen.

-Likes fishing and nature walks to look for birds. Also goes hunting in the tundra around the BLU base pretty much daily. It's good stress relief.

-Plays guitar, pretty decently too. Also good for stress relief.

-Uses a bow and arrows about as much as he uses his rifle. He hand carves his arrows, wood carving is a very satisfying hobby for him.

-Always seems a little pallid and grey in the face. Especially compared to the deep tan RED Sniper has.

-Cuts or shaves down his hair regularly, only lets it grow back a little. Clean-shaven unless he's doing terribly that week. Has a couple scars that stick around even after respawning. Wears bracelets and necklaces often, though less so during work. Only smiles when he's alone, and in general behaves coldly towards his team.

-Doesn't smoke or drink. Hates the feeling of an altered consciousness.

-Paid his own money for a gun he thought looked better. He's getting tired of being on the losing team all the time.

Bonus

#i think abt the snipers so often man i need it the way ailing victorian children needed seaside air #tf2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 blu team #tf2 blu sniper #tf2 red sniper #red sniper #blu sniper #team fortress 2 #sniper tf2 #tf2 fanart #tf2 headcanons #team fortress 2 sniper

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mikkomacko · 24 hours ago

Note

Reader x mob!boss Nico (also sorry if that's wrong, this is my first request for the series) but something angst smut maybe after Nico comes from the gym?

A/n: This has been in my inbox for literally months I am so sorry it took me so long to write this omg 🫶 but for those of you worried I ignored your blurb requests, they’re probably just in my drafts still lmao

I changed this up a bit but I hope you still love it!

Warnings: smut, jealous Nico, angry Nico

____________________________________________

Nico doesn’t have exes. He’s got old hook-ups and one night stands, girls that clearly come to the Rock looking for him. They’ve all heard about how hot the Devils boss is, as well as the Devils themselves.

It never bothered you.

Nico never had anything with them, at least nothing real, so you never thought you’d have to worry about jealousy between you and Nico. At least nothing beyond the light hearted pouting he does when you’re with Johnny or the way you attach yourself to his hip when girls are obviously flirting with him.

Until an old face made an appearance at the Rock.

You blame Jack for it, honestly. It was harmless, Tyson was harmless other than Nico recognizing the name as soon as you stumbled upon your old boyfriend at the bar. It was one of the first personal stories Nico ever heard about you. Your high school boyfriend, your first love, your first heartbreak. You dated him for a while, fell in love, decided to celebrate your year anniversary together by finally doing it. The universal act of love, the infamous first time from every rom-com.

Except there was nothing romantic or comedic about it at all. It was below average sex, the build up lasted longer than the act itself, and you felt so empty, so disappointed afterwards that you had burst into tears as soon as Tyson was off of you. He panicked, got dressed and basically ran out the door saying he'd check on you later. Later came the next day when he broke up with you, saying you were too much for him and should be with someone who could handle you.

Nico hated Tyson enough as is just for that story. And then he hated him even more when he strolled up to you at the bar and acted like old friends, chatting with you even as you tried to keep conversation quick. You know Nico would've scared Tyson off in a matter of seconds, but you wanted to be civil, so you let him hang with his arm around your shoulders, sipping his beer with a brooding look as Tyson babbled about his life to you.

And you were just about to excuse yourself when Jack ambled up to Nico and asked, "who's the douche?" Which just egged on your boyfriend, his temper already flaring and he shot Tyson a dirty look.

"Her ex."

"Ouch," Jack winced, then patted Nico on the shoulder and leaned into his ear. "She has a type, I'll tell you that."

It was just loud enough for you to hear, turning to Jack with a glare and to hopefully placate Nico but it was all for nothing. He was already angry, already boiling over with a jealousy you've never seen. Denying Jack's statement was only going to make it worse, even though the stupid boy was fucking with Nico. The only thing Nico and Tyson had in common was their dark eyes, and even then Nico's are far darker, hold more depth, are more beautiful.

"Sorry Tyler," Nico spits, not even attempting to be polite or genuine in his 'mishap" on the name. "We've gotta go."

Nico's dragging you away after that, hand on the back of your neck and even though he's jerky and rough as he guides you around the bar and down the hall, his hold isn't mean or hurting. Just demanding.

Swiftly, Nico shoves you through the door into the office, kicking it shut behind him and flicking the lock. You weren't going to say anything, knowing words right now would do nothing for Nico. He accepts and expresses love through physical acts. You two are working on the words thing, but when he's upset like this, it's best to stick what's fool proof.

His hands grab at your face, cupping your jaw and dragging you forward, smashing his lips to yours in a fierce, biting kiss. And you just let him, holding the sides of his neck in your careful hands, easily letting him lead you further into the office until your thighs hit the desk. They’ve barely touched the hardwood before he’s grabbing at your thighs, hefting you onto the desk with effortless strength.

You know Nico is strong, have seen him in the gym, have seen him moving boxes and furniture, have seen him fighting. And you’ve felt it firsthand. Yet every time it takes your breath away, reminds of you that you’re with a man now, not some silly boy like Tyson and all the other average Joes before Nico.

It sends a wave of heat down your spine and straight to your core, arousal pooling in your belly and suddenly it’s like you’re so fucking empty and useless, like you’re life’s mission is to get Nico as deep into your pussy as he could possibly get. How you ever lived without him between your thighs, you don’t know.

“Nico,” you whisper, pleadingly, whimpering when he bites your lip in retaliation. His eyes are dark and demanding when he looks at you, bordering on anger but you know him better.

He just wants your attention. He wants you.

“Don’t talk to me,” he scolds, then almost dismissively he grabs at the bottom of your shirt and starts to haul it up and over your head. “Not after you made me stand there with that fucking hodensniterin and play nice.”

Knowing better, knowing you’ll get him the way you want if you sit there and let him go about his way, you comply as he throws your shirt to the floor, already working his over his head.

You don’t even realize you’ve moved until Nico is staring down at you, an unimpressed look in his eyes. “Now you want me?” He goads, wrapping a hand around your wrist and stopping you from trailing your fingers any further over his abdomen. “You want to touch me?”

You’re nodding along before he’s even finished speaking, brain already going fuzzy from how needy you feel. It’s like all your brain can think about is him, all you can see is him, all you want is him. His name forms on your tongue again and you have to bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your mouth to stay shut.

Meanly, he laughs, yanking you up to your feet by the wrist. Like a rag doll you go with him, flung and maneuvered around so swiftly it catches you off guard when your elbows hit the desk, cushioned by something. Blinking a few times, you look down and realize Nico has thrown his shirt over the hardwood, bunched up as padding under you.

It’s such a sweet thing for him to do, not unexpected of him even when he’s like this, but it still makes your body flush with heat.

“Too fucking bad,” he continues, “I’m doing the touching. Not you.”

Like it’s instinct, you arch back into Nico when you feel the heat of his body get close to you. He chuckles lowly, barely skimming the palm of his hand over your ass but flinching away when you press back into him.

Tears of frustration sting at your eyes, desperation burning in your skin. If he’d just let you talk, let you tell him how badly you want him, how much you need him inside of you right now it’d be fine. But he’s in a mood and already told you not to talk to him.

His fingers hook into the band of your skirt and underwear, the pads of them rough and warm as they drag across your skin. In one pull he's yanking both over the globes of your ass and down your thighs, leaving them bunched up around your ankles.

The air is cold on your newly exposed skin, raises goosebumps on your skin and you shiver, squeezing your thighs together to preserve some heat in your burning core, and subtly relive some of the throbbing in your clit. Nico reacts before you can even let out a hum of satisfaction, wedging a hand between your thighs and smacking them back open.

"Spread them," he demands, shoving his foot between yours now for insurance. You groan, hiding your face in your arms and biting into the meat of your forearm to silence yourself. Apparently that's the wrong move too though because Nico bumps his knee into the back of yours. "Nuh-uh, hands now."

Begrudgingly, you slip your arms around to your back, pressing your wrists together. Chest and cheek flat on the desk, the new position pulls at the stretched muscles of your legs, the ache just enough to make you throb even more.

His left hand gathers yours in one, long fingers holding them together by the wrist, and he presses down into the small of your back. You whimper, more out of embarrassment and neediness than pain but Nico sills for a moment, his right hand stroking over your ass gently.

"You ok?" He checks, voice a quiet murmur and you take a mental check of your body. It's a little degrading being thrown and bent over his desk like this, ass up for him to do as he pleases, but it stings in the best way possible. You trust Nico, know that even when he's got you exposed and vulnerable like this he would never go too far, even though he could.

It's exhilerating.

"Tell me baby," Nico encourages, settling his hand on the seam of skin where your thigh meets the bottom of your ass.

"I'm ok," you say, closing your eyes and breathing in the cologne on his shirt, the rich scent of him. It's soothing and you quickly amend, "I'm perfect, Schao."

You can picture the pleased smile on his face, the dimple it carves into his cheek.

"Good girl," he purrs, dragging his thumb through your folds. The sudden touch sends a shock wave through you, hips canting and rising to your toes to give him better access to your swollen and desperate clit.

"S'this all you needed to be nice to me again?" Nico skips over where you want him the most, going back to thumbing at your hole teasingly. "To pay attention to me instead of that cock-sucker out there?"

You're not sure if your allowed to talk again, so you bite your tongue, sucking in quivering breathes of air through your nose to stay grounded. I was just being polite, you want to say, to defend yourself. I hate him and I love you Nico.

Torturously slow, Nico dips his thumb between your folds, sinking into just the knuckle and you hold your breathe, scared that any sudden movement will spook him into stopping.

He pumps his thumb in shallow movements, careful and calculated. It's not everything you want from him but it's something, a content breath puffing out of your nose.

"Thinks he knows you," Nico mutters, more to himself than you. He pulls back, his thumb suddenly disappearing and you whine, pussy clenching down on nothing. Thankfully, Nico doesn't care about the bratty noise enough to scold you. He silences you with two thick fingers, shoving them into you up so abruptly you flinch, digging your cheek further into his shirt.

"He doesn't," Nico says, louder this time like he's trying to remind you. It goes in one ear and out the other, your mind to preoccupied with the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of you. He pets at the sensitive sponge part of you, curling his fingers to hit it dead on and your knees shake.

"He doesn't know how to bend you over like this, how to take you apart like I do, does he?"

Your fingers clench into fists, stomach clenching and every push of Nico's finger stretching you pushes you closer and closer to your orgasm. His hand on your wrists tightens, holding you in place and then his fucking his fingers into you faster. Your orgasm crashes over you, white stars bursting behind closed eyes.

He's still talking to himself, muttering stuff under his breath and stroking you through your high. Your thighs quiver and shake, the insides of them damp with it and your knees fully give out, leaving you a heap on the desk. The pounding in your ears must have blocked out the sound of Nico's zipper and the drop of his jeans, because your caught of guard when his fingers have only left you for a second before the weeping head of his cock is prodding at your pussy.

In one swift motion he buries himself in you, stretching your walls as his hips sit tightly against your ass. You feel useless, boneless after your orgasm, only able to lay there and take it. It's so nice you could cry, sniffling as Nico pulls back and fucks into you, a raw moan ripping from his throat.

"Fuck so perfect for me," he compliments, setting a fast and brutal pace. Your thighs and hips smack into the desk so harshly they'll definitely be sore tomorrow if not bruised too. His other hand grabs at your side, holding you so tightly you can feel his fingers between your ribs, painfully keeping you still.

"Just for me, fucking made for me."

You gasp, arch further into his strong body as your walls flutter around him. "All for you Nico," you mumble submissively, hoping to god that that's what he wants from you, that he wants to hear you. He groans in approval, the sound wrecked and rough. "Just want you, only ever want you, Nico."

Somehow he picks up the pace, fucking into you even harder and in the back of your mind you wonder where the fuck he got such a sturdy desk. Pressing his chest to your back, Nico sweeps your hair to the side, his lips finding the side of your neck.

"He had you first," he says low, breath hot against your ear "but I get you forever, right?"

Desperately, you nod, another orgasm building in the base of your belly. "Forever," you confirm. "He had me first, you'll be the last to have me Nico."

Sweetly, Nico kisses your temple. "Tell me," he request, now kissing at your jaw. "I want to hear more baby."

The juxtaposition of his cock fucking you into next week and his mouth being so sweet and soft cuts through you, leaves you raw and exposed to him. You knees shake again, thighs quivering as your high gets closer and closer, stronger now that he's already left you used and sensitive.

"He was the first to have me," you choke out, Nico's mouth ghosting over your cheek as he waits with bated breath. "but you were the first to have me raw, boss."

Nico makes a wounded sound, like he'd been punched in the gut and his hips stutter for a moment before picking up the same pace. He captures your mouth in a biting kiss, licking into your mouth with such dominance and control it sends you over the edge.

He fucks you through it, rocking his hips a few more times before he too stills, buried to the hilt as he comes. You pulse around him, greedily accept everything he pumps into you with absolutely no resistance. Nico kisses at your slack mouth, mumbling soft praises as you come down from your second orgasm.

"So good, baby. You did so good for me," he dots kisses under your eye, dragging his fingers across the skin and you blink your eyes open, realize your eyelashes are clumpy with tears and he's drying your cheeks for you.

"Nico," you cry, legs and hips aching, the edge of the desk digging into your skin uncomfortably He shifts, taking his weight off of you and releasing your hands. They prickle with pins and needly, the blood rushing back to them as they fall to your sides, numbly.

"I got you sweet girl," he assures, kissing down your back. Your in a haze as he pulls his jeans and boxers back up, then helps ease your underwear and skirt back into place. You make a noise complaint, needing to at least clean up a little bit but you don't make a move to do anything.

