#hes right though! if you want to get into voice acting you just 'do it'. read literally anything its good practice

[gay-dorito-dust]

hiii can u plssss make headcanon for mr scarletella w a reader whos very stern or careless? Like, you can NAWT make jokes or make a conversation with this person because even if u text them its either: 1) they reply a year later or 2) they just send a ❤️ Reaction to your text. Like reader can not turn their frown upside down at all…

I hope this is what you wanted.

He finds your stern nature intriguing and appealing to him. Very appealing to him to say the least.

Does this sternness and Inability to smile and or laugh at a simple joke hinder his attraction? Does it fuck, he’s still very much interested in you to an obsessive and dangerously delusional level.

If anything Mr Scarletella enjoys filling the air with his one voice, telling you of his obsession with you and you’re not saying anything in response, only giving him a sideways glance, so that must mean you reciprocated them right? Right?!

He’d most likely talk your ear off and you can do nothing but listen to him, praying that you can at some point tune him out or something, knowing that Mr Scarletella would just follow you closely like a puppy dog. There was no true escape from this man and he’s too delusional and inside his own head to give you any breathable space.

Mr Scarletella would often keep asking you ‘you like me?’ And all he’d get was either a shrug or a grunt. Not having been much of a conversationalist as most people found your nature off putting and so they just avoid you all together.

Not Mr Scarlettella though, he was convinced that the grunts and shrugs were full sentences, thriving off of the idea that you’d only grunt and shrug towards him while giving everyone else a stoney stare or nothing at all. He genuinely believed that and it was terrifying to think of the implications of what he’d do if he believed someone else thought similar to him.

Death essentially but we all knew that. The man is not exactly stable in any sense of the word.

You don’t even bat so much of an eyelid when he gets up close and personal to your face, giggling like a lovesick school boy as his eyes darted across your face, taking in all the details and features you possessed that were uniquely yours and yours alone. Giving himself all the more delusional fantasies of you acting extremely out of character and clinging onto him, demanding for affection and so forth.

He’s most likely the type to fall for an idea of an person and if they act outside of what he believes them to be, he’ll either deny it as he tries to rewrite the image he has of you to better suit his fantasies, not wanting to think about how his false reality of the truth could easily make him even more unhinged.

Seriously the idea of someone not living up to his expectations that he’s made up is a thought you didn’t want to think about too deeply, especially with not how eager he is to kill for you, and instead remain truthful to yourself and keep an eye on him in case something happens.

Since your stern persona and people’s inability to make conversations or jokes with you, Mr Scarletella would find this more easier as he didn’t have to worry about someone taking you away from him. You were his and his alone and he had your nearly unapproachable expressions to thank for.

No competition for your heart? No worries for him as it meant he could cling onto you, continuing to ask whether you liked/ loved him throughout the day while kissing your face and pulling back in hopes of seeing if any change in your expression.

There wasn’t and Mr Scarletella hasn’t fallen for you harder then he already did.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Franco x driver reader- She is a rookie who started before him and the others on the grid are protective of her since she has no one with her (her family never goes to see her or supports her). They start talking and the other drivers act like older brothers.

A/n— Hi 👋 @alex-wotton I went with the last one because it really stood out to me because I realized last night that if I was a f1 driver traveling to races would be pretty lonely as my mom has lupus and is in pain all the time and my siblings are still in school while my dad works out on the road. I will also be doing the others to.

Oh one more thing this is just a little look into the big fic around this request I’ll be doing later… depending on how well this does.

"They mean well" — Franco Colapinto x fem! rookie diver! Reader

Fluff slightly angsty

Word count—1122

Summary — Franco befriend's the female Alpine rookie the only problem is that he now has to deal with her guard dogs.

The first few weeks on the grid were a whirlwind, especially since you were a rookie in a sport where every second counts, and every move you make is scrutinized. It was hard, almost overwhelming, and though you knew the other drivers were competitive, you quickly realized that there was a quieter, more supportive side to them. You couldn’t deny how much it helped to have the older drivers looking out for you.

Lando had taken to teasing you right away. His cheeky humor and constant lighthearted comments were always enough to make you laugh, even on the toughest days. “You’re doing better than most of the vets, you know,” he’d say after a particularly good lap, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Next time, you’ll have to give me some pointers!”

Max, who often seemed aloof to others, was surprisingly attentive. He noticed when you were on your own, after long days when you would simply wander the paddock, minding your own business. Without a word, he would sidle up next to you, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and talk about the most mundane things—anything to take your mind off the pressure. “Have you ever tried the coffee from the new stand near the paddock? Best one in town,” he’d comment, knowing full well it was an excuse to pull you into a conversation that wasn’t about racing for once.

Charles, ever the older brother type, was the one who would make sure you didn’t slip into your head too much. He could tell when the weight of everything was starting to build up on your shoulders. “Hey,” he’d say, voice gentle but firm. “You’re doing fine. Don’t let the stress get to you. You have a team behind you.”

And then there was Franco. He was quieter than the others, but his presence was undeniable. He’d only just joined the grid, and the others were quick to embrace him, but it was clear that his personality was different—calmer, more reserved. You found that, over time, you felt a quiet connection with him. It wasn’t an in-your-face, loud support, but a steady, reassuring presence.

One evening, after another intense qualifying session, you found yourself walking alone by the garages, replaying every corner of the track in your head. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, but you didn’t want to be a burden to the others, so you walked it off in silence. Franco noticed you from across the paddock and, with a knowing look, excused himself from a conversation he was having with Lando.

When he reached you, there was no fanfare, just a casual ease that made you relax almost immediately.

“Hey, everything okay?” Franco asked, his voice soft yet direct.

You smiled, a little weary, but grateful. “Just thinking about the session. Could’ve done better.”

He shook his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “You did fine. We all have those moments, don’t overthink it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It’s just… hard sometimes. Being the rookie and feeling like you’re always falling short.”

Franco tilted his head slightly, studying you for a moment before replying. “I get it. I’m still the new guy here too, remember? But honestly, the others are looking out for you. They’ve got your back.”

The way he said it was simple, but there was a sincerity behind it that made something inside you relax. Franco wasn’t offering empty words—he meant it.

And it wasn’t just him. The next time you walked into the paddock and bumped into Max, he clapped you on the shoulder with a grin. “You looked a bit off yesterday. If you need a break, you know where to find me.”

Lando, catching wind of the exchange, chimed in from a few feet away. “Yeah, don’t make us have to drag you into our fun. We’re here for more than just the racing.”

The protectiveness came in waves. Sometimes it was subtle—Charles, pulling you aside to offer advice on staying focused during the race, or Lando, joking around to make you laugh when the stress of the weekend was beginning to get to you. But sometimes, it was a little more overt.

The first time you really felt the weight of their protectiveness was after a particularly tough race, where you finished outside the points. The media was relentless, questions flying about whether you were cut out for the sport, and you could feel the eyes of the paddock on you.

As you were heading back to your garage, head down, trying to shut out the noise, you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. It was Max.

“You don’t let them get to you,” he said quietly, looking you in the eyes. “It’s one race. And you’ll get them next time.”

Before you could respond, Lando appeared, his usual grin plastered across his face. “Max is right, of course. And if they keep giving you trouble, just let me know. I’m pretty good at handling the media.”

Charles joined them, his voice more serious than usual. “We’ve all been there. Don’t let them make you doubt yourself. We’re all in this together.”

That was when it hit you—this wasn’t just about the competition on the track. They truly cared about you, and despite the pressures of racing, they weren’t about to let you face it alone.

Franco appeared just as they were finishing up, walking over to the group with a quiet smile. “Everyone’s right,” he added, offering a knowing look. “And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always around. No need to fight your battles alone.”

From that moment on, you felt the weight of their protectiveness more than ever. It wasn’t just about them looking out for a rookie; it was about them making sure you knew that no matter what happened, you weren’t alone on the grid.

The bond between you and Franco deepened as the weeks went on. In between races, the two of you shared quiet conversations in the back of the garage, or while waiting for your cars to be prepped. You spoke about everything—racing, family, the weird quirks of the Formula 1 lifestyle, and even the things you’d been avoiding thinking about. Franco’s steady support and dry humor became something you could rely on, and the way he listened without judgment made him one of the few you truly felt comfortable with.

In a world that often felt like a competition to survive, you finally understood: you had people here, and they weren’t just teammates or rivals—they were your family.

And Franco, despite being new to the grid himself, was starting to feel more like a brother than just a teammate.

[gojodickbig]

Can I request a smut fic where Toji’s hit job in Europe got extended from 4 days to 4 months. So when he finally gets home, y/n is desperately all over him because she missed him terribly and she’s so insatiable that he can barely keep up and tells her to slow down during the most mind numbing sex they’ve ever had. Like I want her crying and clinging to him while he says the sweetest things to her catering her praise kink about how his pretty wife was so patient and he apologizes for leaving home so long 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Home Again. | Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader.

warnings: explicit sexual content!!!, fluff, angst (due to separation), consent (implied). pet names (doll, mama, sweetheart).

A/N: i wrote this in a rush, but i hope you like it🫰🏻🫰🏻have fun reading💘💘

also reblogs are appreciated! :)

wc: 2,8K

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!

The sound of the front door unlocking made your heart lurch in your chest. You sat up from the couch, and when Toji finally stepped through the door, you felt your breath catch. He looked tired—his hair slightly mussed, a faint scruff darkening his jaw—but the moment his eyes met yours, his expression softened.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile. He dropped his duffel bag by the door, looking at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You didn’t hesitate. You were in his arms before he could take another step, your face pressed into his chest, breathing him in—his scent, the faint musk of sweat and travel, everything you’d missed about him.

“You’re here,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you clung to him. “I missed you so much.”

“Missed you too,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His lips brushed the top of your head, lingering there. “God, I missed you, baby.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. “You look tired,” you said softly.

Toji chuckled, his voice low and rough. “It’s been a long trip. But I’m home now.” He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Four months, Toji,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to him like you were afraid he might vanish if you let go. “You were supposed to be back in four days.”

Toji sighed, his expression softening, guilt flickering in his green eyes. His large hands ran up and down your back in soothing strokes. “I know, mama. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you that long, but things got… complicated.”

You didn’t care about apologies—not right now. “I need you, Toji, please,” you whispered, your voice a desperate plea as you tugged him toward the bedroom.

“You’ve got me,” he promised, his lips brushing against your temple.

The second he sat on the edge of the bed, you climbed onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips. Toji hissed as you ground against him, your hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he said softly, catching your hands in his. His lips quirked into a slight smirk, though his voice carried the rough edge of desire. “You’re acting like you’re starving.”

“I am,” you shot back, dragging his shirt open and running your hands over his chest. “Four months, Toji. Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you? How much I’ve needed this?”

Toji’s breath hitched as your lips latched onto his neck, your teeth grazing his skin. “You’re gonna kill me, woman,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips as you ground down on him again.

You reached between him, palming him through his pants, feeling the hard length of him straining against the fabric. “You’re a big man, you can handle it,” you teased, though your own voice wavered with desperation.

“Barely,” he muttered, his hands tightening on you. “You’re so damn impatient.”

You pulled back to meet his gaze, your eyes fierce and glassy with need. “Four months is a long fucking time, Toji,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m not slowing down.”

As your body moved over him, his hands gripped your arms softly, the tension of his restraint turning into a gentle pull, encouraging you to take the lead. You paused for a moment, your lips brushing against his ear as you breathed out, “I want to make you feel so good.”

He groaned softly, a low, appreciative sound, his grip tightening slightly around your waist. “You always do,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “But go ahead. I’m not stopping you.”

You moved forward on your knees, twisting around to land your hands on his pants, already undoing the button and zipper. You came face-to-face with his throbbing cock. Looking up at him, you innocently took hold of his member with both hands. You licked your lips, ready to take him into your mouth. Just as his tip entered between your lips, Toji grabbed your hair. Taking him in your mouth, you sucked on his tip, already dripping with precum. He hissed in pleasure. You lowered your head slowly, squeezing his balls with one hand while taking him fully in your mouth. You tried to push yourself further. Toji moaned as your throat constricted around his tip, but he restrained himself, taking a bunch of your hair in his hand again. You looked up at him, drool dribbling down your open mouth, tears welling in your eyes. Toji’s grip on your hair tightened, guiding your head away from his cock.

"My turn now, doll,” he rasped.

When he finally had you pinned beneath him, your clothes scattered across the floor, his voice was low when he spoke, the huskiness making your breath catch.

"You’re so good to me,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before his lips found their way to your neck, leaving a soft trail of kisses. “I’ve been thinking about this, about you, every damn day.”

The way he said it made you shiver, your chest tightening with the same need. You reached for him again, but this time, he took the initiative. Pushing you into the softness of the pillows, his lips never leaving your skin as he moved lower.

Toji’s hands trembled slightly as they rested on your thighs. He kissed his way down your body, every inch of you a reminder of how much he’d missed you and your body.

“So wet already,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval as his fingers slid through your slick folds. “All for me, huh?”

You nodded, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Only for you.”

Toji grinned, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh before slipping a finger inside you. You moaned, your hands clutching at the sheets as he worked you open, his finger curling against the spot that had you writhing.

“More, more Toji, please.” you whimpered, your hips lifting to meet his hand.

"Greedy girl,” he muttered, though he obliged, adding a second finger. “So tight, baby. Gotta loosen you up for me.”

Your head fell back against the mattress, your cries echoing in the room as he pumped his fingers in and out, his thumb brushing over your clit in lazy circles.

“Fuck, Toji,” you gasped, your body trembling beneath him. “I can’t—I need—”

“I know what you need,” he said, pulling his fingers out and dragging them over your lips. “Open up, sweetheart.”

You obeyed, your lips parting as he slid his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them eagerly, your tongue swirling around the digits as his cock throbbed against your thigh.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Missed this mouth, too.”

When he finally lined his cock to your entrance and pushed into you, your body arched off the bed, your nails digging into his back. He groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he stretched you inch by inch.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “You feel so good. So tight.”

You whimpered, your legs wrapping around his waist as you clung to him. “Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Please, Toji, don’t stop.”

“Never,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Missed you so fucking much, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

He started to move, slow and deep, his hips rolling into you with a rhythm that had you gasping. Your nails raked down his back as tears spilled from your eyes, the intensity of it all overwhelming.

“Toji,” you sobbed, your voice breaking.

“Shh, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing over your tear-streaked cheeks. “I’ve got you. You’re so good for me. You waited four fucking months, my good girl.”

You choked out, your voice trembling with raw emotion, “I’ll always wait for you, Toji.”

His praises only made you cry harder, your body trembling beneath him. “I needed this,” you choked out. “I needed you.”

“I know,” he said, his voice rough but tender. “I’m here now. I’m here, and I’m not fucking leaving.”

He shifted, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit, his movements coaxing louder moans from you. “Come for me, pretty girl,” he urged, his voice soft but commanding. “Show me how much you missed me.”

Your body obeyed, your release crashing over you as you sobbed his name, your walls clenching tightly around him. Toji groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, his warmth spilling inside you.

He held you close, his large hands trailing softly over your back as your breaths evened out.

“You’re not allowed to be gone that long ever again,” you mumbled against his chest, your voice still hoarse.

Toji chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Rest now, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp. “We’ve got time. I’m not going anywhere, i promise."

His fingers brushed through your hair one last time, the weight of the time spent apart and the relief of being close again settling between you.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He smiled softly, feeling the words settle in his chest. “I love you too, mama, more than anything.”

© gojodickbig on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[tteotlma]

Edge of Redemption

Logan’s life as a priest is built on a fragile foundation of faith and restraint. But then you appear—his greatest temptation, threatening to tear down everything he’s worked so hard to build. Salvation is within reach, but the closer he gets to you, the more he wonders if it’s worth the cost.

Priest!Logan x Reader (9.1k wc)

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, religious blasphemy/sacrilege, priest/church employee relationship, power dynamics, age gap relationship, light choking/breath play, dubious consent themes, emotional manipulation, religious guilt/shame, light degradation, praise kink, explicit language, sexual tension, touch starvation, passionate/rough sex, semi-public intimacy, forbidden relationship, dom/sub themes, emotional vulnerability, morality crisis, internal conflict, power imbalance dynamics, religious conflict, mild degradation through religious themes, consensual acts with power dynamics, office/workplace setting intimacy a/n: this was supposed to be 1k words... and so many tags bc honestly i felt so... religiously guilty LOL but this concept has been on my mind FOREVER. Not beta'd so probs lots of mistakes/repetition. I wanted to do smth different so...

---

11/24/24 

Logan thought the church would cleanse him, that its walls would shelter him from the shadows he’d carried so long–but some sins were too hard to let go. The echoes of his past clung to him like a second skin, unyielding, no matter how many prayers he muttered or candles he lit. Every sermon, every hymn, every whispered confession felt like an act of penance, but the peace he sought remained just out of reach.

