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pandora-writes-one-piece · 3 days ago

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ahhh i read all of your works they are so good. also may please request a "how can you still trust me after everything i've done" with an fem!reader with either 🩺 and/or "i've never met someone as infuriating as you and i can't stop thinking about you" with ⚔️? thank you so much! have a good day!

Hi @beachaddict48 ! Here's the second part of your request! I do hope you like this one! Thank you for asking!

Source for pic

Trust

Word Count: 4934

Tags: fem!reader; modern world AU; mafia; blood; threats; torture; slight angst;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Doflamingo thinks Law is betraying his trust, and what better way to make him confess than by torturing you?

Notes: Ooff, I feel like I need to really get to these requests, but everytime I start to write one I go: oh well, I'll keep this short, around 1k words, or so... IT'S NEVER SHORT! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, even though I'm so not happy with the ending...

|Masterlist|

“He's not going to give you what you want, Doflamingo. He's not a traitor, you're just wasting our time.”

You have only been in Donquixote Doflamingo's office once. That one time, you noted the opulence of such a room. The tidy desk, the vintage whisky bottles in the corner, some more expensive than a car, the sleek, glistening leather of the chairs. You also noticed that the room exuded something other than opulence: danger. You didn't quite know why, apart from the presence of the man who owned it, but the air was thick with it.

But now you know.

The ropes binding your wrists seem to get tighter by the second, your heart pounds against your chest in such an erratic way that you're almost positive the blond man can hear it. The leather chair has been replaced by a cold metal one, with plastic beneath its feet. At first, you didn't understand why he needed the plastic, but once he took out his knife, it all made sense.

Doflamingo doesn't want to make a mess in his office.

And it seems you're about to become one.

“See, that's where you're wrong, princesa. In my book, the time spent setting out a trap to catch a rat is time well spent.”

Doflamingo caresses your cheek with long, cold fingers. His crimson eyes glint behind tinted glasses, and the mixture of the sweet scent of his cologne and the metallic tang of your blood makes your stomach churn with revulsion.

“Law's not a rat.”

“We'll see about that.” He straightens, his lips curling into a thin smirk as he opens the door to his office to let his nephew in. “Come in, Law. I have a surprise.”

You stifle a gasp behind your teeth, your wrists twisting instinctively as you try to reach your boyfriend, to touch him. The effort only makes the rope’s bite harsher. The plastic beneath your bare feet sticks to them, the blood trickling down your leg, creating swirling patterns and tiny pools.

Law's golden gaze falls on you, and you see it. His control silently slipping. It's something quite small, barely noticeable, but it's there. It's in the slight clenching of his jaw; it's in the way he opens and closes his hand; and it's definitely in the flicker of anger that flashes in his eyes as he directs his gaze back to his uncle.

“What is the meaning of this? Why is she under questioning?” At least his voice still carries its edge and calm composure, though you, who know him like the back of your hand, can detect the barest trace of hate.

“Oh, but she's not, Law. You are.” Doffy's chuckle is low and unnerving, his chest trembling slightly as he places his hand in the pocket of the trousers of his perfectly pressed pink suit.

“I'm not following, Uncle.”

Law shifts, his gaze searching yours again, a shadow of pain darkens the gold, and you take a deep breath, trying to smile through your suffering as to reassure him. He's assessing your wounds, but Doflamingo was merely playing with you before: a slash on your leg, a shallow cut on your arm, a trickle of blood on your collarbone. Law takes it all in, his throat bobbing up and down as he tries to steady his own breathing. He needs to be strong for what's to come.

“You see, Law, it has come to my attention that I am being betrayed. Someone is spilling my secrets to the police, and we can't have that, can we?” You focus on the glint of the knife tapping against Doflamingo's chin, using the rhythmic motion to try to steady your uneven breathing.

It doesn't work.

“I'm going to assume you’ve exhausted all other options before deciding that I should be the one under scrutiny and my girlfriend the one under torture?” He can't disguise it now, even though you know he's trying to stay controlled, you can hear the growl behind his words, the leashed anger, ready to snap.

“Believe me, Law, I wish it weren’t like this.”

You know Doflamingo is a master deceiver, but the way he delivers his words almost makes you believe he actually regrets this.

With a heavy sigh, the intimidating Donquixote steps closer to you, and each tap of his expensive shoes sounds like another nail in your coffin.

“I trust you, Law.” You whisper.

-*-

It was a freaking deluge. The rain was pouring nonstop, the light and blissful pitter-patter having turned into heavy, merciless drops in mere seconds. Your hands held your purse above your head, trying to shield some of the relentless rain away as you rushed to find shelter.

You heard it before you felt it. The screeching tires, the wet sound of soaked concrete. And then blinding pain as you were hit before collapsing on the ground.

Everything hurt, and you barely registered as the car drove away, its driver giving no thought to what might happen to you.

You remember thinking this was how you would die. Having a lifetime of regrets and barely a handful of life achievements.

This was how you'd go.

“Hang in there, help is on the way.” His voice sounded distant, but it was so measured and gravelly that it managed to ground you enough for you to focus on his eyes.

The most hauntingly beautiful eyes you've ever seen, an amber light in the darkness that enveloped you.

“Am I going to die?” It wasn't fear that brought up the question, it was deep-seated regret.

“Not on my watch.”

And he was right. He didn't let you die, he helped you before the ambulance arrived, disturbing the rain with its blinding lights and filling the night with its echoing sirens.

But all you could hear was his voice, and all you could see were his eyes.

-*-

The tip of the knife presses against the hollow of your throat, Doflamingo's fingers hovering over your pulse point, feeling how scared you are.

Little does he know, you're not frightened for your life.

It's Law's life that worries you.

“Stop this, Doflamingo. I'm not the one you're looking for.” Law's voice trembles slightly, and you hope his uncle blames it on his anger rather than on him being on the verge of confessing.

“Sadly, I don't believe that. And I also know how much you care about your little charity case here.”

Law bares his teeth as blood starts dripping from the small puncture wound on your neck. You lock eyes with him, silently pleading for him to be strong.

“You do know what I do to traitors, don't you, Law? It doesn't even matter if they're family or not…”

Law's breath shudders as he closes his eyes, and you know he's reliving the worst moment of his life: the moment his other uncle, the man who raised him, who made him believe in love again, was murdered in cold blood right in front of him.

And how that broke him.

“You're unstable, Doffy. Deranged and delusional.”

Doflamingo removes the sharp tip from your skin, and you let out a deep breath. But then, his fingers grip your hair as he pulls and tilts your head back with enough force to draw tears, the knife now resting horizontally against your throat.

Yet you don't release a single sound.

“Ohhh, I'm so much more than that, Law!” His cackle is maniacal, and the grip on your hair tightens. “I'm insane! But I have a reputation to keep and a business to maintain. I will not tolerate traitors!” He says it with such rage that you can feel drops of spittle hitting you in the face, making you flinch. “Are you the traitor, nephew?”

“He's not.” You answer for him, too afraid he'll let his heart take over and confess just to save you.

“Shut up!” Doffy growls and yanks on your hair, making you gasp as the knife digs into your neck, crimson droplets spilling out and marring your collarbone. “I'm not talking to you, princesa.”

Law takes a step towards you, and you can see how coiled-tight he is, every movement restrained and controlled.

“Doflamingo…” There's danger in Law's voice. The type of danger that would make lesser men flinch in fear and hesitate. But not Donquixote Doflamingo.

He revels in it.

“Just say the words, Law. Either prove me wrong and make me proud, or prove me right and be the same disappointment my brother was.”

Tears gather in the corner of your eyes, your heart clenching at the pain Law must be feeling. You can't let him say anything.

You can't let him die.

“Law, I trust you!” There's not much more you can say.

You hope it's enough.

-*-

“I can never trust you again, Law! I thought we were becoming something. I thought you were the one. I just… I never expected you to have so many secrets.”

You had been dating Law for almost a year, had practically moved into his flat. You loved him, and though he had yet to confess the same to you, you knew he loved you back. He was a man who showed his love with actions rather than words.

But these actions spoke louder than any words ever could.

“Are you going to explain what this is?” The high pitch in your voice almost made you flinch, and you could see your own hand trembling as you pointed to a wad of money, a burner phone, and a gun. All things you had found hidden in the back of a cabinet while looking for treats for Law's dog, Bepo.

Law lowered his gaze, looking defeated and ashamed, two things you would never associate with him.

And it nearly broke you.

“I don't have a good explanation.”

“How about the truth, then?”

Law groaned as he took a seat at the kitchen table, gesturing for you to do the same, only to be met with a huff and your arms crossing in defiance.

“My uncle belongs to the mafia. Owns it, actually. All sorts of shady businesses you can imagine.” He chuckled darkly, a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. “And then some.”

“And you?” You couldn't believe what you already knew to be true. Law was a doctor, he saved lives. He couldn't be taking them as well. He couldn't be part of this. He couldn't.

Your eyes fell back on the gun, on the phone, on the money…

“I…”

He didn't seem able to say anything else. And you had heard enough. You would never be able to trust him again.

-*-

“I trust you, Law.” You hope he understands. He can't say anything. Not even if Doflamingo kills you. Law needs to be strong.

Law grinds his teeth, his eyes locked with yours, burning with fury and determination. You smile at him. He's so strong.

“I am not the traitor you're looking for, Uncle, but maybe I can help you find them. When you release my girlfriend and stop hurting her.” He takes a step towards Doflamingo, and you see the way his hands flex, like he wants to grab the man and yank him away from you.

Doflamingo pauses for a moment, his grip loosening slightly as he seems to be lost in thought.

“It's not enough.” He whispers as he finally lets go of your hair.

Law releases a breath and you gasp for air.

Then Doflamingo stabs the knife into your shoulder, the blade coming down in a deliberate, arching motion, puncturing your muscle with a sickening sound. The pain is blinding, like nothing else. It radiates down your arm in waves, turning everything too bright and seemingly far away. The wound’s shallow and the knife doesn't seem to have hit anything critical. It’s meant to taunt, not kill.

You taste blood as you bite your tongue to keep from crying out. You won't give him the satisfaction but mostly, you don't want Law to lose control.

“Fuck! Doflamingo, stop this nonsense immediately!” Law takes a step forward, determination setting his pace as fury takes hold of him, but Doffy simply uses his other hand to reach for the gun on his back and point it at Law.

“You stop right there, Law.” Law grunts and halts. You take deep, ragged breaths as your eyes focus back on him, on his gaze, on his pursed lips, and on his clenched jaw.

“I'm fine…” You stutter. The knife still stands on your shoulder and you're bracing yourself for another wave of blind-hot pain when Doflamingo decides to pull it.

“You're brave, little girl.” Doffy seems annoyed. “Not. One. Scream.” He emphasizes each word with a slight twist of the knife, and you can't stop the tears. Frankly, it's a miracle you're holding back your screams. “Are you going to speak, Law?”

“I fucking told you all I had to tell you, already! I'm not the one you're looking for! Release her, fuck!”

“You're lying!” Doflamingo shouts, his nostrils flaring in anger as he pulls the knife away from your shoulder, and you finally let out a scream.

Law calls your name frantically, an urgency in his gaze and you force your head up to look him in the eyes.

“I'm fine, I'm fine, Law. I'm fine.” You manage to sputter between deep breaths.

“FUCK!” Law kicks the chair in front of him and it rolls twice before hitting the desk and stopping. He's clearly seeing you're not fine. “Let her go, now!” He takes another step forward and Doflamingo clocks the trigger of the gun, the barrel still pointing straight into Law's head.

The shiver that assaults you doesn't come from the blood loss. The small whimper that leaves your lips doesn't come from the pain. The tears marring your cheeks aren't for yourself.

And Doflamingo knows all of this.

His laugh starts slowly. A low rumble behind your head that crescendos to a manic chuckle, then to an outright insane cackle.

“Oh, this is precious. This is so good!” Law's hands clench into fists, and he sways unevenly, both wanting to lunge forward and stop your bleeding and forcing himself to stay still so he doesn't anger his uncle anymore. “I've been doing this all wrong.”

Then he steps away from you, sidestepping the plastic so he doesn't get blood on his expensive shoes. Your breath comes out in shallow gasps, each one making the pain in your shoulder travel through your arm in painful throbs.

Yet you have no time to consider whether the blood you're losing will kill you, because Doflamingo places one arm above Law's shoulders, the gesture familiar and taunting as he smiles at you.

“She's very brave.” He says, pointing at you casually with his gun. “And you're a tough nut to crack.” He tsks as he turns his head towards Law, one finger pushing against Law's temple. “I can torture her all night, and she'll barely scream. And you're wound up so tight, she could be on her deathbed, and you'd still be in control of your emotions.”

Law's gaze never leaves you, and you're sure he's watching as you wince every time you breathe, as your breaths grow shallower and shallower.

“Now, what happens if you're the one being tortured, Law?” The barrel of the gun presses against Law's temple, and your breath hitches, your brows furrowing tightly as you trap a gasp. “You won't scream, I know that, but look at her. Look at your little princesa. I bet you don't even need to scream for her to spill all your secrets. Am I right, mi querida?”

You stay silent, lips pursed and eyes locked on Law.

“I trust you with my life, Law.”

-*-

“Please, just hear what I have to say.”

“You have said enough, Law.” A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you tried to close the door to your flat. Law’s foot remained wedged between the door and the doorframe, and you pushed further, not caring if you hurt him or not. “Oh, no, wait. You haven’t said anything. You didn’t deny my accusations, which, in a way, was worse.”

You stopped trying to close the door on him, the gesture futile because he was stronger than you. Lacing your arms around your body as if to shield you from his lies, you took two steps back, expecting Law to burst inside your house. Yet all he did was pry the door open, his hands resting on the doorframe as he slumped his shoulders, his head falling forward in such a defeated way you struggled to keep your heart in check.

“That’s why I’m here. I want to explain it all to you. But I need you to be ready to listen to me.”

“Have you killed people, Law?”

His sigh was soul-shattering, and you gasped, hands flying to your mouth as tears welled up in your eyes. You didn't know him, you didn’t know him at all!

“Can I come in?”

A ragged sob left your lips as you turned your back on him. “Fine.”

You didn’t turn to look at him, but you didn’t have to. The soft click of the door told you he had entered, but his presence always seemed to overwhelm everything else in the room. He hovered near you, yet he didn’t touch you or push your boundaries.

“I never killed anyone. But I never did anything to save them either. So, in a way, I’m an accomplice to those deaths.”

You could almost hear regret tinging his words. He sounded bitter, wounded, and grieved. But was he?

“How many deaths?” His silence should tell you all you needed to know. “How many, Law?”

“Too many to keep track of.”

You lost strength in your legs, your trembling hands finding purchase on the nearby table. No more trust, no more love. Could everything be over just like that?

“Just… please, listen to what I have to say.”

You didn't answer him. But you didn’t stop him either. Instead you took a seat at the table, your head bowed down so as not to look into his hypnotizing amber eyes.

He had already told you how his family died and how he was raised by his uncles. But he had never told you that his uncle Doflamingo had killed his own brother, Rosinante. You heard every word that Law decided to share with you, trying hard to keep your emotions at bay because you found it hard to hate the man you loved so much. Especially when he was baring his heart, his pain to you.

He shared all about what his uncle did, the drugs he sold, the people he threatened, the high-profiled VIP’s he kept in his pockets, ready to be played like puppets on a string. Then he got into detail about what he did in the organization. And though he never killed anyone with his own hands, he had tortured and maimed enough to be haunted.

“Why?” You asked, getting up and ready to throw him out of your house, out of your life for good. Even if you loved him with every fiber of your being. “Why are you still working for him when you know everything he does is evil?”

You watched as his throat bobbed up and down, his hands fidgeting with his phone: a burner phone.

Then his eyes bore into yours, and you couldn’t look away. Not when pain was so evident in them, but that was not what held you trapped in his gaze. It was hope.

No… it was…

“Because I’m spilling all his secrets to the police. I’ve been gathering evidence against him since he killed Cora. I’m going to bring him down, destroy his empire, destroy his mafia, destroy him.”

It was revenge.

-*-

“Trust? Trust is such a wasted sentiment, cariño.” Doffy chuckles before leaning in and whispering into Law’s ear. “She trusts you, Nephew, but do you trust her? Because I don’t. What I trust is that she will spill every little secret she holds dear to her heart once I start hurting you.”

“You wouldn’t!” You cry, using your outburst to release some pent-up pain from your shoulder.

“Wouldn't what? Hurt my own family?” Another maniacal laugh escapes his lips. “You don’t know me at all, princesa.”

Then, without warning, he points the gun at Law’s thigh and shoots.

It all happens too fast, yet somehow, it replays slowly before your very eyes. The sound of the shot still rings in your ears as Law doubles over in pain, his cry trapped between pursed lips and clenched teeth. The smell of blood mixed with gunpowder is intoxicating and dizzying.

You can’t bear it.

“STOP!” You scream, thrashing against your restraints as Doflamingo kicks Law’s other leg, causing him to kneel on the floor with a dry thud. “Leave him alone, don’t hurt him, please!”

“Look at the mess you’ve made me cause.” Doflamingo seems disappointed as he looks at his pristine carpet, tainted with the blood of his family. “I love it when you beg, princesa, but that’s not what I want to hear. Spill your secrets.”

-*-

“I can’t do this. He’s going to find out. He suspects already, and if he so much as thinks I’m the one behind it…” Law’s hands cupped your face, his eyes weary as they searched yours. “I haven’t hidden you well enough. He knows you’re my weakness. He will come for you, and I can’t–”

“Law…” You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the irregular drumming of his heart. “Oh, Law, you’re doing the right thing. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re so close! He won’t find out, don’t worry.”