"You're fine," Nico tells you, slipping a hand under your stomach to drag you up from the desk. "Can sit out there with me dripping from you, yeah? Want you to remember who takes such good care of you now."

Like mush, you let Nico turn and sit you on the desk again, swiping his black shirt from the surface. He looks so pretty standing over you, cheeks flush and glowing, eyes still dark with arousal. His hair falls a little flat over his forehead, a crooked and boyish smile on his face.

"Yeah," you agree, still dazed as he uses his shirt to wipe under your eyes and around your lips, cleaning the spit remaining from his mouth.

Nico leans down, kisses between your eyes in a move so soft and fluttering it tickles, makes you blush like a school girl. "You're never too much," he promises, recalling the reason why Tyson had broken up with you. "You are everything. So pretty when you come, when you cry for me like that. I live for it."

Your heart aches in your chest, his kind words drawing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. It had been something that followed you, an insecurity always in the back of your mind. You accepted whatever love you could get because you thought that was it. You were too much, they couldn't offer you more and you couldn't ask for more.

Until Nico.

"I love you Schao."

He smiles all handsome and precious, smoothing your hair down with a gentle hand. "Love you more, my baby."

You fall forward into his stomach, cheek pressing into the damp skin on his ribs. You want to hug him but your arms are still regaining their feeling and your legs are tired right now, so you settle for lazily wrapping an arm around his thighs.

“What’s a hodensniterin?”

He snickers, hand on your head, protectively. “Ball fucker.”

#mob boss nico hischier #nico hischier #him and i chats #him and i blurb #him and i smut

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gingiesworld · 3 days ago

Text

In The Stars (2/?)

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst, violence

Word Count: 4.5k

18+ MINORS DNI

Since the night the two had finally opened their hearts, embracing their feelings for one another instead of hiding away, they had begun to spend more and more time together. Although, they had kept it a secret from Pietro, wanting to enjoy the peace and tranquillity behind closed doors. Wanda was sat at the island, watching as Y/N moved around the kitchen, cooking a dinner they had promised her. She admired how they moved around, how they held themselves up on their feet, soon raising a brow as they turned to face her, leaning against the counter.

"Do you think we should maybe tell Piet? About us?" Y/N asked her, Wanda sensed their nervousness, moving around to stand in front of them, taking one of their hands in hers.

"Maybe." She answered, soon moving her hand to cup their cheek, looking in their eyes. "But, is it too selfish to want to stay in our own little world a little while longer?" She questioned, stroking their cheek with her thumb.

"I guess not, but he's my best friend." Y/N replied, taking a deep breath. "He's always been there for me, and I hate keeping secrets from him, he's always been there for me, through everything. I just."

"How about we tell them on Sunday?" Wanda suggested. "At Sunday dinner?" Y/N exhaled, nodding slowly before Wanda stepped up on her toes, kissing them softly. "But, I think dinner's going to burn if you don't concentrate. We don't want to burn the kitchen down, do we?" She teased them, patting their cheek before stepping away.

"You know, I have never seen you cook before." Y/N stated with a smirk, stirring the Bolognese. "It's like you might be just as bad of a cook as your twin." They chuckled as she shook her head, a smile forming on her face.

"I can cook, I just haven't cooked in a while." She told them. "Not since I moved here with my brother and his wife." She moved to stand beside them, watching as they added some herbs to the sauce. "But, maybe I can cook for you next time." She bumped her hip against theirs.

"You know, I may just take you up on that." They accepted with a smile, glancing down at her. She soon moved to help set the table as Y/N finished with cooking, as Wanda grabbed their drinks, Y/N grabbed their plates, following behind her, placing them down before pulling her chair out for her before moving to take their seat. Wanda watched as they started to eat, glancing at their left hand, seeing their ring finger bare.

"You took of your wedding ring?" She questioned, Y/N wiped their mouth after swallowing what they had in their mouth.

"Yeah, I figured it was time." They told her. "I honestly don't quite know what we are, or if we are even putting a label on us yet, but I want to be all in this between us." Wanda's heart beat rapidly in her chest, waiting for their next words. "I know that what Jean and I had was special, it was amazing but I believe that we could be just as or more than that. I want to believe that."

"I do too." Wanda whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just, I'm scared to get hurt again, I can't go through that again." Y/N reached over, taking her hand in theirs.

"I can't say that we won't have our disagreements, every couple has their disagreements." They started, looking in her eyes as a gentle smile took place on their face. "But we are both adults, we can always talk through everything, any problem that we come across, we will get through it all together. Love isn't always enough to keep a relationship working, there's more to it, it's give and take, compromises and sacrifices, but it's never all going to be one sided." They lifted her hand to their lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I am all in this Wanda, as much as it scares me too, but I want this. I want us." Wanda only saw confidence and comfort in their eyes as they spoke. "But I need you to want us too."

"I do." Wanda spoke shakily, their words taking an effect on her. "I just."

"I'm not him, Wanda." They cut her off, already knowing she was going to repeat her previous statement. "I will never ever be him. I want to be your safety and comfort, I want to be someone who you can rely on when you need me, however you need me."

"I'm sorry." Wanda looked down, her plate suddenly becoming more interesting until she heard their chair move. They got on their knees beside her, a hand resting on the back of her chair whilst her hand remained in their other.

"You have nothing to apologise for." They told her tenderly, moving her hair from her face. "You're allowed to feel how you feel, there's nothing wrong with it, and I will always be here to listen if ever you need. I will give you reassurance if that's what you need." Wanda only nodded, a small smile on her face as Y/N kissed her hand once more. "Now, let's finish eating and we can watching your Dick Van Dyke before you go home if you'd like?" Wanda nodded, picking up her fork as Y/N got back in their seat, stealing glances at her every now and then. There was no denying that the two still had a lot of work to do on themselves, but there's no saying that they both can't heal side by side as they grow together.

Y/N still found themselves in the cemetery, cleaning up Jean's headstone and replacing the wilting flowers. Soon sitting on the ground, leaning back on their arms as they looked up at the clear blue sky, the weight that they had felt in their chest for the past two years, barely noticeable.

"I uh, I kind of fell for someone." They started, turning their attention to Jean's picture on the stone, a small smile on their face. "I don't know if it would be considered too soon, because it's only been a couple of years since, well you know." They chuckled lightly. "But I believe that I could fall in love with her, I can't quite explain it, but I've never felt like this, not since you." They sighed as they soon lay back, watching the clouds float along in the sky. "You would have loved her yourself, truthfully she reminds me so much of how you used to be, she's strong and beautiful, smart and she really is amazing." They rested their hands behind their head. "But she's just as terrified as I am, I guess we both don't want to be hurt again." They squeezed their eyes shut. "I can't lose another person who I love, I just don't think I would survive losing her like I lost you." They swallowed the lump in their throat, moving to their feet. "I just want you to know that you will always have a place in my heart, you were the person to show me how to love, that I could be loved and you have no idea how grateful I am to have had our time together." They wiped their eyes, taking a shaky breath. "Even if it was as fleeting as it seemed, the pain of losing you doesn't outweigh the time we had and the lessons that you taught me. I love you, my phoenix." Y/N pressed two fingers to their lips, pressing a kiss before placing them on the picture. "I'll be back again, I'm never going to forget you." With that, they made their way to their car, settling in the driver's seat, resting their head on the steering wheel, giving them a moment or two before they decided to head to Pietro's for Sunday dinner, before they were going to tell Pietro about the two of them.

Once Y/N had pulled up outside their best friend's home, their heart was beating out of their chest, afraid of what Pietro would say about them and Wanda starting whatever they are. They reluctantly stepped out of the car, every step heavier as they approached the front door, taking a deep breath before they let themselves inside. The house already smelled of roast pork, quietly closing the door behind them, they made their way towards the living room, where they found Wanda sat alone with a book in her hand.

"Hey." They spoke softly, gaining her attention, a shy smile on their face as they nervously stepped inside, taking a seat on the sofa beside her. Wanda smiled gently, the butterflies swarming in her stomach, she was both nervous and excited.

"Hey." She greeted them, placing her book down on the coffee table before turning to face them. "How was your morning?" She asked them, knowing what their routine was.

"It was alright." They nodded, picking at their cuticles until she reached over and took their hand in hera. "I guess in someway, I feel somewhat lighter than before." Wanda's smile widened as she scooted closer to them. "How about you? You nervous?" They asked her, playing with the rings on her fingers.

"I am." She nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I have been replaying what we're going to say in my head, coming up with the different outcomes, but we won't really know what will happen until we tell him." She told them, Y/N nodded in agreement, lifting her hand to their lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, a gesture that seems to make her heart beat quicken everytime.

"We will do it together." Y/N whispered, the two separating as they heard footsteps approaching. Then Monica entered the room with Pietro following behind her with their drinks.

"I told you they would be here." Pietro told his wife with a triumphant smirk. "It's like clockwork every week." Monica shook her head as Y/N thanked Pietro for their drink.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, it's like the two of you are married." Monica teased Pietro, Wanda giggling as the two made disgusted faces at her statement.

"I'm sorry to say that your husband is most definitely not my type." Y/N told her. "If we were to be married, it would be more of a pity marriage on my part." Pietro looked offended as both women laughed. "It's true! Who would feed you otherwise, you'd kill yourself with your own cooking." They defended as Pietro scoffed, turning away dramatically.

"Well I have you know, I would bring more to our marriage than just bad cooking." Pietro told them.

"Like what? You're not exactly handy around here either." Wanda added, earning a glare from her twin.

"It's true." Monica agreed, sipping her lemonade with a smirk. Everyone burst out laughing as Pietro tried his hardest to fight his own smile.

"Anyways Y/N, I do have a question." Pietro started, turning to face them. "When did you stop wearing your wedding ring? I've noticed you've not wore it for a while."

"It's been a couple of months, at least I think." They answered him truthfully, remembering that they had stopped wearing it the morning after they had slept while on call with Wanda. "I figured that it's time, Jean is always going to be a huge part of my life, she helped me figure out the person I wanted to be and well, I can't keep living in the past and always wonder what if." They answered, half truthfully.

"I'm proud of you." Pietro told them honestly, a gentle smile on his face. "Jean would be proud of you." Y/N only nodded before taking a swig of their beer. As the afternoon went on, the four of them sat around the table, eating and bullying Pietro's lack of talent in domesticity.

"Before we finish here, we need to talk." Wanda started, her eyes finding Y/N's who only nodded for her to continue. "You know you're always going to be the most important man in my life, but you need to know that Y/N and I." She took a deep breath as a silence took over the room.

"We've kind of been spending time together." Y/N continued for her, looking at Pietro, whose expression remained stoic. "We don't quite have a label on what we both are yet, but we are figuring that out together."

"So, you both have been lying to me?" Pietro spoke calmly, too calm which made a chill run through them both. "You have both been sneaking around behind my back?" He looked between the two, ignoring as Monica gave him a pleading look.

"No, it's not like that." Wanda tried, watching as he just shook his head. "I have feelings for them, I can't quite explain really how it started between us, but it has. We were both afraid of tellin you because we didn't know how you would react." Pietro remained silent.

"I do really care about her." Y/N confessed. "More than I should, but I know what I feel for her isn't like what I felt for Jean, it's different. Completely different." Pietro's eyes softened slightly as he listened to them. "You know, I love Jean, I always will, but that doesn't mean that I won't love Wanda." Wanda reached over and took their hand as they spoke. "Because I am falling for her, more and more each time I'm with her." Pietro pulled a disgusted expression. "No, not like that, hell we haven't even took that step yet. You know yourself that I'm an all in kind of person, you know that, you saw that with Jean and I." Y/N took a deep breath. "What I'm saying is that I do believe that Wanda and I could have a future together, I do see that, I don't even know if she sees that herself, but I don't care if she doesn't just yet." Y/N turned to gaze at Wanda, who had tears forming in her eyes. "I'm a patient person when it comes to someone I truly care about, I would always be patient with you because I think." They shook their head with a chuckle. "No, I know, I know that I am falling for her, I am truly falling for you and the truth is, I don't want to stop falling for you." Pietro smiled as Y/N wiped a tear that had escaped Wanda's eye.

"I'm falling for you too." Wanda whispered shakily. "I really am and all I ask is that you would be there to catch me."

"Of course, I'll always catch you." They told her. "I'm not afraid of this anymore, as long as I have you by my side, I'm not scared." Wanda cupped their cheek and pressed a soft passionate kiss to their lips, breaking apart as Pietro faked a cough.

"As touching as all of this is." He started, a hard expression. "I just have to say this one thing, I am really happy for you both. You both deserve all the happiness in the world." He smiled at the two, both Y/N and Wanda smiled.

"You know, I thought this was going to end differently." Y/N stated.

"How so?" Monica questioned.

"Well, I thought I would be getting a punch in the face or something." They chuckled. "Especially with her being your little sister."

"Twin!" Wanda defended herself, struggling to hold back her smile.

"I am still twelve minutes older." Pietro stated triumphantly, leaning back in his chair whilst Wanda just shook her head with a smile on her face.

Wanda had decided to head to Y/N's after dinner, she was sat on the sofa, her feet tucked under her as Y/N brought her a glass of wine with their beer. She smiled and said a soft thank you as she took the drink from them, watching as they sat beside her, sipping their beer. She leaned her head on her hand as her arm rested on the back of the sofa.

"What?" Y/N questioned, a curious look in their eye as they watched her carefully.

"Did you mean it?" She asked them. "What you told Pietro, did you really mean it?" Y/N placed their bottle on the coffee table, turning to fully face her.