He had learned to take refuge in the routines, in the rhythm of prayer and scripture, as if repetition alone could dull the ache in his soul. The children’s laughter from the Sunday school classes brought moments of light, though even that felt like a reminder of all he’d never have—a life untainted by regret.

Then you arrived. 

A disruption he hadn’t anticipated, your presence was unassuming yet magnetic, your voice soft but firm as you led the children from their classroom to their parents. It was the first time in a long time Logan had noticed something—someone—beyond the weight of his own guilt. He told himself it was nothing. She was a teacher, a kind soul, and he was a man who had no right to be drawn to kindness.

But kindness, he found, had a way of reaching the places he had worked so hard to lock away. 

The first time you approached him, it was to ask about the church’s history. A notebook held close to your chest, a warm and unassuming smile. “Father Logan, I was hoping you could help me with something.”

He hesitated, his pulse quickening despite himself. “Of course. What do you need?”

You stepped closer, your presence filling the small space between the both of you. “The children were asking about the stained-glass windows—the stories they tell. I wanted to be sure I got it right before the next class.”

Logan glanced at the nearest window, its depiction of Saint Michael vivid in the afternoon light. He cleared his throat, forcing his focus to the question. “Saint Michael, the archangel,” he began, keeping his voice steady. “A symbol of divine protection. The sword he carries is meant to…” His voice faltered as you tilted your head, watching him with quiet attentiveness.

“Meant to what?” you asked softly.

“To strike down the forces of evil,” he finished, though the words felt hollow in his mouth. 

The conversation stayed with him long after you left, your notebook tucked under your arm and your footsteps fading into the quiet of the church. Logan stayed behind, lingering by the window watching your shadow disappear around the corner. 

——— 

This Sunday’s rain had come out of nowhere, a sudden deluge that hammered against the stained-glass windows and turned the world outside into a blur. Logan had stayed late, as he often did, finding solace in the quiet of the empty church. The flickering candlelight and the rhythm of the storm outside gave him a sense of calm he rarely found anywhere else.

He was about to extinguish the last of the candles when a faint noise caught his attention—a soft rustling sound coming from the far corner of the sanctuary. His brow furrowed as he moved toward the noise, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor.

And then he saw you. 

You were seated near the back of the church, a book in hand and papers spread out beside you. Your damp cardigan draped over the seat beside you. Your hair was slightly disheveled, as you indulged in your book, oblivious to his presence. 

“What are you doing here so late?” Logan’s voice broke the silence, low and steady but laced with curiosity. “Church let out hours ago.”

You startled, your bookmark slipping from your fingers as you looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Father Logan! I—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He crossed his arms, his gaze softening as he took in your flustered expression. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You smiled sheepishly, closing the book in your hands. You gestured to the papers beside you, “I was trying to get a head start on next week’s lesson. The storm caught me off guard, and I figured I’d wait it out here instead of getting soaked.” 

Logan let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. “You know, most people would’ve taken the storm as a sign to go home.”

“Most people don’t have twenty kids asking them questions I don’t have answers to,” you countered, your smile growing as you tucked your bookmark between random pages. “Besides, it’s kind of nice here at night. Quiet. Peaceful.”

He leaned against the nearest pew, watching as you carefully toyed with the edges of the book. “It’s not safe for you to be out this late, especially with the weather like this.”

“I’ll be fine,” you said lightly, though the way you avoided his gaze told him you weren’t entirely convinced.

Logan frowned, the protective instinct he tried so hard to suppress flaring to life. “At least let me walk you to your car when the rain lets up. I don’t want you getting caught out there alone.” 

“It’s okay F-father, I’m not one for driving in the rain anyway.” You turned to look up at him, already finding him staring down at you. 

Logan didn’t look away, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. The way you said Father, like it was unfamiliar on your tongue, made something in him stir—a dangerous sometthing he had no business feeling. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the present.

“You’re planning to wait out the storm here, then?” he asked, his voice lower, quieter.

You gave a small shrug, your gaze dropping back to the notebook in your lap. “If that’s okay. It sounds like it might be letting up soon,” Lie. “It won’t be long if that’s okay.” You hug yourself and it’s then that Logan realizes your arms are bare, save for the thin straps holding your top up. 

Logan’s gaze followed your hands as you hugged yourself, the thin fabric of your top stretching over your arms. His eyes lingered, just for a moment too long, before he registered the goosebumps that had begun to rise on your skin. The soft glow of the candlelight flickered across your bare arms, highlighting the subtle tremor in your posture that unbeknownst to him had nothing to do with the storm.

He cursed under his breath, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. There was a small pang of guilt in his chest—this wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to notice. He wasn’t supposed to care.

But he did.

Logan cleared his throat, his voice rougher than usual. “You’re cold,” he stated, though it wasn’t really a question. It was a simple observation, but it hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken implications. His gaze flicked to the heavy downpour outside the stained glass windows, and then back to you, looking small and vulnerable in the dim light of the church. 

You gave a sheepish shrug, clearly not wanting to admit it. “I’m fine. Really.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, the protective instinct kicking in before he could stop it. “No, you’re not,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

He took a few steps toward you, his eyes scanning the room before settling on the door to his office. “I’ve got some coffee in my office. It’s warm, and it’ll help.”

Before you could protest, he was already moving toward the office, and without thinking, he added, “Come on. It’s not safe to stay out here for too long.”

You followed without much hesitation, the soft patter of the rain accompanying your steps as you entered his small, dimly lit office. The door clicked shut behind you, and the air inside was warmer, filled with the faint smell of coffee beans and old books.

Logan’s office was sparse but functional, with a small desk cluttered with papers, and a bookshelf lined with books, most of them theological texts, some old, some well-worn. It felt like a space where things—both literal and emotional—were tucked away, just as he liked it. But tonight, with you standing just a few feet away, the room felt different.

He motioned to the plush velvet chair in the corner of his office, his back turned as he prepared the coffee. “Have a seat,” he said, his voice softer now, but still edged with that familiar tension. "I’ll make it quick."

You settled into the chair, and Logan noticed how you kept your arms tightly crossed over your chest. His gaze flickered over to the window, the rain still relentless outside, though now it felt like a distant background to the simmering awareness between you two.

The sound of the coffee pot bubbling was the only noise for a few moments, and Logan’s mind wandered against his will. He tried not to let his thoughts drift to the way you had looked at him earlier, the softness in your eyes that made him forget himself for a second. The way your voice had caught when you said Father, the hesitation he’d caught there. It was the smallest thing, but it gnawed at him.

He cleared his throat and handed you the mug, the warmth of it radiating through his hand as he held it out to you. “Here.”

You took it, your fingers brushing his briefly, and for the briefest of moments, Logan felt something pulse beneath his skin—a flicker of heat that wasn’t just from the coffee.

“Thank you,” you said softly, lifting the mug to your lips. The warmth seemed to bring some color back to your face, and you looked up at him again. “I didn’t expect to be stuck here this late.”

He nodded, his arms crossed over his chest now, posture tense, as if trying to keep himself contained. “I know. But the storm…” He trailed off, his gaze flickering back to the window yet again, though he wasn’t really looking at it anymore.

You took a sip of the coffee, the warmth spreading through your chest, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the slight tension that had settled between you. “I should’ve left earlier, but I didn’t want to risk driving in this. And I wanted to get ahead…” You trailed off, your voice suddenly quieter, almost apologetic.

Logan's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze flickering from the window back to you. He noticed the way you hesitated, the subtle shift in your posture as if you were choosing your words carefully. The air between you two felt heavier now, a quiet pulse of unspoken things that neither of you were acknowledging outright.

“You wanted to get ahead?” Logan asked, his voice low but gentle, as if he were trying to coax you into sharing.

You nodded, your eyes not meeting his as you took another sip of coffee. “Yeah. For next week. I’ve got so much to prepare for with the kids, and I didn’t want to fall behind. They deserve more than half-effort.” You paused, a flicker of self-doubt crossing your features before you continued, “And, well, during the week... I’m usually too busy.”

Logan didn’t know why, but hearing you speak so earnestly, so committed to your work, made something stir in him. He’d seen a lot of people come and go in this church, but there was something about you that made him feel like he was seeing the world through a new lens. Something soft, something untainted.

"That's admirable," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You care a lot about them."

Your eyes met his at that, and for a brief moment, there was something like understanding shared between you two. A connection neither of you had planned on, but one that was impossible to ignore.

The quiet was starting to feel uncomfortable now, like something was building, and neither of you knew exactly how to handle it. Logan, never one to let things fester too long, cleared his throat again, stepping away from his desk to give you a little space. 

“Father Logan,” you asked, staring at the pattern on your silk skirt, your voice soft but with a trace of curiosity, “I was wondering… when we speak of sin and redemption, how do we know when we’ve truly atoned? Is there a moment when the weight finally lifts, or is it something we just carry forever?”

Logan blinked, the question taking him by surprise. He had expected something simpler—maybe a question about the liturgy, or the history of a saint—but this was different. It was deep, personal, something that touched the core of who he was.

He stood still for a moment, unsure how to answer. There were words, sure, but they all felt empty, hollow. Redemption wasn’t something you could define so easily, not when you were so steeped in your own sins.

But before he could find a way to respond, you continued.

“I’ve always wondered about it,” you said, your tone almost hesitant, as if you were unsure if you should ask at all. “Do you ever feel like it’s impossible? Like no matter how hard you try, you can’t truly be... free?”

The question hung in the air between you, thick and heavy. It felt like you were both asking something deeper than what had been spoken.

Logan’s gaze softened, but he didn’t know how to answer yet. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the stack of books near the desk.

“Well,” he began, “I don’t know if there’s a clear answer to that. But… maybe there’s something in one of the texts that could give a little more insight.”

He moved toward the pile of books atop the bookshelf beside you, where his most worn ones were stacked. “Just give me a second,” he muttered, crouching down to search through the shelf.

As Logan knelt beside you, his focus shifted to finding the right book, his hand brushing against the spines of the leather-bound volumes. There was something in the way you watched him, quiet and patient, that made the simple act of reaching for a book feel far more intimate than it had any right to.

Finally, he pulled one free, and with a quiet sigh, he straightened his back, holding the thick tome carefully in his hands.

“The answer may be in here,” Logan said, turning back toward you.

Logan shifted the heavy book in his hands, glancing at the faint text on the cover. The storm outside had cast the room in shadows, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside the rain-streaked window. He let out a soft sigh, realizing he couldn’t read a word.

“It’s too dark,” he murmured, his gaze flicking to the small lamp perched on the side table next to the chair you were sitting in. His brow furrowed slightly as he assessed the space.

Without thinking too much about it, Logan leaned forward, the weight of his body shifting slightly closer to yours.

“I’ll turn this on,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

He reached across you, his chest brushing lightly against your knees where they were flush against the velvet cushion. The nearness made your breath hitch, and you froze, your eyes flickering to his face as he leaned in further.

Logan was suddenly hyperaware of how close he was to you—closer than he’d been to anyone in years. The faint scent of your perfume mixed with the rain lingered in the air between you, soft and utterly disarming. He could hear your shallow breath, could feel the heat radiating off your skin as his fingers found the switch on the lamp.

The quiet click of the lamp filled the silence, and a soft, warm light illuminated the room. Logan didn’t pull back right away. His hand lingered on the lamp’s base for a second too long, his head tilted slightly toward you but he still didn’t dare make eye contact, your faces just inches apart now.

When he finally shifted, his gaze flickered down, catching the way your lips parted as if you were about to say something. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t bring himself to step away as quickly as he should have.

The air felt heavier now, charged with something neither of you could name. His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, his pulse drumming in his ears. The coffee mug in your hands suddenly felt scorching, but you clutched it tighter, hoping the pain could anchor you to reality.

“Sorry,” Logan murmured, his voice rough as he pulled back slightly, though not enough to fully retreat. His knees remained firmly planted beside your chair, and the way his presence loomed made it impossible to look anywhere but at him.

The soft glow of the lamp cast shadows across his sharp features, making his eyes seem darker, more intense, as they searched yours for something he didn’t dare to name. 

He cleared his throat and let out a shaky breath and, without meaning to, his voice dipped lower. “Freedom… it's a tricky thing,” he murmured. “We all want it, think we can earn it. But sometimes, it feels like we're just running in circles. We try to shake the past, but it stays with us—like a shadow that never fades.”

Heat crawled down your neck as his eyes searched yours, searching for some understanding, as if the weight of his words could somehow make it easier to admit the truth. 

“You ask if it’s impossible,” Logan continued, his voice quieter now, the storm outside still raging. “The thing is… it's not about whether it's impossible. It's about the fact that sometimes, we crave the things that keep us trapped. We want freedom, but part of us still holds on to the chains we know.”

His gaze finally dropped to the book in his hand, fingers tightening around the leather binding. “The hardest struggle isn’t denying what we know is wrong. It’s living with the knowledge that sometimes, what we crave most feels impossibly, painfully right. And that’s the test. Can we break free from that?”

There was a long pause, the room thick with the weight of his words. Logan turned the book in his hands slightly, his eyes lingering on the pages but his mind clearly elsewhere. The connection between the two of you now felt more palpable than ever. There was a shift in the air—a change, as if the weight of his words had unlocked something in you.

You held your breath, unsure if you should speak, but the tension in the room was almost unbearable. His gaze was so intense, like he was waiting for something, and in that moment, you realized you were, too.

"Sometimes," you began, your voice quiet but steady, "it feels like the harder we try to let go, the more we get pulled in. Like we're just meant to repeat the same cycle."

Logan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, his gaze flicking to yours for the briefest of moments. His lips parted as if he was about to speak, but he held back.

It was strange, almost like he didn’t want to say anything that would break the fragile balance that had settled between you both. And yet, there was something about your words—their softness, the unspoken meaning behind them—that seemed to strike him more than you anticipated.

You shifted in your seat slightly, aware of how close he’s been, the air between you thick with unspoken understanding.

"It’s like we're doomed to always want what we shouldn’t," you continued, the words slipping out before you could stop them, your voice tinged with an emotion you hadn’t fully grasped. "Maybe that’s the only thing that’s really free... the craving."

Logan's jaw tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, but his expression betrayed nothing. He took in your words, his gaze unwavering, but for the first time since you’d started speaking, something flickered behind his eyes—something raw, something just as vulnerable as your admission.

You hadn’t meant it like that. You hadn’t meant to give voice to that desire, to hint at something deeper. But Logan... Logan heard it.

And when he opened his mouth, the words came out more hoarse than he intended.

"You’re right," he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "Craving’s the only thing that feels like freedom sometimes... but it's also the thing that keeps us from it." He paused, eyes lingering on yours with a sharpness that made your heart skip a beat. “And maybe that’s where we get stuck.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the low hum of the storm outside and the sound of your breath mingling in the charged space. It was as if everything hung on the edge of his next words, like both of you were waiting to see what would break the stillness.

You couldn’t look away. Not now. Not when the air between you was so thick with the things you hadn’t dared to say.

There was a softness in his gaze now, something like an invitation—something you couldn’t quite place, but it made your pulse quicken all the same.

For a second, it felt like the space between you had narrowed to nothing, the tension unspoken but alive, and then Logan’s voice broke through again, quieter than before.

“Sometimes it’s not about breaking free,” he murmured, his lips close enough for you to feel the heat in his words. “Sometimes it’s about giving in. To what we crave, what we need.”

You swallowed, your breath coming faster now, realizing just how close he was—how close you were to crossing a line neither of you had dared to touch. And when you met his gaze again, there was a question there. A challenge, almost, like he was daring you to acknowledge it. 

You shifted in your seat a smidge, knees brushing against his chest again. Logan looks down at your fingers pinching the fabric of your skirt between your fingers. You lean in close. 

“Tell me father, do you think the sweetest part of surrender is giving in, or the release that follows?” 

You could hear Logan's jaw clench as you leaned back to look him in the eyes. 

The room seemed to hold its breath, the storm outside a distant roar compared to the thunderous pulse of tension between you. Logan’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something predatory flashing across his face before his expression smoothed into something unreadable. His hand, still gripping the book, trembled slightly as if he was barely keeping himself in check.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a challenge. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the space between you now almost unbearable. His gaze lingered on your lips, then your eyes, before returning to the fabric of your skirt, where your fingers still toyed with the fabric.

His voice, when it came, was rough, almost a whisper. "It’s the release that makes everything make sense," he murmured, his gaze piercing as he leaned just a fraction closer, his breath ghosting across your skin. "But the act of giving in... that’s where we find out just how far we’re willing to go."

