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d1stalker · 6 months ago

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The Feeling's Mutual | Part One

[Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader]

Summary: If somebody told you a week ago that you were a mutant, being stalked, and would be teaming up with an annoying, grumbly bastard, you probably would have laughed in their face. Too bad that was last week, because here you are, in that very situation, wondering how in the world things escalated so quickly.

PART TWO PART THREE FINAL PART

Warnings: fem!reader, canon-level violence, reluctant alliance, bickering, not exactly enemies-to-lovers but they don't rly get along, it's gonna be a slow burn y'all WC: 5.7k - MASTERLIST - A/N: If you saw me post this earlier, no you didn't 🤫 i added more hehe

You’ve never been so confused in your entire life.

It all started last week—when you were walking to the grocery store. Just an ordinary day, nothing special about it. You had a list in your hand, some cash in your pocket, and thoughts of what to cook for dinner running through your mind. The route you took had you winding down the usual streets of your neighbourhood, and that’s when you noticed him.

Something about him was different, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on what it was that made you think that. Perhaps it was the way his eyes followed you, stalking you, like a predator its prey.

At first, you thought it might be a coincidence. Maybe he was just another person going about his day, heading in the same direction as you. People share paths all the time; there was no reason to suspect anything sinister, right? But as you continued walking, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something was off. You decided to test it, making a sudden turn down a side street, one you usually never take.

The street was quieter, less foot traffic, and the late afternoon shadows were starting to stretch across the pavement. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was, still a few steps behind, his gaze remaining locked onto you with a focus that sent a shiver down your spine. Quickening your pace, you felt an almost paralyzing fear.

This wasn’t just a shared route.

The more you turned, the more you weaved through unfamiliar streets, the more persistent he became. He never faltered, never hesitated, always keeping just close enough to let you know he was there.

Finally, you reached the store, breathing in short, panicked gasps, your eyes flitting around. You ducked inside, hiding the fluorescent lights and bustling aisles. You tried to calm yourself, telling yourself it was nothing, that you were being paranoid. After all, what were the odds? Maybe he’d walk past, maybe he wasn’t even following you. You spent longer than usual picking up items you didn’t need, giving him time to disappear.

But when you walked back outside, bags in hand, you saw him again. He wasn’t right at the door, but still, close enough—across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of another building, watching. His eyes locked with yours once more, and you froze, the plastic handles of the grocery bags digging into your palms as your grip tightened in fear. He didn’t move, didn’t smile or sneer, just stood there, silent.

You rushed home, not even bothering to see if he was tracking you down, too scared to find out the answer. Your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Who was he? What did he want? You didn’t sleep much that night, jumping at every creak and groan the apartment made, the image of that man’s cold stare burned into your mind.

The next day, you told yourself it was nothing, a one-time thing, just some creep who had too much time on his hands. A pervert, possibly.

But happened again. A different man this time, but with the same unnerving intensity. He followed you the same way, mute and relentless, through the streets, to the store, and back home.

Then the day after that, and that, and that. They didn’t approach you directly, just followed, watched, waited. It was like a game, one that you didn’t know the rules to, and the stakes felt like they were getting higher and higher and more time passed. Whenever you stepped outside, you felt their eyes on you, felt their presence lurking just out of sight. It was terrifying.

The fear gnawed at you, growing with each passing day, until it became impossible to ignore. You started taking different routes, avoiding your usual stores, changing your routine as much as you could. Still, no matter what you did, they always found you.

Soon it changed—no longer just silent stalking. One night, as you were walking home, one of the men stepped out from the shadows and blocked your path. His presence was oppressive, the way he stood there, so still, so certain of his power over you. You had no idea what he wanted, but you knew it whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Why are you following me?” you demanded, trying to muster up all the courage you could, voice shaking slightly despite your attempt to sound strong.

“Because we were told to,” the man said, his voice cold and emotionless. There was no malice, no pleasure in his words, just a chilling matter-of-factness. “You’re coming with us.”

Panic surged through you, a primal instinct to run, to fight, to do anything but comply. You refused to show it, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spat back, hoping your defiance would be enough to make him reconsider.

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them, and before you could react, he lunged at you, his fist swinging with brutal intent. Time seemed to slow as you saw the blow coming, your mind racing, but your body moving almost on instinct. You raised your arms to defend yourself, bracing for the crushing impact that would follow.

You couldn’t explain what happened next. When his fist connected with your arm, the force that should have sent you to the ground, left you unscathed. Instead, it was the man who staggered back, a look of shock and pain twisting his features. He clutched his hand, wincing as if he had struck something far harder than just flesh and bone.

You stared at him, bewildered, before glancing down at your own arm in disbelief. There was no pain, no bruise, nothing to indicate that you’d just been hit. It was as if his attack had bounced off of you, like you were made of steel.

Had you really just blocked that hit? And why did it feel like… nothing?

Before you could process what had happened, before the realization could fully take root, another man appeared out of nowhere, moving with a speed that blurred the edges of his form. Mutant. He was faster than the first, more determined, and this time, you felt your heart stop as he came at you from behind, his hands outstretched to grab you.

But something in you reacted faster than your fear. You twisted out of his grip with lightning speed, with movements so fluid and precise, it was as if your body knew exactly what to do, even if your brain was struggling to keep up. You sidestepped his attack, narrowly avoiding his grasp, and found yourself behind him, safe for the moment.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. How did you move like that? How had you known where to go, how to dodge?