"I did." They answered her, rest their hand on her knee, rubbing small circles over her skin. "I meant every word, and I'm not always certain about my feelings, but I am certain about what I feel for you. I want this, you and I, it's what I want. It's what I crave and I." They chuckled lightly, Wanda tilted her head slightly, confused. "I can't get you out of my mind, when we're not together, and even when we are together, you are all I think about." They exhaled before continuing. "It's intoxicating, it's like you're all around me, even when you're not." Wanda moved to place her glass down on the table before settling back on the sofa. "I uh, I have been wanting to ask you this, maybe in a more romantic date or something." Wanda watched as they became nervous, her own heart beating rapidly in her chest. "Will you be my maybe, I." Wanda smiled at their nervousness, leaning forward and pressing her lips to theirs.

"I would be honoured to be your girlfriend." She told them with a smile, Y/N exhaled in relief before pressing their lips against hers, the two breaking the kiss with a smile.

"You have no idea how happy I am right now." They told her honestly, resting their forehead against hers.

"I'm sure I do, because you have made me the happiest I have been in a very long time." Wanda spoke quietly. Y/N shifted slightly, moving their hand to cup her face as they looked in her eyes.

"I will only ever want you to feel happy and comfortable with me." They told her, caressing her cheek with their thumb. Wanda moved to kiss them, more passionately than before.

Time seemed to pass by faster, the moments were filled with love and happiness. Although the two had never said those three words out loud to each other, but neither of them could really hide from their growing feelings for one another with each moment.

"So, you and my sister." Pietro said as he sipped his beer, the two deciding to hang out outside of the confines of either homes.

"Yup." Y/N nodded, finishing their drink before ordering another round, placing Pietro's in front of him. "I'm sorry if it's weird."

"No, it's not weird." He told them, turning on his stool to face them. "It's nice to see the two of you happy. I never knew what Wanda was like when she was with Vis, but I know she was unhappy, especially with everything she told us." Y/N listened to him, hanging on to every word. "But I've never seen her this happy since we were kids."

"She deserves to be happy." Y/N spoke softly.

"And so do you." He reminded them, watching as a smile formed on their face.

"I am happy, like really happy." Y/N admitted. "Being with Wanda is just, it's amazing. I can be myself with her, and she doesn't even care that I have some traits that are annoying to a lot of people." They smiled as they thought of her. "Even when I'm in the garage, she's always right there with me, she has been helping me with the project I'm working on, I've been teaching her about carpentry and how to use the tools and she seems to enjoy it."

"Are you sure she does?" A voice sounded from beside them. The two turned around to see a tall blonde man stood there.

"This conversation is kind of private." Y/N told him firmly.

"Well, you are talking about Wanda Maximofg right?" He smirked as he looked between the two. "If you ask me, she doesn't really have much good to offer to a relationship. Especially in the sack." With that, Y/N swung at him, landing a punch on his jaw.

"Y/N." Pietro spoke, a warning in his tone. "Leave it."

"Yeah Y/N, leave it." He smirked, rubbing his jaw. "Better yet, leave Wanda, you could do much better with paying for a hooker." His eyes remained on them. "Hell, she does actually give one good blowjob, that's about all she's good for." Y/N saw red, lunging at him and tackling him to the ground, punching him repeatedly in the face.

"Y/N! Stop!" Pietro yelled, pulling them off of him, leading them away from the bar towards the exit. "What the hell was that?!" He questioned once they were outside, standing on the pavement.

"You heard everything he was saying about her!" Y/N yelled, still angry at the words spoken about Wanda. "He completely disrespected her, and I will never let anyone disrespect anyone I love!" They took a deep breath, ignoring Pietro's eyes widening. "He's lucky I didn't kill him."

"You would have if I didn't pull you off of him!" Pietro shot, watching as Y/N shook their head, starting to walk away from the bar. "You need to be more careful with your temper, you don't want the same thing to happen as college do you?!" Y/N stopped in their track, turning around to face him.

"You know I'm not that person anymore." They told him, hurt in their voice.

"Really, I'm pretty sure that I just saw them resurface." He told them, Y/N hung their head, looking down at their hands.

"I changed." They told him. "Since Jean, I haven't been that person since Jean came into my life."

"Really, what about what you did to Scott?" Pietro questioned. "You were lucky back then that there were witnesses of how he tried to take advantage of her, you only got let off with a warning." He reminded them. "You put him into a coma, you lost control and almost killed him."

All Y/N could do was look down at their feet, not wanting to see the disappointment in their best friend's eyes once again. They flinched when he gently placed his hand on their shoulder.

"Come on, let's head home and clean your hands." He spoke softly. Y/N only nodded, turning around and walking in the direction to Pietro's house. The walk was quiet, only the sound of chatter from passers by and cars passing through the night. "So, do you love her?" Pietro broke the silence, Y/N's head shot up, glancing at him. "With what you said earlier."

"I do." Y/N told him. "I really do love her, it's not like how I felt for Jean, it's different, but then again every love isn't the same. We recognise it as love, but it's never the same as it felt for someone before."

"Have you told her?" He asked them, they shook their head no.

"I've told her that I am falling for her, but I haven't said I love you to her." They told him. "I just, I guess I'm scared because if I tell her, what if she takes a step back from us? What if she doesn't feel the same or see the same future as I do."

"You'll never know until you tell her." He told them. "I mean what I said before, she has never been this happy with you before, and with what that jerk was like, who I presume is her ex that she moved to get away from, she most definitely wasn't happy with him."

"I just, I'm waiting for the moment." They told him. "You know, a way to make it special, like under a beautiful sunset or something."

"You don't have to wait for a big time romantic moment, it doesn't have to be during this grand gesture." He told them. "It's much more meaningful and special when you don't expect it, in a quiet moment between the two of you. Whether it be while watching a movie or cooking together. It can be anytime." Y/N nodded as they took his words in, soon stopping the conversation as Pietro's house came into view. Once they both entered the living room, Wanda and Monica were sat watching one of their rom coms without Pietro making jokes all the way through it.

"Hey, what happened?" Wanda asked once her eyes landed on Y/N.

"We met your ex tonight." Pietro stated, taking a seat beside his wife. "He really is a piece of work."

"What did he say?" She asked, her voice shaking slightly.

"Just a load of crap." Y/N told her, remaining in their spot by the door.

"Yeah, then he got his ass handed to him." Pietro told her, Monica looked at Y/N, Wanda's eyes following as they both saw their hands, their knuckles bloodied and bruised. "I pulled them away before it got to far." Wanda stood up, looking over Y/N before gesturing for them to follow her. Y/N treaded lightly up the stairs behind her, following her into her bathroom.

"Sit." Wanda told them, letting the sink fill up with warm water, grabbing a cloth before gently taking their hand in hers, cleaning them as Y/N watched her closely.

"I'm sorry." Y/N whispered, Wanda's eyes shot up at their words.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." She told them. "I know first hand what he can be like."

"I just, he said all of these things about you, he overheard Pietro's and I's conversation." Y/N started. "I hated the way he spoke about you, I hated the way he was amused by his own words, I hated that I lost control and became that person I never wanted to be again."

"Hey." Wanda cupped their face, forcing them to look in her eyes. "I don't care about the person you used to be, but I do care about the person you are now. The person I am falling more and more in love with everyday."

"You love me?" They questioned, their eyes never leaving hers.

"I do." She told them honestly. "I have been trying to deny it myself, but I can't anymore. I love you so much, more than I have ever loved anyone before." Y/N wasted no time in pressing their lips against hers, their hands holding her close by her shirt.

"I love you." They whispered against her lips. "I really do. I love you so fucking much." The two smiled, Wanda then moved slightly, finishing her task, causing them to flinch when she grabbed the alcohol wipes from the first aid box. A fear that the two had unknowingly shared seemed to be a silly notion of what could have been. Finally accepting how deeply they both feel for each other.

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#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader

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msbigredmachine · 22 hours ago

Text

New To This - Chapter 21

MASTERLIST

WARNING: Heavy themes, Please proceed with caution.

As Josh pulled into the driveway of his Pensacola home, Delilah still wasn’t sure if she had made the right decision by coming with him. But a part of her—one she wasn’t ready to acknowledge just yet—needed something from him. Maybe closure. Maybe comfort. Maybe just the smallest reassurance that she hadn’t been completely alone in this, even if he had acted like it.

She had been to this house before, more times than she cared to count. She remembered the things they had done within these walls—the passion, the mistakes, the irreversible choices. She had wrecked what little remained of her relationship with André here, let herself sink deeper into Josh even when she knew she shouldn’t. Hell, for all she knew, this was the very place where she had conceived the baby she was no longer carrying.

She didn’t want to be here. Not like this.

But here she was, two days on.

Josh had been careful with her since her arrival. He carried her bag inside without her asking, even though it was light. He’d made sure she had the master bedroom instead of the guest room, wanting her to be comfortable. He cooked. He made sure she ate, even when she barely had an appetite. And he gave her space, never pushing, never crowding her.

It should have been enough. It wasn’t.

She noticed the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The way he hovered when she sat too still for too long, like he was waiting for her to break apart. The way he clenched his jaw when he caught her staring off into nothing, lost in thoughts she didn’t want to voice. She noticed all of it, and she hated that a part of her still wanted to let him take care of her, even when she wasn’t sure she could forgive him.

Tonight, he made dinner again. Grilled salmon with a rich, buttery garlic sauce, roasted potatoes crisped to perfection, and tender broccoli seasoned just right. The aroma filled the kitchen, warm and inviting, but Delilah didn’t have it in her to be impressed.

“Eat,” he said, pushing a plate in front of her.

She barely looked at it. “I’m not hungry.”

He sighed and sat across from her. “You gotta eat, babe. You’re in recovery.”

She scoffed at the concern in his voice, pushing the plate away. “Don’t act like you care now. You ain’t care before.”

Josh exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. His jaw flexed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He looked like he was debating something internally, his chest rising and falling in steady, measured breaths. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I didn’t wanna make the same mistake again.”

His voice was low, almost like he was talking to himself, and Delilah frowned slightly, watching him. “What?”

He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles, avoiding her gaze.

“Tameka was pregnant once,” he said after a beat, “Way before we got married. Before our boys. Before I even got into WWE.”

The room seemed to shrink, his words slicing through the silence between them. Delilah was too stunned to say anything, just listened to this brand new piece of information, her fingers curled around the sleeves of her hoodie.

Josh let out a short, humorless laugh. “We were just kids. Nineteen, barely twenty. And I…” He paused, his shoulders tensing. “I was so caught up in makin’ somethin’ of myself. Proving to my pops that I wasn’t gonna end up a fuck-up. That I wasn’t gonna waste my shot.”

Delilah’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t interrupt.

Josh’s lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze was distant, lost somewhere in the past. “So when she told me she was pregnant, I didn’t even think. Didn’t even consider what she might’ve wanted. I just told her…” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply before forcing the words out. “I told her to get rid of it.”

Delilah’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her hoodie.

Josh’s expression twisted, something dark passing over his face. “I didn’t give her a say. Just laid it out like it was the only option. We were broke, barely getting by. Had all these dreams, all these plans. And a baby didn’t fit into that.” His jaw clenched. “I gaslit her into doin’ it. Made her think it was her choice when really, I took it away from her before she even had the chance.”

The room felt unbearably still, like even the air had thickened, waiting for his next words.

Josh dragged a hand down his face, his shoulders sagging. “After that…we were never the same.”

Delilah felt something inside her shift, but she kept quiet, watching him closely.

“We stayed together, though,” Josh continued after a long pause. His voice sounded rough, strained. “Probably ‘cause we didn’t know anything else. We got married. Had two boys down the line. But…” His lips pressed together, his eyes shadowed. “That time in our lives? It cracked us. And we never fixed it.”

The weight of his words pressed heavy between them. The dim light in the kitchen flickered slightly, casting soft shadows across Josh’s face, making him look even more worn down.

“I still regret it. Regret takin’ that choice away from her. Regret the way I made her feel like it was never even a question.” He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “So when you told me you was pregnant, I told myself I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I wouldn’t push you, wouldn’t make the choice for you.”

His eyes lifted to hers then, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. “I thought I was doin’ the right thing this time.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But I still fucked it up. ‘Cause instead of pushin’ you one way, I just… left you alone. And I hate myself for that, baby girl. I’m sorry.”

Silence settled between them again, thick and suffocating.

Delilah’s chest ached, something unfamiliar twisting inside her. She had never expected to hear this from him. Had never expected this kind of vulnerability.

Josh let out a slow breath, glancing down at the plate of untouched food between them. “I’ll leave you to it,” he murmured, voice quieter now, like he’d already decided she wouldn’t say anything back.

And then, before she could find the words to respond, he slowly pushed back his chair and stood, his movements heavy, like he was carrying all his regrets on his broad, tattooed shoulders. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen with nothing but the remnants of his confession and the silence that followed.

----------------

The next morning, Delilah woke with Josh’s confession still weighing down on her. His words echoed in her mind all through last night, layering over everything she’d thought she knew about him. She never would have imagined hearing something like that from him—never expected to see that kind of raw regret in his face.

She stayed in bed longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do with it all.

By the time she wandered out of the bedroom, Josh was already in the kitchen, standing by the stove with a mug of coffee in one hand, his phone in the other. He looked up as soon as she stepped into view, his expression unreadable, but she caught the way his shoulders stiffened slightly. Like he wasn’t sure where they stood now...If she was still angry, if things had shifted, if anything had changed at all.

She wasn’t sure, either.

The silence between them felt heavier than usual, weighed down by everything he had told her the night before. She moved toward the cabinets, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if she were giving herself time to find the right words.

Josh cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “You sleep okay?”

She shrugged, glancing at him briefly before looking away again. “You?”

He scoffed under his breath. “Not really.”

Neither of them said anything further. The only sound in the kitchen was the faint hum of the refrigerator, the quiet clink of her nail tapping against the glass. She took a sip of water before finally speaking. “You never told me any of that before.”