Your lips found his, and he groaned, pulling you against him in a desperate embrace. “I can’t lose you, I can’t. I… God, I love you.”

You thought you had loved before, but the way your heart somersaulted, the way your breath hitched as you tried to breathe, was proof enough that you had never loved as deeply as you did Law.

“And I love you, Law.” You held him close, your hands tangling in his hair, trying to brush away his feelings of fear and insecurity. “I trust you. You’re doing the right thing. I trust you, Law.”

He sighed, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer to him. “How?” A low grunt escaped his lips and he nuzzled his face against your neck, inhaling your scent. “How can you still trust me after everything I’ve done?”

You smiled against his chest, raising your arms to envelop his neck.

“You’re a good man, Law. I’ve known that since the day you saved me instead of leaving me to bleed in the middle of the street. I see it in the way you help people at the hospital, I see it in the way you want to bring justice for Cora. You’re kind, good, whole. I trust you with my life.”

-*-

“Are you going to talk, or should I shoot his other leg?”

Law grunts, ripping the fabric of his jacket to tie it around his thigh, stopping the blood but not the pain.

“Maybe I’ll just skip to the head and get this over with. If I kill him and the treason stops, then I was right, if it doesn’t…” He shrugs. “Oops.”

“You’re sick!” You spit, your eyes searching Law’s. He shakes his head softly, a silent warning for you to remain silent, but you’re not strong enough. You know you’re not.

“Nobody fucks with my business!” Doffy shoves the barrel of the gun harshly against Law’s head, and you cry out again for him to stop. “And Law should know that better than anyone!”

-*-

“How much longer? Don’t they have enough proof already? What more do they need?” You paced the kitchen, back and forth, hands wringing against each other as your breathing came out in irregular gasps.

“They say they’re almost ready. Almost.” Law typed away on his computer, his fingers detailing Doflamingo’s latest business. He was using a burner laptop, something that couldn’t be traced, and it was hiding in your flat.

“Almost is not soon enough! Doflamingo is breathing down your neck already. How long until he suspects something? I can’t… Law… what if he kills you?” Your voice broke, and you heard the chair scraping against the floor before Law’s strong arms wrapped around your body, trying to tether you and ground you back. To keep you from spiraling.

“Almost, love. We’ll be free. Soon. Trust me.”

-*-

“You have three seconds, doll.” Doflamingo’s voice sounds dangerous, unhinged, and maniacal. You sob, locking eyes with Law again and shaking your own head. You were never strong enough for this.

You will never be able to live without him.

No matter how selfish that may sound.

“One…” The barrel presses harder against Law’s head. “Two…”

“I love you.” Law whispers as you cry harder, your head falling forward and your shoulders wracking with heavy gasps, not even the pain radiating in your shoulder is strong enough to stop the tears.

“Three.”

“It was me! It was me! It was always me, not Law! Don’t kill him, don’t! He didn’t know anything about it!”

It’s desperate. It's a hollow lie. But maybe he’ll buy it.

“You?”

“She’s lying! We don’t know anything about it!” Law rages, trying to move, but Doflamingo grips the scruff of his jacket, forcing him still as he steadies the gun against Law's head.

“Well, fuck me.” Doffy states. “Guess you’re going to have to die, then, princesa.”

“No! It’s not her!” Law thrashes and you whimper.

“Is it you, then?” Doflamingo lowers his head, his lips hovering near Law’s ear. “After all I’ve done for you, after what I’ve taught you, after I’ve raised you? This is how you repay me?” You can't quite discern if what you perceive in Doflamingo's voice is disdain or disbelief. Either way he's upset. And he's taking it out on Law.

“It’s not him!” You keep pleading, but neither of the men are paying attention to you now. “Doflamingo, listen to me. Leave Law alone!”

Law turns his face to the side, facing Doffy, the most unhinged and satisfied smirk spreading on his lips, even as sweat beads fall from his temple down his face. “It was always me, Uncle. I've wanted you behind bars ever since you killed Cora. I carried on the mission he started. I finished it.”

It’s clear Doflamingo was expecting that confession, but he still looks taken-aback. His smirk turns quickly into a scowl as he bares his teeth.

“I hate you, Doflamingo. I loathe you with every fiber of my being. And you will rot in prison like the vermin you are.”

Doflamingo straightens up, his throat bobbing up and down as he fixes his glasses and suit.

“Not before I kill you, dear Nephew.” He sighs heavily. “This was quite the disappointment. Go on, then, go meet my dear brother.” He raises his gun again, the barrel pointed directly at Law’s head and as he speaks, you know he’s addressing you, even though his eyes are locked with his uncle’s.

“I have no regrets. I would do it all over again.”

“Stop… stop… please… anyone… please…” You plead, your chest hurting, your vision blurring. You can’t lose him, you can’t. “Law…”

The bang is deafening. It reverberates around the space, clinging to the room like thick fog. You don’t have any more strength to cry, to shout or even to speak. So you close your eyes, tears dropping in an endless torrent.

It’s over.

It’s all over.

You just hope you’re next so you can meet Law in the afterlife.

…

……

………

“Open your eyes, love. Let me see your wounds, you’re bleeding too much.”

“Law?” It can’t be. “Law! What happened?” You look around the room, Doflamingo is sprawled on the floor, a bullet wound in his forehead, blood dripping in a very thin line and tainting his blond locks.

“A sniper, I’d guess. The window’s shattered and I heard screaming outside. The police must be storming the place. They’ll find us soon. Keep still.”

But you can’t. You want to hold him, hug him, find out if he’s real.

“Untie me, Law!” With a soft chuckle he presses his forehead against yours for a second before kissing the same spot and untying your wrists. You don’t mind the sharp stab of pain that travels through your arm or the swell in your chest as you hug Law tight against you.

“You did it, Law. He’s gone. He’s gone.” You manage to say between sobs and kisses.

“He should’ve spent the rest of his life in prison, but I’m not going to complain. You’re alive, love.”

“You’re alive.” You sigh, cupping his cheek in your bloody hands. “I knew my trust wasn’t misplaced. I love you.”

“I love you too.” And when you kiss it's like the world stops spinning, the commotion outside the room disappears and the pain ceases. All that exists, all that matters is Law. And the way he completes you.

There was a time where you had a lifetime of regrets and yet you had barely lived. Now you have faced death and the inevitability of living a hollow life without the presence of your other half. You've found the person that makes everything worth it and you helped him in his quest for justice and righteousness.

You've lived.

And you have no regrets left. Only trust.

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache

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nemisuki · 3 days ago

Text

After Hours

Comfort AU | Just helping the blonde feel better about himself because he deserves the world.

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, fluff and angst, no smut, reverse comfort, wholesome oneshot, words of affirmation, he’s just a lil guy fr, 668 word count

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed throughout his silent dorm room. The only other noise being the rustling leaves outside his window - strong winds causing the autumn tree branches to sway in the chilly air beyond the glass.

"We really need to work on this habit of yours Katsuki."

The mattress slightly dips with the new added weight as she sits on the edge of his bed, likely staring at him, though he wouldn't know, as he lays backside to her - mindlessly staring at the wall.

He told her to not show, yet she did anyway, as always.

"Go away Y/N."

If only he'd looked at her, then he would've seen the way she simply smiled at his remark, unbothered by his blunt words.

She slowly lays beside him to make herself comfortable, a small yawn escaping her as she turns on her side to face his back.

"You can't keep pushing me away" she says softly, so much so that it could be considered a whisper.

"I said go away."

"I think your hurting-"

"Stop it" he mumbles, sharply cutting off her words with a huff. As his body tensed from her field of view.

But he knows she isn't one to back down.

"You know.... to me you're the most important hero in my life" she hums, her hand slowly wrapping around his torso to spoon him from behind.

He doesn't push her away - making her only be met with silence. Seems he's already lost the urge to fight back, which only heightens her concerns.

Her grip on him tightens at that realization, "You don't have to blame yourself Katsuki, you're only human."

She doesn't say much after that, understanding the best form of comfort for him is offering silence.

In other terms - the invitation to speak if needed, while staying by his side, waiting patiently for him to let her in.

As time passes, she doesn't know how long it's been, the only thing occupying her mind being the urge to get a glimpse of his face.

He hasn't made a sound or moved in a while. Has he fallen asleep?

Her own question gets answered as she takes notice of his sudden shaking body, making her heart lurch at the immediate breakdown, his emotions finally reaching a breaking point.

Small sniffles escaping him as he finally lets his walls break down.

".....please let me hug you properly" she whispers, biting the inside of her cheek to not cry alongside him. It's not often he's so vulnerable like this, that she can't help but to feel pain at his own suffering.

It takes him a moment but he reluctantly shifts around, finally facing her as those red glossed orbs meet hers.

On that pretty face typically seen with his signature scowl now lies a defenseless version of Katsuki that only those closest to him get to witness.

"....hurts..."

Her eyes slightly widen at his small mumble, her body quickly moving on its own, pulling him into a tight embrace as one hand caresses his back while the other gently runs through his hair.

It doesn't take long as he decides to cling to her, burying himself against her body as muffled sobs escape him.

Silent tears flow down her face as she presses soft kisses against his scalp, "I know... but I'll listen. When you're ready, okay?"

He quietly nods beside her, pulling himself closer as she drapes the blanket over the two of them. It takes him a while but "....sorry for earlier."

"mhm i know katsuki."

There's no doubt in her mind that she's the only one with the privilege to hold him like this - so she'll wait for him, listen to his troubles and soothe the blonde seeking refuge.

In her eyes she doesn't see the angry hothead who strangers tend to avoid in the halls, but a wounded boy attempting to fix his past mistakes and accept himself to move forward.

Maybe this time - she can be his hero.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| this was inspired by an album called 'Cry' by Cigarettes After Sex (specifically the song 'cry' which can be heard at 27:44-32:01) : link! I think Bakugo is such a complex character and as seen in the show he often struggles with personal issues. In this fic, it's up to your interruption on what he's battling against! tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑ ̫๑` ꒱ྀིა

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦

also i tried something different in the layout! as u can see i used colors for the first time to highlight a characters dialogue. whats more important is if YOU GUYS prefer this or not. please vote in the poll below so i can meet ur standards bc thats all i care about!

i put examples below if your confused (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

Option 1 Example : Bakugo mumbles with a scowl, "vote or your pillow will be warm tonight."

Option 2 Example : Bakugo mumbles with a scowl, "now fucking vote nerd."

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soleilapproves · 1 day ago

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Lucid Submission - chapter 3

Synopsis: Sukuna Ryomen is reborn as a human being as punishment for ruining the balance of good and evil in the divine realm. To lift his curse and return to his original form, the former demon king must complete the condition bestowed upon him by the deities. Except it can only be done by having a child with the street thief who stole his coin pouch.

fanfic masterlist

You couldn’t bring yourself to sleep that night. You could feel each tired vein in your eyelids latching on to every bit of rest they could get every time you blinked. You looked down and cursed yourself for being so fearfully compliant with your new husband. His heavy arms encased around you like he was sure you would run away.

He chuffed like a stallion every time he snored into your neck, terrifying you to your core as you tried to make as much space between yourselves as possible. Of course, your efforts were in vain as he made sure that you would not be able to move an inch while lying next to him. Much too paranoid about his ‘pearl disappearing.’

The rest of the day after the wedding was dull. Uraume had left with Sukuna for some urgent merchant business (apparently, he controlled many ports around the area), while Yuuji and Megumi went to train little children at a local school. Nobara wasn’t much of a conversationalist, only choosing to observe you–possibly to see how you could plan to escape.

Your life as a thief wasn’t as exciting as being a rich wife, but at least you had the repugnant thrill of constant aversion. All the riches that came with being Sukuna Ryomen’s wife made you cautious, like your new comfortable lifestyle would be snatched away as soon as you got used to it.

But it wasn’t like you planned to stay that long anyway. Any kind of freedom was going to be better than staying as an egotistical rich man’s wife–a life so suffocating and mundane that even the poor wouldn’t dare dream of living it.

The claustrophobia was now in its final course of setting into the core of your chest. You scratched and slapped the arms that held you, hoping for some kind of relief. Mental or physical. Sukuna grunted and simply turned, taking you with him. Your body now splayed on top of his, arms holding you still against his chest as your face mushed against his collarbone. His scent enveloped you even more, now becoming the air you breathed. If you didn’t crave worldly freedom so much, you would’ve held your breath and surrendered to a supposed afterlife.

“Lord Sukuna, I wish to ask you something,” you mumbled into his neck. The man didn’t even let out a grumble of acknowledgment. “I also cannot breathe.”

Your husband yawned loudly as he mumbled incoherent words. The deep rumble in his chest managed to jolt you like you were a feeble doe. Legs quivering and heart racing. He wasn’t much different from an animal, either. A monstrous bear, tiger, or any uncomfortably large and loud beast would suit him best.

He rolled you back down to the mat you two were sleeping on. However, before you could get up and finally breathe air that didn’t smell like herbs and possibly blood, the man rolled on top of you, pressing his heavy frame on your body. You were afraid that he would be able to feel your racing heart with the way his chest pressed flat against yours. At least his eyes were closed, so he couldn’t see your sheer terror.

“You must take me for a fool if you think that I am falling for your little thief tricks. Lying and scheming are your forte, are they not?”

“Lord Sukuna, please, let your wife at least live for a few days before killing her. It will give you more satisfaction,” you quipped, prideful even during your panicky state. His eyes squinted as he stared down at you.

“Tongue still sharp as ever, even in the dead of the night. Had I been in my former glory, you would not have been so quick to reply like that.”

“My sharp tongue comes with my body that you have forcefully married.” His tired red eyes rolled at your response. “What is it that you wished to ask me, wife?” You try not to shiver at his reference to you.

“I wish to… relief myself.”

He silently blinked at you before groaning and pulling out a small pebble from underneath his side of the tatami mattress. He threw it across the room, hitting the paper sheet of the sliding door. Curious, you frowned at the sound of slight rustling outside your room.

The door slid open to a grimacing Nobara. “At least warn me before I see something like this.” You could see her blench as she rubbed her eyes.

You gasped as you pushed your husband off, who was now more compliant with you. You yanked the covers off you and threw them at your husband, who was lying with his arms across his face. “You are lucky I am tired, wife.”

Your chest ached slightly when you saw the tatami mattress right outside your bedroom door. Your years of hardship may have turned you a little selfish, but you still had a heart. It felt like seeing a bleary-eyed little sister waiting for you after your long journey.

“Were you cold?” you asked as you followed her out to the water closet. “I have not felt even the chill of spring nights under the care of Master Sukuna,” she responds curtly.

You stop in your tracks, and so does she. The snow blankets everything—all your thoughts, worries, and concerns. “I do not actually want to go to the water closet. I just wished myself a moment. If it is possible, can we sit outside for a few minutes?”

It felt strange asking someone younger for permission, but you let it slide. It’s not like living as a thief made you a stickler for the rules. “Few minutes.” She walks you back to the estate’s courtyard, and you both sit side by side, covered in warm robes, watching the snowfall. The large cherry tree in the middle of the courtyard was now almost entirely white.

You didn’t expect any kind of camaraderie from Nobara. Your cases were wildly different–you were a ratty and uncivilized thief picked off the street to be Sukuna Ryomen’s wife, while Nobara was a uniformed…soldier. To be quite honest, you weren’t sure what to refer to her as. Her skills as a fighter were too sharp for her to be called a simple maid.

There was something more to her; you were sure of it. Her tone was too harsh to be a nobleman or aristocrat’s daughter–perhaps a merchant’s daughter. Her taste in clothes was great, and her sword’s sheath was of impeccable craftsmanship. Even an austere like you could tell.

You wondered if someone had taught her all these things. She sure looked like she was well-loved as a child. So were you, but there was always a chronic emptiness in your heart. No parents to dote on you after work, only a sick and tired grandmother who tried to give you everything she could before taking her last breath.

You even thought you could have a chance at having a family when you met your first love, but you soon gave up that hope after nearly being sold off as a wife to an old rich geezer. It had taken you ages to run away from him, to run away from a forceful marriage, only to land back in the same predicament but with a different person.

“I do not understand him,” you speak out in the silence, echoes of your voice getting swallowed up by the snow. Not even your murmurs could leave the estate. “Nobody does. That is just how he is.” Nobara doesn’t look at you as she replies. “No, he could just take the marble from me–if I even have it. Why does he need to marry me for it?”

“He believes you have it, but you are just unaware. He plans on coaxing it out of you sooner or later. And as long as the townsfolk know you are his wife, you cannot leave Seion.”

So you were trapped. If not under Sukuna Ryomen’s thumb, then under the people’s watchful eyes.

Unlike divine beings and spirits, human beings usually follow a daily routine. Sukuna Ryomen was surprised to learn that they meticulously followed everything–even down to how many bundles of firewood they would collect for the day. So, to make his life more comfortable, the former demon king also devised a routine.

His day usually starts with a quick exercise regime to keep himself strong. Should the day come that the Deities have finally returned to their senses and want him back, he can easily fight them in his human form. However, the four demon companions who followed him to the mortal realm out of their loyalty to him would beg to differ. Uraume, Nobara, Yuuji, and Megumi were well aware that even the most swole of humans would be like a small piece of twig for the weakest of deities. Sukuna Ryomen just enjoyed imagining the ones who punished him in pain, including that no-good Divine Judge, Higuruma Hiromi.