Your heart hammered in your chest, and despite the intensity, there was something in his words, in the way he spoke them, that felt like an invitation—like the first step toward something neither of you could take back. Logan’s eyes locked with yours again, this time with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"You want to know what’s sweetest, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice lowering to a gravelly growl, his hand finally moving from the book to rest just a breath away from your skin. "It’s the release... but only after you’ve let go completely. That’s when it’s real." 

You barely had time to register his words before Logan's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your throat with a force that made your pulse spike. It was a gentle pressure, but it was enough to send a jolt of heat through your body, your breath hitching as his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was anything but soft. 

His lips were frantic, almost demanding as he lapped at the inside of your mouth,  as though he could taste the tension between you both and needed to consume it, to devour it whole. The pressure on your throat was intoxicating, just enough to make everything else fade into the background—just the weight of his hand, the heat of his mouth on yours, the way your body instinctively leaned into him, unable to resist. 

You couldn’t help but whine when he deepened the kiss, his thumb brushing over your pulse, sending electric shivers down your spine. The world outside, the storm, the heavy air—everything else seemed to dissolve, leaving only the rawness of the moment, the undeniable connection that had built between you both. 

Logan pulled back, his breath heavy, but his hands didn’t leave you completely. His fingers grazed your throat before sliding to your cheek, his touch softer now, almost apologetic. His gaze flickered for a moment, conflicted, before he let out a low, frustrated exhale discarding the book.

"Shit, sorry," he muttered, his voice rough, the usual controlled demeanor slipping. "I don’t usually—"

He trailed off, his words fading as if he was still trying to make sense of the rush of emotion that had overtaken him. For a heartbeat, you thought he might pull away entirely, the weight of his apology making him retreat. But before you could second-guess, you grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

Logan didn’t resist. Instead, his lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I’ve wanted you," he admitted in a low whisper, the rawness of his voice making your heart race. "Since the moment I saw you, I’ve wanted nothing more than to have you." His now empty hand lightly ghosted your calf, running the back of his finger up and down your smooth skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"But the church... it’s taught me something, hasn’t it?" he continued, his voice lowering almost to a murmur, as if he was wrestling with a deeper truth. "It’s not just about following every rule or duty.” His finger trailed higher, his thumb caressing your knee, then teasing the sensitive skin where your leg bent.

“There’s a passage in Ecclesiastes that says, ‘To everything, there is a season.’” He spoke with a quiet intensity, his words lingering in the air like a weight neither of you could ignore. “Sometimes, you don’t wait for permission. If something’s right in front of you, you don’t hesitate—you take it. You don’t wait for the world to tell you when the time is right.”

His fingers pressed deeper into your skin, the subtle pressure sending a rush of heat through you. Then, his palm splayed across your thigh, squeezing the tender meat with a possessiveness that left no room for doubt. The touch was slow, deliberate, as though he was marking his territory, claiming what had always been his. The air between you both thickened, each word and touch drawing you closer to the point of no return. 

He pressed his lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin, the words heavy with the weight of his need. "And right now," he murmured, his fingers curling into your skin, tightening as though he couldn't hold back any longer, "I’m done waiting." 

With that, his grip on your thigh tightened, drawing a soft whine from your lips. The hand that had been caressing your cheek slid to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he pulled you into another heated kiss. Your fingers instinctively clenched tighter around the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, as though the space between you was too much to bear.

Once he felt you leaning into the kiss, his hand then trailed a slow, deliberate path down your body, grazing your curves until it reached your ankle. Then, just as slowly, it traveled back up the unoccupied side of your body, his touch sending waves of heat through you as his fingers slid beneath the thin fabric of your skirt.

One of your hands came to rest on his, the warmth of his palm searing your skin as he kneaded the soft flesh of your thigh. You let out a breathy sigh, and he responded with a low, gravelly groan, the sound vibrating against your lips.

Your fingernails grazed the nape of his neck, drawing him closer as you leaned back into the seat. He followed without hesitation, his weight pressing against you, grounding you, yet setting your pulse racing. Instinctively, your legs shifted, parting to let him settle between them, the growing heat between you thick with tension that begged for release.

His hands gave your thighs a final, firm squeeze, sending a shiver rippling through you before they began their slow descent down your legs to your ankle. His thumbs hooked under the edge of your skirt, the fabric gathering in his hands as he teased it higher, exposing more of your skin inch by inch. For a fleeting moment, his lips left yours, leaving you gasping softly at the sudden loss of contact, your body craving the return of his warmth.

Logan’s gaze fell to your lips, now swollen and parted, his own hovering close as though he couldn’t bear to pull away completely. He leaned in again, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle nip, tugging just enough to send a jolt of heat coursing through you. When he finally eased back, his eyes dropped lower, dark with a hunger that made your breath hitch. His chest rose and fell heavier now, his focus riveted to your legs as they shifted, parting wider in silent invitation.

Your body acted on instinct, your knees lifting to bracket his hips, pulling him closer as his hands found the heat of your thighs. His fingers slid beneath the soft skin, pushing your skirt higher with deliberate, torturous slowness. When the edge of the fabric reached just shy of exposing your underwear, he stopped, his grip tightening on your thighs as though anchoring himself. His gaze flicked back to yours, the weight of his restraint palpable, even as his dark eyes betrayed just how close he was to losing it entirely.

His voice came out rough, low, barely more than a whisper, his hand faltering for a moment as the fabric inched higher.

"You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me. This... I shouldn’t even be thinkin’ about it, let alone..."

His words trailed off as your underwear came into view, the soft lace hugging your curves in a way that made his breath stutter. He let out a low, guttural noise, his fingers flexing against your thighs.

"Christ, sweetheart... you’re gonna ruin me."

His hands moved with purpose now, sliding higher until they engulfed the swell of your ass, his palms kneading the soft flesh as though he could no longer help himself. With a single, deliberate push, he bunched the fabric of your skirt around your waist, his thumbs brushing down to press against the delicate bows resting on your hips.

His thumbs were toying with the fragile bows at your hips, brushing against the lace that barely concealed you. Your breath hitched, and you swore you felt him tremble against you, the tension in his body wound so tightly it was as if he might snap at any moment.

Logan let out a shaky breath, one hand sliding up your back pushing the fabric of your top exposing a small sliver of your back, kneading your flesh with both hands like he was memorizing every inch. "I swore I wouldn’t... I told myself I’d keep my hands off you," he admitted, his tone strained, like he was confessing a sin. "But everytime you walk in here lookin’ like that, sittin’ there all sweet... and then this—"

His thumb scraped the lace, grazing your skin so lightly it was almost unbearable. A moan catches in your throat, his jaw clenching, as he let out a frustrated growl, his hand gripping the meat of your thigh like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"This is wrong," he muttered, though his actions betrayed his words as he pushed you upward towards him, until his lips found the curve of your jaw, trailing fire down to your throat. "But, God help me, I don’t think I care anymore."

You whimpered softly as his teeth scraped against your pulse, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin as his fingers explored, teasing along the edge of your underwear.

"I should stop," Logan said, his voice rough and filled with conflict, even as his hand tightened on your hip. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and clouded with want. "Tell me to stop. Tell me to walk away, and I’ll do it."

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, your hands shakily slid up to cradle his face, your thumbs brushing over his rough stubble as you pulled him in close, pausing just before your lips touched. Barely brushing together, you breathed in each other’s air, trying to catch your breath but only becoming dizzier. “F-father, please,” you murmured against his lips, the words barely audible but carrying all the certainty he needed.

Logan’s eyes darkened even further, and he swallowed hard, his breath shaky as his hands came up to cup your face. “Who am I to deny help to someone in need?” he murmured, almost to himself, as if trying to convince himself this was justified. “It’s my duty, isn’t it? To guide... to offer support... even when it’s hard.” He pulls you closer to his hips. 

You nodded more enthusiastically than you intended, your body shivering with anticipation. Your lower stomach burned with arousal, the need to feel him building with each second. The cold air of the office contrasted with the slick warmth between your legs, a sensation that desperately needed to be satiated.

The shift in your posture, the way your body responded to him, was all the confirmation he needed. His gaze flicked between your lips and your eyes, his jaw tightening as he leaned in to capture your lips yet again in another heated kiss. 

He nipped and licked at your lips, the soft pressure of his teeth sending a jolt of heat straight through you. His breath mingled with yours, slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring the moment, tasting the very air between you. Then, with a groan, his tongue traced the edge of your bottom lip before slipping inside, exploring the warmth of your mouth.

Your body responded instinctively, lips parting to welcome him, your tongue meeting his in a slow, teasing dance. Every movement was deliberate, an exploration, a taste, and yet it felt like he was trying to draw you deeper into him with each brush of his tongue against yours. The warmth of his mouth, the way he gently pulled you closer, ignited a desperate ache between your thighs.

You whimpered softly as his hand slid down your back, fingers splayed to press you further into him. His hips pressed into yours, hard and unmistakable, the evidence of his desire undeniable. You felt the heat of his body, the burn of his touch, every nerve on edge, every inch of your skin on fire.

His kiss deepened, more urgent now, as if the need to consume you, to claim you, was taking over. He tilted your head just slightly, deepening the angle, and his tongue moved more aggressively, exploring with a hunger that matched the pounding of your heart. Every time he pulled back, the slight break in the kiss only heightened your yearning, the cool air rushing in before his lips found yours again, harder, more demanding. 

With a small groan, Logan pulled away and it was then you realized he had unzipped his pants and set his cock free, painfully strained as it lightly grazed the inside of your thigh. Each time he huffed a heavy breath you could feel the heat emanating from his cock atop your soaked folds. 

You began squirming beneath him, the anticipation becoming unbearable. You tried to lift your hips, desperate to meet him, to feel some kind of relief, but his grip on your knees was unyielding, anchoring you in place. Small whines escaped your throat, breathless and needy, as you wriggled beneath him, trying to close your legs, raise your hips, anything to alleviate the ache.

“S-sweetheart—” His voice faltered, thick with restraint, and your movements came to a sudden halt. You froze, looking up at him through hazy, half-lidded eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You were intoxicated, drowning in the heat between you, his presence suffocating in the best possible way.

His hands tightened around your knees, his fingers digging into your skin as if trying to hold himself together, to maintain some semblance of control. His eyes flicked down to where your body was reacting to him, your legs attempting to press tightly together, your hips still instinctively shifting. His gaze darkened, swallowing thickly as his breath hitched.

"God help me," Logan muttered under his breath, as if asking for forgiveness, but his voice was raw with something far less holy. “Fuuuck–” He breathed out when he finally allowed himself to touch you. 

Years of only having his hand as company, mixed with months of pining after you made him feel more adolescent as he had hoped. His body lurched violently forward as one hand grasped at the armrest and the other at your groin, as he slid his thick cock against your silk covered folds, the fabric immediately glossing over with your slick. His hips picked up their pace, almost involuntarily with how wet the both of you were, he was desperate for friction. 

You throw your head back in frustration, the mix of need and restraint between the two of you creating an almost unbearable tension. Your movements become more erratic as you try to help, attempting to rock your hips against him, but the uncoordinated motions from both of you do little to satisfy the ache in your stomach. The lack of control between you only intensifies the frustration, the heat building without any relief.

Logan’s breath hitches, his jaw clenching as he watches your desperate movements. A shameful growl rumbles in his chest, and without warning, his hand on the armrest moves to your throat. His thumb presses against the side of your pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath his touch, while his fingers tighten around your neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to still you.

The pressure on your throat forces your movements to slow, your breath coming out in shaky gasps as his grip reminds you of his dominance. His hooded and hazy eyes darken, filled with an intense mixture of restraint and something far more primal. 

“Stay still sweetheart,” His chest heaves. “I promise, I’ll give you everything you want.” The hand not on your throat moves between your legs and pushes his cock down against your drenched pussy. Your thighs spread impossibly further as the pressure on your clit increases. Small moans leave your lips each time the tip of Logan’s cock halts beneath the swell of your clit each thrust harder than before. 

It isn’t until he fists the base of his shaft, where he lines the drooling tip of his cock with your seemingly tight entrance through the flooded fabric of your panties. It’s obvious he enjoys teasing you, and restraining himself. He slowly pushed his hips forward, guiding the head of his dick past your entrance watching as his precum beads against the pink fabric the deeper he buried. 

You threw your head back in both frustration and ecstasy. Relishing in the way his thick head stretched your pulsing entrance. A loud moan ripping its way through your throat but stopping short when Logan’s hand clenched tighter around your neck. 

He let out a feral grunt, as he tried to sink further into your tight hole not yet able to bury himself completely. 

"God, sweetheart... you feel so damn good, like I’m finally touching heaven." He pulls his hips back, his breath ragged. "But I can’t... I can't let myself get lost in this. You deserve better than... than whatever this is."

Despite being pinned against the seat by his grip on your throat, your heart races with the fear that he might pull away. Your hand reaches out, grabbing for the arm that’s keeping you still, your fingers scrambling desperately for purchase. The other moves to grasp his shirt, fingertips tugging at the fabric as if you could pull him back, keep him close.

"Please," you gasp, the word slipping from your lips before you can stop it. "D-don’t pull away." Your body arches instinctively, aching for more of the pleasure he’s been withholding—the sensation just barely within your grasp. Logan doesn’t say anything in response, his eyes heavy and focused as he watches you squirm beneath him, his silence more consuming than any words could be.

The hand around your throat loosens, his fingers shifting to the back of your neck, and in that instant, the air between you changes. His touch softens briefly, but then his eyes darken again, a storm of desire and restraint fighting for dominance. He leans in closer, and you don’t hesitate—you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him in as your hips lift to meet him, desperate for more, for release. Your lips part as small cries escape, mingling with needy whispers for him.

"How can I say no when this angel sent from heaven begs me so nicely?" Logan’s voice is thick with disbelief, as though he’s trying to convince himself that this isn’t happening. His lips press against your neck, nipping and kissing, while his hips grind against yours���slow and purposeful. But there’s an edge to his movements now, a crack in his control.

Suddenly, the tension breaks.

"Fuck it," Logan growls, the words a harsh release of everything he’s been holding back. His hands grip you tighter, pulling you to him with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. "I can’t hold back, sweetheart." His voice is low, gravelly, as his hips slam forward, no longer restrained, no longer holding back.

“Oh,” You gasp as his hips drive in and out of you."M-more–" The cry tears from your throat as you clutch at his back. He finally gave in, but it wasn't enough. His grunts in your ear and stuttering hips tell you he needs more too. 

"P-please father L-Logan," you whisper, overwhelmed by sensation, hands desperately searching for anchor. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

He's lost in you now, consumed by your body beneath his, the taste of your skin, the sound of your breath. There's no more hesitation or restraint. Logan surrenders to his primal need for you, every shred of self-control abandoned. When his lips crash onto yours, it's fierce—pure, raw desire with no trace of softness.

You whine into his mouth and he eats every sound like it’s his last meal. He grabs you at the bend of your knee, holding your leg up as he uses his other hand to hold your thighs open as he rams into harder. The fabric of your soaked panties pulling taut against your entrance each time he thrust back into your heat. 

“More, more–” You cried out, when he gave one particularly hard thrust and rather than burrowing himself deep inside you, to both your dismay he instead rubbed against your folds. You sobbed in frustration. 

“P-please,” you plead, your voice trembling as you pull his head against your chest, desperation lacing every syllable. “I’m a good girl, Father Logan, I-I…” Your words falter as tears begin to spill from the corners of your eyes, slipping down your flushed cheeks.

Logan pulls away and freezes at the sight, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he can’t look away from the way you’ve unraveled beneath him—the way your body trembles, how your tears glisten in the dim light, and the broken pleas falling from your lips. His chest tightens with a dangerous mix of pride and guilt, the weight of what he’s done settling heavily on him.

"Aw, sweetheart..." he murmurs, his voice softer now, the rough edges dulled by an unfamiliar tenderness. He tilts his head, pressing his lips to your damp cheek, tasting the salt of your tears as he whispers, "Don't cry." His thumb gently brushes away a tear. "I've got you now. I'm sorry for makin' you wait so long."

His lips move to yours, soft and deliberate, a kiss that holds both apology and promise. As he adjusts, his hands steady themselves, sliding to your hips. His fingers find the edge of your underwear, and with a careful, almost reverent touch, he moves the fabric aside. 

Without breaking the kiss he guides his throbbing cock to your entrance, and his hips twitch forward. You cry out, but his tongue muffles your sounds. He grabs the tops of your thighs, gripping them hard enough to know marks will be there tomorrow. 

“Oh, God.” He comes to his full height when he pulls you to the edge of the seat, his hips make sharp contact with the back of your thighs and Logan pulls you impossibly close. 