Josh exhaled sharply, setting his coffee down. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I know. I don’t talk about it,” he admitted. “Not to nobody. Only my mom, Jon and Joe know everything.”

She studied him, noting the tiredness in his face, the way his jaw was tight like he was bracing himself for her response.

She could’ve unloaded on him again. Could’ve thrown it in his face that what he did to Tameka had bled into what he did to her. But for the first time since this whole mess started, she wasn’t sure she wanted to fight anymore.

She sighed, setting her glass down. “I didn’t know what to say,” she confessed.

Josh nodded once, looking down. “Didn’t expect you to say anything.”

Another silence. But it wasn’t as heavy as before.

Delilah crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “You think telling me makes it better?”

Josh’s head lifted, his expression conflicted. “No,” he said honestly. “I just…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I just needed you to know why I did what I did.”

Delilah stared at him for a long moment, the fight inside her settling into something else. Something softer. He looked wrecked, like the weight of his past mistakes was suffocating him.

And maybe she still wasn’t sure if she could forgive him completely. But she was seeing him in a whole different light. Things were not as black and white as she’d assumed.

She turned away first, grabbing a plate from the drying rack. “You make breakfast?”

Josh blinked, like he wasn’t sure he heard her right. This was the first time since she got here that she wasn’t fighting him over eating. His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Yeah,” he said, nodding toward the pan on the stove. “You want some?”

She hesitated for only a second before sitting at the table. “Yeah,” she murmured.

Josh moved slow as he grabbed a plate, loading it with food, his hands steady but careful. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the space, carrying a warmth that almost made things feel… okay. Almost. He set the plate in front of her, then took his seat across from her, his own plate in front of him. Delilah hesitated before picking up her fork, stealing a glance at him. They ate in silence; not the heavy, suffocating kind that had been lingering between them since they got here, but something lighter. Tentative. Like they were both trying to find some kind of normal again. He wasn’t looking at her, but he wasn’t as shut off as before, either. It felt like a shift, small but noticeable. Like maybe, just maybe, they were getting somewhere.

And then she spoke.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, her voice breaking the fragile peace between them. “We just gon’ sit here, pretend like everything’s fine?”

Josh’s jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face before shaking his head.

“Ain’t shit fine, baby girl,” he admitted, his voice low, hoarse. “Ain’t been fine for a long time.”

It slipped out before he could stop it. Before he could shove it down where it belonged.

“Josh,” she whispered, leaning back to get a better look at him. He was tense, fists planted on the counter, his body coiled like he was fighting himself. Holding too much in.

“I wish…” she started, but her voice faltered. She exhaled, trying again. “I wish things were different. I really do.”

Josh let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head before she could see the tear sliding down his face. “Nah, you don’t,” he muttered. “I don’t. You did the right thing.” His voice was rough, like he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince…her or himself.

Her stomach twisted. “Did I?” she murmured, “Did I do the right thing?”

He didn’t answer.

Frustration bubbled up in her chest, her hand slamming down on the counter. “Dammit, Josh, tell me the truth!”

He drew in a sharp breath, his shoulders rising with the effort. She hated the way her voice trembled, betraying the panic she was trying to contain.

“I need you to open up to me. I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me it’s gonna be alright!”

Josh shot to his feet so fast she flinched. He braced himself against the sink, glowering. “You wanna hear it’s gonna be alright? That you gon’ get so caught up in your career you ain’t never gon’ think about what happened?” His voice was sharp, raw. “That you’ll feel guilty for a couple weeks, then move on like it never happened? That what you did won’t haunt you?”

Delilah stared at him, shocked.

Josh’s breath came hard and uneven, like he was fighting to keep something dangerous locked inside.

His voice was hoarse when he continued, “Because that ain’t how it works.”

Delilah barely had a second to process the shift in his tone before he kept going, his words tumbling out like he wasn’t even talking to her anymore—like he was talking to a ghost. His eyes weren’t on her anymore—not really. They were distant, unfocused, locked onto something only he could see.

“You gon’ think about it every fuckin’ day of your life,” he murmured, almost like a confession. His jaw clenched, his shoulders tight, like the weight of his own thoughts was suffocating him. “You gon’ wonder who the kid was gonna look like. Beautiful like you? Athletic like both of us?” His breath hitched. “You gon’ wonder if he woulda loved this business like you do. If he woulda understood the choices you made.”

Her stomach twisted, her throat closing up.

But Josh wasn’t done. “And you gon’ question yourself,” he pushed on, his tone rough, ragged. “Was it worth it? Was the cost worth it?” His eyes darkened, haunted. “How many chances do you get before you just a lost cause? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why does every single person you actually care about end up pushin’ you away?”

Before she could stop him—before she could even think to—his fist shot out, slamming straight through the cabinet above the sink. A guttural roar ripped from his throat, raw and broken, tearing through the walls, the floorboards—through her. Making her jump. The entire kitchen shook with the force of it.

The room was still.

Too still.

Josh stood there, his head bowed, his shoulders heaving, blood beginning to smear across his knuckles from the splintered wood. His fingers flexed, his entire body trembling with the weight of something too big for him to hold onto anymore.

And just like that, she realized—

Josh wasn’t just grieving this.

He was grieving everything.

Her heart hammered.

“Josh?” Her voice was small, cautious.

He didn’t turn around. Just stood there, breathing heavy, fist still clenched. “You shoulda never met me,” he muttered, voice thick with frustration and something worse—self-loathing. “You shoulda never got caught up in my bullshit.”

Her throat tightened.

“I ruin everything,” he went on, more to himself than to her. “My marriage. My kids. You. I fucked up your relationship. I let myself fall in love with you, and I still fucked that up.”

She gulped. “Josh—”

His voice was almost a whisper now, and when he finally turned to look at her, she swore she felt her heart crack. He looked wrecked, like everything was finally crushing him. “I ain’t deserve you, baby. You needed me, and I wasn’t there. Again. I don’t…I don’t know how to live with that.”

Delilah’s breath shuddered out of her. She had never seen him like this before—this vulnerable, this broken.

She wished like hell she could find the right words. Something to ease this noose he’d tied around his own neck, the pain he had been holding in for longer than anyone had ever known. But what could she say? What could possibly make this easier?

Her feet moved before she even made the decision, carrying her toward him. His head remained bowed, hands gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Wordlessly, she reached for his hand, her fingers tentative as they wrapped around his. His knuckles were raw, split in places where the impact had broken the skin. Blood smeared across his skin, a stark contrast against the roughness of his hands. She didn’t speak. There was nothing to say that could touch the depth of what had just happened.

Instead, she grabbed a clean cloth, dampened it under the sink, and carefully dabbed at his wounds.

Josh didn’t pull away. He just stood there, chest rising and falling with the force of his breathing, watching her in silence. The room felt impossibly small. The pressure of everything between them pulsed through in the air, pressing in from all sides.

When the blood was mostly gone, and his skin was as clean as it could be, Delilah hesitated. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she lifted his battered hand to her lips, pressing the softest kiss to the bruised skin.

A shudder ran through Josh’s body, his fingers twitching slightly against hers.

Delilah lingered, her lips on his skin, before finally pulling away. But she didn’t let go. Not yet.

“Listen to me,” she whispered, holding his gaze until he finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, stormy with too many emotions at once. “The only reason we’re not together, Josh? The only reason is because of our careers. But I need you to hear me when I say this,” she inhaled, her fingers trailing up to brush against the rough stubble on his cheek. “If it weren’t for that…”

Josh’s breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast.

She knew what she was saying. She knew he knew it too. If it weren’t for the business, the schedules, the pressure—if it weren’t for all the things that had pulled them apart—there wouldn’t have been a reason to let go at all.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to respond, but he didn’t. He just held her gaze, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

Josh took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. His own words had drained him in a way he hadn’t expected, exposing more of himself than he ever had before. He wasn’t the guy who spilled his emotions, who let people in on his demons. It wasn’t who he was, and yet here he stood, completely unraveled in front of her.

And now? He didn’t know if he was touched by what she said—or just embarrassed by the depths of his feelings for her.

“If it weren’t for that,” he repeated sullenly, shaking his head.

The room was too small. The air too thick. His head spun, his pulse hammering in his ears. With a rough exhale, he shook his head and turned away from her. “Nah, man,” he muttered, taking a step back. He needed space. Distance. He had to get the fuck out of here before he did something he couldn’t take back.

Delilah caught his wrist before he could walk past her.

"Josh, don’t," she whispered, her voice pleading.

He hesitated, every muscle in his body tensing.

“Please don’t leave again,” she murmured, her fingers tightening around his wrist. “Just… stay.”

Josh closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

And then, slowly, his hand turned in hers, his fingers threading through hers like muscle memory.

He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing gently against hers. His grip on her hand tightened.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Delilah squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in her throat as she leaned into his kiss.

Neither of them moved away.

Instead, Josh pulled her in, wrapping his arms tighter around her like he was afraid to let go. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her thick, curly hair, holding her close as if he could somehow shield her from the pain neither of them could outrun.

Delilah clung to him, her fists gripping the fabric of his t-shirt, desperate, shaking. The first sob tore through her before she could stop it, and then there was no holding back. Her tears soaked into his chest, his warmth the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.

Josh wasn’t any better. His breath hitched, rough and uneven, his own tears slipping silently down his face, disappearing into her hair. He didn’t try to stop them, didn’t fight against the weight of the grief pressing into his chest. He just held her, letting the pain crash over them both.

The kitchen was quiet, save for their breathing; ragged, broken. The way their hearts pounded against each other, as if trying to make sense of what they had lost.

No words. No empty reassurances. Just the unspoken understanding that, for this moment, neither of them had to grieve alone.

------------------

A/N: One more chapter to go.

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#jey uso #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fanfic #jey uso imagines #jey uso smut #main event jey uso #jey uso x reader

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annalacerda17 · 2 days ago

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I've been thinking about the fandom's attitude toward trauma, and I find it deeply problematic. I'm going to ramble a bit about it.

Here's the thing, either people completely dismiss the element of trauma in the story, or they turn it into a free-pass that can excuse any future shitty behavior from the character.

Specifically, when it comes to Wei Wuxian, I see that his childhood trauma from losing his parents and being left to beg on the streets, and from being made a scapegoat by Yu Ziyuan - who was extremely abusive towards him, both physically and emotionally - to the war, the trauma of being thrown into the burial mounds, and everything that happened from the moment he created the ghost path of cultivation until the first siege of the burial mounds and his death, can all be minimized or all together dismissed by certain parts of the fandom when analyzing his actions in the first life. That's part of why I hate takes that portray Wei Wuxian as oblivious to Lan Wangji's feelings or too emotionally unintelligent to understand the romance, when, actually, there was a ton of shit going on in his life and he absolutely had no energy left to think about romance, of all things. The trauma also becomes progressively more relevant when we look at Wei Wuxian's actions towards the end of his first life - because traumatic experiences kept piling up - and when we get to the battle of Nightless City and later the first siege of the Burial Mounds, it's basically impossible to separate Wei Wuxian's actions and reactions from the trauma he'd endured up until that point.

On the other hand, the certain parts of the fandom really emphasize Jiang Cheng's trauma way beyond the point where it would be relevant to do so.

Yes, Jiang Cheng had an awful childhood because his mother was abusive towards everyone around her. And I can excuse his poor temper when he was a child based on that.

And it's true that losing his parents and sect was traumatic. However, the problem is that in Jiang Cheng's case, his trauma has frequently been used to justify and, in fact, to excuse, all the atrocities he went on to commit in his adult life.

Wei Wuxian, despite his trauma, never became the abuser. In every instance where he used violence, it was either during the war, or he was provoked first. He never took the initiative to be violent or to hurt others otherwise.

Jiang Cheng was completely different. He lashed out because of jealousy and a desire to satisfy his own ego, he betrayed Wei Wuxian and the Wen Siblings, knowing that he owed them his life. And yet, his stans will insist that his past trauma is enough to excuse this behavior. I'm not going to go into how Jiang Cheng's actions were entirely voluntary in this post. Suffice to say that the book makes it quite clear that he turned against Wei Wuxian not because Wei Wuxian's prominence hurt his ego, and the other sect leaders exploited that. But the Jiang sect wouldn't have been in danger had Jiang Cheng chosen not to turn against Wei Wuxian.

I suppose my point is that at some point, trauma can no longer excuse bad behavior. And in this case, when a sane adult chooses to commit genocide, that choice cannot be excused by anything, not even by a traumatic past. When his stans say that he was a victim, they forget about his victims. Sometimes, a victim goes on to become the perpetrator.

In the novel, several characters have extremely traumatic pasts. Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Jin Guangyao. Most characters, really.

MXTX draws very clear parallels between Wei Wuxian and several of those characters. Wei Wuxian and Jin Guangyao both have a lower background in a world that bases a person's value on their birth. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian both lived with Yu Ziyuan for several years, they both watched Lotus Pier fall, they both lost Jiang Yanli. Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang both came from a lower social background, they were both street kids at one point, they were both victims of societal injustice.

And yet, Wei Wuxian chose to break the cycle of abuse. No matter how much abuse he endured, how traumatic his past, he didn't go on to become the next monster, the next abuser. On the contrary, he actively chose to be kind and just and nurturing. He was only ever violent when he was forced to be so - when he had to defend himself or others. Even in Nightless City, after he'd just lost Wen Ning and Wen Qing, he wasn't the first to attack.