He would then eat a hearty meal and set off for business meetings. After his first hundred years on Earth, Sukuna learned that the only way to earn respect and power was to be rich. So he did exactly that: he spent decades earning money and bought out most of the shipment ports around his town. The fact that people forgot who he was every ten years immensely helped him. Divine punishment magic and all.

And at last, he’d end his day by meditating beside his old statue. Getting to the abandoned shrine was a bothersome journey, but the peace he felt there was unlike any other. It was the closest he felt to his former life.

His new wife, however, was ruining everything. He couldn’t exercise with his normal concentration because he needed to always have his eyes on her. He did trust Nobara, but he needed self-assurance. He could easily take her with him for errands for the day, but he didn’t want the old bastards he traded with to land their leery gazes at her. She was still very jumpy, and something about another man, even a few feet in her presence, made him want to burn his hair. Other than his trusted bodyguards and servant, of course.

“She just won’t sit still, and even refuses to eat. I’ve tried everything. You deal with her,” Nobara huffs as she smacks fresh new clothes on Sukuna’s unclothed chest, which was redundant because they had soaked in some of his sweat. He didn’t bother dressing up after his workout and charged to his quarters, noticing his wife had taken solace in the furthest corner from the door.

“I am not going to eat you,” Sukuna sighed as he walked over to her, making her only pull her legs closer to her chest as she scrambled to throw what was closest to her–a lacquer box pillow. Sukuna, of course, easily dodged her attempt to attack him. He veiled his amusement at her discontentment.

“Who’s to say you won’t? After all, you said you were a demon,” she tried her best to sound assertive, but her shivering body gave way to her veracity. Brave woman. She quickly dragged herself across the floor of the room, hoping to make it past Sukuna to get out, but he grabbed onto her ankles and pulled her to him. No grunt or sound of effort escaped his lips. She could only groan as he grabbed both her wrists and sat her up.

“I am here to give you clothes, woman. Calm down!” he reasoned as he sat on his haunches, giant hands still holding her wrists. His wife wriggled, trying to throw off his balance, but his exercise regime had made him sturdier than a raging bull. It wasn’t a shock to him that he was much bigger than her, but the sight of his arms being much larger and stronger than hers stirred something dire in him. Snow falling like dust before the avalanche.

“I don’t need clothes. I am already wearing them. I’ll change when these get dirty. You rich folk sure do love draining every single resource you have–warm water for baths–”

“Which you clearly enjoyed. I could hear you groaning and moaning like old wood yesterday.” Maybe it had been a while since he had a woman in close quarters, but he barely held himself together when he heard her across the estate.

“That was because your little servant scrubbed me so hard that I bruised everywhere!” she yelled as she tried to wriggle some more, but his grip was taut. He pushed her down on the ground, her back hitting the wood with a thump.

“Your stubbornness will simply not do. I always considered myself a patient man, but now I am unsure. I will put you to work and exhaust you so much that you won’t have the strength to even think about escaping.” And with that, he dropped her clothes on the ground and lightly shoved her to the side. Only to remind her of his strength.

And not because the sight of her being dragged around made him feel light-headed and lecherous.

After calling for Nobara to dress his wife up for the day, he called on Uraume to allot his new bride her wifely duties for the day. “She’s been on the street for most of her life so I doubt she knows how to cook. I also do not want her near fire, blades, arrows, or anything that can be a weapon. Have her organize my accounts by name. Nothing too extensive, but enough to make her want to lie down as soon as she’s done.” Uraume quickly nods before packing his things and handing them to him.

He never enjoyed working anyway. It was a good thing he had her to help out now.

“How long will you be meditating for, master?” Uraume asked as he walked Sukuna to the estate’s main entrance. Sukuna left with a swift response, “I expect to be back before sundown.”

The scenery around his statue was always beautiful. Stalky bamboo trees made everything look like a maze in this part of the valley. A stream nearby always had small foxes drinking from it, and the sun shone perfectly for their red fur to glitter.

Three hundred years ago, this place was bustling with people, buying talismans and offering fruits at the foot of the statue. Now, it is just a husk of what it used to be–weathering and moldy wood turning to dust as soon as one touches it. His statue had all smoothened out, his extra pair of eyes were invisible and his horrifyingly glorious mouth on his abdomen was gone too. There was not much difference between his human form and the statue.

Time stood still when Sukuna Ryomen was at his abandoned temple. He touched the smooth, worn gravel of his face and sighed. After a little more time, this statue would return to being taken care of. Offerings and people would return. So would his former glory. But where would his humanity go? Would he take it with him? Or would his sudden return to his former form make him forgo everything he had learned as a human being?

Most importantly, how would his return affect his wife?

“I see you finally found her,” A familiar voice echoes in the forest. Sukuna already knows who he is before turning around. The Tengu spirit was here.

“Why do you suddenly show yourself when I found my path of return, Geto Suguru?” Sukuna still didn’t turn. The spirit laughed, velvety rich voice raising hairs on the back of Sukuna Ryomen’s neck. He hated how humans were so expressive; it was no wonder they never had the upper hand with Deities and spirits.

Cool air blows all around Sukuna as the sound of wings flapping gets closer to him. If he turned around, he’d be face to face with someone he could’ve easily snapped in half if he were a demon again. “Because you haven’t.” Sukuna shivered as the tengu spirit whispered in his ear.

“What are you talking about? I saw her eyes; she has the marble!”

A dark claw digs into Sukuna's shoulder as he is ripped from his spot, and is turned around to face Suguru. He looked the same as he did hundreds of years ago–long black hair falling around his shoulders, dark pools of obsidian that never had a hint of good or evil behind them, and his signature smirk. Sukuna Ryomen hated tengus–they played around too much. Ambivalent creatures. They never lied, but they weren’t the friendliest company either. Only came around when they were bored.

“Are you still angry that I told you about the souls passing by your domain?”

“You said they were rejuvenating!” Sukuna exclaimed but caught himself when Suguru dug his nails into his shoulder. “Careful with your tone. Remember, you are a mere human now, and I could easily end your pathetic little life right this moment.”

“Do it. I’ll only come back to life within a few mere minutes. I am cursed, remember?”

“Oh, I know, which is why I’ll keep killing you, making each death more painful than the last. It’ll keep you stalled long enough for your little bride to run off or die with time. Human lives are just so frail, you see.” Suguru stretched a wide, ugly smile, baring his pointed teeth at Sukuna. A loud message.

Sukuna was sure the spirit could hear his pathetic human heart beating rapidly along with the sound of his blood rushing to his face. The veins in his neck bulged out as he tried to restrain his anger. The mere thought of someone taking his marble away from him angered him.

“Tell me what you are here for and leave me immediately.” The sooner Suguru left, the sooner Sukuna could go and protect his wife.

“You are a foolish demon.”

“If you’ve come all the way to the mortal realm to tell me that, then I believe you are the foolish one,” Sukuna’s attitude angered Suguru as he shoved him, his taloned foot slammed on Sukuna’s chest as he cemented him to the ground. Sukuna groaned as he tried to grasp onto the spirit’s foot, but his hands went through them like he was trying to catch onto the air.

Right, humans couldn’t touch spirits, but they could do whatever they wanted to them. No wonder folktales and legends were such a big part of human culture.

“You have become even more bold. I was only here to say that you asked the wrong question at the trial.”

“What are you waiting for then? Tell me,” Sukuna could barely wheeze out the words with the pressure on his chest. Taking pity at the pathetic man’s state, the tengu spirit lifts his leg off and clutches Sukuna’s collar, sitting him up against his will—a man at the mercy of myth.

“Your pearl–she doesn’t have it. Don’t bother torturing it out of her.” Sukuna wasn’t surprised that the Suguru assumed he would’ve done that. But something about his newfound humanity irked him enough not to perform needless acts of violence.

“What are you talking about?”

“The pearl is from the Divine Realm. A human cannot fathom its existence. It only exists as dust in her blood as in yours,”

The former demon’s pathetic human heart beat rapidly like thunder trapped in a cage. He let out an aching sigh as cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. “You want me to kill her to get the pearl?”

“No, all you need to do is mix your blood with hers, and you will have the complete marble.”

“I cannot make her go through bloodletting–she’s too weak.”

Suguru laughs loudly and the ground beneath Sukuna’s body trembles. Fresh snow is shaken off the bamboos.

“There are less…practical ways of mixing blood. One of them will surely give you your complete marble.” Still confused, Sukuna could only squint at Suguru’s all-black eyes.

“A child, you daft demon. You must have a child with her to return to your original form.”

—

taglist: @sukubusss @lady-of-blossoms @gradmacoco @cheriiepies @brunnetteiwik @poopooindamouf @miakxn @emochosoluvr @sunasgf1

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freshxsturniolo · 2 days ago

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but, why? CHRIS STUNRIOLO x FEM!READER - PART THREE.

Part 1 ∣ Part 2

a smile illuminates your face as you walk across the bar after using the bathroom, jasons eyes finding your instantly. gods, he was gorgeous. so gorgeous. you'd had such a lovely evening and enjoyed every second of his and his friends company, but there was a feeling inside of you that just needed to be home.

"did you manage to get an uber?" he asked as you reached him, his hand reaching for your instantly as you sit down. you plaster on a smile and lean forward to drop a small kiss to his lips. gods, those lips.

"yeah. it'll be here shortly." you say, pulling back away and squeezing his hand tightly before letting go, grabbing your drink and finishing the final sip. you had no idea how many drinks you'd had over the last few hours. jason and his friends had done a fine job of ensuring your purse and bank card stayed firmly away, and a drink was always in your hand.

"I feel so bad. are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he leans forward, his hand finding your thigh. your leg tenses on contact, and a warmth washes over you as his hand slowly rubs against your bare skin. "we could go back to mine. or yours." he drops kiss behind your ear and you let out a shaky breath.

truthfully, you had fully expect the night to end exactly like that. you'd made every effort possible, you'd cleaned your apartment within an inch of its life incase he finally came back with you, but still, as much as his touch and his voice was incredibly tempting, tonight didn't feel the night.

"i promise, next time." you flush. and he chuckles into your ear before pulling away, giving your thigh a quick squeeze. "anyway," you start, looking around at his friends who are all around your table, laughing and joking with each other. "imagine what this lot would say if we ran off together."

jason chuckles, picking up his drink. "i dont care, as long as its you im running off with."

your phone pings at exactly the wrong time. your heart swells. you almost want to curse yourself for texting him. asking him to pick you up. theres a light blush against your cheeks and you're about to say something when one of his friends slaps his shoulder, leaning forward and passing another drink forward. you take your chance to look at your phone, seeing his name and letting out a smile.

"i didn't get you one, y/n." your head whips up. "unless you've decided to stay?"

you smile at jasons friend, before you grab your bag from the arm of your chair.

"my ride just got here, but thank you." you smile, starting to stand up. jason follows suit, and you give him a quick look before turning to his friends. you thank them all for a wonderful night, and to your surprise every single one of them stands up to give you a hug. it takes a while, all 5 boys pulling you in and wishing to see you soon, but when you finally spin back to jason, he's made his way to the bar and is leaning against it, staring at you deeply. you walk your way over, and your hands find his neck immediately.

"im busy for the next few days," he starts, and you nod. "but can i call you tomorrow? and the day after that? and then the day after that?"

you laugh, dropping your head down before looking back at him. "of course."

he smiles, leaning forward to brush his lips to yours and you accept gratefully. "let me walk you out." he says, and your heart rate speeds slightly, but you give him a smile.

"im fine, babe. go enjoy yourself."

he's hesitant, but he smiles before leaning forward to drop another kiss."let me know when you're home safe, please." he whispers into your lips.

"of course" you whisper back, and then you give him a final peck before squeezing his arm slightly, and walking away. a laugh escapes you as you hear his table of friends cheer at him as he walks back, and it takes everything in you not to turn around and stare at him one last time.

and yet, the minute you get outside and are greeted by your best friend, you heart leaps a little.

"your carriage awaits" he speaks, leant against the wall. your smile falters as you role your eyes.

"dont gloat" you say, and he laughs, pushing himself off the wall and grabbing you into a hug. your arms are around his back instantly as you give him a squeeze.

"you absolutely stink of vodka" he says into your ear, and you pull away, pushing him away. he laughs, grabbing his car keys from his pocket. "and mr lover boy hasn't even walked you out?"

you roll your eyes again, but grab his wrist for support. "his name is jason. and no. i told him to stay inside."

"such a gentleman" chris mutters, grabbing your arm as you walk towards the car.

"i'll go back inside if you can't be nice." you say, coming to a stand still.

your best friends had become more open over the last few days to your relationship, or not relationship, with jason. but chris still stuck on the fence. disengaging when conversation arose, changing the subject at every possible moment too without it coming across as rude. you had sighed just the night before as you lay in bed with nick, turning over to him and asking him WHY chris was so cold with any man you entered into your life. nick had been hesitant, and he had looked at you like he didn't know what to say for right or wrong, but he had pulled you into a hug and told you to have fun, regardless of what his brother thought.

chris stopped walking too, but a laugh escaped his lips as he slings his arm over your shoulder.

"im only joking, come on, lets get you food."

and so you did. the moment you got in the car and chris played your favourite playlist, you felt the most relaxed you had had all evening. you were drunk, so incredibly drunk, and for some reason chris' energy and presence had bought it out in you. but he took it in his stride. he laughed with you, he payed for your food without question and he sang along to all your favourite songs with you.

when he finally pulled up, at his and the boys house you noticed, you grabbed your phone out of your bag and pinged jason a message to let him know you were home safely, and thanked him again for a great night. when you put your phone back away, chris was staring at you intensely.

"what?" you laugh, grabbing your drink from the cup holder at the side of you. the full sugar pepsi after copious amounts of wine was much welcomed.

chris stared at you, but shrugged as he turned to get out the car. the moment long forgotten when your phone pinged again. you got out of the car, drink in hand and your heart jumped a little when you saw jasons message, telling you he would call you in the morning. placing your phone back in your bag, you make your way towards chris.

"i don't remember asking you to bring me back here" you joke, slipping your hand into his. he looked down at your hands before he interlocked them, grabbing your closer.

"i don't remember you telling me to take you home, either." he jokes. you laugh.

"if you want to spend more time with me, you only have to ask." you say back, hitting his shoulder with yours.

but chris says nothing as you walk into their house, chaos descending the minute nick hears your heels on the floor. you're pulled from chris' arms immedately, nick spinning you round and asking you for every single little detail possible about the night. you were a smirking giddy mess by the time you were done, explaining all the times jason had squeezed your thighs under the table, the kisses behind your ear. nick had listened and gasped in all the right places, but it was matt who bought you back to earth as he flung himself down on the couch after listening from the kitchen.

"so, why the fuck are you here and not at his house?"

you whip your head to him immediately, but it takes you a second. because you're not sure. your eyes scan to chris, and he's staring at you again, exactly how he did in the car. it isn't lost on you that you can't seem to tear your eyes away from him.

"does it fucking matter, matt?" nick chimes, and your trance is broken as you turn around to nick. you smile, internally thanking him for speaking out. you hear matt chuckle behind you, and then nick is on his feet.

"are you staying the night? fuck why am i even asking, you're absolutely staying the night. i have some of your make up wipes in my bathroom. matt, did you throw her stuff from last night into the laundry?"

you spin round to matt, and he stand immediately. "yeah, let me get them."

you smile. "can i borrow a hoodie?"

matt rolls his eyes, but gives you a grin afterwards. you laugh, sinking back into the couch, flinging your heels off onto the floor and pulling your knees into your chest. but when the room becomes silent, matt and nick in other rooms, chris' voice pops up.

"why did you?"

you look to him immediately. you screw your eyebrows. "huh?"

"why did you? come back here? why didn't you stay and end the night with him"

"i-"

he doesn't let you answer.

"what was your excuse for coming home?"

you gulp. "i said i was tired."

"and who did you tell him was giving you a ride?"

you pause. "i told him i called an uber."

he stares at you for what feels like an eternity, before he stands up.

"i cant do this."

"chris-"

but he's off down the stairs to his room before you can say something else.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic

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scarletwinterxx · 9 hours ago

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i only think of you, will we be together soon? - choi seungcheol scenario

soooo hellooo ~ this is just a quick epilogue/pt 2 of the seungcheol scenario i wrote, you can read it here. I just thought i should atleast write their first kiss🥺🥺🥺 and it's soooo cute. anyways i hope you like it🤍

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

It was an unusual sight—Seungcheol sleeping in on a weekend.

Usually, he'd be up early, either at the gym or getting a head start on errands. But today, he was sprawled across his bed, face buried in his pillow, the blanket barely covering his bare back. His room was dim, the only light filtering through the gap in his curtains.

When you let yourself into his apartment, calling out his name and getting no response, you knew exactly where to find him. Quietly opening the door to his bedroom, you peeked in, finding him sound asleep. His hair was a mess, his broad shoulders rising and falling with his deep breaths.

A mischievous grin spread across your face. Creeping toward the bed, you carefully climbed onto it, trying not to wake him too soon. Then, without warning, you flopped onto his back, draping yourself over him like a blanket.

"Cheol," you called softly, your voice sing-song as you poked his shoulder. "Wake up~."

He groaned into his pillow, his voice muffled but clearly displeased. "Five more minutes..."

"Nope," you chirped, wiggling a little to get comfortable on top of him. "I need you to drive me somewhere!"

He cracked one eye open, groaning again as he turned his head slightly. "Where?" His voice was raspy, thick with sleep, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing.

"The dog café!" you announced, resting your chin on his shoulder. "I’ve been wanting to go, and you promised you’d take me!"

He sighed dramatically, though there was no real annoyance behind it. "Why can’t you let me sleep in peace?"