“Hnn…ah!” You mewled, your body constricted, overwhelmed with the new sensation of being filled to the brim. “Father…” You reached between your legs to try and push him back but he grabs your wrists, holding your palms flush against the heat of his happy trail. Your fingers clench, yanking at the hair between your fingers, and he lets out a low chuckle. His hips jerk. 

“I was tryna take this slow, sweetheart.” He tries to bury himself deeper, and you moan at the delicious pain of being stretched.

“Ahh…” He lets out a devious chuckle as he feels you throb around him. “But now that you’re squeezing me so tight, princess, I don’t think I can.” He snaps his hips forward, and a breathy sigh of pleasure escapes his lips as his tip hits the pulsing wall of your arousal.

A cry rips from your throat as he pulls back from the hilt, his movements slow and deliberate, dragging against every sensitive inch of you. The emptiness is brief but unbearable, a plea spilling from your lips before he slams back into you, harder this time, his rhythm becoming punishingly deliberate.

"You’re somethin’ sacred," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, his hands trembling as they grip you tighter, holding you as if you might slip away. "And me? I’m a man still chained to the things I’ve done. I don’t know why God would give me you... not when I ain’t even begun to earn forgiveness."

His words hang heavy in the air, a confession borne of guilt and reverence as his thrusts grow deeper, more desperate. It’s as though he’s pouring all his contradictions—his desire, his regret, his unworthiness—into every movement, every touch.

“Yet here you are,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing against your neck between ragged breaths. “Like a gift I don’t deserve, like somethin’ holy, and I…”

Between your moans, your hand wriggles free from his grasp, trembling fingers reaching up to press gently over his mouth. His words falter as his eyes meet yours, dark and brimming with emotion.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaky but firm. “Don’t overthink it. Just… just feel me.” You arch your back and thrust your hips to meet his movements, a quiet gasp slipping from your lips at the raw intensity of the connection between you.

His breath hitches against your palm, the tension in his body melting as if your words have unraveled something deep inside him. Slowly, his lips part, and he kisses the tips of your fingers reverently, like an unspoken promise—a vow to let go, to give in. 

His grip on your hips tightens, his pace quickening as he loses himself in you completely, every thrust a declaration of everything he’s too afraid to say aloud. His lips trail down the curve of your wrist, his body trembling as you murmur mantras. 

“Yes, yes, yes–” Each cry ripped from your throat, every time his cock stuffed you full. “Oh God, yes.” You yelled, as his pace became violent. 

Logan’s pace grows more frantic, each thrust a calculated mix of dominance and desperation. His breath is heavy, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space between you, your cries echoing through the room.

But as your body trembles beneath him, he suddenly slows, pulling back just enough to make you gasp. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense. “I’m not close to God,” he growls, his voice rough with lust and something else—something conflicted. “Never have been. I don’t deserve a fucking angel like you… but damn if I’m not enjoying every moment of this.”

A twisted smirk curls on his lips as he watches your expression shift, the heat of his touch still burning against your skin. “Say it. Say ‘Father Logan,’” he demands, his hands gripping you harder. “Tell me you can feel the guilt, the sin in every fucking inch of me. Say it.”

You moan softly as his grip tightens, your body arching beneath him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the heat between you intensifies. Despite the sinful nature of his words, the way his voice trembles with need makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I– Father Logan,” you gasp, the words slipping from your lips in a mixture of pleasure and desperation, the name falling so easily from your mouth, like it’s the only thing that feels right in that moment.

Logan’s smirk deepens, but there's a trace of something more in his eyes—something raw and uncontrollable. He presses in harder, his pace picking up again, each thrust making you cry out as he fills you completely. His lips brush against your ear, and he lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Damn right, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “You’ve got no idea how much I love hearing that. It makes this… all of it feel real.” He leans down to kiss you roughly, his hands pushing you further into the mattress as he continues his relentless rhythm. "I’m so fucking far from anything holy, but you make me feel... like maybe I can be something good for you. Just for you."

The tension builds again, making every thrust deeper, harder, a wild mix of passion and pain as he drives you both toward something inevitable. He holds you close, his breath hot against your skin, his name—a prayer and a sin—escaping from your lips with each frantic cry.

“Come on princess, I know you’re burning up down here.” His heavy hand presses down on your stomach, and you sob. He was nowhere near wrong, waves of heat ran from the tips of your toes, to the center of your core. 

“I know you’re close ‘cause I’m close.” He holds your hips as he comes back up to his full height, lifting you with him as he rests his knee on the edge of the seat. The new position allows him to somehow hit deeper at a different angle and that’s all it takes to make your vision fade, and see white light. 

Your body shakes violently as the coils in your stomach finally unravel, a string of curses leave your lips, as your hips jerk violently. Logan still chasing his release. 

“Oh fuck,” Logan chokes out in a low, gravelly tone, his voice rough with need. His hands grip your hips tighter, his pace never slowing, even as you tremble beneath him. 

He pants, his words barely coherent as his thrusts become more urgent. “You’re like a fucking blessing I don’t deserve, but I can’t stop, can’t pull away—" He groans as he feels you pulse around him, coming down from your high. "God, you’re like heaven wrapped in skin.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He continues to pound into you, the newly released heat rebuilding the more Logan drove into you. 

“F-father, I’m gonna– I can’t–” Tears spill from your eyes again, but this time Logan doesn’t wipe them away. 

“Shh, you’re such a good girl,” His hands wrap around your throat as ripples of pleasure pinch at his nerves, “A goddamn angel.” And he squeezes his hands, hips coming to a halt as his cock pulses inside of you.

As he fills you with thick and heavy strings of his load, another orgasm splits your mind in half and your mind goes blank as you cry out for Logan. 

“Ah, fuuck…” He sighs as he hesitantly pulls out. You whimper as he watches you clench around nothing. He picks you up with no problem at all and he switches positions, having you sit on his lap. 

You can feel slick dripping from your abused cunt, and you attempt to move worried about ruining the man’s pants. 

"Let go," he breathes, keeping you firmly in his lap despite your squirming. His fingers dig into your hips possessively. "Want to feel what I've done to you." You whimper as he captures your lips in a deep kiss, still oversensitive from before. His hands roam your body with renewed hunger, like he can't get enough. Your body trembles as his fingers trace your spine, stopping to knead your ass. 

"Heaven sent," he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss to admire the marks he's left. When you try to look away, shy under his heated gaze, he gently turns your face back to his. "Look at me, angel." His eyes hold yours, dark with lingering desire and something deeper. His thumb brushes your cheek tenderly, a stark contrast to his earlier roughness. You both know this moment has changed everything between you, crossing a line that can't be uncrossed. But as he pulls you closer, neither of you can bring yourselves to regret it.

--

a/n: pls support by reblogging.

[dira333]

Mom Friend - Kenma (Angst-ish)

“You don’t love me and I’m being really brave about it.”

-

The air is soft and cool, like a blanket made from silk. You take it as a good sign, smile up at the traffic sign above you like it’s a flower or an ornament. 

How silly that love can make ordinary things bloom.

Tonight you feel good in your clothes. No need to worry about tomorrow. 

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of your jacket but you don’t want to pull it out right now. You want to stay in the moment, right here, enjoy that buzzing feeling inside of you.

Maybe tonight, you think. Maybe tonight something will happen.

You’re not insecure, not questioning, not doubting anything. 

Just waiting, patiently, for something that sure will come.

-

You spot him first, head buried in his hoody, eyes on the phone in his hand. 

Knowing Kenma, he’s playing a game to pass the time.

You don’t wave, but keep your eyes on him as you come closer. It’s rare that you get to enjoy that sight for yourself, that you can watch without being watched.

He’s pretty. Always has been, you think, even though you’ve only really had a chance to befriend him lately. But you’ve seen the pictures, and besides, you can’t imagine him being anything but.

Just a few more steps to go but he raises his head and spots you without hesitation, the pupils of eyes growing smaller.

You’ve read about it, you can’t help but think. How the size of one’s pupil tells about their attraction. 

A first seed of doubt begins to sprout but you push it down with a well-practiced smile.

“Hi,” you greet him, your voice weirdly breathless. You’re not that out of shape, he just does that to you. Do you shake his hand? Hug him?

He makes no move to greet you other than a quiet nod so you think that’s it and push down the disappointment. Kenma hugs Hinata. 

Well, everyone hugs Hinata, you tell yourself, and look for something to say.

“Are we early?”

“No,” he dips his nose deeper into his hoody. “Kuroo’s not coming.”

“O-oh,” you pull out your phone to check. He’s right. The message is there, in the group chat. Right below it is another one, from Hinata.

“Can’t make it tonight, sorry guys. Rain check?”

“Should we-?”

“I’m going to watch the movie,” Kenma interrupts you, voice level. He doesn’t sound angry, or annoyed, or even bored, he just… sounds. Is flat the right word for it?

“Okay?”

His eyes, big and round and golden, move toward you and back to the sign above the door. “You can join me if you want.”

-

The movie isn’t bad. You like action movies, even the dumber ones. There’s a reason why Hinata still invites you to these hangouts, after all.

But you know you’re missing a crucial part of knowledge about the game this movie is based on.

There are jokes you don’t get that leave Kenma chuckling to himself and you can’t help but wonder what he thinks of you. Does he know you’re- Well, he has to, right? 

You know he’s a little more on the shy side. Or, not shy, but more… private? 

Maybe this is his way of getting a date with you?

The thought electrifies you.

But no. Kenma’s not acting like a guy on a date. He’s not sharing his food with you, has not even tried to pay for yours or initiate any conversation so far. 

If you’d have to describe it, it would be like… getting to come along with your big brother.

Your face twists into a scowl. That is not the kind of thing you want to associate with Kenma.

-

“Do you wanna eat something?” You ask once you leave the cinema, dust your clothes off and get rid of the last remnants of popcorn and stray skittles. 

Kenma hesitates for a second.

“Yeah, why not?”

You follow him out of the Cinema and down the street.

The wind is soothing on your warm cheeks. A couple walks down the street, facing you. Your heart squeezes tight when the guy swings their joined hands.

As they pass, Kenma steps out of their way, bumping into you. 

He does not apologize.

It feels like a sign. A different one this time.

-

The restaurant is small but private and Kenma finds a booth at the back, orders like someone who’s been here before. You need a little longer to figure out what you want but then there’s nothing else to do but wait.

Kenma pulls out his phone, looks at the unlit screen and puts it face down on the table.

“Do you have a crush on me?”

His voice is even, like he’s reading from the menu and it takes you a second to register the meaning of the words.

Your mouth opens, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

Nonetheless, your silence is answer enough. Your eyes fall back down to the table.

“I’m sorry,” Kenma mutters and there’s almost warmth to his words now.

He says nothing more for a while and you swallow a bout of tears that’s threatening to spill.

Silly you, you think.

Doubts and insecurities raise their ugly heads.

“Kuroo thought you might be into Shouyou,” Kenma starts anew. When you look up he’s staring out the window. “Cuz you’re always mothering him.”

“I’m not-”

“You’re like Kuroo, in that way,” Kenma adds on, as if he’s not hearing you. “Always bothering people. You bring extra water bottles and extra pain killers and a snack in case someone gets hungry and you remind them of their appointments.”

Your fingers clench around the utensils that are useless without any food but you need to hold onto something real if you want to survive this.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Golden eyes turn back to you and you wonder how it has taken you so long to realize that gold is not warm. Gold is a metal, heavy and cold, and not at all made for cuddling.

“Shouyou is my friend,” Kenma points out. “He doesn’t mind being mothered.”

“So?”

“You’d do better with a partner that likes that part of you. We all want-” He stops for a second, the first time you’ve seen him hesitate. “It’s not good if you have to change who you are for a relationship to work.”

“You could have just said you’re not interested,” you point out, petulance winning over the hurt. Or maybe the hurt is triggering it.

Kenma blinks slowly. “I am trying to be a good friend here.”

“Who’s friend?”

He opens his mouth to answer but the food arrives and he pulls back again, stares at you silently, like a cat stalking its prey.

“I’m not good at verbalizing my thoughts,” he begins again when the server has left. “You remind me of Kuroo in some way. I think-” He hesitates again. “If you want a partner that you can mother, you should try dating Shouyou.”

“I don’t want to date Hinata.”

Kenma sighs. “You could try Kuroo but I think-”

Your chopsticks dig into your hands as you interrupt him, pointing them at him like a weapon. “Stop it,” you hiss. “You’re not interested and that’s it. You don’t need to push me into someone else's arms like I’m something too valuable to throw away but not valuable enough to actually cherish.”

His face goes slack. He tries to speak again but you turn your face away and begin eating, stuffing your face with a pace that can’t be healthy but you just want to get out of here, out of this conversation.

Quiet settles. Your cheeks sting as if sensing the coming tears. But you don’t cry.

You finish first and get up, squeezing the handle of your purse so tight in your hand that it hurts. 

“The bill is on me,” you tell Kenma. “Have a good night.”

-

part 2 is coming tomorrow

Taglist: @notsochillnerd

@kaykaystrings @alienaiver @alexxavicry @tsxkishimx @stellar-haikyuu

@fuzztacular (for the angst)

[ponderingmoonlight]

And yet, you're here

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Years after Suguru left, you're still not able to get him off your mind. When he reappears years after his betrayal, the past collides with the present. Unexpected, in a way you didn't even dare to dream about.

Warnings: this isn't proofread 100%, the emotional rollercoaster you deserve, hurt to comfort big time, this is for all my geto girlies who deserve their happy ending

please please please make this go viral thank you

„He’s a threat for the whole population!”

“We need to kill that brat before he kills all non-sorcerers.”

“I can’t believe someone like him was able to do something like…that.”

“So much wasted potential. Why does a special grade sorcerer act this way?”

“I thought he’s a nice boy.”

“So, you’re not one of those nice guys I guess.”

The sun already hung so low in the sky that you were barely able to see his soft features, let alone the surprised look that crept over his face while hearing those words coming from your mouth.

“Are you talking about me or Satoru?”

You let out one of those cute chuckles he adored so much, the kind he heard in his head on repeat even when you were long gone. Gosh, he couldn’t get enough of this. Those lonely nights with only you and a cigarette by his side, the countless hours he spent trying to understand you while it was his mind that slowly but surely fell apart.

“Nope, I’m always talking about you, Suguru.”

“What am I if not a nice guy, then?”

Sure, Satoru Gojo was his one and only best friend, but you were something else entirely: An unspoken bond that lived in the spaces between words, in glances that lingered just a moment too long. You weren’t a lover, not in the conventional sense, but you weren’t just a friend either. You were a mirror to his soul, the keeper of truths he couldn't bear to speak aloud, and the only person who could hold the weight of his silence without it breaking you both.

“You’re... complicated,” you finally replied, the word laced with warmth rather than judgment.

“You’re the kind of person who feels too much but hides it too well. The kind who would burn the world down if it meant saving the people you love. Not everyone understands that, but I do. Or at least I’m convinced I do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more melancholic than amused.

“Complicated, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“And dangerous,” you added lightly, the hint of a smile in your voice.

“But not in the way they think. Not to me.”

His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes easing for just a moment as he stared at you.

“Not to you,” he echoed, as though testing the words on his tongue, letting them sink into the cracks of his fraying soul.

Till this day, that one last conversation both of you had on that lonely bench still haunts him. The way you looked at him back then, as if you’d already knew that you might never see him again, as if you just counted the hours until he goes berserk.

What are you thinking about him now?

Is he still on your mind?

Are you hating him the way Satoru does?

“You’re thinking about her again, don’t you?”

Fuck. He thought about you.

Again.

Suguru lets out a sharp exhale, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, bitter enough to sting his own ears. How pathetic he has to look to the people surrounding him. When he walked down this path, he knew that he’ll have to do it without you, that he won’t be able to see you again. And yet…

Losing you seems to hurt more than anything else.

 “Of course I am,” he admits to his assistant, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

“Not like I can help it. She’s everywhere, even when she’s not. It’s ridiculous.”

There it is again, your face ghosting through his mind. Other than Satoru and Shoko, you never really tried to find him. If you wanted to, you would, right? Maybe you’re too mad at him for all the things he’s done. Or maybe you already forgot about him.

 “But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Just like everything else.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the memories, the sound of your laugh, the way your voice softened when you said his name, the weight of your eyes on him as if you could see through all the lies he told himself. He’d burn every memory if he could, let them smolder in the same fire that consumed the rest of his life.

“Besides. She’d hate me now, just like everyone else. Maybe she was just waiting for me to turn into the monster she saw coming.”

“Stop stewing in these thoughts, that doesn’t matter anymore. We’re expecting another bunch of monkeys in half an hour.”

But even as she said it, the words tasted wrong. It shouldn’t matter that he can still feel the warmth of your gaze, your unwavering belief in him, and yet it cuts deeper than any accusation ever could. Suguru shakes his head while straightening his shoulders, eyes locked onto Manami in front of him in order to force you off his mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though trying to convince himself.