On the other hand, Jiang Cheng, Jin Guangyao, Xue Yang, and many others chose to continue the cycle of violence and abuse. And at some point, the trauma in their pasts can no longer excuse their later choices. Those three characters, for instance - I know there are others but I'm not going to list every single MDZS character with a traumatic past who went on to become shitty people themselves, otherwise I'd be here all day - ruined many lives themselves, often those of people who were completely unrelated to their own traumatic pasts.

And if their actions are excused because of trauma, then what about their victims? What about the Wen remnants, who were old, disabled people, and a toddler, all innocent of Wen Rouhan's crimes? What about the people Jiang Cheng captured and murdered under the suspicion of the being demonic cultivators, on the off chance of them being Wei Wuxian? And the book doesn't even confirm that those people were actually demonic cultivators, they were taken because they were suspected of being such. And nowhere in the book does it say that any of those people did anything wrong at all. And what about Qin Su and her child? What about the entire clan Jin Guangyao framed for murdering his son and exterminated under such an excuse? What about the people of Yi city? What about Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan and a-Qing? What about the nameless, innocent victims who didn't get justice?

A traumatic past can never excuse the trail of victims they left behind.

#mdzs

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aquamarixx · 2 days ago

Text

breaking the internet

chapter ten Hiori finally finds the courage to meet his mom and her new family, with Miss Journalist, his self proclaimed emotional support girlfriend, by his side as he faces the inescapable reality he’s been running away from blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains fluff, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, very hiori centric piece masterlist

Hiori has been staring at his phone for almost ten minutes now. His grip tightens around the device, as if the pressure alone could somehow alter the words on the screen.

"Are you free for dinner this weekend, Yo-kun?"

A simple invitation. A casual question. A few harmless words.

But to Hiori, they might as well be a ticking time bomb.

Dinner with his mother. To catch up. To talk about life. To finally meet her new family. To face the reality he's been avoiding for months.

Just dinner.

Ever since she remarried, she has been persistent about him meeting them.

Every few weeks, another invitation. Lunch, dinner, brunch. Whatever excuse she could find to get him to sit at the same table as her new husband and the kid who aren’t his family.

She even hinted once about bringing them over to his apartment. That was when he started dodging her calls more often.

I’m busy.

I have training.

I’m too tired.

Some of those excuses were true. Most of them weren’t.

And his mother, perceptive as ever, never called him out on it. She knew. Of course she knew. But she let him have his distance, never pushing too hard.

Because in the end, they both understood the truth—this wasn’t just about a meal.

This was about moving forward.

And that terrified him.

He knows it’s selfish, but the thought of seeing her with a new family, a new life—one where he isn’t the center of her world anymore—feels like a rejection.

A confirmation that while she has turned the page, he is still stuck in a chapter that no longer exists.

The only thing tying his parents together anymore… is him.

Just a lingering reminder of a failed marriage and a legacy that was never fulfilled.

How ironic.

Because when he was younger, he hated being their world. He resented the weight of their expectations, the suffocating pressure of their broken dreams forced onto his shoulders.

But now, standing on the outside looking in, he realizes that he wasn’t trying to escape them.

He was trying to matter to them in a way that didn’t feel conditional.

And now that they’ve let go… he isn’t sure where he belongs anymore.

The warmth of your touch jolts Hiori from his thoughts. Your hands rest gently over his, pulling him back from whatever storm had been brewing inside his mind.

“You okay? You’ve been spacing out for a while.”

Your voice is soft, gentle but laced with concern. Your brows knit together slightly as you search his face, eyes filled with warmth.

Hiori glances at his phone, then back at you. He wants to say something—anything—but the words feel like they’re caught in his throat, stuck somewhere between hesitation and the overwhelming urge to let it all spill out.

“You know you can talk to me,” you murmur, squeezing his hands ever so slightly. “But only if you’re ready, okay? No pressure.”

A small, reassuring smile tugs at your lips, offering him an out if he needs it.

You know Hiori. He isn’t the type to just talk about things—not the heavy stuff, not the things that weigh on him in the quiet hours of the night. He keeps them locked away, buried under layers of restraint.

And yet, even without words, you can see the unspoken pain lingering in his eyes, in the way his shoulders tense, in the way his fingers twitch against his phone.

If he wants to talk, you’ll listen. If he doesn’t, you’ll sit here beside him, offering comfort in whatever way he needs.

That’s who you are in his life. His girlfriend.

It still feels a little surreal, calling yourself that. But more than anything, you want to be his safe place, his steady ground when everything else feels uncertain.

And as if he hears your unspoken promise, Hiori finally exhales.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter than usual. “My mom just texted me.”

You wait, watching as he stares at his phone again, the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air.

“She’s inviting me to dinner.” A pause. “With her new family.”

There’s a bitterness laced in his tone. Not outright anger, but something more fragile, more resigned.

And when he says new family, there’s an ache behind those words, as if saying them out loud makes it all the more real.

He wonders if they look like a picture-perfect family. Laughing around the dinner table, filling a space he once occupied. A space he wasn’t sure he could ever truly belong to.

Hiori leans back against the couch, his head falling back, an audible sigh escaping his lips.

“I’ve been avoiding it for so long.”

You shift closer, closing the small space between you. “Do you mind me asking why?”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly.

And then, barely above a whisper—

“It scares me, y’know?”

His voice cracks, just for a second.

And in that moment, you see it—the weight of everything he’s been holding back, pressing down on him all at once.

"It scares me… because if I go to that dinner and see her new life, it’ll be like accepting that things will never be the same again.”

His voice is raw, trembling at the edges. He puts down his phone, his gaze fixed on his fingers curling into a fist on his lap.

“It hasn’t been the same… not since Blue Lock ended.” His voice wavers, barely above a whisper.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before they divorced. But now… it’s different. They’ve moved on, and I’m the one left behind. It’s ironic, isn’t it?” He lets out a bitter laugh, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I hated being their entire world when I was a kid. I resented the pressure, the expectations, the way they suffocated me. But now… now I’m the one clinging to a family that doesn’t exist anymore.”

His words hang heavy in the air, an open-ended question more for himself than for you. He’s questioning the cruel irony of it all, the way life keeps twisting the knife even when you think you’ve grown numb.

Your fingers find his, gently wrapping around his trembling hand. You give a reassuring squeeze, grounding him in the present, reminding him that he’s not alone. It’s the only thing you could do for him.

Hiori’s shoulders sag, his weight leaning into you as if he’s finally allowing himself to break. You let him, holding him steady as the six-foot man folds into you, his head resting against your shoulder.

There’s a vulnerability in his touch, his fingers clutching yours as if letting go would mean being swallowed by the sea of emotions threatening to drown him.

“I hate this feeling,” he admits, his voice cracking. “It’s like this heavy weight just sits here, crushing me… and I don’t know what to do with it. And I know… I know wallowin’ in self-pity won’t change anything, but… why does it feel so damn hard to let go? Why can’t I just… accept it?”

His words shake and you feel your own heart breaking. You want to take his pain away, to carry even just a fraction of that weight.

But you know better than to promise things you can’t fix. Instead, you offer him the one thing he needs most—understanding.

You run your thumb gently over his knuckles, giving him an anchor to hold on to. Your voice is soft, steady. “Because it’s never easy to take the first step… not when moving forward means leaving behind everything you once knew.”

Your words are gentle, echoing the very fear that’s kept him rooted in place. “And that fear? It’s valid. It might feel ironic, but it actually makes perfect sense.”

Hiori’s fingers tighten around yours, his jaw clenching as he listens.

“It’s okay for you to feel this way,” you say.

“You were forced to grow up under impossible expectations. They put their broken dreams on you, made you carry burdens that were never yours to bear. And now, seeing them move on, seeing them do better with someone else… it hurts."

"It makes you wonder, ‘Why wasn’t it like that for me? Why did I have to suffer alone?’” Your voice is tinged with pain, echoing the unspoken thoughts he’s been too scared to voice.

“It feels unfair. Because you went through so much. And now it seems like they’ve moved on like nothing ever happened. Like you were just a chapter they’ve already closed.”

Hiori stiffens under the weight of your words. He feels seen and understood in a way he never thought possible. He releases a trembling breath, his head leaning further into you.

“If you’re not ready, you don’t have to go,” you whisper.

“We can stay here. We can watch cheesy romcoms, marathon anime or I’ll play Hades 2 while you backseat and critique my every move. Whatever you need, I’m here. We’ll get through it together.”

Hiori stays still, his breathing uneven. He’s so quiet that it makes you nervous, a lump forming in your throat. Just as you’re about to speak again, his voice breaks the silence.

“No.”

You blink, confused. “No?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, “Let’s go.” His voice wavers, but there’s a quiet determination behind his words. “I—I’ll to go to that dinner. But only if you’re with me.”

Pride swells in your chest. You see the fear in his eyes, but you also see his courage—the bravery it took for him to reach out, to ask for help, to take that first step. You nod, your voice unwavering.

“Of course. I’ll be right there with you. Every step of the way.”

Hiori doesn’t see the smile on your face, but he hears it in your voice. He feels it in the way your fingers tighten around his, steady and unwavering.

And in that moment, he realizes that maybe he’s not as alone as he thought.

Hiori checks his phone for the third time in five minutes.

30 minutes early.

He sighs, glancing at the screen to re-read your text from last night, just to be absolutely sure he’s at the right place. The last thing he needs is to embarrass himself by knocking on the wrong door and looking like a complete idiot.

You haven’t replied to his last text. You’re probably still getting ready.

Hiori shifts on his feet, feeling the awkwardness settle in his bones. If he stands out here for the next half an hour, he’ll definitely look like a creep to any nosy neighbors who pass by.

His fingers tap against his leg, nervous energy bubbling up inside him. Before he can overthink it, he lifts his hand and knocks—three quick taps against the door.

No answer.

The silence stretches. His heart starts to pound a little faster. He’s about to knock again when he hears muffled shuffling from the other side.

The door creaks open just a sliver, revealing a dark-haired girl peeking through the narrow gap. Her eyes narrow, scanning him up and down with suspicion.

Hiori instantly recognizes her from your descriptions—Miko, your roommate. The same loudmouthed girl who’s apparently a serial yapper and the world’s worst movie critic.

But right now, she’s nothing like you described. She’s quiet, guarded, eyeing him like he’s a stalker.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice low and cautious.

Hiori’s heart stutters, but he quickly recovers, offering her his most harmless, polite smile. “Good morning. I’m looking for Y/N.”

Miko’s eyes narrow further. “And you are?”

The words roll off his tongue easily, almost too easily. “I’m her boyfriend.”

He feels a flicker of warmth at the admission. It still feels surreal, saying it out loud. But each time he does, it becomes a little more real, a little more his.

Her expression flickers, her eyes widening with recognition. The door opens wider, revealing more of the apartment behind her. Hiori catches a glimpse of your shared living room—messy, cozy, filled with a chaotic warmth that already feels like you.

Miko shouts over her shoulder, her voice louder now, “Babe! There’s a pretty boy at the door! Says he’s your boyfriend!”

Hiori’s cheeks flush at the description. Miko turns back to him, her face breaking into an unnervingly wide smile.

She doesn’t move. She just stands there, her gaze fixed on him, silently appraising him like he’s some sort of artifact.

The longer she stares, the more awkward he feels. His confident smile wavers under her scrutiny. He shuffles on his feet, pretending to dust off an invisible speck from his bomber jacket before clasping his hands in front of him to stop his fidgeting.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoes from inside the apartment, followed by a loud, frantic voice.

“I’m coming! I’m almost ready!”

You burst into view, hair slightly tousled and face flushed. You’re wearing a black skirt that sways around your knees, moving fluidly with your every step.

You practically trip over your sneakers as you shove your feet into them, mumbling under your breath about how you’re never letting Miko wake you up late again. When you look up and see Hiori standing there, a warm smile instantly lights up your face.

“You’re early!”

A chuckle escapes him, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

He extends his hand towards you, and you immediately slip yours into his, letting him pull you closer.

Miko’s grin widens, and she leans against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold with unabashed curiosity. Her eyes flicker between the two of you, her head tilting in amusement.

You shoot her a warning look, but it only makes her snicker.

“We’re off,” you announce, deliberately ignoring the mischievous look in her eyes. “Don’t wait up.”

You lead Hiori away, your fingers intertwined with his, warm and steady. You’re almost at the elevator when Miko’s voice rings out behind you, echoing through the hallway.

“Have fun, kids! And use protection!”

The drive to the house is nothing but quiet and tense.

Hiori’s grip on the steering wheel was tighter than usual, his posture tense and awfully upright. There’s an unnerving feeling lingering in the back of Hiori’s mind, lurking. As if anytime, it would pounce right at him—this irrational fear of his—and would make him crawl back at home and just chicken out.

He’s played against world class players under the eyes of the world, with his team’s victory hanging in balance where tension is at an all time high. But nothing has prepared him for the crushing pressure of meeting his mom’s new family and accepting the inevitable.

Nothing.

And when Hiori pauses in front of the house, you can feel his nervousness. His breath is shaky as he exhales, as if he was holding his breath for such a long time during the drive.

Without thinking to much, you reach over and slip your fingers through his. Your presence, your support, is the only reassurance you can give him.

“You ready?” You look at Hiori. He gives you a strained smile as he nods and presses the doorbell.

The doorbell rings from the inside of the house, the faint sound of it muffled by the closed doors and windows.

For a brief second, nothing happens. The house remains silent, unmoving. A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. Maybe they’re not home. Maybe he doesn’t have to do this today. Maybe—

A young boy stands there, barely reaching Hiori’s waist, his wide eyes curious and innocent. He looks up at Hiori with curiosity, his head tilting to the side.

Hiori’s heart stutters. The boy’s eyes are so familiar—large and expressive, a shade of brown that reminds him of his mother’s.