"Because you’re Seungcheol, and you love me,"

The smile on your face growing, since that moment at the beach there's this blanket of unspoken feelings that doesn't really need to said because at the end of the day he knows you and you know him.

At that, he cracked a small smile, though his eyes were still closed. "You’re lucky I do."

He shifted beneath you, effortlessly flipping over so you were lying on his chest instead of his back. His arms lazily wrapped around you, trapping you in place.

"Cheol, you’re supposed to be getting up," you protested, though you didn’t try to move

"Mm," he hummed, pulling you closer. "Five minutes. Then we’ll go to your dog café."

"That’s what you said before!"

He chuckled, his deep laugh rumbling through his chest. "Yeah, but this time I mean it."

You sighed, knowing you weren’t going to win. But as he held you, his warmth and steady heartbeat lulling you into comfort, you figured maybe five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

After Seungcheol finally got out of bed (which, in reality, took more than just five minutes), the two of you headed out to the dog café you’d been pestering him about all week. He still looked groggy as he drove, his hair tousled and his hoodie lazily thrown on.

"You’re lucky I like dogs," he muttered, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as you excitedly bounced in the passenger seat.

"You’re lucky you like *me*," you shot back with a grin, hugging your knees to your chest as you turned to face him.

He just shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

When you arrived, the café was bustling with happy barks and wagging tails. The moment you stepped inside, a small golden retriever puppy trotted up to you, wagging its tail so hard it looked like it might take off.

"Oh my God, Cheol, look at this baby!" you squealed, crouching down to pet the dog. The puppy immediately rolled onto its back, demanding belly rubs, which you happily obliged.

Seungcheol stood nearby, watching you with a fond expression as you giggled and cooed over the dog. "You’re worse than the dogs," he teased, crossing his arms.

"Excuse me? They’re adorable!" you retorted, looking up at him from your spot on the floor.

He crouched down beside you, scratching behind the puppy’s ears. "Yeah, they are," he admitted, his voice softer now.

You spent the next hour playing with various dogs, from energetic beagles to sleepy bulldogs, while Seungcheol alternated between joining in and watching you from a distance. At one point, a particularly bold corgi jumped into his lap, and you nearly cried laughing at the sight of big, tough Seungcheol awkwardly trying to balance the squirming dog.

"Cheol, you look so cute," you teased, snapping a picture on your phone.

He gave you a mock glare. "Delete that."

"Nope," you said, grinning mischievously.

When it was finally time to leave, you reluctantly said goodbye to the dogs, practically dragging your feet as Seungcheol led you back to the car.

"Happy now?" he asked as he opened the passenger door for you

"Very," you said, your face still lit up with joy.

As he got into the driver’s seat, he glanced over at you, shaking his head with a smile. "You’re such a kid."

"And yet, here you are," you replied, sticking your tongue out at him.

He laughed, shaking his head again. "Yeah, here I am," he said softly, as if to himself.

Then, with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the console, he added, "Let me know when you want to go again."

Your heart fluttered a little at his words, but you played it off, leaning your head back against the seat with a satisfied sigh. "You’re the best, Cheol."

He didn’t say anything, but the smile on his face as he drove you home spoke volumes.

Since he went with you to the dog cafe, it only felt right to go with him too if he wants to do something he likes. Unlucky for you, Seungcheol lives an active lifestyle.

Seungcheol chuckled as he watched you trudge behind him on the trail, your arms crossed and a dramatic pout plastered on your face.

The usually peaceful sound of nature was interrupted by the crunch of your footsteps and the occasional sigh you let out. He stopped to let you catch up, turning to look at your grumpy expression.

“You hate it that much?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You nodded like a child, your bottom lip jutting out even more. “I hate it,” you grumbled. “The bugs, the sweating, the uphill part—ugh, especially the uphill part.”

He laughed softly and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You could’ve just said so, baby. I wouldn’t have forced you.”

You shook your head, looking down at the ground. “But you wanted me to join you,” you mumbled. “And you always try out my hobbies, so I figured I should try yours too.”

Seungcheol’s grin softened into something warmer as he stepped closer, his hands gently settling on your shoulders. “Yah,” he said, his tone tender, “you didn’t have to do this just for me. I don’t want you to be miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” you argued halfheartedly, though your pout betrayed you. “I’m just… not enjoying it.”

That made him laugh again. He bent down slightly to meet your eyes. “Let’s turn back, hmm? We can go grab something to eat instead. How does that sound?”

Your eyes lit up at the suggestion. “Really? You’re not upset?”

“How could I be upset when you’re this cute?” he said, pinching your cheek lightly. “You tried for me, and that means a lot. But next time, I’ll make sure we do something we both enjoy.”

You smiled, your pout finally replaced with a more genuine expression. “Okay. But no more hiking.”

“No more hiking,” he promised, taking your hand as the two of you turned back down the trail. “But I’ll probably still tease you about this for the rest of your life.”

“Cheol!” You groaned, and he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening as he led you back toward the car, already thinking of how to spoil you for putting up with his hobby.

It was one of those rare, lazy afternoons when the group was hanging out at Jeonghan’s place, sprawled across his living room in varying states of relaxation.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, quietly sipping on your drink, while Seungcheol sat beside you, one arm casually slung across the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder.

Jeonghan, ever the instigator, watched the two of you with a knowing glint in his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked. “So,” he started, drawing out the word like it was some grand announcement. “Are you two, like, officially a couple now?”

You froze mid-sip, eyes darting to Seungcheol. He didn’t even flinch, just let out a small exhale through his nose as if he’d been expecting the question.

“I mean...” he began, his voice trailing off as he scratched the back of his neck, his gaze flicking to you for a split second before settling back on Jeonghan.

“What kind of answer is that?” Jeonghan said, feigning exasperation. “You either are or you aren’t.”

Seungkwan, perched on the armrest of a nearby chair, chimed in, his grin wide. “Yeah, hyung, spill it. The suspense is killing us.”

You shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyperaware of Seungcheol’s hand now fully resting on your shoulder. “I—uh—” you stammered, unsure of what to say.

Seungcheol finally turned his head to look at you, his expression softening in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “Whatever she wants us to be,” he said simply, his tone steady but laced with something unspoken.

The room went silent for a beat before Jeonghan groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “That’s not an answer, Cheol!”

Seungkwan burst into laughter, clapping his hands. “I swear, you two are impossible.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, but Seungcheol just chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder in reassurance.

“I think we’re doing just fine,” he said calmly, shooting Jeonghan a pointed look that clearly said, *drop it.*

Jeonghan raised his hands in surrender, though the smirk never left his face. “Fine, fine. But don’t think I’m not keeping an eye on you two.”

As the conversation shifted to another topic, you glanced at Seungcheol, your lips twitching into a small, shy smile. He caught your gaze and leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ve got this... whatever *this* is.”

And somehow, that was all the reassurance you needed.

Later he drives you home, the hum of the car engine was the only sound filling the space between you and Seungcheol. The evening air was cool, and the faint smell of his cologne lingered in the car, you fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket you were wearing, the fabric too big for you but warm and comforting, much like the man sitting next to you.

“So…” you started, your voice timid, breaking the silence. “Are we like… what are we…”

You trailed off, unsure how to word the question that had been buzzing in your head since Jeonghan’s teasing earlier.

Seungcheol glanced at you briefly, his expression calm, but you could see the flicker of something softer in his eyes. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the armrest. “You don’t have to overthink their question,” he said gently. “No rush…”

“Yeah, but I want to know too,” you mumbled quietly, almost shyly, cutting him off before he could finish.

His grip on the wheel tightened just a fraction, and he let out a soft exhale. He pulled the car to a stop at a red light, finally turning his full attention to you.

You were twiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, your fingers nervously tugging at the fabric. That familiar pout was back, the one he could never seem to resist.

“Y/N…” he started, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You peeked up at him, your eyes big and vulnerable, and it hit him again—how deep he was, how there was no getting out of this even if he wanted to.

“You really want to know?” he asked, his voice dipping lower.

You nodded, your teeth catching your bottom lip nervously.

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze steady on yours. “You’re…” He hesitated for a brief second before letting the words fall out. “You’re the person I think about first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. You’re the one I’d drop everything for, no questions asked. And you’re the only one I want sitting next to me, wearing my jacket, pouting at me like that.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by his sudden honesty.

“So, what are we?” he continued, his lips quirking into the smallest smile. “We’re whatever you want us to be. But if it’s up to me…” He reached out, his hand gently brushing against yours. “We’re already everything.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, his words wrapping around your heart like a warm blanket. “Cheol…”

The light turned green, but he didn’t move the car immediately, his eyes still locked on you. “So?” he prompted, his tone lighter now. “What are we, Y/N?”

You gave him a shy smile, your fingers brushing against his. “I think we’re everything too,” you whispered.

He grinned then, that dimpled, boyish grin that made your chest feel tight. “Good,” he said simply, as if that was all he needed to hear.

And with that, he shifted gears and drove on, the air between you lighter but filled with an unspoken promise.

The quiet of the evening wrapped around you both as Seungcheol walked you to your apartment. The city was alive in the distance, but here, on the dimly lit stairs leading to your door, it was just the two of you.

You stopped at the top, turning to him as he stood a step below, his broad shoulders at perfect height for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers naturally found their way to the ends of his hair, twisting the soft strands between them.

He looked up at you, his dark eyes warm and fond, his dimples making an appearance as he gave you that small, knowing smile. “What?” he asked, his voice quiet but teasing, like he already knew what you were going to say.

You smiled back, tilting your head slightly as if studying his face. “Nothing,” you said, your voice soft, your heart full. “I love you.”

For a moment, his smile faltered—not from doubt, but from the overwhelming warmth that bloomed across his chest.

Then, without hesitation, he leaned closer, the space between you shrinking as his lips brushed yours in the softest, most tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It was steady and gentle, like the beginning of something infinite.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hand lifting to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low but certain.

You couldn’t help but smile again, leaning into his touch, your forehead resting lightly against his. “Good,” you whispered, your fingers still playing with his hair.

His lips quirked into another grin, his dimples deepening. “Good,” he echoed softly, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. Then he kisses you again.

And in that quiet moment, on the top of those stairs, it was as though the rest of the world ceased to exist. There was just you, Seungcheol, and the unspoken promise that this—whatever it was—was everything you’d both ever need.

#fic #story #svt #seventeen #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen scoups #seventeen fluff #seventeen x y/n #svt imagine #svt fluff #svt scenario #choi seungcheol #seungcheol imagine #seungcheol scenario #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol boyfriend #scoup imagine #scoups fluff

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quintessenceofdust88 · 15 hours ago

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Bucktommy FluffFebruary - Day 1

Today is the first day of @bucktommyfluffebruary and I'm so excited to join! I'm not sure how many prompts I'll be able to do, but I definitely want to do at least one per week! Anyway I hope you enjoy this one!

Day 1: Non-Sexual Intimacy

bucktommy | rating G | words: 714 | minor tw: migraine

DAY 1: NON-SEXUAL INTIMACY

The bathroom is dimly lit and silent, the only sound is the soft sloshing of the water on the bathtub. Buck enters as quietly as possible, closing the door softly behind himself and looking at Tommy with a small smile on his lips.

His fiancé has his head on the bath pillow Buck's gotten him a few weeks before, his eyes closed in delight.

Tommy doesn't get migraines very often, but when he does, they're bad. When they started dating, he'd find excuses to keep Buck at bay when they hit and ride them out alone.

But after the one Buck came to surprise him and found Tommy lying on the bathroom floor, in too much pain to even get himself in bed, he'd decided enough was enough.

“I wanna help you when you're not feeling well, Tommy” He had told him, and Tommy, for once, had believed him.

Now, if Tommy feels a crisis approaching, he'll text Buck, and Buck will be over as soon as he can to help him.

This time, he's doing something Bobby told him that helps with Athena's headache. He prepared Tommy a warm bath in a candlelit bathroom with no sounds, trying to lower his sensory input as much as possible.

After fifteen minutes, he comes back. The flickering flame of the candle brings an eerie glow to Tommy's sculpted face, and Buck's heart skips a beat. God, his boyfriend is so handsome.

“Feeling better, babe?” Buck whispers, and Tommy opens his eyes just a slit, smiling softly at him.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Thank you” He whispers back, and his voice doesn't sound as strained anymore, which makes Buck sigh in relief.

“That’s good. But don't thank me yet, the best part is coming now” He says, and Tommy smirks at him, his eyes closed.

“Hmm, I'm afraid you're gonna have to do all the work, I'm not all that better yet”

Buck huffs at him, nudging his bare shoulder, and Tommy chuckles softly.

“No, it's not that” Buck clarifies. He positions himself behind Tommy, sitting on a stool. “I’m gonna try something that’s supposed to help, let me know if it does, ok?”

Tommy just hums in agreement, and Buck takes it as his cue to go on. As gently as possible, he places his fingertips over Tommy’s hair, feeling his soft curls between his fingers. Then, he presses just slightly, and his boyfriend lets out a groan. Buck withdraws in an instant.

“Did it hurt?” He asked, and Tommy opens his eyes, looking at him.

“No!” Tommy clarifies, and taking Buck’s hand in his wet one, gives it a small kiss and places it back on top of his head. “It… It felt really good.”

“Well, I’m glad then.” He tells him, pressing a gentle kiss to Tommy’s forehead.

“Can you… can you continue doing it?” He asks, almost shyly, and Buck is ridiculously endeared.

It does something to his heart, knowing how strong and closed off Tommy is, to see him being so shy and vulnerable around Buck. It makes him feel like Tommy trusts him, and it’s such a good feeling. Buck likes to be the one Tommy relies on.

“‘Course I can, babe.” Buck says, and gently starts stroking Tommy’s hair.

He keeps the massage light and slow, making sure to press on the areas Bobby said he should: the back of Tommy’s neck, the base of his skull, and his temples. Tommy keeps his eyes closed, occasionally humming or groaning pleasantly when Buck hits a particularly sensitive spot. Other than that, though, they remain silent. It amazes Buck, because he’s never been good at comfortable silence, but with Tommy he’s able to enjoy it.

They stay like that for a little longer, and the water must start to lose its warmth, because Buck can see a few goosebumps on Tommy’s arm. His boyfriend is so relaxed that he doesn’t seem to notice, so Buck presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you dressed and in bed.” Buck suggests, and Tommy nods at him.

Before leaving the water, though, he takes Buck’s hand in his once again, and gives him that scrunchy smile Buck loves so much.

“Thank you, Evan. For taking care of me.”

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #gabby writes #bucktommyflufffebruary #day 1 #prompt: non-sexual intimacy #tw: migraine

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sabrinasopposite · 1 day ago

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imperfect for you.

pt. 3 of drinks or coffee / college!charlie baker x photographer!reader

my boy, come take my hand throw your guitar and your clothes in the back seat my love, they don't understand but I'll hold your hurt in the box here beside me

summary: after months of dating, its time for y/n to meet the baker family. yet charlie is a bit scared that y/n will see the chaotic, dozen of people in one house. will she still love him even though he was living in a imperfect home? of course she will.

Winter wraps itself around New York, weaving frost over windows and tucking laughter into scarves. The city glows—streetlights pooling golden halos onto rain-slicked sidewalks, store windows dressed in garlands and ribbons, the hum of holiday music slipping through every doorway. Y/N stands at the threshold of something new, something unfamiliar yet warm, as Charlie laces his fingers through hers and says, “Come home with me for Christmas.”

She hesitates, but only for a breath. Home. The word tastes like cinnamon and wood smoke when he says it.

So, she goes.

Charlie’s family is chaos incarnate.

The front door barely swings open before he is ambushed—small bodies colliding into him, voices overlapping, warmth pressing in from every direction. The house is alive, a living, breathing thing pulsing with energy, tangled in fairy lights and the scent of home-cooked meals.

Y/N watches, wide-eyed, as one of his younger siblings nearly topples a Christmas tree in an attempt to tackle Charlie, and another is running circles around the kitchen, holding a turkey baster like a sword. And within five minutes of stepping fully into the Baker household, she understands why.

“Charlie’s home!”

“And he brought a girl?”

“Everyone act normal—DON’T TACKLE HIM—”

But it’s too late. Three of his younger siblings have already thrown themselves at him, clinging to his legs, one of them scaling his back like a small, determined koala. A dog is barking somewhere. A toddler is crying. A rogue soccer ball goes flying past Y/N’s head.

Charlie groans. “Jesus Christ, guys.”

Charlie catches her glance, and his expression shifts—something between an apology and hesitation, as if he’s bracing for her to be overwhelmed, for her to see all of this and think too much, too loud, too wild. Y/N is still processing the sheer volume of the house, but she’s chuckling when someone yanks her forward and traps her in a surprisingly strong hug.

“You must be Y/N!” She blinks as she is pulled back at arm’s length, coming face-to-face with a girl who shares Charlie’s sharp jawline and mischievous eyes.

“I’m Lorraine, one of Charlie’s many sisters,” she says with a grin. “Come in, come in, don’t be shy—we don’t bite. Well, Kyle did once, but he’s been trained out of it.”

A ten-year-old across the room scowls. “That was one time!”

Charlie sighs heavily. “Y/N, this is my family. Family, this is Y/N. Now, let’s all behave like normal people for once in our lives.”

Dinner is a symphony of overlapping voices, dishes being passed in a rush, elbows knocking, laughter rising and spilling over like an overfilled glass. Charlie’s dad tries (and fails) to carve the turkey without making a mess, his mom keeps swatting away small hands that sneak rolls from the breadbasket, and someone is telling a story that no one is really listening to, but everyone is enjoying anyway.