“It’s too late for that now. So, where’s the monkeys?”

“Why did I know I’d find you here?”

His voice startles you, making you jump slightly. You turn to see none other than Satoru Gojo standing there, hands in his pockets, his white hair catching the fading sunlight. The sunglasses perched on his nose don’t quite hide the sharp edge in his expression he usually wears around you.

“Because I’m always here, I guess,” you reply softly, your tone as tired as the circles under your eyes appear.

“And I told you to stop a long time ago,” Satoru bites back, his voice bitter, cutting.

“The Suguru you knew… he’s gone.”

The weight of his words lands hard, though they’re not new. He’s said them before, with the same venom in his voice, every time you bring up Suguru or the past.

“I know. I’ve always known.”

“Then why do you keep punishing yourself? Dropping out of Jujutsu High when everyone needed you didn’t bring him back. Hiding out here doesn’t change anything, y’know?”

“It wasn’t about bringing him back, Satoru,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend.

“It was about… letting him go. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.

“I’ve spent years watching people destroy themselves over things they can’t fix. I know the look in your eyes - you miss him. You always have. But you didn’t even try to stop him when he turned his back on us.”

You flinch, his words hitting a nerve.

“Because it wasn’t my place. I wasn’t like you, Gojo. I wasn’t his best friend. I wasn’t strong enough to drag him back kicking and screaming or to stand in his way. All I could do was… let him live the way he decided to. I thought… maybe if I stayed behind, if I didn’t follow him, he’d understand that I believed in him, that I trust him and his actions, the path he chooses. That I’d be here if he ever wanted to come back.”

Satoru’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. He never understood. Until this day, he never wrapped his head around the fact that you didn’t try to stop his best friend back then. You, who had more power over Suguru than himself.

God, how much he hates that disgusting truth until now.

“And look where that got you,” he mutters.

You look away, your hands gripping the edge of the bench for support.

“I never expected to see him again, Satoru. I didn’t think I’d matter enough to him for that.”

The silence between you stretches thin, brittle as glass.

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“For staying behind? For not going after him?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You know he blames you, at least a little, for what happened. For not doing more. For leaving everything to him. For allowing Suguru to turn his back on Jujutsu High.

“Suguru hating you? Never. I bet he still thinks about you every damn day”, Satoru mutters under his breath before turning on his heels and leaving you standing in the rain.

Suguru, still thinking about you? You shake your head vehemently, not allowing that absurd thought into your brain. If he would miss you, he’d visit you, right? In all those years, he never lifted a finger in order to find you.

You were right there. In your small apartment, at jujutsu high.

Maybe he forgot about you after all.

“Me? Forgetting you? I’d never be able to do that, (y/n).”

Maybe some promises are meant to be broken.

-a few evenings later-

You’ve drank too much.

You always do when Shoko isn’t with you, when no one’s around to watch you. But even though you emptied a whole bottle of liqueur on your own, you still aren’t able to forget him. Fuck, his face is glued onto your mind like a second skin, never leaves you even though you drink enough to forget your own name.

Will it always feel like this? Will that ache ever go away?

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

“Something I’ve lost some while ago”, you mumble, absently swirling your glittery cocktail around.

“That’s a bummer.”

You don’t even gift the random stranger next to you a look, the guy who smells like cheap cigarettes so vehemently that you feel like throwing up.

Maybe it’s time to call it a day.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You spring back onto your feet, the alcohol vibrating through your veins. You were never much of a drinker back then, only shared a cigarette with Suguru from time to time. But this became your only way to numb the pain. At least for a few hours, at least for some time.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall. Even though it’s far past midnight, the city buzzes in street light, laughter and cries. And yet, all you’re able to think about is him again. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching. Is it wrong to long for him? Is it disgusting that you couldn’t care less about the things he’s done those past years, about what he’d become?

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to you, stubborn and relentless. Why can’t you just stop? Stop longing for something that will never happen, stop running after a person who is long gone? Suguru won’t come back, you won’t just meet him on a random street-

The click of footsteps catches your attention. Heavy, yet elegant footsteps across the still busy street.

At first, you think it’s just another stranger wandering through the city’s darkened streets. But something about the rhythm - steady, purposeful - sets your nerves on edge. Something about this feels familiar.

You glance up, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets a pair of familiar dark brown eyes.

Suguru Geto.

The world around you blurs, the sounds of the city fading into silence. It’s him, unmistakably him. His hair is longer than you remember, strands sticking to his face from what looks like rain, or maybe it’s sweat. Blood splatters ruin his clothes and the sharp line of his jaw, painting a stark, gruesome picture paired with those cold orbs. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they’re searching, watching your every move.

You should run, or scream, or yell at him – at least something that shows him what he put you through.

Anything.

He’s the same man who left you, who walked away from everything, from you. He, who didn’t even tell you about his true feelings, who didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, who didn’t even ask you to join. All those miserable nights you imagined him sitting next to you on that bench, the bottles of alcohol you’ve drank just to forget his name. He needs to pay for it, needs to know what he did to you by leaving you behind.

But instead, your feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between you in an instant.

Before he can react, you throw your arms around him so, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Suguru freezes, his body stiff against yours. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, as if the sheer force of your presence has left him powerless. You bury your face against his chest, not caring about the blood, the grime, or the hurricane of questions swirling in your mind. All you care about is the fact that he’s here, alive, and solid beneath your touch. You can feel him – not only in your dreams, but for real.

Suguru is here.

He’s alive.

He’s right between your arms.

The scent of him - familiar, though tinged with something darker - fills your senses, dragging you back into a world you thought you’d never touch again. Tears sting your eyes, but you bite them back, unwilling to let them fall.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Finally, he moves. His arms lift hesitantly, then wrap around you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear any given minute, his grip firm and desperate. His head dips slightly, and for a moment, you think you feel him trembling too.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is rough, low, almost broken.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I just… I missed you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his tone a mixture of regret and warning.

“Neither should you,” you counter, your gaze unwavering.

Suguru’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek as though testing if you’re real.

“You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

God, you’re so furious at him. Mad because he ran away, mad because he left you standing in the rain.

Mad because this is actually the first time Suguru Geto hugged you.

“But I don’t. I guess I could never hate you.”

His expression falters, the mask he’s worn for so long cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath. The one you knew, the one you loved in a way you never fully understood. And for the first time since leaving everything behind, he feels that small ray of sunshine taking in his heart again.

“You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I was so sure you’ll hate me like everyone else.”

“I know enough. And I don’t care. You’re still Suguru Geto, aren’t you?”

He exhales sharply, the sound almost like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You, not caring about the fact that he ended countless lives out of his own fulfilment? You, a jujutsu sorcerer who always protected those monkeys?

“You’re too good for this,” he bites back, shaking his head.

“Too good for me.”

“Don’t decide that for me,” you snap, surprising even yourself with your suddenly so sharp tone.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You already did when you left without saying goodbye”

The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words. You’re right and he knows it. But… Was it really a possibility to take you with him back then? Was there a tiny chance that you…would have joined him?

Slowly, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as though seeking comfort in your presence. No, he doesn’t want to think this through. Not right now. Not when he feels your heart pound against his body, not when you’re this close to him for the very first time.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper.

“I told myself it was better that way.”

“And yet you’re here,” you point out softly.

“And yet I’m here,” he echoes, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. No blood, no curses, no jujutsu, no past or future. Just the weight of the present, fragile and fleeting. And for now, that’s enough.

For now, simply holding the man you thought you’ve lost forever on a random street is more than enough to make you feel whole again.

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@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr

[trixy812]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ You have all my support ɞ˚‧｡⋆ pt 4

{Nanami Kento x reader}

ִֶָ࣪☾. Content: nanami x reader, fluff, college!Nanami, college!Reader, that's what you get when you read shojo!

ִֶָ࣪☾. Synopsis: It was inevitable. Kento Nanami was leaving the jujutsu world.

ִֶָ࣪☾. AN: omg! this is really long! i hope you guys don't get bored with this part! as I am writing this series I get so excited, i am so proud of this and I hope you guys are enjoying. I am definetely planning to write more omakes for this series :) please let me know what you think!

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the curtains of your room, bathing the space in a warmth that felt nothing short of comforting. Nanami sat at the edge of your bed, a book in one hand while the other absentmindedly ran through your hair. Your head rested on his lap as you pretended to watch TV, though your attention was far from it. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where just being together was more than enough.

Suddenly, Nanami broke the silence.

“What will you do after graduation?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. He already knew the answer—you’d discussed it countless times. You’d take a semester off to work full-time and save money before pursuing your dream of studying nursing. So it was clear he wasn’t asking for himself. This was his way of starting a conversation about his own future.

Turning your head slightly to look up at him, you smiled gently and asked,

“What about you, Kento? What do you want to do after graduation?”

Nanami carefully closed the book, placing it aside with precision, and let out a deep sigh. The weight of it was palpable in the way his chest rose and fell.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about that,” he began, but stopped short, leaving his words hanging in the air.

Alarmed by the serious look on his face, you sat up, removing your head from his lap. Until that moment, you hadn’t realized how much he’d been carrying on his shoulders. A wave of guilt washed over you. How could I not notice? I’m supposed to be supporting him…

Nanami stared at his hands, fiddling with the corner of his book as if searching for courage.

“I’m not sure if I want to remain a sorcerer,” he admitted finally.

Now it was your turn to comfort him. You reached out to gently run your fingers through his hair, hoping to offer some solace.

“Why not?” you asked softly.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if the act might make explaining easier.

“Because the world of sorcery is rotten,” he said bluntly. “They use us. I saw what happened to Haibara, and I can’t stop thinking that if I stay, I’ll end up the same. Or worse, someone else will suffer because I wasn’t strong enough.”

He paused, looking out the window, searching for answers in the horizon.

“And then there’s Geto…” he continued. “I know what he did was wrong, but I can’t blame him. Honestly, I understand why he chose that path. This system is broken, y/n. Every time I return from a mission, I wonder if I’m making any difference at all—or just delaying the inevitable.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Nanami rarely opened up about his feelings, always so stoic and composed. Seeing him like this, raw and vulnerable, made your heart ache.

“Kento…” you whispered, struggling to find the right words.

“I want your honest opinion,” he said, meeting your eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the conversation settle around you.

“Alright,” you said, “but don’t blame me for being straightforward.”

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you finally spoke, letting your emotions guide you.

“I don’t think you should stay,” you said firmly. “It’s not fair. Why should you keep giving your life to a system that doesn’t even value the people who fight for it?”

Nanami looked at you, surprised by the intensity of your tone, but didn’t interrupt.

“Look at what they did to my parents,” you continued, your voice rising slightly. “They fined them for using my technique—to help people! What do you think they’ll do to you, someone they see as nothing more than a tool? They’ll drain you dry, Kento, until there’s nothing left. And then what?”

He swallowed hard, still silent.

“You’re incredibly smart,” you said, your voice softening. “You don’t need this. You could go to university, study something you’re passionate about. You always talk about books. Maybe literature. Anything. But staying there? For what? For who?”

You cupped his cheek, gently turning his face so he would look at you.

“Your opinion isn’t completely objective, is it?” he asked quietly, a small smile playing at his lips.

You glanced away, feeling exposed.

“No,” you admitted. “It’s not. I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered. “And if you stay there, I feel like I will. Sooner or later.”

Nanami was quiet for a long moment, your words clearly weighing on him. Finally, he nodded slightly.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “But… it’s not an easy decision.”

You leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, hoping to convey what words couldn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be easy,” you whispered. “But you don’t have to make it alone. I’m here, Kento. Always.”

Though he didn’t say it aloud, the look in his eyes told you that those words meant more to him than you could ever imagine.

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

The energy of the day buzzed in the air. Flowers, speeches, and the chatter of excited students filled the auditorium. As you stood among your classmates, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd for the blonde boy you loved.

Nanami wasn’t at his own graduation. He’d deliberately skipped it, knowing the ceremony held no meaning for him. But your graduation? That was different.

When you returned home with your diploma in hand, you found Nanami waiting at your doorstep with a small chocolate cake. It was simple, understated, but what left you speechless were the words written in vanilla frosting—“Congratulations”—spelled out in your parents’ native language.

“Kento… Did you make this?” you asked, your voice filled with emotion.

He nodded, holding the cake with pride.

“I knew you’d like it,” he said calmly. “And I thought your parents would appreciate it even more.”

Your mother emerged from the house at that moment, gasping as she took in the sight.

“What a beautiful gesture!” she exclaimed, pulling Nanami into a warm hug.

Your father smiled, though he added teasingly, “It better taste as good as it looks, young man.”

“Dad…” you scolded, embarrassed, as Nanami’s typically composed expression faltered just slightly, a faint redness creeping up his ears.

The evening was filled with celebration. Your mother had prepared a feast, the dining table overflowing with traditional dishes.

Nanami leaned over as you poured him a glass of water. “Does she always cook this much for occasions like this?”

You smiled. “My mom thinks food is the best way to show love.”

As the meal progressed, your father set down his glass of wine and looked at you seriously.

“y/n, we’ll support whatever you decide,” he began. “But are you sure about nursing? In Japan, nurses don’t earn as much as they should. Have you thought about studying medicine instead? You’d earn more, and you’d never have to worry about anything.”

You rolled your eyes, placing your utensils down.

“Dad, we’ve talked about this. I want to be a nurse. I don’t care about the money—it’s my dream. Didn’t you always tell me to follow my dreams?”

Your parents exchanged a glance, and you could almost hear their unspoken thoughts: We're going to have to keep giving her money for the rest of our lives.

It was then that Nanami, who had been quiet the entire time, set his glass of water down with a deliberate clink.

“I have something to say,” he began, his tone steady and commanding attention.

Your parents straightened in their chairs, and you turned to him curiously.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said firmly. “I’m leaving the world of sorcery. I’m walking away.”

Your eyes widened in shock as his words sank in.

“Are you serious?” you exclaimed, a grin spreading across your face. “Kento, that’s amazing—”

“Wait, really?” your mother interjected, her voice tinged with concern. “But Kento… are you sure? It’s such a big change.”

“It’s something I’ve thought about for a long time,” he admitted. “It’s what’s best for me.”

Your father dramatically placed a hand on his forehead. “No sorcery? Our future grandchildren won’t find interest in it. It’ll be tough for them with parents in such… ordinary professions.”

Your face burned with embarrassment.

“Dad! We’ve only been dating a few weeks!” you blurted out.

Your mother laughed softly. “To us, it’s been two and a half years,” she teased.

Nanami looked down at his plate, but not before you caught the faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Can you guys not?” you groaned, but they only laughed harder.

After dinner, you and Nanami went for a walk to clear your heads. The night breeze was cool and refreshing, the sky clear and dotted with stars.

“So,” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence, “what do you want to study in college?”

He paused for a moment before answering.

“Finance,” he said.

You stopped in your tracks, looking at him like he’d just suggested becoming an astronaut.

“Finance? What happened to literature? You love books!”

He shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips.

“I also love making smart decisions,” he said, slipping his hand into yours. "I want to make sure you never lack anything," he explained calmly. "I want you to be able to follow your dreams without worrying about anything else."

Your cheeks flushed as you processed his words.

"Also," he continued, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, "I liked what your parents said about grandkids."

You were left breathless, warmth rising from your neck to your ears.

"Kento..." you whispered, unsure of how to respond.

"I imagine a future with you," he said, his eyes locking onto yours. "I'll work hard, earn enough to retire young, and you can keep working if you want. You won't have to worry about the details—"

You silenced him with a sudden kiss, your heart pounding.

"That doesn’t matter now," you said softly. "I just want to be with you."

And under that starry night sky, with his fingers intertwined with yours, Nanami knew he had made the right decision.

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

Nanami's lips curved into something between a smile and a grimace. A message from Gojo.

Nanamiiiii,

Even though your coldness is unbearable, I’m going to miss you. But I’d rather miss you than see everything go to hell, so go ahead and live your boring college life. I’ll handle the dirty work (as always).

P.S. When you get tired of “normal” and want to come back to the interesting side of life, I’ll be here. But I doubt someone as bitter as you can handle how much fun it is working with me.

P.P.S. At least tell me that girl’s worth it. How is it we still haven’t gone out, the three of us?"

Nanami sighed and set his phone aside. He could read between the lines: "I don’t want you to end up like Geto." Though Gojo expressed himself in his uniquely ridiculous way, his words reminded Nanami why he had made the right decision.

"What’s wrong?" you asked, noticing his distant expression.

He shook his head, bringing his attention back to you. "Nothing important. Just Gojo being Gojo."

You leaned closer, curious, but before you could insist, you exclaimed excitedly, "Oh! I got the waitress job!"