Before he can process it, Junko appears behind the boy, her face lighting up in recognition. She’s wearing a pink apron, her hair tied back in a messy bun, a warm, welcoming smile stretching across her lips.

“Yo-kun!” Her voice is bright, affectionate, and she pulls the gate open wider, her eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m so glad you made it!”

You feel Hiori’s fingers twitch, his shoulders going rigid for a moment before steps forward.

You gently release his hand, giving him space as Junko steps forward and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

He hesitates but then he melts into her embrace, his shoulders sagging, his face burying in her shoulder just for a moment before he pulls away.

Junko’s gaze shifts to you, her eyes widening as she takes you in. She steps closer, her hands reaching out to grasp yours. Her hands are warm, slightly calloused—the hands of someone who’s worked hard her whole life.

Just like Hiori’s.

“And you must be—”

Her words die off as her eyes widen in realization. Recognition flickers in her gaze, and her mouth falls open in a soft gasp. Her head whips towards Hiori, her expression a mixture of shock and delight.

“Oh my! You’re the—” Her eyes dart between you and her son. “And you two are dating?!”

A crimson flush spreads across Hiori’s cheeks, his eyes flicking to the ground as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, we are. So can we go inside before the neighbors hear all about my love life?”

The boy, no older than ten, scurries after Hiori, his small legs working double time to keep up with Hiori’s long strides. You follow closely behind, watching as his tiny steps try to match Hiori’s big steps.

Inside, the house is warm and cozy, sunlight filtering through the curtains, illuminating the framed photos on the wall.

Your eyes catch on one with a younger Hiori in a Bastard München jersey, standing next to his mom who looks impossibly proud.

You even spot a framed article about him from years ago, back when he first officially joined Bastard Munchen’s starting lineup as a rookie.

Junko’s voice calls from the kitchen, “Make yourselves at home! Lunch will be ready soon!” The rich and savory scent of curry wafts through the air.

Hiori sinks into the couch, his shoulders relaxing as he leans back.

You carry the cake you bought to the kitchen, hesitating for a moment before approaching Junko.

“Um… Mrs. Hio—” You catch yourself, realizing the name might be a sensitive topic.

Junko turns to you, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just Junko, dear.” She reaches out, taking the cake from your hands with a warm smile.

“And thank you for bringing this. You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. Also, it’s nice to finally formally meet you. I’m Y/N, Hi—You-kun’s girlfriend.” Your voice gets a little bit higher, a shy smile breaking across your face.

It’s your first time addressing Hiori by his first name. It does make his ears perk up hearing you say it from the couch.

“Thank you for taking care of Yo-kun, dear. And it’s really nice to meet you under better circumstances.” Both of you laugh at the inside joke that is the exhibition match fiasco.

It somehow thaws the awkwardness you’re feeling.

“I’m sorry, dear. The curry’s still cooking. I was helping little Ryuu with his homework earlier and completely lost track of time.” Junko apologizes, mid stir of the curry.

“Also, my husband’s running a bit late from a client appointment, but he’ll be joining us for dinner. So please relax and make yourselves at home.”

The words echo in Hiori’s head, bouncing around before finally sinking in.

Her husband.

It feels weird for Hiori to hear his mom call another guy her husband. And it’s definitely weird to be in a house with her other than the house he grew up in with her and his dad.

It smells like curry and laughter and a life that doesn’t include him. A life his mom built without him.

His fingers tap against his leg, restless and jittery. His knee bounces rapidly, his body wound so tight it feels like he might snap.

A gentle poke to his side breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks over to see you watching him, concern etched into your features.

Your eyes are soft, wide with worry, and your lips are pressed into a thin line.

“You good?” Your voice is low, meant only for him.

He forces himself to nod, his head moving stiffly. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

You don’t look convinced, but you don’t push. Instead, you shift closer, your shoulder pressing against his, your warmth seeping into him. The tension in his chest loosens just a little, his knee slowing to a stop. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent thank you.

Every so often, little Ryuu's eyes flicker up to Hiori, wide and curious, while he draws on the paper in front of him absentmindedly.

It’s funny to him, seeing how looking at the kid reminds him of his younger self, with the same curious big eyes.

There’s something hauntingly familiar about those eyes—big and innocent, filled with questions he’s too shy to ask. He sees himself in that curious gaze, a younger version of himself who was just as small and wide-eyed once upon a time.

The realization hits him hard. That’s his brother.

Or step brother, right? Since they're not blood related.

The words feel foreign to him. He’s never been a brother before. He doesn’t know how to be one. Should he introduce himself? Would that be too weird? What would he even say?

His heart hammers in his chest, his fingers twitching at his sides, but before he can fully process his thoughts, you’re already moving.

You slide off the couch and plop down beside Ryuu on the floor, cross-legged and casual.

“Hi, Ryuu!” you greet, your voice warm and friendly. “Whatcha doin’?”

The boy’s head shoots up, his big eyes widening even more. He looks at you, then at Hiori, then back at you, his mouth falling open slightly. You wait patiently, giving him time to process before he mumbles, “Just drawing.”

Your eyes light up with genuine curiosity. You lean closer, watching his tiny hands fumble with the crayons, drawing a person kicking a ball.

“You’re really good at this. I can’t draw well but I can draw pretty flowers.”Ryuu’s lips twitch, the beginnings of a smile forming. He shyly pushes a piece of paper and a crayon towards you.

“You can help if you want.”

Your face lights up. “Really? Thanks, Ryuu!” You take the crayon, carefully drawing sunflowers on the paper. You glance down at your drawing, cringing. You’re pretty sure Ryuu’s stick people look better than yours.

From the couch, Hiori watches the scene unfold, his chest tightening at the sight. You’re so natural with the kid.

Junko’s voice rings out from the kitchen, breaking his thoughts.

“So, how long have you two been dating?”

“Four months,” Hiori blurts out before you can answer. His face immediately flushes, his eyes darting to the floor.

A soft chuckle drifts from the kitchen. “Four months? And you didn’t tell me, Yo-kun?” There’s a hint of hurt behind her words, masked by a strained laugh.

An awkward silence follows.

You sense the tension and decide to break it the only way you know how—by being your usual, chaotic self. You turn to Ryuu, a mischievous grin forming on your lips.

“Hey, Ryuu. Wanna see something cool?”

The boy’s eyes sparkle with interest, his head bobbing eagerly. “Yeah!”

You wiggle your eyebrows dramatically. “Wanna see how cool your big brother is?”

The words tumble out naturally, and Hiori’s chest tightens.

Big brother.

The title is heavy, unfamiliar… but somehow, it feels right. It leaves a warmth lingering in his chest for some reason.

Ryuu’s head snaps towards Hiori, his eyes widening in awe. “Big brother?” His voice is soft, reverent, almost as if he’s been waiting to hear those words.

Hiori’s heart stutters, his breath catching in his throat. He can’t speak, his voice stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat.

Meanwhile, you’ve already grabbed the remote, switching on the TV with practiced ease. You navigate to YouTube, typing in the search bar with a speed that makes Hiori’s head spin.

He squints at the screen, his eyes widening when he sees the search result:

Hiori Yo nasty highlight clips

His face flushes red. “Ehem.” He clears his throat, his eyes flicking from the TV to you. “Seriously?”

You look at him, confused. “What? That’s the title. I’ve watched it before.”

He stares at you, his mouth agape. “That… sounds so wrong.”

He imagines you in your pajamas at home, lounging in front of your pc, your glasses reflecting the videos of him you watch.

The idea makes him chuckle because he’s damn sure you’ve done it a couple of times. Now he wonders which clips of him you’ve watched countless of times and which ones are your particular favorites.

The video starts with a close-up of Hiori, sweat dripping down his face as he rakes his fingers through his hair, his expression intense and focused. Then, the scene cuts to a montage of his best plays.

Perfect passes, impossible assists, and jaw-dropping goals that make even the commentators lose their minds.

The scene cuts to a series of b-rolls—Hiori walking to his position, his body language exuding quiet confidence. Then another shot of him standing on the field, his gaze unwavering, scanning the pitch with laser-sharp focus.

A third clip shows him conversing with his teammates, his expression serious, his words inaudible but his leadership evident. All the shots are from official match broadcasts, crisp and clear, showcasing Bastard München.

Then the music picks up, an upbeat, electrifying tune that sets the perfect stage for action. The atmosphere shifts, the anticipation building as the video plunges into a sequence of breathtaking highlights.

The first clip is a wide shot of Hiori facing off in a 1v1 with Bachira who makes the first move, his feet a blur of motion as he pulls off a series of feints. But Hiori doesn’t bite. He tracks Bachira’s movements and then, in a flash, Hiori lunges.

His foot intercepts the ball, flicking it away as he pivots, the ball glued to his feet.

Effortless dribbling, perfect ball control. Hiori’s genius as an offensive midfielder on full display.

You let out a low whistle, fanning yourself dramatically. You look back at him, your eyes wide with exaggerated admiration, mouthing the words, “So hot,” with an over-the-top expression that makes him chuckle.

Ryuu’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping open. “Wow… that’s you?”

Pride blooms in Hiori’s chest, his lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah… that’s me.”

You turn to Ryuu, your eyes shining. “Pretty cool, huh? Your big brother’s a superstar.”

Ryuu nods eagerly, his admiration evident from his sparkling eyes. He looks at Hiori like he’s the coolest person in the world.

The video keeps going, the music intensifying as the plays get even more spectacular.

Hiori pulls off a Rabona against PXG’s Charles Chevalier, his body twisting gracefully as his foot wraps around the ball, curving it perfectly past Charles. The stadium erupts, the camera zooming in on Hiori’s calm, unbothered face as if the impossible play was just another day at the office.

You dramatically fan yourself again, your head shaking in disbelief. “Okay, now that’s just unfair,” you whisper, clearly mesmerized by his speed and agility.

But the video isn’t done yet. The final highlight is a masterpiece of playmaking—a two-stage fake pass followed by a no-look alley cross.

Hiori sprints down the sideline, his eyes locking with Isagi’s for a split second. His body shifts as if preparing to pass, his entire stance selling the fake perfectly. The defenders bite, their bodies moving to intercept—only to realize too late that the ball never left his foot.

With a quick turn, Hiori spins around his marker, his eyes still on Isagi as his leg swings back. But instead of kicking towards Isagi, the ball flies to the opposite side, curving beautifully towards Yukimiya, who’s unmarked on the far post. Yukimiya heads it in effortlessly, the net bulging as the crowd goes wild.

You whistle lowly, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re so good it’s actually scary.”

Hiori laughs, his cheeks flushing under your praise. But his eyes soften when he notices Ryuu’s reaction.

The boy is motionless, his face a mask of pure awe. His big brown eyes are locked on the screen, his mouth hanging open as he watches Hiori work his magic.

When the video ends, Ryuu doesn’t move. His eyes stay glued to the screen, his little body leaning forward as if waiting for more.

Then, his head whips around, his eyes wide and sparkling. “Can—can we watch it again?”

You grin. You hit replay, and the video starts all over again.

This time, you provide a colorful play-by-play, adding dramatic sound effects every time Hiori pulls off a crazy move. Ryuu giggles, his body swaying with excitement as he watches the highlights with newfound fascination.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes locking with Hiori’s. You tilt your head towards Ryuu, raising an eyebrow. “C’mon, Yo-kun. Don’t just sit there. Get down here and watch with us.”

Hiori blinks, a little startled by the invitation. But when you pat the spot next to you, he feels his body moving before his mind catches up.

He slides off the couch, his long legs folding as he sits cross-legged beside Ryuu. The boy’s eyes widen in delight as his face breaking into a huge grin.

“Football looks so cool,” Ryuu breathes, his voice tinged with awe.

It catches Hiori off guard, his mind flashing back to his younger self—wide-eyed and hopeful, mesmerized by the magic of the game. It’s the same look he had when he first fell in love with football.

Then you lean in, your voice playful. “Bet if you ask nicely, your big brother will teach you how to play.” You loudly whisper to Ryuu, making sure Hiori can hear every word loud and clear.

Ryuu’s head snaps towards Hiori, his eyes wide and pleading. “Really? Will you teach me?”

His voice cracks for a bit. “Ask mom if she’s okay with it.” Who can say no to a kid who gives the most adorable face, right?

Without missing a beat, Ryuu scrambles to his feet, his little legs propelling him towards the kitchen as he shouts, “Mom! Big brother’s gonna teach me how to play football! Can I? Can I?”

There’s a brief pause, followed by Junko’s voice, shaky and emotional. “Y-yeah, of course, sweetie. If your big brother is fine with it… then I’m fine with it.”

Ryuu trudges back to Hiori, his small feet pattering against the floor, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He skids to a stop beside Hiori, his chest puffed out with pride as he beams up at him.

His entire body vibrates with excitement, his smile so wide it crinkles the corners of his big, bright eyes.

There’s a strange tug inside him, a flicker of something warm and unfamiliar. But there’s also an uneasy twist, a hollow ache as he looks down at the boy—at those eyes, so full of wonder.

Was I like this before?

He remembers himself as a child, smaller and wide-eyed, standing on a football field for the first time. He remembers the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of kicking the ball, the way his heart soared when he scored his first goal.

His heart throbs, his chest aching as he remembers how fast it all changed.

How the light in his eyes dimmed as football became less about fun and more about perfection. How the joy was replaced with pressure, the excitement overshadowed by expectations. How he became an extension of his parents’ legacy, a vessel for their broken dreams.

How he sacrificed everything—time, friends, childhood—just to be the best. Just to make them proud.

And how, one day, he looked in the mirror and realized the love for football was gone.

Nothing was left but emptiness.

His eyes flicker to Ryuu, to the boy’s wide, innocent gaze, so full of hope. The wonder is alive in his eyes, glowing brightly, untouched and pure.