“So, Y/N,” one of Charlie’s older sisters asks, grinning across the table. “How exactly did my brother, of all people, manage to date someone like you?”

Charlie groans, covering his face with one hand. “Oh my god. We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, we are doing this,” another sibling chimes in. “Because, come on, Charlie. We’ve seen your past choices.” “Beth,” someone coughs not-so-subtly.

Charlie shoots a glare across the table. “We do not need to bring up my ex right now.”

Y/N hides a smile behind her glass, watching as Charlie sinks lower in his chair, clearly regretting every decision that led to this moment.

“I don’t know,” she says, feigning deep thought. “I guess I just really like mechanics who secretly have a soft heart and buy their girlfriends cameras for no reason.”

There’s a collective aww from the table. Charlie turns bright red.

His mom sighs dramatically. “Finally, someone who actually likes him.”

Charlie throws his hands up. “Okay! That’s enough! This is my girlfriend, not my public humiliation tour.”

The table erupts in laughter. Y/N, watching the way his family teases him but loves him so effortlessly, just squeezes his hand beneath the table. He glances at her, and the frustration fades into something softer, something quieter. There’s a beat of silence. Then one of the younger kids asks, dead serious, “Charlie, what’s it like having a girlfriend? Like, what do you do?”

Y/N barely has time to stifle a laugh before Charlie groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh yeah, we need to talk about this,” another sibling chimes in, leaning against the kitchen counter. “How did this happen? Who asked who out? Did Charlie say something dumb?”

“Probably,” someone else mutters.

Charlie drags a hand down his face. “Can we not do this right now?”

Y/N grins, propping her chin on her hand. “No, no, I’m actually curious. Please, continue.”

Lorraine smirks. “Okay, so here’s my theory: Y/N fell for him first, because look at him.” Charlie scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re decent-looking, I guess,” she continues. “But let’s be real, it was probably one of those ‘brooding mechanic with grease on his arms, pushing his hair back while fixing a car’ moments, right?” “Oh my god, shut up,” Charlie says with a groan.

Y/N, still laughing, the siblings start to join the theories like:

“I believe that Charlie magically poisoned her because, as if a beauty like her could fall for him.”

“I think Y/N wouldn’t fall for his stinky mechanic look—unless they match their freaks.”

“Or Charlie fell for Y/N first! Look at her, I mean… Maybe we need to save Y/N from Charlie!”

The table explodes with laughter as Charlie turns a shade of red previously unknown to mankind. Y/N chuckles but then places her hand on his arm. “Well, I always liked Charlie in my own way, but I met him at this super lame party. Yet he made it more interesting than I thought it would be—also, he asked me if we could go after the party to a coffee shop.” She smiles softly.

Charlie chuckles and nods. “Yeah, ever since then we’ve gone regularly to this coffee shop; it’s our thing now. Oh, and now I can do photography because of Y/N!”

The whole family falls silent because they’re in awe of the two of them. They continue to talk about the little dates or funny memories that Charlie and Y/N have collected over the months.

Later, when the meal is winding down and the warmth of the evening settles, Y/N leans close and

murmurs, “I think I like your family.”

Charlie huffs a small laugh, still looking sheepish. “They’re insane.”

“They’re you.” He opens his mouth, but before he can say something self-deprecating, she adds, “And at least I have plenty of brothers and sisters-in-law now.” He freezes. His ears go pink.

Y/N just smiles. She doesn’t press the moment, just lets it settle—a whispered promise in the space between their laughter. But later, when he’s cleaning the table and she passes by, he hooks a finger into her belt loop, tugging her close for half a second. No words, just the warmth of his touch, just his lips brushing her temple in the quiet acknowledgment that he heard her, that he felt the weight of what she meant.

That he wants it, too.

The stars are strung low in the sky when Charlie drives them out past the city limits, to where the snow lies untouched and the air smells like pine.

They park beneath an open stretch of sky, the windows fogging from the heat of their breath, and Charlie reaches for his guitar from the backseat.

“I didn’t know you played,” Y/N murmurs, tucking her chin onto her knees, watching him.

Charlie shrugs, hands skimming the strings. “I don’t… really. Not in front of people.” He strums a few chords, then glances at her with something hesitant, something vulnerable. “But I wanted to play for you.”

The first notes come tentative, like he’s testing the shape of the song against the silence. Then, as he finds the rhythm, he loses himself in it, fingers moving with a quiet confidence, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N watches, her heart catching somewhere between the melody and the way the soft light of the car dashboard paints him in gentle golds. She reaches for her camera, snapping a picture before she can think too much about it.

A moment caught. A memory pressed into permanence. When he finishes, the last notes fading into the hush of night, he sets the guitar aside and turns to her.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She already knows.

Still, when he cups her face in his hands, when his lips meet hers—slow and deep and full of things unspoken—she melts into it like she belongs there.

“I love you,” he breathes against her mouth.

And Y/N, with winter curled around them and the whole universe narrowed to this moment, smiles into the kiss.

“I love you too, my love.”

💌: @blackynsupremacy @alelo23 @angelsgalore @collywobblvs @tvdelrey @tinainaction @seulgi-burgundy @floralscented @artyandink

p1 pt 2

#charlie baker x fem!reader #charlie baker x reader #cheaper by the dozen #charlie baker #charlie baker au #charlie baker fanfics #charlie baker fluff #drinks or coffee #tom welling #clark kent x reader #smallville x reader #clark kent fics #smallville #tom welling cheaper by the dozen #tom welling x reader

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milessunflowers · 22 hours ago

Note

Basically reader is head strategist for Mercedes and personally taylor made the strategies for nico and lewis but their fighting is disrupting the statistics even though he's trying to give them the best he can, reader is deeply in love with his bestfriends but neither lewis or nico seem to notice admits their friendship turned almost relationship turned bitter rivalry, its the year before nico wins his championship and its announced that reader is moving to another team (redbull maybe? Or ferrari so its angstyer when lewis moves there) anyway fast foward through out the year its been a grueling battle to win between lewis and nico that nico realizes that they haven't talked to reader since half way into last years season when nico finds out that reader moved teams he's rocked with devastation, anger, grief and a realization that he and lewis are the reason you don't talk to them anymore nico tries to tell lewis but he's just like 'so what? I'm still going to win' and nico stares at him in astonishment not recognizing his former bestfriend and would be lover, flash over to after nico wins the championship he announces he's going to retire before trying to contact reader which reader ignores for six months (lewis is ignoring the lonely feeling in his chest) before he picks up the phone and before nico can talk starts to rant about how reader just wants them to leave him alone that while he loves them and that while he tried to forget his feelings for them he can't but he can no longer be involved in their petty fued, Nico apologizes saying that he's retired and wants to make amends, we then flash foward to the year before lewis wins his seventh win, lewis has seen reader around the paddock but hasn't been able to get him to talk with him lewis has also seen the way nico has cozied up to reader (reader and nico are in a relationship, not that anyone knows that) anyway lewis tries to be friends with reader again (and Definitely more) but reader avoids him which leads him to talking to nico and Reconciling with him first and then with reader (all three of them just having these dinners at restaurants so they could have the closeness they had when they were younger) it takes lewis till 2023 (3 years basically since he won his 7th in 2020) when max wins another championship to both figure out nico and reader are in a relationship (got together 2018) and to realize he's pining for them both (again) cue awkward lewis being given advice from george, who directs him too lando, on advice on how to ask two people who are in a relatioship out (some side george x alex x lando or maybe oscar x lily x lando) anyway lewis asks nico and reader out in winter break where their caught by the media, before that though reader explains to lewis that before he fixed their friendship reader was really hurt that they would put racing over each others lives and that while reader and nico love lewis he needs to promise to that he won't put racing above their relationship and that after 2025 he'll retire wether he wins the championship or not, lewis agrees quickly afraid they'll take it back saying that he felt it was going to be his last year anyway, it ends with lewis winning 2025 and kissing both nico and reader after the last race and announcing he's going to retire.

Holy shite i got really into that, i'm so very sorry, if its too long please just say so.

–🍑

peach i am in awe. this is just, holy fuck

lewis hamilton x race strategist!male!reader x nico rosburg

synopsis: it took them too long to realize how badly they messed up. good thing you are forgiving.

author's note: holy cow this got really long but peach, the details, all of it, was just amazing. you're so creative 🫶🏻 i am living for all this. i did slightly change somethings, i hope you dont mind! feel free to keep requesting!!!

it started out well

like really well

your strategies worked amazing, the boys were performing well

then it went to shit like most things

they started this bitter rivalry that made little to no sense to you

for a while, you thought it was your fault

maybe your stats and strategies weren't right

maybe you weren't doing good with you job

you thought that up until ferrari offered you a job as head strategist

thats when you knew it wasn't entirely your fault

you took the offer proudly

thats when it hit nico how much they took you for granted

you thrived in ferrari while nico and lewis were still fighting with each other

you distanced yourself from that and instead focused on your new job, where you were surpringly happy

like happier than you had been at mercedes (even if lewis and nico weren't there)

it took nico almost a full season to entirely realizes that him and lewis hadn't even attempted to talk to you since they team move

that hit him like a truck

he felt guilty, him and lewis both

they just show it in different ways

once nico finally wins his wdc, he is happy, just not as happy as he would've been if he were still close with you and lewis

he announced his retirement and almost immediately went to reconcile with you

he didn't want to keep things in deep shit with you

he missed you so so much

your smile, your laugh, just you in general

it started slowly with small talk over text before nico just finally apologized for absolutely everything, from essentially blaming you for his rivalry with lewis to ignoring you for almost a year

you apologized for ignoring him too and distancing

from then on, you guys talked every single day

day in and day out

every free minute you two had was spent talking and hanging out

slowly, you guys admit how long you have loved each other for a long time

then boom, you guys got together

but you kept it a secret as you wanted a quiet (or as quiet as possible) life

you still worked hard on strategies

nico was amazing at reporting

you guys were happy together

skip forward a good few years and lewis is so close to winning his seventh wdc

he finally seems to notice the small signs that you and nico were together

that empty feeling returned

he was missing a part of himself without the two of you

he slowly starts to piece together the big puzzle

first with how you and nico seemed to gave been a thing for a while

then how much he missed you guys

then the deep rooted feelings he pushed aside for far to long

then the realization of just how much he need the two of you in his life

he immediately started building up this huge, elaborate, straight from the heart, apology speech he would tell you when he got you guys alone

he already had a plan set in his mind

then he realizes he actually has zero fucking clue what the hell to do

so he goes to the only person he knows that knows anything about this type of situation: george mother fucking russell

of course, george's situation is a little different

he started dating alex first then they basically accidentally added logan into the mix

but the three seemed to be happier than the majority of the people he knew

so he had to take a shot at asking him

turns out, george gives pretty decent advise

so, before going on the date, he needed to patch things up between the three of you

george's words not his

but that's what he does

he convinces both you and nico to talk with him (even brings roscoe because who doesn't love the little chunky monkey?)

you each take turns explaining how you felt

you kick started it by talking about how hurt you had been, not only as a strategist but also they're friend; how you felt like you were to blame for everything; how you didn't feel like they wanted you around anymore

nico already knew all this stuff but he still felt incredibly guilty

imagine how lewis felt

then nico explains how isolated it felt, losing the two people he loved more than anything; how he was so focused on winning that he forgot what was important

for once in years, him and lewis were on the same page

after hours of apologies, catching up, and eventually confessions, things were back to how they used to be years ago

skip to the winter break where you felt like you guys no longer had to hide

you were caught by fans at a restaurant, sharing laughs and some kisses before leaving back to the car, huge grins plastered across your faces

these pictures are posted everywhere

no one is surprised though

ferrari had to have some words with you about pr, same with mercedes for lewis and then sky sports for nico

once again, yall didn't care

skip forward again to lewis announcing he is gonna race for ferrari

bro didn't even tell you and nico

he was just like: "oh by the way-"

you were excited

but you made a deal between the three of you that you would retire and lewis would, regardless of the outcome of the season

the season went well, not exactly how you wanted it but still good enough

your retirement set for the end of the season was announced pretty early on

lewis's was very nico core

just dropped the bomb after the last race

where he just so happened to both you and nico in public

even though he had done it tons of times before

it was still surprising though

suck on that fia

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile

#f1 x male reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x male reader #formula one x reader #nico rosberg x reader #nico rosberg x male reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x male reader

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too-much-tma-stuff · 22 hours ago

Text

Changing Perspective (Part 6)

Previous | Masterpost

Damian came back from the shopping trip with tighter and more slick clothes then Danny in dark colours, which wasn’t really surprising and would help differentiate them more. He also came back with some books on animal biology, and a stuffed lion of his own, which Danny didn’t comment on lest Damian feel self conscious. He was glad Damian had been able to summon the courage to get a stuffed animal of his own, Danny knew he wanted one, no matter how much the sterner twin would deny it. They got home in time for dinner so Danny got to hear about their outing at the same time as the rest of the family. He was pretty sure he’d hear more about how it made Damian feel later when they were alone, but Danny was very glad it seemed to have gone well.

When dinner was over he followed Damian up to his room, ducking in behind him and closed the door behind them. He went and sat cross-legged on Damian’s bed while he started to unpack and put away his new things, setting up some of the decorations he got as well. Danny picked up the lion, running his fingers over its fur. It was softer then his alien but he liked his alien better anyway.

“So, how do you feel?” He asked, glancing up at his brother.

Damian sneered at the question but Danny didn’t back down, sitting in silence for a while, long enough that someone who didn’t know Damian might think he really wasn’t going to answer at all. Danny knew better, so he waited for his brother to organize his thoughts and gain the courage to actually speak openly about his emotions. “I enjoyed it, it was sort of overwhelming, but you warned me it would be. It was very nice going to the zoo, seeing all the animals. I made sure that it was a charity organization that treated the animals well before I let father take me,” He said thoughtfully, without looking up at Danny.

“Father told me that we might be able to get a pet here, there’s plenty of space after all. He was vague about a timeline but it didn’t seem like a lie. I asked what the point of all these ornaments was and he laughed at me and said ‘to bring you joy,’ which is… the oddest answer I could imagine. But these things, they do make me happy to look at,” He ran his fingers over a little figurine of a horse and it’s foal he’d put on his bedside table. “Having an animal of my own would make me happier still, but it scares me as well. Such a weakness, it could easily be used against us. Even a treasured possession is a weakness I should not want, and yet do.”

Danny hummed to show we has listening and rocked back and forth a bit as he thought about how to respond. “We’re not going to get a pet immediately, like you said he wasn’t firm about a time-frame. And it will be our time frame as well, we don’t have to agree to get a pet until we can trust it will be relatively safe. The manor is well guarded, and even though we don’t trust our adopted siblings, or fully father yet, we do know that they’re heroes don’t we? I don’t think there’s any way any of them would hurt an innocent animal to get back at us, no matter how much they hate us, and I don’t get the impression they hate us. Do you?”

“They could be hiding their intentions,” Damian shot back defensively.

“They could be,” Danny allowed inclining his head a little bit. “But they’d have to be very good at it wouldn’t they? We’ve both been taught to recognize body language, me even more so then you. If they could hide something from me they’d honestly be the first. I could pretty reliably even read grandfather by the age of eight,” Danny pointed out.

Damian hummed thoughtfully at that. “You still trust me don’t you?” Danyal asked tilting his head and looking at his brother with puppy-dog eyes. His brother looked back at him and sighed rather dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“Of course I do,” He agreed grumpily.

“Good, then trust me that I have seen no signs of deceit. I spent more time with both Tim and Dick today and it seems to me that, while they’re wary of us because we’re new, they have honest intentions and don’t want to hurt us,” Danny reassured, setting the stuffed lion down on his bed. “I’ll leave you to unpack and think about that. If you need me, come in or knock on the wall and I’ll come to you,” he promised and got up, trotting out of the room and back to his own to relax and read.

The next morning Bruce called them back into his office so they could help write the press release about the twins. It was nice to have a say in how the media and public would first find out about them, Bruce choosing to share some personal details about them that would help humanize them, like their interest and how they’d lived with their mother and controlling grandfather previously. Danny would have added that Grandfather was abusive but Damian still bristled at the suggestion so controlling and sheltered was about the best they were going to get. Bruce booked the press conference for the next day once he had their approval and then left them to their own devices for the day, letting them explore and settle in.

That was how the next few months went really, they met Barbra, and Clark Kent, and a few more family friends. Slowly expanding the circle of people they knew, easing them in to socializing more. They sparred with whoever was present and wanted to each morning, most often Cass, but sometimes Tim, or even Bruce. Damian learned to respect that there were things they could learn from their adopted siblings, and stopped trying to assassinate the others when he realized he wasn’t going to get any support from Bruce or Danny. About the fifth time he was properly scolded and grounded by Bruce for attacking Tim it seemed Damian gave up, though Danny wouldn’t put it past him to try again once they all let their guard down.

Danny was enjoying himself, he didn’t care much for the library, at least not as much as Damian did, but there was a decent non-fiction section with some things that interested him. So they read a lot, he played games with Tim with Damian as an audience sometimes, and most nights they would watch a movie together. Whoever was around would join in as Damian and Danny were caught up on some of the media they had missed being raised in the compound.

They watched a lot of Disney movies, The Hunchback of Notre Dame was Danny’s favourite, the Lion King was Damian’s favourite. He had left the room for a bit after Mufasa’s death to ‘get some fresh air’, they all pretended not to notice he had cried. Danny found it almost funny that Damian would have never cried over a human’s death, but that movie got to him. For all Danny wasn’t glad to see his brother upset, he though it was good for Damian to feel the full range of human emotions.