Nanami raised an eyebrow. "Full-time?"

"Yes," you replied enthusiastically. "Once we start college, I want to find my own place and live alone."

His expression shifted, growing slightly more serious. After a few moments of silence, he said, "What if we lived together?"

Your smile faltered. "Kento, that’s really sweet of you, but no."

Nanami frowned, clearly affected by your response. "Why not? I thought… it’d make things easier for both of us. We’d be together."

You took his hands in yours, smiling at him gently. "I want to know what it’s like to live alone. I need that space to grow as a person. It’s important to me."

Nanami nodded, though his eyes held a flicker of sadness. "I understand. But I won’t blame you if you change your mind."

Six months later, you both started college. Nanami had changed his appearance—his hair was shorter and slicked back, and he often wore dress shirts and jeans. His mature, polished style didn’t go unnoticed.

In the hallways, you noticed the stares he received, from both women and men.

"They’re looking at you again," you whispered, slightly annoyed, as you walked together to the library.

He glanced at you with a faint smile. "Are you jealous?"

"No, of course not," you replied, though your furrowed brow said otherwise. Still, you couldn’t help but feel proud. You knew that no matter how many looks he got, he was yours and yours alone.

Despite your busy schedules, exam weeks were always different. It had become a tradition to study together, either at your place or his.

Well, studying was the initial plan.

Night had fallen, and your apartment was quiet, save for the rustle of notes scattered on the floor, forgotten. You and Nanami were on the couch, completely absorbed in the moment. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his careful hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, messing it up, as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He kissed you with a slow, deliberate intensity, as if trying to memorize every sensation. His lips moved with a restrained passion that felt ready to overflow at any moment.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, but he didn’t let you move far. His mouth trailed down to your neck, leaving a path of heated kisses that sent shivers through your body.

"Kento," you murmured, trying to sound firm, though your voice came out shaky. "We should be studying."

"I can’t focus," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and laden with desire. "Not when you’re this close."

You tried to pull away, but he cupped your face with both hands, gently guiding you to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with a mixture of tenderness and need that always left you defenseless.

"Let me stay like this a little longer," he confessed, his tone almost pleading.

You were just as lost in him—in the way his hands traced your back, slowly moving up to your shoulders, as if rediscovering you. His lips found yours again, this time with a softness that contrasted with the earlier intensity but was just as overwhelming.

"Kento," you tried again, with little conviction. "The exams…"

"I love the way you say my name," he whispered against your lips, a small smile forming. "There’s nothing more important than this right now."

His hands slid back to your waist, holding you with a firmness that made you feel both secure and deeply desired. You gave in to the moment, letting him guide you, feeling the weight of books and responsibilities melt away.

A soft gasp escaped your lips when he brushed your cheek, and the sound made him pause for just a moment. He looked at you, his expression now softened by overwhelming tenderness.

"Do you know what you make me feel?" he whispered, his voice barely audible but heavy with emotion.

"What?" you managed to ask, still trying to catch your breath.

He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment, as if anchoring himself in your presence. "That no matter how much time we have, I’ll always want more of you. It’ll never be enough."

Your hands caressed his face, tracing the lines of his jaw as you gazed at him with equal intensity. "I love you," you said, letting all your reservations fall away.

He kissed you again, this time softer, as if your words had soothed the fire within him—though only slightly.

Finally, you were the one to create some distance, though your body was still trembling. "Hey, handsome," you said with a nervous smile. "If we keep this up, we’re going to fail our exams."

He sighed with a faint smile, smoothing his hair. "Fine," he said with resignation. But before you could move, he added, "Though I want it on record that I’m against stopping."

Blushing, you began gathering the notes scattered on the floor. Nanami watched you, his gaze still full of adoration and desire. He couldn’t help but think how much he wished time would stop when you were like this, together.

ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

The years passed quickly. Both of you graduated college. You found a job almost immediately at the hospital where you had completed your volunteering, excited to begin your specialty in palliative care.

Out of respect for Nanami, you decided not to use your cursed energy technique anymore. You knew he appreciated that gesture more than he let on.

Nanami, on the other hand, entered the world of finance and quickly excelled as a stockbroker. His success surprised no one; he was meticulous, efficient, and dedicated.

One sunny afternoon, Nanami invited you to look at apartments. He insisted it was "just for fun," now that he was considering moving closer to his office. You went along, thinking it would be a casual distraction from your routines, but as soon as you arrived, you were taken aback.

"This place is... incredible," you said, your eyes taking in the sleek, modern facade. "Are you sure this isn’t out of your budget?"

He gave you a faint smile, the kind he reserved for moments when he was about to surprise you. "Let’s go inside and see."

Stepping into the apartment, your eyes widened. The space was bright and open, with large windows that let in warm, natural light. The kitchen was modern, with impeccable finishes, and there was a spacious living area and a small balcony with a breathtaking view. You walked slowly, admiring every detail, while Nanami followed quietly, watching you intently.

Finally, you stopped at the balcony, gazing out at the city with a soft sigh. "It’s perfect. It’s… too perfect."

Nanami approached, resting a hand on the balcony doorframe. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," you admitted with a smile. "If this is what you’re looking for, I think you should go for it. It’s amazing."

He cleared his throat, clearly nervous—a rarity for him. "I want to get this place, but not just for me."

You turned to him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Nanami slid his hands into his pockets, as if seeking something to steady himself. Then he looked up, his eyes locking onto yours. "I want us to live here together. You and me."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Nanami took a deep breath. "And this time, you can’t say no."

You frowned, confused, but before you could respond, he pulled a small black box from his pocket and opened it. Inside, a simple yet elegant ring sparkled in the golden light of the setting sun.

"Because I don’t just want us to live together," he said, his voice lower but steady. "I want to build a life with you. I want this to be our home. I want you to be my wife."

Your mouth fell open in a soft gasp, tears welling in your eyes. The silence stretched between you, not because words were lacking, but because the gravity of the moment spoke for itself.

"Will you marry me?"

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔.:･･:.ೃ࿔.⋆❀°

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4

Reader meets Gojo

[coralchoral]

honestly thinking about the sonadow twitter takeover and how the plummeting to earth thing very much affected Sonic a lot more than it affected Shadow. like in a previous takeover Shadow even made it a positive memory about Sonic trying to save him.

Meanwhile in Prime, Sonic has a moment of saving Shadow from falling into the void that's very reminiscent of that other fall (in the same way Prime has a lot of motivations and references that only make sense from a fandom insider perspective).

Sonic also gets repeatedly tilted, loud and anxious, (which I'm pinning more on RCS's/whatever writer's sense of humor, as is all the voice acting gags) and is coping badly any time Shadow comes out ahead. I think Sonic's insistence on his ability to grow chest fur is as big a Cope as floaties=fashion statement.

But really, Sonic's repeat date suggestions and Shadow's own descriptions of Sonic's behavior (dragging out their races, etc "just to annoy me") reads, whether romantically or platonically, that Sonic just really wants to spend time with Shadow.

He feels he needs to justify it, though, insisting that he and Shadow have something other than occasionally getting in each other's way ("two sides of the same coin") (friendly competition being "why you keep me around-" seemed like odd wording to me).

Needing to make it meaningful, because that's what Shadow wants out of a relationship- Shadow /says/ he dislikes Sonic for being frivolous and inauthentic, that (for instance) his hugs don't mean anything, and that he doesn't want "(Sonic's) kind of hug."

Sonic really wants to spend time with Shadow because he's also intimately aware that that time is limited. Either Shadow's patience (and/or social battery) is limited and he's liable to make a batman exit if he doesn't want to be somewhere (not that we've ever seen Shadow do this in canon, he seems to awkwardly/quietly hang around as if he doesn't realize he can just hit the bricks (or he likes being there and has no idea how to express it re: smiling at Big the Cat) ), Or Sonic and Shadow will get caught up in their own lives again and not see each other until Fate Deigns to Allow Them to Cross Paths Once More.

And Sonic misses him.

(This ties in with my Sonic Frontiers is the Saddest Game Ever posting from a while back, too. Sonic is lonely AF and Needs Other People to Talk To or he'll start talking to the walls and robots, and Shadow will almost always either talk back or groan in exasperation, which is as good a reaction as any.)

All this, plus Sonic's opinion flip-flops (shopping with Amy vs shopping with Shadow, opinion on Orbot) could be either (Sonadow Optimist) Sonic is Down Bad and not even conscious of his mirroring Shadow/trying to appeal to Shadow, or (Sonadow/overall Pessimist) Sonic trying to appeal to the Most Popular Character Right Now and getting increasingly desperate as he is rebuffed.

A few of these Twitter Takeovers have had moments of Sonic in particular getting thrown off and not really able to recover. (which makes me question what the writing is like, if there's any at all and these VA's aren't just riffing on an outline. Considering they don't talk over each other constantly, there must be something like a script, but it also does occasionally feel like a bad roleplay (and I've been a bad roleplayer).) It leads to a Something Is Wrong feeling in the "We're doing this for fun" question-answering joke show. Sonic needs therapy. (We all need therapy.)

Meanwhile, Shadow really is pulling out all the grunts, groans, and whines with Sonic that, if scripted, would be egregious as hell to read or write. He doesn't make these noises in the games (or shows, really?) mostly because there's a sort of efficiency necessary to production that cuts out that interpersonal realism and partly because it's annoying? Shadow, you're the annoying one?

Unrelated, everybody latched on to Sonic's "Go off, King" but nobody even noticed Shadow's "Deal With It."(sunglasses drop) How soon we forget the sacred texts and/or the deep magic, I guess? (It's an old meme, but it checks out!)

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 21

Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: angstttttty

A/N: 🤗🤗😮‍💨😇

The late morning sun cast long shadows on the sidewalk as you and Natasha wandered through the shopping district. The crisp autumn air smelled faintly of roasted nuts and coffee from nearby stalls, and you paused in front of a shop window, gesturing to a soft green dress displayed on a mannequin.

“That is so you,” you said with a laugh, glancing at Natasha.

She barely looked, her eyes skimming the display with vague disinterest. “Yeah, maybe,” she muttered, her tone distant.

Her lack of enthusiasm sent a ripple of unease through you, but you brushed it off, continuing down the street with her by your side. Yet, the silence between you began to gnaw at your nerves.

You bit your lip, hesitating before finally speaking. “Um, Nat” you started carefully, “can I talk to you about something?”

Natasha sighed lightly but nodded, her expression neutral. “Sure. What’s up?”

You hesitated, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. “It’s about Bucky.”

That got her attention. Her brow quirked slightly, though her lips remained pressed in a thin line. “What about him?”

You sighed, your hands fidgeting with the strap of your bag. “He came home late the other night. Which, I mean, it’s fine—he’s allowed to have his space, obviously—but he didn’t tell me where he was. He said he was out for drinks with Sam, but I had lunch with Sam today, and he said he hasn’t seen Bucky since Sunday. I don’t know, Nat. Am I being ridiculous? Does that sound weird to you?”

Natasha stopped walking abruptly, turning to face you with a sharpness that took you off guard. “I don’t want to hear about this,” she said, her voice flat and unyielding.

You blinked, her sudden reaction throwing you completely. “What?”

Her jaw tightened as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re overthinking it. As always. You’re being dramatic about something that’s probably nothing.”

The words stung. Your chest tightened as you stared at her, confusion and hurt bubbling to the surface. “Wow, okay,” you said quietly, your voice wavering. “Where is this coming from?”

Natasha looked away, her gaze flicking to the street, her lips pressing into a hard line. “I just… I think I need some space,” she said finally, her voice tight.

The weight of her words hit you like a freight train. “From me?” you asked, barely able to push the words past the lump in your throat.

“Yes,” she said bluntly, her gaze avoiding yours. “From you.”

You took a step back, the world around you blurring slightly as the hurt settled deep in your chest. “Nat, I don’t understand. Why? Why are you saying this?”

Natasha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Because I can’t do this anymore,” she snapped, her voice rising slightly. “I can’t understand why he’d fall in love with you and not me! You’re not some amazing ethereal person, where you get two amazing guys falling in love with you! ”

Her words hit like a slap, cutting deeper than you thought possible. “Nat,” you whispered, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s… fucking hurtful. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“You asked,” she shot back, her tone defensive and raw. “Do you know how hard it is to stand on the sidelines for years, watching everyone else’s perfect little stories play out? Watching you and Bucky? Watching Steve?”

Her voice cracked slightly on his name, and your breath hitched. “Steve?”

Her laugh was humorless and sharp, her gaze finally snapping back to yours. “Yes, Steve. The guy who’s been in love with you forever. The guy who’s been pretending everything’s fine while you and Bucky play house.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. “I know,” you admitted quietly. “I know, Nat. And I’ve been trying so hard to handle it without making everything worse for him. What do you want me to do?”

Natasha threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t know!” she said, her voice cracking. “But you and Bucky can’t just act like this doesn’t affect anyone else. You’re so wrapped up in each other, you don’t see what it’s doing to him—or to me.”

You took a shaky breath, anger beginning to simmer beneath the surface. “You wanted this!” you said, your voice rising. “You’ve been pushing me to admit my feelings for him for years. And now that I finally have, I’m not allowed to be happy? To talk to you about him?”

“You don’t get it,” she snapped, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. “You don’t get how hard it is to watch this unfold. I’m so in love with Steve, okay? And I’ve been in love with him for years, he’s my Bucky! And now I have to sit there and watch him pine over you, knowing I’m just… invisible.”

The raw honesty of her words left you momentarily stunned. “Natasha,” you said softly, your anger draining as guilt and heartbreak filled its place. “I didn’t know it was this bad. I’m so—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “Don’t apologize. It won’t change anything.”

You reached out instinctively, but she took a step back. “Nat, please. You’re my best friend.”

“And I’ll always care about you,” she said, her voice soft but distant. “But I need time. I need to figure out how to deal with this without being around you and Bucky all the time.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your vision blurring slightly. “Okay,” you said finally, your voice breaking. “If that’s what you need.”

Natasha’s face twisted with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, maybe—but she didn’t say another word. She just nodded, turned on her heel, and walked away, leaving you standing alone on the crowded sidewalk as the world continued to move around you.

You stood there for a long time, the sounds of the city fading into the background, as the weight of her absence pressed heavily on your chest.

The chill of the evening air nipped at your cheeks as you trudged home, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. Natasha’s words still echoed in your ears, sharp and biting, leaving an ache in your chest that felt unbearable. As you turned a corner, your eyes landed on a familiar figure walking toward you, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

Steve.

He noticed you immediately, his brows furrowing as he quickened his pace. “Woah, hey,” he said, his voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

You stopped in your tracks, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. “No, I’m not,” you said bluntly, your voice trembling.

Steve’s frown deepened, his blue eyes searching your face for answers. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, your gaze darting away. “Why weren’t you at the farmer’s market today?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended.

Steve sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I needed some space.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head, the absurdity of it all crashing down on you.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his confusion evident.

You looked at him, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “It’s not funny. It’s just… apparently everyone needs space.” Your voice cracked as you continued. “I thought I was finally happy, Steve. I have Bucky, and for once, things felt right. But now I’m losing Nat, I’m losing Sam, and now you. Nothing feels right anymore!”

Steve’s jaw clenched, his expression pained.

“Are you avoiding me because of me and Bucky?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

He hesitated, his silence speaking volumes before he finally nodded. “Yeah.”

Your chest tightened, and you took a shaky breath. “How much space do you need?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“Of course, you don’t,” you said bitterly, the frustration bubbling over. “I thought you said you were okay with me and Bucky!”

“Well, I lied, okay?” Steve’s voice rose, uncharacteristically sharp. His hands clenched at his sides as he looked at you, his eyes blazing with frustration and something deeper. “How can I be okay when you shouldn’t be with him? I don’t care what Sam or the universe says—you should be with me!”

His words hit you like a freight train, leaving you stunned and speechless. The world around you seemed to tilt, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“Steve…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

But he wasn’t finished. “Do you know what it’s like? Watching you with him? Knowing that he’s the one who gets to make you happy? I’ve loved you for so long, and I tried—God, I tried—to bury it, to be the friend you needed. But I can’t do it anymore!”

Your heart felt like it was being ripped apart, the weight of his confession crashing down on you. And yet, before you could fully process his words, your own emotions spilled out like a flood.

“This is such a shit show,” you blurted, your voice breaking. “Natasha is in love with you, Steve!”

Steve’s eyes widened, his face paling. “What?”

“She’s in love with you!” you cried, your emotions finally boiling over. “And she’s been in love with you for years, and now she hates me because of all this! Because of you, because of Bucky, because of this mess that I never asked for!”

Steve took a step closer, his voice soft but firm. “Please don't cry..Why are you crying?”