An unfamiliar protectiveness washes over him, strong and overwhelming.

Ryuu isn’t even related to him by blood, but that doesn’t matter. Hiori’s chest burns with the desire to protect that light in his eyes.

To keep that wonder safe. To make sure Ryuu never loses that joy. To never lose himself to expectations and pressure and heartbreak.

By the time dinner rolls around, the warm atmosphere is momentarily interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Footsteps echo through the hallway, each step growing louder, closer, until a man appears in the doorway.

Junko’s face lights up, her posture relaxing as she walks towards the man, her smile bright and genuine.

She wraps her arms around his waist, his hand resting on her back as he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head. He smiles into her hair, his eyes soft, his expression tender and affectionate.

A strange, hollow ache twists in Hiori’s chest.

He watches as his mom giggles, playfully swatting the man’s arm as she glances back at them, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. There’s a lightness to her that he hasn’t seen in years.

She never smiled like that at his dad.

The man pulls away, his eyes flicking to Hiori, his expression warm and welcoming. He steps forward, his movements unhurried, his demeanor gentle. He’s not intimidating, not imposing in any way.

Just… normal.

“I’m Kobayashi Yohei,” he says, his voice steady and kind. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Yo-kun.” He extends his hand towards Hiori, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a genuine smile.

For a split second, Hiori freezes, his body going rigid. His mind races, his heart thudding in his chest.

Yo-kun.

The nickname feels foreign and strange when spoken by someone who isn’t his dad.

Hiori stands up and reaches out, his grip firm as his hand meets Yohei’s. “Likewise. And… thank you for taking care of my mom.”

His words come out even and controlled. Not bitter, not overly enthusiastic. Just an honest acknowledgment of the truth.

They break apart, and Hiori quickly steps back, his eyes flicking to the floor. You sense the tension and immediately step in, introducing yourself with a bright smile, your voice warm and friendly.

Yohei’s eyes soften, his shoulders visibly relaxing as you greet him. He thanks you for coming, his voice gentle and sincere, and you can feel the atmosphere slowly thawing.

Dinner is surprisingly lively, mostly thanks to Ryuu’s animated storytelling. He recounts the videos he watched earlier with you and Hiori, his eyes wide with excitement as he describes each move with exaggerated hand gestures.

“And then Big Brother—” Ryuu’s voice falters, his eyes darting to Hiori as if seeking permission.

He meets Ryuu’s gaze, and after a moment, he gives a small but gentle smile.

Ryuu beams, his face lighting up as he continues, “Big brother did this crazy move where he passed the ball behind his back without even looking!” He leans closer to his dad, his eyes sparkling.

“It was so cool! I wanna learn how to do that someday.”

Yohei’s eyes widen, his brows arching in surprise. His gaze shifts to Hiori, his expression softening. “Is that so?” He ruffles Ryuu’s hair affectionately.

“Well, if your big brother is willing to teach you, then I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

He looks at Ryuu, the boy’s face glowing with excitement, and for a brief moment, he feels something unfamiliar… something like belonging.

When dinner finally ends, you offer Junko help to wash the dishes while the men move to the living room.

Ryuu slumps back in front of the TV, watching more Bastard Munchen clips.

Yohei looks over at Hiori, his expression thoughtful. “I heard from your mom that you were sick and got benched during a match.” His voice is soft, laced with genuine concern.

Hiori blinks, surprised. “Mom’s just exaggerating. It was an exhibition match, and we were trying new things on the field.” He shrugs, trying to play it off.

Yohei nods, his face relaxing. “That’s good to hear. Your mom worries a lot.” His lips curve into a gentle smile. “She always talks about you… how proud she is of you.”

A lump forms in Hiori’s throat, his eyes dropping to his lap. “Yeah… I know.” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

To break the tension, Hiori clears his throat. “Mom mentioned you’re a physical therapist?”

Yohei’s face brightens. “Yeah. I’ve been working with athletes for years, along with the usual cases that come my way. It’s rewarding, helping people get back on their feet.”

Hiori’s interest is piqued. “Do you work with football players, too?”

“Occasionally. Mostly with runners and swimmers, but I’ve had a few football clients. It’s fascinating… the way the body moves during a match, the strain on the muscles.” Yohei’s eyes light up as he speaks, his passion evident.

They fall into an easy conversation about training, stretching, and how to properly take care of his body as an athlete. Yohei even points out Hiori’s posture, teasing him about how Junko mentioned he hunches over while playing video games.

Hiori laughs, his shoulders relaxing, the awkwardness fading just a little.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Junko hands you a plate to dry.

“Thank you… for being here with him. I don’t think he could have done this alone.” Her voice is thick with emotion.

You smile gently. “He’s stronger than he thinks. But I wanted to be here. For him.”

Junko’s eyes glisten, her lips trembling. “He’s changed so much. And it gives me hope. Maybe we can find our way back to each other.” Her voice cracks just a little and you feel like the damn might break any moment now.

Before you can respond, Hiori appears in the doorway, his face serious. “Mom… can we talk?”

Your heart tightens, knowing he needs this moment. You give him a reassuring nod before slipping out to the living room, joining Ryuu as he replays Hiori’s highlight videos.

Junko gestures to the dinner table, her hands trembling as she pulls out a chair. Hiori follows suit, sitting down across from her, his body rigid, his fingers twisting together in his lap. He can’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the table.

Silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Then, Hiori lets out a shaky breath, his voice breaking the quiet. “Thanks for dinner. And for inviting me.”

Junko’s lips tremble, her eyes glistening. “I—I wanted to see you. It’s been so long. And… I missed you, Yo-kun.” Her voice wavers, the vulnerability raw and exposed.

Hiori’s chest tightens, his heart aching at the pain in her voice. He swallows thickly, his fingers gripping his knees under the table. “I missed you too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it was easier to stay away.”

Junko’s face crumbles, her shoulders shaking. She drops her head, her hands clenching the dish towel as she fights back tears. “I know. I deserve that. I deserve every bit of that.”

Hiori’s fingers twitch, his throat tightening. “I was so angry. For so long.” His voice wavers, his eyes stinging. “I hated you. And Dad. Even football. I hated everything.”

“I thought—I thought it was my fault. That if I was better, you and Dad would’ve been happier.” His voice cracks, the vulnerability raw and exposed.

“I was the reason everything fell apart.”

Junko’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and horrified. “No… no, Yo-kun. No.” She moves without thinking, reaching across the table, her hands trembling as she takes his.

“It was never your fault. Not even for a second.” Her grip tightens, her voice desperate.

“You dad and I were wrong. For pushing our dreams to you. You were just a child back then and our motivations were in the wrong.”

Junko lets out silent sob, her face buried in her hands. “I failed you as a mother. I was selfish and weak.”

"I wish I could go back and do it all over. I wish I had been a better mother to you.” Junko’s words felt heavy, filled with pain and regret. His chest heaves, his shoulders shaking.

But amidst the pain, he feels something shift, easing the tightness in his heart.

“I’m not mad. Not anymore.” Hiori’s voice is quiet, steady.

“I—I was. For a long time. But I’m not anymore.” He looks up, his eyes meeting hers.

“You… you’re good to him. To Ryuu. And you look happy.” He pauses, his voice cracking. “I want you to be happy, Mom.”

Junko gives him a small smile. “I want that for you too. More than anything.”

Hiori takes a shaky breath, his fingers squeezing hers. “I’m 26 now. I’m an adult. And things are different. You have a new family. New priorities.” He pauses, his voice wavering.

“We’ll just do better and figure things out. But this is a good start, right?”

Tears well up in Junko’s eyes as she tries to hold herself back from crying. Hearing those words from her son felt like a huge weight from her shoulders were lifted.

“Thank you, Yo-kun. And for what it’s worth, no matter how different things are now, I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always be in your corner.”

She stands, her chair scraping against the floor as she rounds the table, her arms wrapping around him. Hiori’s body stiffens, his breath hitching. But then, his arms move, wrapping around her, holding her close.

They stand there, their shoulders shaking as they softly cry in each other's arm. The years of pain, anger, and loneliness still there but slowly melting away, replaced by a fragile hope.

It’s not perfect. It’s not a fairytale ending. The scars will always be there, reminders of what was lost. But it’s a start.

Things can’t be fixed. Not completely.

But that doesn’t mean they can’t get better.

And maybe this is how things get better.

amari's notes: this is the longest chapter by far, thank you for the wait! jan and feb have been so busy for me so i didn't really have much energy to write but now, i'm planning to get back into it! also this chapter is really close to my heart, being a child of divorce who is also an only child and an eldest siblings to my half-siblings an all, i feel like hiori would be the type to be protective of his step brother. a lot to unpack in this chapter but i didn't want to make it longer huhu. anw, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. i'll greatly appreciate it! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (if you wanna join the taglist, just comment or send me a message!)

taglist: @inu1gf @pookalicious-hq @dontmindtheevie @wannabepoeticischiya @chokifandom @momoriii-i

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #hiori yo #hiori yo x reader #bllk x reader #bllk hiori yo #breaking the internet #hiori yo breaking the internet

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lavandulawrites · 1 day ago

Text

Nirvana

Yandere!Loser x reader

Minors And Ageless Blogs Do Not Interact

Repost

I finally got around and wrote something for my favourite loser, it has been a long time since last time. I hope you like this pathetic Nirvana-loving man as much as I do<3

Masterlist

Adrian’s (Yandere Loser) Character Profile

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, original character, public masturabation, obsession, implied stalking, lovesick behaviour, delusional behaviour

Word count: 960

His black jacket was zipped up all the way as a way to keep the biting cold winter air out. His wired air-buds were playing Smells Like Teen Spirit. His pale hands were shoved inside his pocket were his left hand toyed with the receipt he had found at your desk. His late night activity (he had jacked off outside of your apartment complex to the silhouette of you in your bedroom window) had stolen his sleep, but he hadn’t minded the night before. However now as the sleeplessness hit him like a drunk driven truck, he started regretting only getting two hours of sleep. Adrian turned up the volume with the button of the wire. And as usual, the raw sound of Kurt Cobain’s voice calmed his nerves.

The bus stopped in front of the shabby bus-stop. Its breaks letting out a shrilling sound. The black haired man sighed in relief as he entered the empty bus. The metal piercings had made his ears numb, and the warmth of the bus was pleasant. He ventured as far back as he could without sitting at the row of back seats in the back, as those often were filled with annoying middle school teens. Despite Adrian’s social awkwardness, the teens never dared to mess with him given his dark clothing and cold stares, but that didn’t stop him from hating them. He slumped back in his seat as he leaned his head against the icy window. The outside blurred together in a mass of white and grey colours as the bus driver drove way over the given speed limit.

The minutes pasted and after the seventh Nirvana song, the bus came to an halt. Its doors swung open and the gloomy man’s humour soured. Please don’t be any of those annoying teens he thought bitterly. Then the sky cleared and in stepped the source of his joy. You were alone and dressed rather casually, but to Adrian you looked like an otherworldly being. He shrunk in his seat as if getting spotted by you would be utterly embarrassing. To his surprise you took a seat by the window two rows in front of him. He cowered his mouth with his hand has he let out a surprised yelp. He ripped out his air-buds as he was afraid he would miss even the tiniest sound from you.

To his joy, you two were the only passengers on the bus. He could see your reflection in the window if he leaned against it with a slightly strained neck. His heart was beating like crazy and he thought he would die from heart attack right then and there. The longer he watched you scroll on your phone with air-buds plugged in your ears, the more he could feel the strain in his loose black jeans. He wanted to roll his eyes at his pitiful state, but he couldn’t help to get bricked up in your proximity.

You were so incredibly beautiful after all, so his reaction was only natural. After making sure you or anyone else couldn’t see it (thank god the bus didn’t have any surveillance cameras) he pulled out his open jacket so that it worked as a little cover. He quietly unzipped his jeans and pulled his dark blue down. He blew in his hand before he gripped his achingly hard dick. His pale dick was flushed an angrily pink and pre-cum was already leaking from the rip. He had to use his hand that was closed to the window, his left hand, despite being right handed due to the jacket that worked like a cover.

Adrian spat in his hand before he worked it up and down the shaft in a slow motion. He needed to be careful so you didn’t notice anything. His grey-blue eyes found your reflection as he watched you with a lidded gaze. He let out a shaky breath as his thumb stroke over his swollen tip. He worked his hand a little faster and pleasure shrouded through him. He threw his head back and bit his lip harshly, to quite any of his whimpers.

You were putting on chapstick on your beautiful lips in a careful manner, which resulting Adrian to almost drool. God he wished it was your lips that were wrapped around his dick instead of his hand. He tightened his grip and picked up the pace. Pale was coated in pre-cum as he continued to jack off. The vein alongside his cock was strained and he was close. So close that he couldn’t help the low whimpers that escaped his lips. With a hasty motion he pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket with his right hand. His breathing was rapid and the warm feeling deep within his gut spread like lightning through his veins. With his gaze strained to your form, he came so hard he saw white stars. Warm cum pumped out from his dick and onto the handkerchief. He slumped forward with his forehead resting against the seat in front of him.

He breathed heavily for a while, before he shoved his dick back into his underwear. He carefully pulled up the zipper with one hand as he stuffed the used handkerchief into his pant pocket. After whipping his hands on a new tissue, he ran his hand through his black soft hair.