Finally, one morning after three months at the manner Bruce put down the newspaper he was reading and looked over at the twins. Damian froze in the middle of sneakily slipping his sausage onto Danny’s plate so he wouldn’t have to eat it. Before he could back down Danny reached across and snatched it, casually putting it on his plate and acting like nothing had happened. Bruce frowned at them, glancing back and forth between the twins, at Danny’s blithe smile and Damian’s lack of objection or eye contact, and seemed to decide not to mention it.

“I have an interview scheduled for you two next week, just one for print, and maybe a couple of pictures. If that goes well I would like to bring you both on a talk show so people can actually see you. It won’t stop the paparazzi completely or anything but it would help quell some of the fascination with you two to have some answers.”

Danny glanced at Damian who nodded back at him before he looked at their father, nodding at him with a polite smile. “That should be fine, I can do most of the talking and we can tell them Damian is shy,” He joked, wincing a little when Damian kicked his ankle in retaliation. They would have to talk about it before the interview though. Danny was going to insist Damian let him do the talking, and not argue with him in front of the stranger, especially if they were asked about grandfather. “Who is the interview with?”

“The first one will be with Clark Kent and a Gotham reporter. Clark isn’t from Gotham but I know and trust him, and you’ve met him before so I think he’ll be a good buffer, and a sympathetic ear for your first interview.”

“As long as the people of Gotham won’t be too upset our first interview includes a reporter from Metropolis,” Danyal said with a little frown, Bruce would know better but Danny wasn’t sure.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, it’s well known that Clark is a family friend so they’ll understand,” Bruce assured and Danny nodded, letting his shoulders relax. Bruce new the people of this city better then them after all.

“Alright, will we have access to the questions that they’re going to ask ahead of time?” Danyal asked, leaning forward against the table, having nearly forgotten his breakfast. Damian took the chance to transfer his second sausage to his brothers plate and steal some of his fruit in exchange. Reminded that the food was in front of him Danny stabbed the newly acquired sausage with his fork and took a bite.

“Most of them yes,” Bruce confirmed. “But keep in mind we don’t want the interview to seem too scripted. There will be a couple of questions that I’m allowing to be off the cuff, maybe to follow up on something else said in the interview.”

Danny nodded, that seemed like a good compromise. “That’s fine, but we should still talk generally about the questions we know when they’re submitted. Damian,” He said turning towards his brother. “I want you to let me answer the unscripted questions okay? I’ll tag you in if I need it but you know I’m better with people in situations like this.” Damian scowled but Danyal looked back, open and earnest and after a few moments of a one sided stare off where Damian glared and Danyal continued to blink normally Damian sighed and nodded. “Alright! I think this is going to be just fine.”

“Of course,” Bruce agreed with a reassuring smile, Cass gave them a reassuring smile as well, Tim didn’t seem like he was paying attention.

----------

(Interview with Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent and Gotham Gazette reporter Deb Donovan, written by Deb Donovan)

Bruce Wayne’s newest children, and first biological children Damian and Danyal Al Ghul-Wayne have been mysterious figures since they came to live with their father two months ago. Bruce has been very protective of his two youngest children, insisting that they remain out of the public eye as much as possible while they settled in. Now, with school coming up, Brucie has decided to allow two hand selected reporters to interview his youngest sons, with his supervision of course.

We were welcomed into the mansion, offered refreshments by the familiar figure of the Wayne family’s butler, and lead to a sitting room where Damian and Danyal were already settled. Bruce Wayne, ever the protective dad, hovers off to the side.

(since the twins have the same initials Danyal’s replies will be in italics)

DD: Good morning, Damian, Danyal.

Good morning. It’s nice to meet you miss Donovan, and to see you again Mr. Kent. Please call me Danny.

C: I told you Just Clark is fine Danny. How have you two been settling in with your father?

We’ve been settling in pretty well, though having other siblings has been an adjustment.

DD: Do you and your siblings get along?

They’re tolerable.

(Danny laughs at his brother’s response) An adjustment for sure! But Cass has been teaching us some dance, and Tim is showing us all the movies and game Mother and Grandfather would never let us watch so I’d say we get along just fine. There’ve been some misunderstandings, but given the way Dami and I were raised before coming here that was bound to happen.

C: How were you too raised before moving here?

Well I think the kindest way to describe Mother and Grandfather would be… very strict. They had very high expectations for Damian and I, our grandfather was obsessed with us being heirs to Father’s Legacy, (he makes sarcastic jazz hands). We are both technically geniuses but more then that, we both had to grow up before our time, no time could be ‘wasted’ on play or leisure, we never went to a traditional school because they would only have held us back. We were very isolated, and it wasn’t exactly fun.

DD: So your father really had no idea you two existed?

No, Grandfather and Mother were careful to keep our existence secret until they thought we were ready to take over as his heirs. Grandfather was obsessed with blood and wouldn’t believe Bruce would rather have his adopted children take over things. And can you believe they thought Damian and I were ready to take over?! We’re ten!

(Danny laughs again, Clark and I join in.)

C: To change to a lighter subject; are you two excited for school?

Excited and nervous! Again we’ve never been to a normal school, we haven’t spent, like, any time with people our own age. I’m hoping to make lots of friends.

I’m just worried we will not be academically challenged and they will not be willing to advance us further due to social concerns.

C: I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, I know Bruce has got you both in a gifted program. What do you think your favourite subjects will be?

I love science and engineering, especially the things that I can get hands on with. Chemistry is really fun, and I like taking things apart and tinkering. Astronomy and astrology are what I’m really passionate about but I don’t know if that’s something we’ll have classes on.

I am interested in literature and history. I doubt they’ll really be able to teach me anything new, but at the very least the library should have some books I haven’t read before.

DD: Well the mansion has it's own library doesn’t it? What’s it like having a rich father?

Well he’s the only father we’ve got so we don’t know any different! (Danny laughs) It’s been a bit weird honestly. First week we were here he rented out the entire planetarium for me, and the zoo for Damian. That was weird, but it was weirder still getting to go through the gift shop and just grab whatever we wanted! It was really exciting, but nerve wracking too, like I’d never even had one stuffed animal before! And you’re telling me I can get as many as I want? Let’s just start with one.

We do not intend to waste father’s money on frivolities.

C: What’s your favourite thing you’ve gotten so far?

Oh! Hands down the stuffed grey alien I got! I like the texture of the cloth, it’s really soft.

I like the suits father bought us, they’re very professional.

(Danny sticks his tongue out at his brother, Damian ignores it)

DD: It’s been wonderful to meet you both. I’m sure you’ll do well at school.

It’s been great to meet you too! Sorry Damian didn't say much, he’s shy.

C: That’s perfectly fine, I know there will be chances for other interviews. Maybe even live.

We’re looking forward to it!

-------

Deb and Clark took a few photos of the twins alone and with their father for their articles before they left. As she left the room, escorted out along with Clark, she couldn’t help the shiver that ran up her spine. She had held it together well during the interview but she couldn’t shake the odd feeling that she had just escaped something very dangerous. She was a reporter in Gotham, she was no stranger to danger, and she usually trusted her instincts but these were two children! Not even really pre-teens, so why was her hind-brain screaming PREDATOR!

Sure Damian was a little bit unsettling with the way he sat perfectly straight and glared, but it wasn’t Damian her instinct reacted most strongly to. Danny was sweet, with a bright smile and open posture, but there was still something off, and dangerous about him. In the way light reflected out of his eyes… She just needed to write up the interview, then she could go home and write this off as an odd bout of anxiety.

-------

Danyal finally let himself relax once the reporters were gone, next to him Damian’s shoulders noticeably dropped once they were alone with their father again. All was quiet for a moment Alfred walked in carrying a tray with a pot of tea and a plate with cookies, two for each of them by the looks of it. “I think you all deserve a reward for making it through your first interview. Come sit Master Bruce, I suspect that the interview was nearly as nerve-wracking for you as it was for the boys.”

Bruce chuckled and came to sit down as Danny dove forward to grab one of the cookies. Alfred tutted at Danny's impatience as he poured them each a cup of tea and passed them out.

“I still don’t like the things you said about Mother and Grandfather,” Damian sniffed as he took his own cookie with more dignity.

Danny’s mouth was already full of the buttery sweet treat so he just shrugged as he chewed, swallowing before he answered. “We agreed that it was for the best, this way we don’t have to exert too much energy pretending to be normal children.”

“You mean I won’t, you don’t have any trouble pretending to be ‘normal’,” Damian sneered. There was a long moment of tense silence as Danny refused to look at his brother.

It was rare that Danyal found himself completely at a loss for what to say, but he was now. He was struggling, he found it exhausting interacting with so many people, but he didn’t want to say as much. A part of him felt like Damian wasn’t trying hard enough and he’d be able to do it too if he cared, but Danny hadn’t been able to kill. How had they made him feel about his peaceful nature? He didn’t want to make Damian feel the same way now. The interview had been exhausting, he couldn’t fight with his brother now, even though he knew Damian was just trying to release the tension he too felt in the aftermath. Besides Damian needed to trust Danny's ability to navigate this situation, something that had already been shaken when Damian had realized Danny really wasn't planning on helping them replace their adopted siblings.

“You can have my second cookie Damian,” He sighed, putting down his half full cup of tea and got up. “I’m going to go back to my room.” Damian looked shocked and Bruce looked worried but no one stopped Danny as he left the sitting room. He headed towards his bedroom before changing his mind and heading to the library instead. He wouldn’t be found quite so quickly there and he needed a little time alone, and he didn’t doubt Bruce would try to come check on him.

He found a book and stole a cushion from one of the chairs so he could curl up in a sheltered corner, though he didn’t end up reading the book. He watched a patch of sun move across the floor with the slow passage of time, until he fell asleep curled up on the cushion. It was usually an effective way to avoid his feelings.

#dc x dp #my writing #fanfiction #danyal al ghul #damian al ghul #tim drake #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #clark kent #demon twins au #multi part fic

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donovankinard · 2 days ago

Text

that's right, that's right, 911 fic recs are back! its been a pretty light month for reading for me; i travelled quite a bit earlier in the month and then school started back up, so i don't have a huge amount to link, but i wanted to share what i have read anyway! this month we've got buddie, bucktommy, tarlos, buck&chris, saltommy, teddie and louliver! a very mlm heavy month, but with hen wilson week coming up that should change for feb.

🔥 Back to Us || @kumiokosposts evan buckley/eddie diaz || 95k Buck, struggling with abandonment and feelings of being unworthy, is shaken when Chris calls, asking if he can live with Buck now that he’s no longer with Tommy. Still hurt and angry with Eddie, Chris refuses to tell his dad about wanting to live with Buck, leaving Buck caught in the middle, torn between protecting Chris and his loyalty to Eddie. Yet as Buck promises to help, he feels something shift—beneath all the self-doubt and pain, a quiet hope emerges. For the first time in what feels like forever, someone chose him, and maybe, just maybe, he’s not as unworthy of love as he’s always believed.

🔥 Time in a Bottle || @cjlouwho evan buckley/tommy kinard || 16.7k (so far) His heart began to race as the doors swung open and out. No light shined in, letting Tommy know it was still night. Then, a heavy step started down the staircase. Thud, thud, thud. Fifteen steps. Tommy counted each one. And suddenly, he wasn't alone anymore.

🔥 white shoe, black shoe || @hazeystar evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.5k Tommy and Buck get married and somehow let Maddie and Eddie come up with the wedding games. Or: The wedding shoe game that ends with Eddie Diaz being a menace to society (really just Buck and Tommy)

🔥 You're Not Gone (You Can't Be Gone) || @theredrenard & @buck-up-buck evan buckley/eddie diaz || 5.2k “Eddie…?” Buck sways slightly, eyes wide. He’s paler than he should be and his voice sounds so, so fragile. His hand twitches at his side like he’s trying to reach for Eddie, but he can’t quite get his arm to move. In the time it takes Eddie to glance down, then back up to Buck’s face with dawning horror painted on his features, Buck’s legs give out and he collapses onto the concrete in slow motion.

🔥 a hundred times over || @fake-mouthstatic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 7.7k (so far) A collection of BuckTommy drabbles for the 118 Daily Drabble Challenge.

🔥 To Share, A little, A lot || DracaUponTheWings carlos reyes/tk strand, evan buckley/tommy kinard || 4.7k In Which the Author seized on the possible similarities in our couples and forced them to talk.

🔥 when fate cries || @theghostofashton carlos reyes/tk strand || 67.8k An ACL tear, the statement posted a couple days later had read. Carlos would need immediate surgery, and obviously – he would not compete for the USA in London. TK, still coming off the thrill of being named to the team himself, hadn’t been sure how to feel. Carlos had always trained in Texas, and he in New York, so they rarely crossed paths outside of competitions. That’s why he was looking forward to being on the team with him, so sure it was guaranteed. It was practically a given among every coach he talked to. Carlos was a lock. It felt weird to celebrate. Wrong, almost. Carlos should have been with him. They’d both been working for this their entire lives. three years later, the road to rio brings with it far more than redemption

🔥 Come Back... Be Here || @911varietyposts evan buckley & christopher diaz || 1.1k Buck still hadn’t gone back to work, even though Maddie was pushing him to just so he could have something to distract his mind from everything going on around him. He just couldn’t bring himself to go back yet; not to the job that had claimed the love of his life. OR: Buck and Chris navigate the emotions after Eddie's death

🔥 just give hope a chance to float up || @judymarch15 sal deluca/tommy kinard || 23.4k Sal Deluca's marriage falls apart on national television. He and his daughter Sophia move back to his hometown of Smithville, Texas to live with his mom Loretta. He works on picking up the pieces of his life, grows closer to his family, and reconnects with old classmate and football teammate Tommy Kinard.

🔥 Louliver Road Trip || @writerdot lou ferrigno jr/oliver stark || 2.5k Oliver isn't alone on his road trip.

🔥 sonnet || @athenaeumsfic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 30.5k It wasn’t supposed to still feel this raw after so long. Every time Tommy passes him by, his cologne lingers in the air for a moment and Buck is transported back to this time last year when they were getting to the stage of really, properly knowing each other. He’d never been happier. A few times, Tommy swipes his back as he moves around him – the garden is crowded with three separate firehouses hanging around – and it feels like an electric shock every time. All he wants is to reach behind him, grab his hand and pull Tommy close. aka the one where Buck and Tommy have broken up but agree to a weekend in Vegas with Eddie and Chimney. Chaos ensues.

🔥 i'm broken (tell you i'm fine) || @hazeystar evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.9k Two weeks after the breakup, Buck misses Tommy. He also loves him, did you know?

🔥 Tiny Heartbeats || @sunnywithachanceofbi evan buckley/tommy kinard || 9.9k Tommy and Buck's daughter, Edie, faces a life-threatening heart surgery at two weeks old, pushing them to confront their deepest fears while waiting in the hospital.

🔥 There's Gotta Be Some Butterflies Somewhere || Tea_gremlin evan buckley/eddie diaz || 34.7k Eddie joins the 118 after Buck is permanently disabled by an explosion at a call. Despite initial tensions, they learn just how important they can be to one another.

🔥 say what you wanna say (and let the words fall out) || @nephilimeq evan buckley/tommy kinard || 6.3k “You all saw me sad and upset over Tommy breaking up with me—but instead of asking me what went wrong or what you could do to help, all of you stopped me from reaching out to him!” Buck spat out, feeling his irritation rise at seeing his friends looking confused, but he didn’t care. Instead, he kept on talking, saying, “You kept me from reaching out to him by playing ‘keep away’ with my phone like a bunch of middle schoolers! Did it ever occur to any of you that I didn’t want the breakup to happen?” (...aka, the story where Buck and Tommy secretly get back together and then Buck finally stands up for himself against his 118 family, finally saying what he's been wanting to say for a long while, dragging all the dirt out into the open)

🔥 playing (playing with the boy) || @thatmexisaurusrex eddie diaz/tommy kinard || 5.2k Tommy. Snorted. Cute. Why was that cute?

🔥 shelter (feels like home) || @fake-mouthstatic evan buckley/tommy kinard || 1.9k Tommy wakes with a start to the sound of ringing and it takes him a few bleary eyed moments to realise it's his phone, loud even over the pounding of the rain outside. He frowns at the bright light as he picks it up, worry immediately catching in his throat when he sees Evan's name on the screen; it's close to 3am and from experience he knows that's rarely when people call with good news. "Hey babe, are you okay?" he says as he answers, rubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. "The storm," Evan says, and Tommy's heart wrenches in his chest when he realises he's crying. "There wasn't supposed to be a storm."

🔥 John Doe|| @thatmexisaurusrex evan buckley/tommy kinard || 5.8k He was tanned. Not too tanned, but he definitely tanned more than burned in the sun. He had an aquiline nose, distinct cheekbones, and a cleft. He had curly hair; curly, chestnut brown hair. He was banged up from the hit and run. Cuts and bruises, though, the swelling was going down and the fresh red-purple was seeping into a yellow. Had three casts and almost lost his spleen. Dry lips from a week and a half asleep. He was breathing, though. Breathing steadily. He was Tara Kaplan’s first John Doe. And no one was sure if they would ever figure out who he was before he woke up.

🔥 want you more than a melody || @alchemistc evan buckley/tommy kinard || 2.5k “What are you looking for?” Tommy asks, and doesn’t linger at all on how at home Evan looks, just rifling through his things. He’d caught him sorting Tommy’s mail, last weekend, nothing overly curious, just piles of junk mail sorted away from the bills and the single postcard from his nephew, fingers drifting over the stocky block letters of Tommy’s name before he realized he’d been caught out, lips squeezing in like a kid tasting his first lemon. “The key to your china cabinet,” Evan tells him, still sorting, keys chiming merrily against each other. “Second drawer to the left of the fridge, little brass thing. It’s where I keep my ring cutter,” Tommy tells him, expanding heart and weak joints and all, as Evan grins at the joke and stalks halfway across the room in two wide, long-legged steps.