“Because I never asked you to love me!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face now. “I never asked for any of this! And now it’s all falling on me—Natasha, you, Bucky, everyone. I hate this, Steve. I hate this!”

Steve reached out, his hand brushing your arm, but you pushed him away, the hurt and anger swirling in your chest like a storm. “I can’t do this,” you said, your voice cracking as you turned and walked away, your tears blurring the path ahead of you.

“Wait!” Steve called after you, his voice desperate, but you didn’t stop.

You kept walking, your sobs echoing in the quiet streets, the weight of it all pressing down on you. The ache in your chest was unbearable, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

The door slammed behind you with a force that rattled the frame, the sound reverberating through the apartment. Bucky, who was setting the table with dinner, froze mid-motion, his brow furrowing as he turned toward you.

“Whoa, hey,” he said, his voice calm but laced with concern. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You laughed bitterly, the sound raw and harsh even to your own ears. Tears streamed down your face, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop them. Your chest heaved with the weight of your emotions, the evening’s events crashing down on you all at once.

Bucky crossed the room in an instant, his hands reaching out to you. “Hey, hey, come here. What happened?” His voice was soft now, almost pleading as he tried to pull you into his arms.

But you stepped back, holding up a trembling hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you said, your voice cracking.

The hurt on his face was immediate and gut-wrenching. His hands dropped to his sides, his blue eyes clouding with worry. “Baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You wiped at your face furiously, your breath hitching as you tried to form the words. “I know you didn’t have drinks with Sam the other night, Bucky.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

“Why are you lying to me?” you demanded, your voice rising. “You said you’d never lie to me! Where were you?”

Bucky’s expression darkened, his shoulders tensing as he ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t lying,” he said carefully, his tone low. “It’s just—complicated.”

You let out another humorless laugh, the bitterness sharp in your throat. “Complicated? That’s your answer? God, Bucky, we’ve only just started, and you’re already hiding things from me. What am I supposed to think?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, his eyes pleading. “Sweetheart, listen to me. There’s nothing going on. I swear to you, there’s no one else. There’s nothing else.”

“Then where were you?” you demanded again, your voice trembling with both anger and hurt. “You know how hard this is for me. I trust you, Bucky, I do. But you said you’d never lie to me. So why—why did you?”

Bucky hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides. “It’s not what you think. It’s…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. Then he looked back up, his voice firm. “An ex showed up. Sarah.”

Your stomach dropped. “Sarah?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his tone grim. “She showed up at the bar that night, I was getting us take out. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to upset you. It was nothing, I swear. She wanted to talk, and I told her there was nothing to say. I left, doll. That’s it.”

The storm of emotions swirling in your chest only intensified. “You didn’t think I deserved to know? You didn’t think it would be worse to find out like this?”

“I didn’t want you to think…” He stopped, his voice faltering. “I didn’t want you to doubt us.”

“Doubt us?” you repeated, your voice breaking. “Hiding it from me makes me doubt us more, Bucky! How am I supposed to feel? You’re the one person I thought I could trust completely, and now…”

Tears blurred your vision again, and you shook your head, your arms wrapping around yourself. “Maybe this is too good to be true,” you whispered.

His eyes widened in panic, and he stepped forward, finally closing the distance between you. This time, you didn’t move away, too drained to resist.

“No,” he said firmly, his hands gently grasping your arms. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that.” His voice softened, turning desperate. “There’s nothing and no one that could make me want anything but you. You’re it for me, sweetheart. You always have been.”

Your lip trembled as you searched his face, the sincerity in his eyes undeniable. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “Because I’m an idiot. Because it was nothing to me, and I didn’t want to risk hurting you. But I was wrong. I see that now. I should’ve told you.”

The raw emotion in his voice broke something inside you, and you let out a shaky breath. “I’m scared, Bucky,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared that one day, you’ll realize this was a mistake.”

His grip on you tightened, his forehead pressing against yours. “Never,” he murmured. “This is no mistake. You and me? This is the realest thing I’ve ever had. I’m sorry for screwing up, but please, don’t doubt that I’m all in.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, your breaths mingling as the weight of the moment settled between you. Then, slowly, you leaned into him, letting him wrap his arms around you completely.

“I love you,” you whispered against his chest, the words raw and vulnerable.

“I love you more,” he replied, his voice steady and sure.

He kissed the top of your head, holding you close as the tension began to melt away. And though the ache in your chest hadn’t disappeared completely, his warmth and the conviction in his voice began to soothe it.

“Let’s go eat,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you.

You nodded, your lips quirking into a small smile. “Okay.”

The room was quiet except for the clinking of your fork against the plate. You were trying to eat, but everything in you felt like it was unraveling. Bucky sat across from you, his brow furrowed, watching you with worry as you pushed your food around.

Finally, you sighed, setting the fork down. “So I was with Natasha today.”

Bucky’s hand froze mid-reach for his glass of water. “Yeah?” he asked cautiously.

You nodded, feeling the lump in your throat grow tighter. “She… she basically told me she needed space. That she doesn’t understand why Steve fell for me and not her. She was so angry, Buck.”

His jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “What?” he said, his voice low.

“And then,” you continued, tears welling in your eyes again, “I ran into Steve on the way home, and he said he needs space, too. He said…” Your voice cracked. “He said I shouldn’t be with you. That I should be with him.”

Bucky froze, his blue eyes darkening as his grip on the glass tightened. “He said that?”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I never asked for any of this, Buck. I never asked for him to love me, or for Nat to feel this way. I just—” Your voice broke entirely, and you buried your face in your hands.

Bucky was out of his chair in an instant, rounding the table and kneeling in front of you. Gently, he pulled your hands away from your face and cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Sweetheart, those aren’t tears. That’s just too much salt in the food,” he teased softly, his voice thick with affection.

A choked laugh escaped you, and you looked down at your plate. “Buck, that’s my tears. I’m literally crying into my dinner.”

He gave you a small, crooked smile. “I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I’m here, doll. To make sure you don’t cry alone.”

You sniffled, leaning into his touch, and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly. “I’ve been planning something,” he said, his voice hesitant but hopeful.

You blinked at him, confused. “Planning something?”

“Yeah,” he said, his hands still cradling your face. “The night I ran into Sarah, I wasn't just late because I was waiting for take out, I was on my way back from a meeting.”

“A meeting?” you repeated, your brow furrowing.

Bucky nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Do you remember where we used to go almost every summer as kids with my ma?”

Your heart gave a tiny flutter. “The cabin?” you asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said, his grin growing. I found out who my family sold it to, they use it for a weekend. I thought… I thought maybe we could go. Just us.”

The flood of emotions was too much. Your face fell into your hands again, and sobs wracked your body.

“Whoa, whoa!” Bucky said quickly, his hands moving to your shoulders. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Did I—was that too much?”

You shook your head, peeking up at him through your tears. “No, Bucky. Of course, I want to go. I want to go so badly.”

His expression softened, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “Then what’s with the tears, baby? You’re breaking my heart over here.”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest. “Everything is just… too much right now. But this? This is good. I need this.”

He chuckled softly, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Well, I hope you’re not mad, but I already told Tony we’re taking next weekend off. It’s all set up.”

You pulled back slightly, staring at him in disbelief. “You did?”

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Yep. It’s a whole shebang. We leave Friday morning.”

A warmth spread through your chest, and for the first time all day, you felt a sense of relief. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I try,” he teased, winking at you.

As you both settled back into your chairs, you pulled out your phone. “I need to tell Natasha… oh, right.” Your heart sank as you remembered her earlier words. Instead, you opened a message to Wanda.

You: Hey. I just wanted to tell you what happened today. I saw Nat, and… it didn’t go well.

Wanda: I heard. I’m so sorry, sweetie. She’s not in the right here, and you know it.

You: I just… I don’t know what to do.

Wanda: Let her have her space. She’ll come around. I’ll talk to her, okay?

You: Thanks, Wan.... Bucky's taking me away for the weekend :)

Wanda: Anytime <3 omg!! So sweet, have the best time babe, you deserve it xo

Bucky reached over and squeezed your hand, pulling your attention back to him. “You good?”

You smiled weakly. “Im goid.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Good. Now finish your food before I have to start feeding you myself.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest easing just a little as the two of you settled into the comfort of each other’s presence.

[flowerchild28]

Hi!!! Can you do Louis Tomlinson x reader where reader has a little health scare and Louis gets really worried and concerned but everything turns out alright in the end? Tysm!!!

Sure let me know if you like it :)

In sickness and in health

Louis Tomlinson imagine

Warnings: angst

1.7k

The day started like any other, with you and Louis wrapped up in the comfort of your shared routines. He was in the kitchen, humming a tune as he flipped pancakes, while you lounged on the couch with your favorite blanket. It felt like a perfect morning, the kind where everything was cozy and warm. But as the minutes ticked by, a strange sensation settled in your chest—a tightness that was hard to ignore.

You shifted, hoping it would go away. Maybe it was just indigestion or a bad angle. But the discomfort grew sharper, spreading to your shoulder. Your breath came a little shorter, and an unsteady wave of dizziness washed over you.

“Lou?” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

He popped his head out from the kitchen, spatula in hand, his boyish grin fading the moment he saw your face. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, pressing a hand to your chest. “I feel... weird. Like, my chest feels tight, and I’m a little dizzy.”

Louis was at your side in an instant, his eyes wide with concern. “Tight how? Like you’re struggling to breathe?” His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing soothing circles as he searched your face for answers.

“Not exactly, but it doesn’t feel right,” you said, trying to downplay the growing fear in your voice. “It’s probably nothing—”

“It’s not nothing,” Louis interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “We’re going to the hospital. No arguments.”

You started to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t taking any chances, and deep down, you knew he was right.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. Louis drove with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping yours tightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a steady rhythm. He kept glancing at you, his jaw tight, worry etched into every line of his face.

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” you murmured, trying to reassure him.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice strained. “Don’t act like this doesn’t scare you, because it scares the hell out of me.”

Your heart clenched, not from pain but from the raw emotion in his voice. Louis wasn’t usually the type to let his fear show, but this—seeing you like this—had him unraveling.

“Okay,” you said softly, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m scared too.”

He nodded, his grip tightening as he whispered, “We’ll get through this. Together.”

At the hospital, everything moved quickly. Nurses ushered you into a room, attaching monitors and asking questions while Louis hovered nearby, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He tried to stay calm, but every beep of the machines seemed to make him flinch.

“I’m going to run some tests,” the doctor explained. “It could be something minor, but we want to rule out anything serious like a heart issue.”

Louis paled at the word “heart.” You reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be fine,” you whispered, even as your own nerves threatened to overwhelm you.

He nodded, but the worry in his eyes didn’t waver. “I’ll be right here,” he promised.

As the doctor and nurses left the room, Louis dragged a chair over to sit beside you. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie, his knee bouncing nervously. “Do you feel any better?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” you said, though the truth was hard to tell. The tightness in your chest had eased, but the anxiety of being here kept your heart racing. “It’s probably just stress, Lou. I’ve been so busy lately, and—”

“Stop,” he said gently but firmly. His hand found yours, grounding you. “Don’t downplay this. You scared me back there, love. I thought...” He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I promise.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “You’d better not. I’m not sure I’d survive it.”

The tests seemed to take forever. Bloodwork, an EKG, and even a chest X-ray—all the while, Louis stayed glued to your side. He offered you water, adjusted your blanket, and even tried to crack a joke or two to lighten the mood.

“You know,” he said with a small smile, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life. And that’s saying something, considering the fans once locked me in a bathroom during a meet-and-greet.”

You chuckled despite yourself, the memory of that story enough to momentarily distract you. “I remember that. You said they were apologetic, but only after you promised selfies with all of them.”

“Still traumatized,” he said with a mock shudder, earning another laugh from you.

For a moment, the tension eased. But then a nurse entered with a clipboard, and the worry came flooding back.

“The doctor will be in soon to go over your results,” she said kindly. Louis thanked her, but his grip on your hand tightened.

“Whatever happens, I’m here,” he said softly, his eyes locked on yours.

When the doctor finally returned, his expression was calm and reassuring.

“Well, the good news is that it’s not your heart,” he said, glancing between you and Louis. “It looks like you had a combination of acid reflux and a bit of stress, which can mimic chest pain and dizziness. It’s nothing serious, but I’m going to prescribe some medication to help with the reflux. And I’d recommend taking it easy for a bit.”

Louis let out a breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders slumping with relief. “So... she’s going to be okay?”

“Absolutely,” the doctor assured him. “But listen to your body, Y/N. If anything feels off again, don’t hesitate to come back.”

You nodded, relief flooding through you. Louis thanked the doctor a dozen times before the two of you were finally discharged.

Back at home, Louis couldn’t seem to let you out of his sight. He hovered around you, fluffing pillows, offering tea, and insisting you relax while he took care of everything.

“Seriously, Lou,” you said with a laugh as he brought over a bowl of soup. “I’m fine. You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, setting the bowl on the coffee table. “I nearly had a heart attack today, so if I want to fuss, let me fuss.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You’re overreacting.”

“Am I?” he countered, arching a brow. “Because I spent the entire day thinking about what my life would look like without you, and I can tell you right now, it’s not a picture I ever want to see.”

Your teasing smile faded, replaced by a wave of emotion. “Louis...”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he sat beside you. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you reached for his hand. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise. And thank you—for taking care of me, for staying calm even when I wasn’t.”

He chuckled, though it was tinged with lingering worry. “Staying calm is a stretch. Pretty sure I aged ten years today.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You handled it perfectly. You always do.”

As the evening wore on, Louis gradually relaxed, though he still checked on you every five minutes. At one point, he disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with two mugs of tea and a sheepish grin.

“I Googled foods that help with acid reflux,” he admitted, handing you a mug. “Apparently chamomile is good for it.”

You laughed softly, touched by the effort. “Thank you, Dr. Tomlinson.”

“Anytime,” he said, settling beside you on the couch.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the windows. Louis’ arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you felt a sense of peace that had been missing all day.

“You know,” you said after a while, “if today taught me anything, it’s that I need to slow down. I’ve been pushing myself too hard, and it’s not worth it if it means scaring the life out of you.”

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering. “As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters. But yeah, maybe take a breather once in a while. Let me spoil you for a change.”

“I think I could get used to that,” you teased, tilting your head to look at him.

Louis grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with affection. “Good. Because I’m not letting you lift a finger for at least a week.”

[fanbasetwo]

ricky when he secretly has a crush on you🙈 ????????

RICKY HAVING A SECRET CRUSH ON YOU!!

NOTE FROM SENA , i hope this was an ask for headcanon (that's what I understood from the ask but if it's not, then make sure to specify before asking, thank you) MASTERLIST!!

join my taglist by sending an ask or commenting here <3

001. SFW SECTION

He’ll do small, thoughtful things for you, like offering to carry your bag or saving you the last piece of something you love.

Ricky notices the little things about you—your favorite snacks, your habits, or even when you’re feeling down. He quietly adjusts himself to make your day better without making it obvious.

He’ll sit and listen intently whenever you talk, even if it’s about random things. You might notice his eyes lingering on you as you speak, his soft gaze filled with admiration.

Though he’s usually composed, being around you makes him a little shy. He might fumble with his words or avoid too much eye contact, afraid you’ll see right through him.

Ricky would gift you little things that seem casual but hold deeper meaning, like a book you mentioned wanting to read or your favorite drink on a stressful day. He won’t admit he went out of his way to get it.

He’s quite protective of you. If anyone bothers you or you’re in an uncomfortable situation, he’s the first to step in, calmly diffusing things while ensuring you feel safe.

He tends to stay close, subtly ensuring he’s always around when you need something. Whether it’s sitting near you during group hangouts or being the first to offer help,

His calm demeanor hides a playful side that he reveals through light teasing. It’s his way of getting closer to you while keeping his feelings under wraps.

You might catch him stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. If you call him out, he’ll act nonchalant, but his slight blush gives him away.

Despite his calm exterior, Ricky secretly daydreams about confessing his feelings. He’s cautious and thoughtful, wanting to ensure the timing is perfect and you feel the same.

When Ricky finally decides to confess, it might not be through words. Instead, he’ll express his feelings through meaningful actions, like planning something special that shows how much he pays attention to what you love.

002. NSFW SECTION

couldn't think of many points so I wrote a little bit.

He’ll jerk off to your pictures at night whenever he feels lonely or just thinks of confessing to you—mostly because he can't stop the feeling :(

Definitely checks out your ass when you wear some mini skirt or tight jeans but not enough to make you uncomfortable (it's mostly subtle)

Would get a boner whenever your thigh brushes against his, ending up trying to secretly hide the boner.

100% likely to call you up in the middle of his jerking session to hear your voice and put the call on mute so that you won't hear him cumming.