He watched you exit the bus at the bus stop by your work. Blue eyes followed you to the door of the worn little coffee shop. He put in his air-buds again and clicked play on the same song he had saw you listing to. You would be his. It wouldn’t be long now. Nothing could ever keep you from him. You were destined to be.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere original character #yandere oc #yandere loser #yandere smut #orginal character #oc #adrian x reader #Adrian Laurier

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cuteandhughesy · 3 days ago

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3. “we really shouldn’t” “so?” with anthony stolarz

he def seems like the type of guy who’d be ur brothers teammate and you’d sleep with him behind ur brothers back 😶

prompt no.3: “we really shouldn’t.” “so?”

your brother mitch has always been protective. you’re his younger sister, two years younger than him, and have always been super kind and naive. from a young age, he saw the way people took advantage of you and felt that it was his responsibility to keep you safe.

when you got a bit older and started dating, mitch’s protectiveness got worse. no boy was good enough, even when they were. mitch would drive boys away with menacing looks and what he called ‘stern talkings’ which are also known as threats.

eventually when you convinced your brother to chill the fuck out a little bit and let you work things out on your own, he surprisingly agreed.

under one circumstance.

you can’t date his friends, and you certainly can’t date his teammates. ever.

and you could live with that. most of mitch’s friends where your friends, and you didn’t see them that way. and when mitch started getting more serious about hockey, he barley went out or had his teammates come over, so you never even met them. steph would ask all the time if you wanted to come to games, but you weren’t really interested.

“maybe you’ll find a guy,” she used to tease, winking at you discreetly in the dim light of the living room.

you always responded the same way, “im not into hockey players.”

when mitch made it to the nhl, you started going to games more often. you got to drink beers that mitch was paying for, and chat with steph about school and boys without the prying ears of your brother and your family.

as the years passed, mitch never strayed from his dating rule or protectiveness over you.

you never planned on rebuking mitch’s dating rule until anthony stolarz waltzed into toronto with a summer tan and a perfect smile. he’s older than you, mature but doesn’t take himself too seriously. anthony introduced himself to you with a playful and intriguing gleam, and it instantly has you feeling things.

and your sister-in-law knows it too, because anytime mitch brings up anthony or the net minder is in the same room as you, she’s wiggling her brows at you and grinning. you hate her.

and it’s fine, you think. it’s just a stupid crush on a new, older man. you’ll get over it. it’s not reciprocated.

expect it’s totally reciprocated, and after too many glasses of wine and a private bathroom at some bar after a win, you and anthony begin hook up. and it doesn’t just end there. you have sex often, and kiss and go on dates even more frequently.

you find yourself in a secret relationship, and at the same time, betraying your older brother. slowly it becomes harder to keep a secret, and the people in your life start noticing.

it starts with steph who just knows you too well. she straight up just asks you, and you blurt it out like you physically can’t hold it in any longer. steph smirked and said, ‘I fucking knew it.’

next came auston matthews, one of mitch’s closest friends and teammates, walks in on your and anthony making out like teenagers in a guest bathroom. to be fair, you didn’t look the door. and it was also auston’s house. you rushed out after the goal scorer, lips glistening and eyes frantic, begging him not to say anything.

auston just laughed and said, ‘don’t worry kid, your secret is safe with me.’

your parents knew, and your closest friends knew (mostly leaf wags who you sworn to secrecy). it started to feel more real, and you certainly got more comfortable.

so yeah you may of had four too many beers at the game. and yeah, when you see your boyfriend walking out of the leafs dressing room, looking divine after a win, you just want to normal and go up to your boyfriend.

it wasn’t uncommon for you to wait in the tunnels with steph for mitch after games, especially when you’ve all driven to the rink together. anthony would always smile at you, a little too sexy for trying to be discrete, but you never pushed those boundaries. not when mitch could walk out.

but once again, you’re well passed tipsy and you just want to live up on your man like all the other wags get to. before you can think about it, you’re walking up to anthony, heels clicking on the floor as you make your way through the crowd.

anthony’s talking to morgan, completely unaware of the way your striding towards him until you’re right in front of him. you wrap your hand around his bicep, blinking up at him with a glossed over expression.

“hi,” you beam, glossy lips tempting.

anthony swallows, eyes squinting in amusement. he shoots a glance at morgan, who is just stifling laughter like he knows—god damn it tessa. “hi,” he parrots.

“missed you,” you whine, pushing up onto the toe of your heeled boots and pucker your lips, “can I have a kiss?”

anthony laughs, rubbing the back of his neck and subtly scanning the room—checking if anyone was watching. morgan has slipped away now, and there’s only a few lingering people left in the tunnel. he sees steph, eyeing you both sneakily. which means mitch is still here.

“we really shouldn’t.” he mumbles. despite his words, anthony lets his hand wrap around your waist, keeping you against his chest to steady your drink sway. he licks along his bottom lip, “your brother could catch us.”

“so?” you huff, pushing even further up his body. “just a quick kiss.” you say. you’re too happy on wine and in love to think about your brothers stupid rule right now. you couldn’t care less about anything besides your gigantic boyfriend—who is grinning down at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

and you are. more than the nhl. more than the stanley cup. more than breathing.

quickly, anthony leans down, free hand enclosing on the side of your face as he tilts your head up, connecting your lips together.

the kiss doesn’t last nearly as long as you need it to, and you whine when anthony pulls off of you. you’re not caught, thankfully, and that only makes you want to kiss him over and over again.

“i’ll see you later, kay?” anthony whispers softly, talking his hand off your hips.

you nod, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and dropping back down to your heels. “love you.”

“love you too.”

—

(unedited)

#🍾 ⊹˚₊ 1000 celly #❣️answered #anthony stolarz blurb #anthony stolarz imagine #anthony stolarz smut #nhl blurb #nhl smut #hockey blurb #hockey smut

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odileeclipse · 13 hours ago

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hii could you do a Pure Vanilla Cookie x anemic!gn!reader and reader never really experienced how it felt like when someone is caring for them so they just feel very weird inside whenever Pure Vanilla shows kindness to them and reader thinks they don’t deserve this and hates the feeling of being cared for and thinks pure vanilla just pities the them so reader just distances themselves from pv and doesn’t talk to him much anymore unless if it’s something important and whenever reader sees pv coming in their way they immediately just walk to another direction. Pv notices the sudden change of behavior and just lwk confronts them one day and reader of course tries to run away again but pv stops them

you can decide on what happens after

ty!!

A Kindness you can't grasp PVxReader oneshot

The Vanilla Kingdom was as peaceful as ever, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. Stained-glass windows cast soft, pastel hues across the grand halls, and the scent of blooming flora from the royal gardens drifted through the air. It was beautiful—serene, even. But you found no comfort in it. Not when you felt so weak. You hadn’t thought much of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s kindness at first. He was benevolent to all, after all. A warm smile here, a gentle word there—it was simply who he was. But as time passed, his actions grew… personal. He would notice when you looked pale and usher you to sit, placing a hand on your forehead as if checking for a fever. He would remind you—urge you—to eat, sometimes even setting small plates of fruit or nourishing sweets near you with a quiet, expectant look. When dizziness struck, his hand was always there to steady you, his staff’s soft glow chasing away the worst of it.

It was unbearable.

The more he did, the more the feeling grew. That awful, gnawing sensation in your chest, whispering cruel things into your mind. Mockery. That’s what it was. Why else would someone like him—so revered, so gentle—go out of his way to treat you with such care? It had to be some kind of joke. He must’ve pitied you. Or worse—he wanted to prove something. How laughable you were. Weak. Frail. Someone to be looked after like a helpless child. You hated it. So you stopped talking to him unless it was absolutely necessary. You avoided his gaze, kept your distance. And when you saw him in the halls, you turned and walked the other way.

Pure Vanilla Cookie had noticed the change immediately. At first, he thought perhaps you were simply in need of space, so he respected it. But as days passed, concern bloomed within him like ivy, twisting tight around his heart. Every time he saw you, you were further away emotionally and physically. The worst part was the way you looked at him now like his kindness was something to be feared. He wouldn’t let this go on any longer. So when he caught sight of you today, he acted. You had just rounded the corner near the castle’s garden entrance when his voice reached you.

“(y/n) cookie.” You stiffened, your body moving before you could think—turning on your heel to leave. But he was faster. A hand—gentle yet firm—closed around your wrist, halting your escape. "Please," he said, his voice as soft as a prayer, "talk to me." Your heart pounded. “Let me go.” “Not until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Have I done something to hurt you?” You grit your teeth, refusing to meet his gaze. “No.” “Then why?” His grip loosened slightly, though he didn’t let go completely. “You’ve been isolating yourself, and I-” He sighed. “I worry for you, (Y/N). Your anemia is not something to be ignored. You’ve been looking even paler than before. And I know… I know you’re not caring after yourself properly, you look so pale today.” That made something snap inside you. “Why do you care?” The words came out sharp, venom-laced, and dripping with frustration. You yanked your wrist away. “Why do you keep acting like this? Like I’m some fragile thing you need to fix?” His expression faltered just for a moment. “I don’t think of you that way,” he said softly. “I only want to help.” “No,” you spat. “You pity me. Don’t you?” His eyes widened.

“That’s all this is, isn’t it?” Your voice wavered. “You see someone weak, and you have to extend your kindness because you’re Pure Vanilla Cookie, the merciful saint of the Vanilla Kingdom. It’s all just” you exhaled shakily, clenching your fists. “It’s just mockery.” Pure Vanilla Cookie remained silent for a long moment, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. Then, finally, he spoke. “…I would never mock you.” His voice was quiet, but there was a weight to it a depth of sincerity that made your breath hitch. “I don’t care for you out of pity, (y/n). And I don’t see you as weak.” He stepped closer, slow and cautious, as if approaching something delicate. “I care for you because… I care. Because you are someone who matters to me.” The way he said it the unwavering truth in his tone made your throat tighten. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered, barely audible. “But I do,” he said simply. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to refute him, to push him away again, but… you couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like this with warmth, with understanding, with something you couldn’t quite name. A breeze drifted in from the open garden, carrying the scent of lilies and sun-warmed earth. The golden light of the afternoon softened everything—the edges of your trembling hands, the weariness in Pure Vanilla’s eyes. “…I don’t know how to accept this,” you admitted finally, your voice raw. “That’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to. Not all at once.” A pause. Then, hesitantly, he reached for your hand slowly, as if giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he took it, his touch warm and grounding. “Let me care for you,” he said gently. “Not out of obligation. Not out of pity. But because you deserve it.”

The weight of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s words lingered in the air, settling deep within you like a whisper you weren’t sure you could trust. But you didn’t pull away. You should have—should have torn yourself from his grasp, should have shut yourself away again before his warmth could creep into the hollow spaces inside you. But you didn’t. And he noticed. Pure Vanilla Cookie’s fingers curled ever so slightly around your hand, not to trap you, but as if anchoring himself. A silent promise that he would not let you slip away again—not this time. His golden gaze, soft as the light filtering through the castle’s stained-glass windows, swept over you with quiet concern. “…You’re exhausted,” he murmured. You tensed instinctively. “I’m fine.” “You’re not.” He sighed, shifting slightly, and before you could react, he pressed the back of his hand gently against your cheek, then your forehead, a soft pulse of magic tingling against your skin. His brows furrowed. “You’re cold,” he said, barely above a whisper. Your breath caught in your throat. It was true. The ever-present chill that clung to your fingers, your arms, your very dough you had gotten used to it, accepted it as a part of you. But Pure Vanilla noticed. Of course he did. And you hated that he noticed. He exhaled softly, his hand falling away. “Come with me.” You blinked, startled. “What?” “I won’t force you,” he added, his voice as gentle as ever, “but… I worry, (Y/N). I worry about how you’ve been taking care of yourself about how much you’ve been pushing yourself. Let me at least try to help.” Something inside you twisted painfully. The way he spoke, the raw genuineness in it, made it so much harder to believe this was some elaborate act of pity.

And yet, your own insecurities clawed at your throat, fighting to make you refuse, to pull away, to disappear before this warmth could settle in your heart. But your body betrayed you. The dizziness suddenly hit like a crashing wave, and you stumbled before you could stop yourself. Pure Vanilla moved without hesitation, catching you with both hands before you could fall. “(Y/N)!” You grit your teeth, cursing your own weakness. “It’s just” “I’m taking you somewhere to rest.” His voice left no room for argument this time.

The castle’s infirmary was peaceful, tucked away in a quiet wing of the Vanilla Kingdom. Sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, and the scent of dried herbs hung in the air. The bed beneath you was too soft, too comfortable a stark contrast to how you were used to feeling. You stared at the ceiling, unsure of how you had let this happen. Pure Vanilla Cookie bustled nearby, preparing something at a small alchemy table. He had barely left your side since bringing you here, only stepping away long enough to gather whatever remedies he was concocting. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy. “…You should take better care of yourself.” You glanced at him, startled by the sudden words. He wasn’t looking at you, instead focused on stirring a steaming cup of something fragrant. “I know it’s not easy,” he continued, “but if you won’t do it for yourself… will you let me help?” You swallowed thickly. “I don’t need-”

“You do.” His gaze finally met yours, warm and unwavering. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to do everything alone.” You turned your face away, unsure how to respond. You had spent so long convincing yourself that needing care, needing someone was a weakness. That you had to be fine on your own. But Pure Vanilla Cookie was unraveling that belief with every gentle touch, every kind word, every genuine moment of concern. A quiet sound caught your attention. You turned back just in time for him to settle onto the bed beside you, pressing the warm cup into your hands. “It’s an herbal remedy,” he said. “It will help with the dizziness.”

You hesitated, staring at the tea, then at him. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you care so much?” He tilted his head slightly, as if the question confused him. “Because you matter,” he said simply. “Because I care about you, (Y/N).” Your hands trembled slightly around the cup. “…I don’t know how to accept that.” Pure Vanilla Cookie smiled softly, not in pity, but in understanding. “Then let’s start small,” he said. “For now, just drink.” And somehow, despite the uncertainty twisting inside you, you did.

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