STATS: # of fics: 19 # of authors: 16 # of words read: 306.3k

#nova's rec lists #911 #bucktommy #buddie #911verse #tarlos #teddie #saltommy

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silentsneezes · 2 days ago

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Heyy me again… ahahah

Do you have any silco with allergies hc’s or maybe a k!nk Silco/Vander Zaundads fic?

Totally asking this with normal intentions, completely not obsessed or anything!

(Im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure i love your writing)

thank you anon!! trust me when i say i'm also gnawing at the bars of my enclosure... so here's almost 3k of sick v/ander and kink s/ilco

i'll probably continue this in the future, but between university and life things i haven't had as much time to write... so we'll see

anyways, this is set pre-everything in the show. you could read it as an au if you want!

The Last Drop on a Saturday is no fucking joke. Vander knows that full well, always double checking his list of opening tasks to ensure things run smoothly. Only a few hours after opening, the dimly lit, smoke-filled haven is already filled to its capacity. Earlier that day, there had been a boxing match held in a nearby arena, and it’s safe to say people are still riding that high. Vander picks up on arguments over bets that were won or lost, prideful drunkards boasting about how they’d been rooting for the champion all along.

The bar practically roars with the infectious excitement, only encouraged by the drinks the patrons continue to slam back. Vander doesn’t mind, he’s quite pleased with how popular his bar is, especially on nights where boxing matches occur. Everyone needs a good drink after a match, he supposes. Plus, the influx in business never hurts– people typically become more generous tippers the drunker they get.

Vander works mindlessly as he pours drink after drink, zoning out to the sounds of raucous laughter, the clink of glass against wood, and the quiet kshhhh of the keg. The conversations are nothing more than a full-on-chorus, which has its pros and cons.

On one hand, it allows Vander to zone out to the constant noise, letting himself work without second thought.

On the other hand, Vander feels like fucking shit. He’d been coming down with something the past couple of days, but he’d figured it wasn’t anything a few DayQuil couldn’t fix. Now, he’s beginning to realize that he was sorely mistaken in his initial dismissal of the cold. His usual charming grin doesn’t come as easily tonight, and when he wipes his brow, it’s not just due to the heat of the room. His skin is coated in a feverish sheen, his cheeks uncharacteristically flushed as he forces himself to work through his rising fever.

The frequenters of the bars notice– at least those sober enough to– but they’ve seen this before. Vander’s tough. He’s the kind of guy who keeps his bar open for better or for worse, so when he’s sick, they just give him a look of silent understanding: he’ll be fine, he always is.

As ‘fine’ as Vander might be, his movements are dulled by fever. He keeps moving, keeps working—filling mugs, passing shots, refilling drinks– functioning as if he’s on autopilot. His work is only interrupted as he hears the familiar drawl of his friend’s voice.

“Is anybody home?” Silco asks with a slight smirk, looking Vander up and down as he takes a seat on the barstool closest to the sick man, observing his absent expression. Vander opens his mouth to reply, pausing momentarily to clear his throat before gruffly responding, “very funny, Silco,” sarcastically. He starts making Silco’s drink wordlessly, knowing exactly what the other likes. Vander doesn’t bother filling the silence between the two of them, letting the steady roar of auditory input wash over him.

“Long day?” Silco questions, frowning as a nearby customer lets out a howl of laughter at his own joke, “I’ll bet you 20 gold coins he soils himself by the end of the night.”

Vander finds it somewhat amusing how Silco always seems to take issue with the other patrons of the bar, as if he finds himself somewhat above this crowd. “I’d be an idiot to take you up on that,” Vander says with a tired grin, his lips barely curling upwards as he leans in, resting his weight on the bartop. He places the drink in front of Silco with a heavy thud, the glass almost too solid in his grip, as if it’s an anchor to keep him from slipping under the noise and fatigue. “You know how they get after boxing matches.”

“Oh, do I,” Silco replies, the words clipped, his voice carrying an immense judgement of those customers who lack any semblance of manners or public decency. He doesn’t like them, doesn’t trust them, but he does like Vander.

Vander struggles to think up a response, his usual charm and banter replaced with a steady painful thrum threatening to become a migraine. The noise of the bar presses against his skull like a vice, and just as he finally manages to think up an adequate response, he feels it coming. A tickle in his nose, faint at first, but enough to make his breath catch as it buzzes through his sinuses.

At first he tries to fight it, swiping at his nose roughly with the backside of his hand. His other hand searches his pockets for a rag, a handkerchief, anything. Unfortunately for him, the sneeze builds quickly. His eyes are forced to scrunch shut as his chest swells with an urgent, “hhHHHH-” and for a half-second, everything around him goes blurry, the pressure in his sinuses making his head swim, “hHHRRZZSCHHH’HUw!!”

Vander turns away from the bartop just in time, snapping forwards into his elbow with a resounding sneeze, one that grates his throat enough as to where he has to blink away a few tears. Silco watches with rapt attention, his abdomen pooling with hot attraction as he observes Vander’s broad frame nearly bend itself in two with the force of the sneeze.

“Bless you,” Silco purrs, his voice low and sultry. The blessing practically rolls off of his tongue, and yet Vander knows it’s not just out of politeness. You see, Silco doesn’t just bless anyone. For him, offering a blessing is somewhat of a privilege, something one earns through continuous affection, and he and Vander are nothing if not affectionate.

“I’ve got the whole damn package today—head full of cement and a nose that thinks it’s spring,” Vander mutters, barely able to keep the irritation out of his voice. Had he not known about Silco’s kink, he would’ve been entirely fed up with his body's need to sneeze. Except there’s a sliver of him that can’t help but relish the fact that he can make Silco squirm so easily. If he has to feel so utterly miserable, someone might as well enjoy it, right?

And he is miserable, nothing short of it. Silco, however, seems to be basking in Vander’s sickness, finding it difficult to resist the sight of his friend turned fuck-buddy turned… whatever it is they are now.

“Why is it you insist on working when you’re sick?” Silco questions, knowing full-well the stubborn answer he’s about to receive– it’s the same every time.

Except Vander doesn’t answer, letting Silco’s question hang in the air as he raises a hand to his nose. It’s back again, that bothersome, tantalizing itch that’s been wreaking havoc on his nose all night, “hhHHH’uh-”

At the sound of Vander’s hitch, Silco prepares himself for the imminent sneeze. Vander has never been one to have dramatic build ups when he’s sick– though allergies are an entirely different feat– rather, his sneezes come on quickly with one to two hitches beforehand.

Unable to find a rag in time, Vander settles for cupping a broad hand over his nose and mouth, “hHHMMPH’DSSXCHHhew!” The sneeze is barely muffled against his palm, and Vander can feel moisture threatening to slip through his fingers. He pinches his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, gathering the residual mess and moving to wash his hands.

When Vander returns to the bartop, he sees Silco, his gaze intensely focused, waiting with that unsettling calm, as if he could pounce at any moment. Had the countertop not been separating them, Vander is certain Silco would be draping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. And god does he want that.

Just as Vander moves to prop himself against the bartop again, he hears a drunken, “Oi! Vander!” and groans internally, straightening up and snapping out of his exhausted haze. The woman, a regular frequenter of the bar, leans against the other side of the counter with a casual air, “Get me something strong, but nice. I’ve got a lady to impress,” she says with a smirk. Usually, Vander would have the energy to engage in some sort of playful banter, perhaps asking the customer as to who she’s pursuing tonight. Instead, he rattles off a few drink options, giving her a sideways glance as she chooses the strongest of the drinks he’d proposed, “You sure? It’s got one hell of a kick.”

The customer dismisses his warning with a wave of her hand and a chuckle, “I’m feeling lucky today.”

“Liquid luck,” Silco tuts almost inaudibly from his seat, though it goes unheard by anyone aside from Vander, “what a foolish concept.”

Vander’s lips curl into a slight smirk at the sound of Silco’s words, but he forces himself to maintain focus. He has a job to do. With a sigh, Vander grabs a glass, still feeling the steady ache that only a cold can instill. As he’s about to start mixing, he feels that nagging sensation in his nose return, the familiar tickle building once again. He grimaces, trying to hold it back for the sake of not sneezing into a customer's drink, but his body has a different plan. His breath hitches involuntarily, forcing him to pivot away from the countertop without even setting the glass down first. He draws in a final, urgent breath before snapping forwards and spraying the tiled floor with an uncovered, “hHHRRRSSXCHHHh’eHw!”

As the sneeze fades, Vander stays still for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, his body still catching up with the sudden burst of pressure. He forces himself to stand upright, tending to the moisture clinging to his septum with his sleeve. He’d usually have a bit more decorum when it comes to covering and utilizing his sleeve as a tissue, for the sake of germs moreso than any feeling of embarrassment, but he’s too fucking tired tonight.

“Salud,” the woman blesses absentmindedly, watching as Vander composes himself enough to make her drink, “you look sick as a dog,” she comments. Vander just continues mixing the drink, replying with a halfhearted, “that’s never stopped me before.”

“Touche.” Luckily, the woman leaves the conversation at that, exchanging the drink for a few gold pieces and making her way across the bar back to the person she’s trying to impress.

“She’s right, you look terrible,” Silco says matter-of-factly, drawing Vander’s attention back to him. His fingers trail along the rim of his now empty glass, his expression smug as he receives an eye-roll in response.

Vander doesn’t have time to reply as another customer approaches the bar, and he internally curses as he turns away from the one person in the bar he actually wants to see right now. His head throbs, the dull ache in his throat turning into a tight, bothersome burning sensation. As he prepares a round of shots, every movement feels slower than his last, his limbs growing heavier as the evening progresses.

Finally, after what feels like hours, there’s a lull in drink orders, and Vander has the opportunity to return to his conversation with Silco. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, instead saying, “you’ve got a handkerchief, no?”

“I always do,” Silco replies effortlessly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he registers where this is going. Vander extends his hand wordlessly, becoming increasingly frustrated with his nose running like a faucet.

“Use your words,” Silco tuts, though his eyes flick between Vander’s outstretched hand and his nose, reddened and irritated after being berated all day.

“Silco,” Vander huffs huskily, evidently too exhausted to tolerate any sort of teasing, “give it here.”

“That’s no way to treat a customer.”

“Bullshit, you’re not a customer.”

“Hm, then what am I?” Silco asks, enjoying this far more than he should. His hand slips into the inner pocket of his vest, extracting his crimson red handkerchief from its resting place. He keeps it hidden in his lap, waiting for the perfect moment to submit to Vander’s request.

“A brat.”

Vander’s hand remains outstretched, waiting for Silco to drop the dominant act and give in. Fuck me Vander mentally curses as the itch swells in his nose again, forcing his wide nostrils to flare in protest. It’s like Silco was waiting for this moment—the vulnerability of Vander, flushed and slightly out of breath, his hitches almost an invitation.

“I know you always hhhHave one on you. Give it to m-hHHH-me dammit,” Vander’s previously annoyed tone is replaced with one of urgency. Both he and Silco know damn well he can’t hold back for shit.

Silco watches, waiting until the very last second before pressing the handkerchief into Vander’s palm. His fingers brush across the calloused skin of Vander’s hand, which is nearly twice the size of his. Vander clutches the handkerchief, turning on his heel and doubling over as a sneeze tears through him, “hHHHGGSXCHHH’Hh’ugh!”

“Bless you,” Silco purrs once again, silently cursing the countertop separating him from the sick man. He can feel his arousal making itself known, pressing against the tight confines of his pants, “You’ll be making that up to me, you know I don’t share–” he begins, but Vander cuts him off.

“I’ve been pudting on a show for you all nighd. Don’d be so greedy,” he mumbles huskily, the congestion in his voice dulling certain consonants. Vander gives his nose a strangled blow. It’s unsuccessful at first, eliciting a huff of frustration from the man. With both hands holding the handkerchief over his nose, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the next attempt. The second noseblow is much more productive, clearing his airways as best they can be with a cold ravaging his nose.

“That’s better,” Vander acknowledges, tucking the– already soiled– handkerchief into his back pocket and moving to wash his hands again. Silco, having been observing Vander’s every move, shifts to relieve some of the pressure in his pants.

“It’s a shame you have to work,” he comments idly, knowing full well that Vander could’ve called someone in to cover his shift, “I’ve heard a good fuck is quite the cure-all for colds.”

Silco’s bluntness never fails to catch Vander’s attention. People typically shy away from expressing their kinks, especially one as bizarre as sneezing, but Silco treats it as he does anything that can bring him sexual gratification: without shame– though don’t be mistaken, he’s eager to indulge in humiliation when given the chance.

Vander knows exactly what Silco is alluding to, weighing the benefits of closing early or calling someone to take his place. His stubbornness and grit can only last so long, it seems, as he leans heavily against the bartop again.

Grinning as he recognizes the slight defeat in Vander’s expression, Silco presses on, “Would it be so terrible to take a night off? I’d stay, of course, to attend to your needs.”

Vander looks up, his eyes traveling from the smirk on Silco’s face to his slightly unbuttoned top– had his chest been so visible before, so appealing? His view of Silco’s slim waist is blocked by the counter, but he’s almost certain Silco’s hard to some extent; it really only takes a few sneezes to get him going. After all, Vander’s are his favorite.

“Fine,” he agrees stubbornly, glancing at the clock. Typically, The Last Drop would stay open well into the night and through the earliest hours of the morning, but it’s only 11:30 and Vander feels like dead weight. He leans down, searching for the bar-phone he keeps next to the especially expensive liquors. Upon finding it, he dials an employee's number despite the guilt ringing through his mind. He’s not one to give up easily, and he’s certainly given one hell of a fight to make it through this shift, but the promise of a quieter room and Silco’s attention is enough to sway him.

“Jay? I’m sorry to ask, but–,” Vander pauses as his breath hitches, the itch suddenly returning with a vengeance. He holds the receiver as far away as possible, ducking to the side and clamping his other hand over his nose, “hhHHHGDTSCHHH’huew!”

Apparently, Jay could still hear the utter desperation of the expulsion from over the phone– and was left to imagine the mess it made, and trust, it was messy– and is quick to say, “I’ll be there in twenty. Try not to drop dead by then.”

TBC…

as always, any reblogs, tags, and comments are very much appreciated!! i experimented with a different writing style with this fic, so any feedback is appreciated as well :3

#sneeze kink #sneezefucker #sneeze blog #snzblr #sneezefic #sneeze thoughts #snzcane #snz kink #snzfics

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wickedsniffles · 2 days ago

Text

another night that i can't sleep

Summary: L/ogan is driving W/ade insane with his allergies, and being a bit of a stubborn brat about it. W/ade decides to fess up.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: L/ogan Howlett aka W/olverine x W/ade Wilson aka D/eadpool

Tags: snz of course, kink!Wade, kink confession, smut, L/ogan being a grouchy brat, holdbacks/stuck sneezes, anal sex, top Wade/bottom Logan, fluff, spray

Word Count: 3.8k

There are fewer things more elusive than a Wolverine who doesn’t want to be disturbed.

A lesson Wade’s learned many times as they’ve cohabitated, and come to respect as they’ve become partners. Logan just needs his space sometimes. He’s not asking for it to try and get away from Wade specifically – okay, maybe he is sometimes, but everyone needs a break from one another now and then. It’s more like he just wants to be alone to think. Be somewhere quiet.

Wade’s fine with that. They both need time to chill out as individuals, a couple hours or a whole day. Logan does his drive-out-to-the-woods thing and Wade keeps himself busy with something sensory seeking that would normally drive Logan up the fucking wall.

And they get by with this little routine, this mutual understanding. When they’re together again, it pops any balloon of tension that might have formed. Logan’s always happy to see him, and Wade’s clingy enough that he’s going to melt for affection as soon as he gets it. He’d say this happens about once a month since they started living together, since that boundary was first set.

Like he said, fine by him. But the past few days haven’t fallen into the rhythm of that agreement.

Logan’s been in a less-than-cheerful mood, and Wade can guess why. Spring is staking its claim on the city, and though they’re both glad for that first warm breeze after the grasp of winter, Logan’s struggling hard. Or his nose is, anyway. Having super senses isn’t all fun and games, as Wade’s been discovering. As much as Logan might try to hide it, almost everything seems to affect his sensitive nose.

Before the pollenpocalypse hit, the main thing Wade noticed that set him off was dust. He’s guilty of putting dusting off for ages, because fuck is it tedious. But Wade definitely makes more of an effort to keep things dusted after seeing how itchy it gets Logan, trying to stifle irritated fits of sneezes whenever any amount of it gets stirred up.

Does that go directly against how fucking hot Wade finds the whole thing? Well, yes. But if he can do something to make things a little easier on Logan, he’s willing to try it. He’s not a sadist. (At least not all the time.)

Wade hasn’t exactly let Logan in on this kink just yet. Why not? Well. How would you feel if you told the hottest man you’d ever seen that you were into something kinda bizarre and he said “wow, Wade, what the fuck?” and hit the road right then and there? He’s waiting until he’s a hundred percent certain that Logan won’t laugh him out of his own apartment before spilling that kind of tea.

It doesn’t help that Logan’s been outright torturing him this early spring. First of all, he almost always acts like he’s not affected by it. Nothing gets to the Wolverine, right? Instead, he just goes about his day, sniffling and blinking back allergic tears. Temper shortened by about half. Pausing throughout the day to squint and gasp before muffling sneezes into his shirtsleeve or handkerchief or tissue.