Will get a lot of wet dreams about you tbh and will try his best to avoid those thoughts while working.

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[ohmydiva]

#in this universe too, pt 1

synopsis . . . based on act 3 episode 9, ekko saves jinx and basically what could have happened during the timeskip, before the war between noxus and p&z.

words count . . . 2,257.

“i learned from someone very special,” he said softly, “that no matter what happened in the past—”

curiosity sparked in her, though not enough to make her pull her finger away from the trigger of the bomb. it was enough to make her blink, the effort almost foreign, as if her body had forgotten how to react to the simplest things.

“... it’s never too late to build something new.”

her gaze stayed locked on him, her lips twitching. a faint, almost imperceptible scoff tugged at her mouth, but she swallowed it down, too tired to entertain the thought of mocking him.

"wow, deep. are you writing fortune cookies now ?" was what she wanted to say, but her words stayed trapped behind her tired eyes.

her gaze flickered to the boy’s side, where something unfamiliar caught her attention. she glanced down at his new accessory.

a bag ? no, not really. it had small windows glowing faintly blue. inside, a shimmering ball floated in the center, casting a soft light that danced along the edges of the bag like a miniature sun.

but that wasn’t what made her breath hitch. it was the toys—those monkeys toys. the tiny, plastic remnants of her childhood, lined up like little soldiers inside this impossible machine. her breath hitched—those weren’t just any toys; they were unmistakably hers. indeed, they were perfect replicas, or maybe they were the real ones, somehow stolen from her.

what is that ? what’s his deal ?

he noticed her reaction, glancing down at his new invention before looking back at her.

eager to know more but not quite ready to move, the blue haired girl’s eyes scanned the boy, studying him. he looked like he’d just wrestled a tornado and lost. dirt smeared across his clothes and the blood marking the crease of his forehead caught her attention the most. then, his shoes, untied and dragging on the floor, looked as defeated as he felt. he was a mess. a total mess.

what did he get himself into ?—fuck it. just pull the trigger. the thought flickered through her mind, distant, automatic. who cares what this wannabe rebellion leader has to say ?

but something about the way he looked at her, all wide eyes and desperation, made her pause. like he knew. like he’d seen something she hadn’t.

say it.

he fumbled for words, relief flooding him despite knowing the situation wasn’t won yet. this was his best shot—he had to get it right, had to keep her attention. he couldn’t let her pull that trigger. couldn’t let her give up on herself.

fuck it, what do i say now ?

her finger twitched, the small movement betraying her desire for him to say something—anything—that could pull her back from the edge. she wanted to be saved. she wanted him to save her.

“what—what’s even preventing you from trying?” he asked, voice stumbling but earnest.

i’ve tried too many times, she thought, but the words stayed buried, tangled in the fog of her mind.

“look—” he cut through her thoughts, his words tumbling over each other while his eyes were wide, almost pleading. “i, too, think of the past, but i—i don’t let those memories control my future ! i have my part to play too—”

she blinked, but the words blurred into nothingness, her eyelids heavy as if she could no longer hold them open. the sound of his voice faded into the background, like white noise.

shit. she’s bored.

“everything that i’ve done, the firelights, that tree—i mean, just staying alive, i did it for everyone !” the boy’s voice cracked as he spoke louder now, desperation growing in his words with his hands moving in the air aggressively.

her eyes flicked to his hands, frantic in their movements. then back to him, her brow twitching with frustration.

say more.

“for… benzo, and for—” he hesitated, a sudden awareness dawning the boys stopped mid sentence, mentally slapping himself. he’d almost named the dead—her family. he didn’t want to tread on that raw ground, didn’t want to accidentally make it worse. but now it felt like he was suffocating in the silence between them.

her sigh broke the moment.

it wasn’t like she wanted to be interested—she lied to herself—it just ... happened. something about his words had a way of slipping past her defenses. no. it’s not like he knew exactly which threads to tug to make her listen. on the contrary, she still found the boy pretty cheesy … but that was probably it. it’s the boy, her old friend—her childhood crush—, not just his words.

she hated how easily he drew her in. yet, somehow, she also felt relieved.

“i did it for you too,” he added, his voice soft but steady.

how cringe.

her gaze lingered, her eyes tracing his gestures as if trying to piece together the puzzle of his sincerity.

she saw it then : his hand, cautiously extending toward her, palm up and fingers looking steady inside his thick glove.

her breath caught as the scene felt painfully familiar.

it was a quiet offering, no words attached, just a simple motion that carried more meaning than he realized. the light was different, the faces older, but the moment was the same. the memory hit like a punch, the scene overlapped in her mind, the past bleeding into the present : the same hand, years ago, reaching for her, trembling with unspoken words she hadn’t been ready to hear. she’d refused it then. turned her back. walked away to stay with silco.

she lifted her head, bringing her gaze back to his.

“last time i refused to take your hand, things didn’t end well, huh” she muttered, her voice tight.

taking my hand ?

she was mistaken. his hand had been outstretched not to pull her in, but to pull the danger away. to take the bomb, the burden from her hands before it consumed them both, again.

it was an awful realization—the kind that scraped against his chest and squeezed his lungs.

he chuckled, trying to ease the tension, his voice soft and playful. “so … you gonna let the boy-savior save you this time ?”

a short laugh escaped her—sharp, breathy—as she shook her head.

she reached for his hand, the bomb still in her grasp, before allowing the boy to wrap his hand around hers, instinctively pulling her closer before he could second-guess himself.

shit. too close.

their eyes met, the awkwardness hung in the air, thick and palpable, as if he’d made the wrong move, but couldn’t take it back now.

the proximity felt too much, too soon, and yet—there was something strangely comforting about it. neither of them spoke, the silence settling over them as their smiles faded. it was a closeness they hadn’t expected, and yet there was something oddly comforting about it.

panicked, the boy looked down at the bomb, still clutched in her other hand. he reached for it, giving her one last glance, a silent plea to let go. to let him take it from here.

slowly, she relented, handing him the bomb with a familiar pout curving on her lips.

“just, spin its head and take it off” she instructed, her voice slowly regaining its raspiness. he didn’t hesitate, the boy did so immediately, letting go of her hand.

now ?

he glanced around. the boy eventually walked away, inviting her toward her desk. every step was careful, like they were walking on fragile ground that might crack beneath them while the atmosphere was still pretty awkward.

"you know," he started, his voice nervous, but sincere. “something crazy happened to me ... you won’t believe it.” he caught her eye for a second, then quickly looked away, the tension still palpable.

“oh yeah, what kind of crazy, ekko ?” she smirked, her voice teasing, as though mocking the awkwardness between them. her tone had finally returned to that familiar rasp, distancing herself from the vulnerability she’d just shown.

ekko’s eyes lit up.

for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to dream and maybe, the friendship—and little romance—he enjoyed with jinx in an alternative universe, could still happen in this one.

[kaisaerinlover]

half vampire sae who notices you at his game and feels so hungry for you he almost can’t focus on the game at hand :< your blood smells so sweet and he wants a taste so badly.

half vampire sae who secretly prays that you don’t leave too quickly so he can talk with you without anyone noticing it.

half vampire sae who’s usually expressionless face almost contorts into something akin to disgust as he sees one of the lukewarm players from the opposing team trying to talk to you.

half vampire sae who’s relieved it was so easy to get you to trust him so quickly after he dealt with the loser who was trying to talk to you. he makes small talk with you and calls you princess subtly and you’re giggling instantly and nodding so sweetly to his request for a date.

half vampire sae who realises why you smell so delicious: you’re so innocent. he hasn’t ever smelt blood as pure and it’s taking everything he has in him to not ravage you in the movie theatre he generously took you to for your date.

half vampire sae who finds you pretty cute actually, he notices your little quirks and how jumpy you are at any physical contact.

half vampire sae who completely flips a switch when he finally manages to lure you back to his mansion, but you’re a little too late to realise it. when you realise him guiding you to his room you blush and look down and tell him you’re a virgin.

half vampire sae who simply leans down a little and licks his lips, and tells you it’s okay, he’s not going to fuck you, as he pins you down onto his bed and salivates at the sight of your neck. so pure, so sweet.

poor you who’s confused yet enjoying him licking and nipping at your neck, til he suddenly sticks his fingers in your mouth whilst leaning over you and chastises you harshly, yet albeit a little soft voiced, that you need to ‘sh’ now.

poor you who’s still sucking absentmindedly on his fingers, you trust him right? stupid naive you, trusting someone as thirsty and deprived of a being as pure as you for as long as he can remember so quickly. he doesn’t feel bad for what he’s about to do though, this will teach you not to be so naive and trusting!

half vampire sae who finally bites into that sweet area of open skin on your neck, and he knows someone like him has no chance of getting to heaven if it’s real, but it can’t get better than the taste of this. he almost allows his mask of nonchalance to slip, not that it would matter anyway, your eyes are closed, sobbing around the fingers he still has slotted in your mouth.

half vampire sae who’s draining the shit out of your neck, the sweetest nectar he’s ever tasted. but he knows he has to pull away eventually, he doesn’t want to accidentally kill you after all. he withdraws his fingers from your mouth and is leaning over you, blood trickling down his lips.

half vampire sae who actually feels something for you, he thinks you look delectable down there, caged beneath his arms. and he does something he never did for any girl he thirsted for. he smashes his lips into yours. you can taste your blood on his tongue, and his sharp teeth cut your already aching mouth up.

half vampire sae who’s still showing no expression at all as he pulls away, but the way he just acted says it all. he wants you so bad, and he’ll keep you. you’re a real catch, little thing, he can’t let you go now. he already imagines how much easier life will become having a sweet fountain like you to drink from.

half vampire sae who’s staring down at your terrified form, trapped on his bed beneath his arms. cute. he uses his thumb to wipe away some of the blood from your lip, and sucks it clean. “mine now.” he mumbles to you.

half vampire sae who has one arm draped around you in bed holding you close to him so you can’t escape. he has you dressed so nicely in a white flowy nightgown and some frilly socks. he’s gross, he thinks, because he’s excited to stain it with your innocent blood the very next morning. no morning coffee can beat this, believe him.

half vampire sae who’s never really lusted for girls further than just their blood, which were lukewarm anyway, until now. he falls asleep arms wrapped around you thinking of how hard he’s going to fuck your innocence away whilst drinking you down even more. but he knows you’ll still taste as sweet as ever, you’re an infinite source of purity. he truly won today.

half vampire sae who wakes up and indulges himself immediately, waking you up in the process. you’re so fucking cute when you wear that fearful expression. so scared of him. his princess, his new everything. and he knows it’s sealed when he stops his brutality every few minutes to gently nibble at your lip and peck you so sweetly, an ironic act.

half vampire sae who’s excited to see how the rest of his life plays out with you by his side now.

[thcophagy]

no matter how gently he tried to turn her down, lana was firmly stuck in her ways and had become dedicated to not leaving the car without getting what she wanted, no matter the cost. she was clearly confident that her advantages would be accepted, otherwise he couldn't imagine she would risk her job just to attempt fucking him. that wasn't the version of her that he thought he knew, he had been forced to quickly revaluate what parts of her were real and which had been manufactured. how long had she been wanting to do this? he'd made the informed assumption that her attempt back after the holiday party had been nothing more than a way to try and thank him for how he'd handled the situation involving his colleague but maybe that wasn't the case. had she been thinking about him like that ever since? waiting for the right moment to strike? making note of every glance he cast in her direction? she wasn't wrong in thinking that he was attracted to her or that he needed some attention after being put out to pasture by his wife, though neither were things that sully expected any sort of resolution to that lana could bring about. he was trying to be good, really trying but she was making it almost impossible. there were only so many times he could yank her hand away from him and watch it worm right back, her insistence on touching him was influenced by her intoxication, of course, but there was also a level of calculation there that felt premeditated, the alcohol and god knows what else was she'd taken that night was only helping bring about the confidence to attempt the seduction. he'd foolishly believed that if he put on the dad voice and held her with a tighter grip that he'd be able to get his point across, she'd snap out of whatever drunken haze had her acting like a nympho and they could go home and pretend like the whole thing hadn't happened. that was what he wanted, to not have to address his attraction to her any further than he'd already been made to, yet still she persisted. "stop calling me that." the respectful manner which she used to address him hadn't been something he had asked for, in fact it had been one of the first things he and his wife had noticed about lana when she first came for her interview, her politeness was not uncommon among others who they had seen but he had especially enjoyed the way her soft voice had cooed the first mr landry. it felt anything but respectful now, it was purpose reminder of his power over her, his role as her boss, an older, married man whose children she was paid to look after. maybe she did need a spanking, someone to set her over their knee and remind her who was in charge. it shouldn't have been hard to make her keep her hands to herself but he was careful not to be too rough with her as no matter how frustrated he was getting he didn't want to actually end up hurting her, however it was that hesitation to properly stand his ground that let her keep wiggling her away out. "lana, please." he pleaded as she tore herself away from his hold on her wrist and once again reached forward towards him, only this time deciding to forgo groping him over his pants and instead go straight for the real deal. the back and forth shouldn't have been as arousing as it was, especially when he truly believed that he did not want or need her help, yet as she wiggled her hand down past the waistband of his pajama pants, she was met with his cock almost fully hard, warm and heavy and throbbing in her hand. "fuck." instinctively, sully reached down to grab her wrist, though instead of pulling her hand out from his pants he simply held it, not encouraging or discouraging her, merely holding her in place. "listen, you're- you're just drunk. you don't have to do this, you're- fuck, you're so young..."

her lingering gazes would've clued most men in to her interest in them— hell, most would've interpreted some other innocuous gesture of friendliness as attraction— but it seemed she would need something more overt in order to hook mr. landry. it was testament to how good of a person he was that he didn't want to take advantage of dubious circumstances— lana had now thrown herself at him twice, and still he seemed intent on resisting her, not because he wasn't interested, but because he was trying to save her from herself, in a way. surely she couldn't possibly want to fuck him for her own self interests, and clearly she was just too damaged to understand how to properly communicate gratitude; her body was all she knew how to use, and it was up to him to show her that she was valued beyond that. some sort of classic male fantasy, one not inherently sexual in nature, but still erotic in a sort of reverse psychology sort of way. regardless of his noble intentions, lana didn't have the patience for the act, and it didn't take long for her to start to grow agitated. he kept teetering back and forth between the temptation to give in and his firm resolve to resist, and each time he went back to attempting to thwart her efforts, she had to clench her jaw to resist letting out a bratty whine. since when was seducing a man this difficult? an overworked, undersexed, unhappily married man, no less. it didn't make sense, but it did make her that much more determined to get him to crack. "you never know, mr. landry... better safe than sorry." god knows how homicidal she'd become if she ever had to go that long without getting fucked, so it wasn't all that far fetched. she'd roll with whatever excuse worked to get some sort of reaction out of him, and it clearly did. if she did happen to remember everything in the morning, speaking so callously about his family wold probably be the only thing that brought her guilt, but she was too far gone off her own fantasy to fully consider the gravity of it all. the only thing on her mind was the feeling of his cock outline beneath her hand, warmth radiating off it through the thin material of his pajama pants, and she suddenly found herself wondering if there were any hourly motels nearby. they were getting back to the more affluent, suburban area of town, but she was pretty sure she knew of a couple back in the direction of the club, unless they'd been shut down or sold since she'd last visited. as spacious as the backseat was for carting a couple of children around to school and soccer practice, it didn't seem nearly roomy enough for all she wanted to do with mr. landry. she let out a genuinely involuntary gasp as the car jerked to the right and she very nearly slid and bumped into the window before she corrected herself. his more forceful approach threw her off, eyes widening at his firm grip on her wrist, stunned into silence if only for a moment. she'd never seen him be so stern, not even with the twins, and it made her slightly dizzy with arousal to feel him exert his strength over her. the heaviness of her lids made her look almost sleepy, until he finished off with a hint of a threat, and she couldn't help but perk up immediately. "oh yeah?" she quirked a brow with a snort as she once again began trying to squirm out of his grasp. "misbehavior, is it? what are you gonna do, you gonna spank me, mr. landry?" for someone so small, lana was surprisingly strong, possessing a stubborn sort of resilience only fueled by alcohol and drugs, and with a considerable amount of struggling, she managed to work one hand free long enough to stick it down his pants, fumbling to circle her hand around his cock before he could stop her. "please? please let me..." far from the sultry minx she'd made herself out to be just moments ago, the neediness in her slightly bloodshot eyes and in her breathy tone was as genuine as ever, just feeling the weight of him in her hand before she went any further.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

omgg lol [guy who won't stop going "more like scapeGOATED" voice] now hold! on!! lmao [same guy just saw encanto voice] Hold on!!!

[uniquezombiedestiny]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SINCLAIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!