Stupid 19th century etiquette. How dare he be so fucking polite.

If Wade pauses to bless him, or suggest that he maybe take a nap or drink some tea or something, he just gets growled at. Because Logan’s fine and it’s just the weather changing and I don’t need you to fuss over me, Wade. Leave me alone.

Touchy!

Fine, whatever. If this is what he needs to keep his ego intact, Wade’ll do his best to pretend he’s not jerking it in the shower every other day.

But he only lasts half a week before he wakes up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. Now that’s a red alarm; as grouchy as he might have been recently, Logan’s soft in that he loves physical touch. Hold his hand, be his big spoon, pet his hair. Whenever they’re apart, he confesses that it’s hard for him to fall asleep without Wade holding him. He’s never seen Logan actively try to avoid it.

Wade walks out to the living room to find the lamp on, creating a dim circle of light around his missing partner. His partner who is curled up loosely on the couch, looking miserable. Dark circles under his eyes and his nose scrubbed red. There’s no way to know how long he’s been out here, but something tells Wade that his allergies have kept him up for quite a while.

“Hey,” Wade says, moving to sit down beside him.

“Hey.”

He bumps his shoulder against Logan’s gently.

“Why you sittin’ out here?”

“Well, I –” Logan looks down. Frowns at the floor. “I didn't wanna bother you. I guess. Thought I might keep you up.”

Wade melts. Why didn’t he just say that? Not like he’s been dying to take care of him or anything, stubborn ass. Not like being with him is a gift and a treasure.

“Aw, baby, c’mere,” he says softly, reaching out. “You're not bothering me. You don't ever bother me.”

Hesitating only for a moment, Logan sighs and leans forward into his arms. He knows he's been a bit distant, acted annoyed and snapped when it wasn’t even Wade’s fault. He’s been stupid. It's nice to just curl up into Wade and not have to put unnecessary space between them. Nestling his face into the soft material of Wade's shirt, he lets himself relax.

“That's better.”

He kisses the top of Logan's head, shifting further into the couch so that Logan can cuddle in closer under his arm. Logan doesn't say these kinds of things out loud, but he loves being held. He makes a small, contented sound when Wade starts carding a hand through his hair.

It feels so good to just lie there together like that for a while. Logan's thumb runs comforting little circles on Wade's arm for a few minutes, then drops to the side. Wade would almost think he'd fallen asleep, if not for the continued sniffling and occasional restless shifting to scrub at his face.

“Still getting to you, huh?” Wade's voice is full of sympathy, and despite the reaction that this gets out of him, he means it.

“Not a big deal,” Logan says. “Just a pain in the ass.”

He curls up tighter into Wade, resting his cheek sleepily on the other man's chest. Like he really just wants to go back to bed but his nose won't let him.

“Poor Wolverine,” Wade teases lightly, grinning even though Logan can't see him. “Don't think the comic book writers would guess your biggest weakness is just, like, trees and grass.”

That's Logan's cue to growl and snap and tell him to shut his mouth. He doesn't take it. Instead he's gone strangely still in the cradle of Wade's lap, and Wade realizes what that means as soon as it's happening.

He only hears the quietest handful of hitched breaths before Logan half-stifles two sneezes into his shoulder, each sounding desperate and irritated.

“God, bless you,” Wade all but trembles out. He's so hard, holy shit, he can't move an inch or Logan will definitely know there's something not kosher about his beef.

“Thanks,” comes Logan's reply, still breathy from sneezing. So hot. “And also, fuck you.”

There it is. His spicy little guard dog.

Wade pretends to pout. “Hey, who came out here to see if you were okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. You know I'm just messin’ around.”

Logan sighs, sniffling thickly and shifting to lie on his stomach to look up at Wade. In doing so, he rubs full force against Wade's very full, very hard cock. They freeze and look at one another.

For once, Wade has nothing clever to say.

“Um.” Logan grinds down for emphasis. Wade hisses, arching up on instinct, biting his lip. “The hell is this?”

He tries to look innocent. Innocent is not an easy look on him.

“My…my penis? My disco stick? My –”

“I know what it is, smartass,” Logan growls. “I'm asking you why you're this hard just sitting here right now.”

Of course, he says all that with such an exasperated, sneezy look on his face that Wade's cock has to be leaking in his boxers. There's no way it isn't.

Wade's never been shy – so he really doesn't need to pick tonight to start, does he? It’s probably time he confessed.

Fuck it.

“You're turning me on,” he admits. “The sneezing, it's – it's always kinda done it for me. You're looking at the reigning champion of weird and surprising kinks.”

Logan takes a second to process this.

“It – huh. I do. When I –? Oh.”

He doesn't say that in a negative way, just like he's contemplating it. There's a beat of quiet.

Wade tests the waters, his anxiety getting the better of him.

“And… what is your opinion on that?”

Logan gives him a self-conscious half-smile.

“I mean, not the weirdest thing I've heard of by a mile. And if that's what you're into –” he chuckles, “ – seems like you lucked out with me, huh?”

!!!!!!!!!!!!

His brain does a series of excited little skips and hops before registering that Logan's pulling the Bedroom Eyes on him, dark and seductive. A cute, sniffly Logan who's just learned one of his weirder kinks and is cool with it. And who just now happens to be propping himself up for better leverage, leaning pointedly into Wade's cock again. Grinding up and down, waiting for a response.

“Jesus Christ,” Wade whispers. “Did you know you're fucking perfect?”

Logan smirks. “I wouldn't go that f-far…heh…heh’ESSH!” He ducks down with the force of it, popping back up a little pink in the face. (Wade has to be dreaming, right?) Logan's expression stays stuck in a moment of pre-sneeze bleariness for a handful of seconds until “ – ESSH! huh’ESSH’ew! God.”

“Bless you, fuck,” Wade blurts out.

Grinding even harder against Wade's cock, Logan blushes deeper, but says nothing. He reaches up to take Wade gently by the jaw, closing his mouth for him.

“Do you wanna fuck me, sweetheart?”

Just a low purr of a question delivered in Logan's sexy voice, and Wade's gasping, squirming, so ready for anything.

“Please,” Wade begs at once, tears threatening to well up from how badly he wants it. “Please, Logan, I want that. Want you, baby.”

He grins.

“You're such a weirdo.”

Logan leans up to kiss him, the words coming out fond. He takes a second to wrestle out of his sweatpants and underwear. Wade's too stunned stupid to do the same at first. He just lies there still clothed as Logan kisses him, grinding into him hard and dirty. Logan's such a good kisser that it's hard to blame him, all hot, open mouth and little sounds of want. Wet allergic sniffles.

On every grind, the tip of Logan's cock rubs against Wade's stomach, slipping up under his shirt and leaving a trail of precome behind. It's tantalizing, hot, like they're teenagers doing something they shouldn't. Wade knows he's already making some pathetic sound, knows he could come like this if it goes on too long. A mess.

“Don't know how you plan to get inside me like that,” Logan pulls away to remark, considerably breathier than before the kissing had started. “C'mon, Red. Lose the pants.”

Fuck.

“Right yeah of course I was totally gonna do that –”

He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pajamas and almost dislocates a hip in the hurry to get out of them. Logan's eyes are burning on him for the second they have to break contact, and when they touch again, it's like gasoline on fire. He wants to be fucked about this newly voiced kink. Badly.

Wade moans into Logan's mouth when their bare cocks rub together, thrilled when Logan answers with a sound of his own. He whines a little when Wade's mouth travels to his neck, granting him full access. Grinding into Wade when he bites down. Like a whore. Like he's been so fucking ready all day, waiting –

“If you wanted me this bad,” Wade murmurs, fishing for the bottle of lube stuffed between the couch cushions, “why didn't you say something earlier?”

“‘Cause I'm like this,” Logan answers, gesturing vaguely at his whole face. Eyes a little watery, nose scrubbed red and irritated. “Most people don't really want to fuck someone when they're like this.”

“Lucky for you that I'm always down to clown,” Wade jokes weakly as he lubes himself up. He doesn't miss the way Logan's eyes follow his every move. “Lift up, baby, move your legs – there we go. Perfect.”

With a shaky exhale, Logan adjusts until Wade's right up against his opening.

“You ready for me?”

“So fuckin' ready,” Logan says, low and needy.

Wade pushes in slow, taking time to savor the way Logan's body takes him perfectly every time. If it were up to Logan, he'd be pressing in harder, rougher. But Wade wants to a.) tease him a little and b.) be gentle with him, at least to start. Logan deserves some gentleness in his life.

They're tangled up in a mess of limbs. Logan's legs around Wade's back. His arms around Wade's shoulders. They kiss like it's a language each is desperate to tell the other, interspersed with little moans and gasps as Wade gets closer and closer to bottoming out.

And all the while, Logan sniffs and huffs and tries to ignore the buzzing itch in his nose. All he wants to think about right now is Wade, how good he feels and how he's trying to thrust back. His face is practically buried in Wade's neck when they pull away to breathe, making him all the more aware that he's trapped. But if Wade really likes that sort of thing, then…

“Is that good, peanut?” Wade asks with his first handful of thrusts, because his answer is oh holy fucking shit this feels amazing and he's hoping they're on the same wavelength.

He feels Logan nod right away.

“Fuckin' course it's good,” he answers. “I just – if you don't move, I'm probably–” His breath hitches, interrupting what he's trying to say. “Y’know, I'm gonna – huh –”

Wade feels Logan's whole body tense, feels that delicious hitched breath in his ear. Disappointingly, he turns as much as he can and stifles four each in rapid succession – but God does he clench around Wade’s cock.

“Bless you,” Wade says, then mutters cockblock though he knows Logan can hear it.

He sniffs thickly. “Cockblock? You're inside me, asshole!”

Too true. Wade picks up the pace again, faster now, and Logan buries his face in the other man's collar with a needy moan.

“Guess I am,” Wade teases. “And if you want me to stay here, you should probably do what I say. Right?”

A stubborn look flits over Logan's face, replaced quickly with want as Wade adjusts his angle just right.

“And what are you gonna tell me to do?”

Ooh, this is just like Christmas. Better than, maybe.

“I wanna hear you. No stifling or holding back. Got it?”

Logan rolls his eyes, but he's blushing. Wade's not fooled; he knows Logan likes to be bossed around a little if he's going to be the one bottoming, and hey, Wade is more than happy to give him what he wants.

“No promises,” he says finally. “You fuckin' brat.”

Wade gives him a satisfied hum.

“We'll work with it.”

He kisses Logan on the shell of his ear, pleased to get a little shiver in response, and ups his tempo. Logan clings to him, grasping tight at his tshirt, his little moan sounding relieved as Wade fucks him deep.

Logan's never one to hold back when they're having sex, dissolving into it, a mess of pleased sounds and open expressions. Nails and teeth. Letting the animal out. So why draw the line now, just because of some pesky sneezes?

“You needed this, huh?”

It takes Logan a few seconds to answer, panting hot and open against Wade's ear.

“Y-Yeah.”

He's crushing Wade to him, body tense, his cock wedged between them. Every inhale comes with a hitched whine, eager to take everything he's given. Every few seconds he sniffles, harsh, as if that's going to help anything.

“My poor kitty cat,” Wade simpers. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me how bad you want it.”

Another long, low sound before Logan can focus enough to find the words. A few breaths. He swallows.

“It's good,” he says finally. “You always make it f-feel so fuckin' good, and you're really deep inside me and I – hh–”

Logan fucking rubs his nose against the collar of Wade's old tshirt to try and quell the itch. And yes, Wade does gasp about it.

“All I wanna think about is what we're doin’ but I cahhn’t–”

“Can't what?” Wade asks, trying to keep his tone somewhere near neutral. He feels like he's about to pass away.

“Can't think,” Logan groans. “Itches too bad, all the fuckin’ t–hih-time–”

God the suspense is too much. Wade can't concentrate on rolling his hips up into Logan with perfect timing and think about whether or not he's about to have all his kink dreams fulfilled. His rhythm falters.

Can he write it off as a power play? …Maybe. But probably not.

“What did I just say?”

Wade's tone treads the line of stern but doesn't quite get there. His voice is too gentle for it, too utterly delighted to hear Logan all tense and caught up the way he is.

Logan really can't think, poor guy. His body feels tense, breath coming in halted pants, clicking in his throat.

“Told me not to hold back,” he answers finally. “I'm not doing it on – purpose. I just can't.”

“Oh, I believe you, kitten.” He forces himself to go completely still inside Logan, prompting a disappointed huff. “You're getting all shy about it now, huh? Performance anxiety?”

Another growl as Logan thrusts up, trying to get them going again, making Wade's legs twitch. He's a lot less intimidating with all the snuffling and watery eyes.

“I don't kn–heh–” Logan breaks off in a series of hitching gasps, and Wade bites him lightly on the shoulder, groaning in anticipation. But nothing comes of it, and Logan sighs, just as frustrated. He's cute when he's irritated. “ I don't know. Can you just fuck me? Please?”

“Sneeze first,” Wade says sweetly. “Or I'm not moving. C'mon, I know you wanna.”

“What I wanna do is claw you through right now.”

Wade ignores that; they both know it's an empty threat.

“It'd feel so much better to just let it out,” he muses, teasing Logan with a handful of thrusts.

Logan arches for it, whimpering. He can't even suck in a full breath without hitching like he's about to sneeze, grappling with it. Wade keeps talking.

“I can tell when you're trying to hide it, you know. Those cute little stifles you think I don't notice. And it itches so bad, doesn't it? All the pollen and the dust. So sensitive, right? But you don't want anyone to –”

“Wade,” Logan trembles out. “F-fuck, I'm gonna – hh – hih –! HEHSSH’IEW!”

“There we go,” Wade says eagerly, sliding his cock back up into Logan deep with a groan he doesn’t even bother to contain. “And bless –”

Logan is not done. The first sneeze was wet, desperate, and loud, spray landing on Wade’s shirt and collarbone. If there’s one thing Wade’s taken away from watching him endure allergic irritation, it’s that he never sneezes just once.

“Fuck, sorry,” he manages to say before tensing up again. “I – heh’ESSH! ESSH! ESSH-uhh! God, Wade, please please don’t stop –”

The way Logan melts into a breathless whine as soon as he can stop sneezing to do it makes Wade go fucking crazy. He growls in answer and shifts one of Logan’s legs, fucking him harder, knowing he’s found that sweet spot when Logan keens so high his voice cracks. He reaches down to stroke himself, and Wade gladly lets him.

“That feel good, baby?”

“Yes, hell yes, I’m so – hh so fucking –”

Wade’s rarely heard him so undone. His own self-control is in tatters, orgasm building at a rapid pace as Logan comes apart underneath him. He can hear himself panting, ragged, open-mouthed, but can’t bring himself to care.

“ESSH’iew! ESSH! Heh’ESSH! HEHSSH’IEW! Oh god,” Logan gasps. “Wade, Red, sweetheart you’re gonna make me come –”

“Then you’d better – do it. C’mon, peanut, give it to me.”

With a broken sound, Logan keeps his promise, sinking his teeth into Wade’s t-shirt and covering it with streaks of his release. Wade’s only a few short thrusts behind, shivering through every pulse and praising Logan for being so fucking good for him.

(At least, he’s pretty sure he’s praising Logan. His mouth is moving and words are coming out, and Logan’s looking up at him all dazed and sweet.)

For the interested reader, here's the dialogue that Logan would later tell Wade was being babbled out at him: Logan. Oh my god holy fucking shit. Bless you baby bless you times like a thousand I fucking love you. You're so fucking hot. You took me so well, didn't you? Such a good boy. You're the hottest person on the fucking planet. Would it be weird if I kissed your nose right now? Yeah probably I'm not gonna do it, okay, I love you, did I say that already? You're so pretty, fuck, you're so pretty –

Eventually, Logan smiles at him, all soft edges. He reaches up and cups Wade’s face.

“Wade.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you even know what the hell you’re talkin’ about right now?”

“Uhh.” It’s a little humiliating to admit he can just ramble without having a fucking clue what’s coming out of his mouth. “No. All systems offline. Floating through dead space, captain.”

Logan huffs out a laugh. “Then float back to me, knucklehead.”

Something in his chest goes all half-baked cookie dough soft.

“Aye-aye.”

Wade leans in to kiss him, aware of how fast his heart is still beating. That got intense. And so fucking hot. To be honest? He's already raring to do it again. From the way Logan's nose has been acting up, he's certain they'll get their chance sooner rather than later.

“Hey, bub?”

“Yeah?”

Logan swallows, his eyes cutting away.

“Sorry I've been kind of a prick. Haven't felt the best, but that's no reason to get short with ya.”

Well, shit. If fucking him senseless through an allergy attack was all it took for Logan to go this soft, Wade would have done it weeks ago.

“I get it,” Wade says playfully. “You have a whole testosterone-fueled persona to maintain. But you could, you know. Let me take care of you. Help you feel less sniffly and pathetic.”

“Not tryin’ to maintain anything,” Logan argues. “Just not used to people wanting to – I dunno. Look after me.”

“Then get used to it,” Wade says. “Cause I don't plan on going anywhere.”

Logan blushes at that, smiling a little despite an effort not to. Wade kisses him one more time, a soft and purposeful thing, and they shuffle into the shower. Even Logan's sneezes sound sleepy now, and this time when they crawl into bed, he tucks close into Wade's chest and falls asleep in minutes.

That's more like it, Wade thinks.

#snz kink #snzblr #snz #sniction #snzfic #snz fic #p/oolverine #sneeze kink #l/ogan

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