There was no time to dwell on it. The fight intensified in an instant, the two men coming at you one after another, relentless in their assault. They weren’t holding back, and suddenly neither were you. You moved like a force of nature, dodging their attacks, striking back when you could. Each punch you threw landed with a power that surprised even you. You watched in stunned disbelief as one of the men crumpled to the ground after a single blow, his eyes rolling back as if he’d been hit by a truck.

You are not a gym regular. In fact, you hadn’t worked out in weeks. You weren’t strong, not like this. So how was it possible that your punches were so devastating, that each one seemed to carry a weight far beyond what you’d ever imagined?

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the first mutant, conjured a ball of fire in his hand, the flames crackling and roaring, craving something to burn. He hurled it at you, the fireball spinning through the air with only one target in mind.

You barely had time to scream as the flames engulfed your arm, the searing heat burning through your skin. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot agony that made you gasp and stumble back. You expected to see your skin blackened, blistered, ruined.

And it was.

For a minute.

To your shock—or horror—you looked down, breath catching in your throat as you watched the burn heal right before your eyes. The charred skin knitted back together in seconds, smooth and unblemished, as if nothing had happened at all.

What the fuck?

It was in that moment that the truth hit you, like a thunderclap in your mind. You weren’t just an ordinary person caught in a nightmare. You were a mutant, with powers that had only now revealed themselves, right when you needed them most.

The men kept coming, but now you fought with a new understanding. Each punch, each dodge, each rapid movement felt more controlled, more intentional, your gym class self-defence courses coming in clutch. You were strong, faster than you’d ever been, and you could heal—regenerate from injuries that would have left others incapacitated.

Finally, the two men laid groaning on the ground, defeated. You stood there, panting, your mind spinning as you tried to make sense of it all. Super strength, super speed, regeneration… these powers, they were yours. And they had just saved your life.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, confusion set in. What did these men want with you? Why had they gone to such lengths to provoke you? To make you discover what you were capable of?

All you knew was that one thing was clear: this was far from over. Whoever had sent these men wouldn’t stop here. They knew what you were now, and that meant they’d come after you again. You weren’t just an ordinary person anymore. You were something else, something powerful. And that put a target on your back.

Whatever was coming next, you needed to be ready.

----

That’s how you found yourself here, one week later, crouched on the apartment rooftop, the cold wind nipping at your exposed skin. The dark streets below are eerily silent, save for the distant hum of traffic. You sense them before you see them—another group of male mutants, closing in on your position. You grip the hilt of your knife tighter, feeling the now-familiar twinge of anger and frustration settle in your chest. This is the fifth group tonight. They’ve been hunting you in groups for days now, their numbers increasing as each one goes by, and you’re tired of it.

You’ve started to get used to your new powers—testing your limits, pushing yourself harder with each confrontation. What started as simple self-defence, a punch here, a dodge there, has escalated into something far more lethal.

You didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to by use your sharpest kitchen knife (your only kitchen knife) as a weapon, but as the attacks became more violent, you found yourself with little to no choice.

These mutants weren’t holding back, and neither could you.

Within a week, you went from the most average person in the world to what some people might call a vigilante—except you're really only trying to save your own skin.

Leaping off the roof, you land silently behind them. The speed at which you move is almost dizzying, your body a blur as you close the distance in the blink of an eye.

“Looking for someone?” you call out sarcastically.

They turn, eyes widening in surprise, but you’re already moving. Your blade sings through the air, striking true, as you move like a shadow, taking them down one by one. It’s not easy—these guys are tough—but you’ve become tougher. With each strike, you can feel your strength surging, far beyond what should be possible. One of the mutants tries to block you, creating a forcefield, but you grab the edges before it can fully form, and break through it, the temporary pain vanishing as quick as it came. A solid kick to his face, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even realizes it.

“Is this what you wanted?!” you shout, your voice echoing through the empty street as the last attacker falls to the ground, groaning in pain. “Is this what you came for?!”

The answer doesn’t come from them. Rather, it comes from a low growl behind you.

You whirl around, heart racing, and there he is—Logan Howlett—the Wolverine himself. The man you’ve read about in every article, every piece of mutant-related news you could get your hands on since discovering your own abilities. He’s infamous, pretty much a legend, and the stories about him are as terrifying as they are fascinating.

Standing there with that scowl on his face, he looks every bit the dangerous figure you’ve imagined. His eyes are blank, calculating, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it sizes you up. There’s a tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as he takes a step closer.

“So, you’re the one causing all this trouble,” Logan states gruffly, irritation coating his tongue. He unsheathes his claws, the adamantium glimmering under the streetlights. The sound is unmistakable, and it sends shivers down your spine. ��Heard you’ve been killin’ off mutants left and right.”

You narrow your eyes, instinctively stepping back into a defensive stance. Your heart is pounding, but you can't show any weakness.

“Funny, I thought the same about you, Wolverine. What’s the matter? Run out of bad guys to play hero with?”

Without warning, he charges at you, claws outstretched, but you’re ready. You dart to the side, your speed giving you an edge as his claws slice through the air where you’d been standing, making a woosh sound. You counter with a swift kick to his ribs, putting your enhanced strength into the blow. He grunts, stumbling slightly, but quickly regains his balance. The momentary advantage you gained is gone as he storms toward you once more.

You meet his attacks head-on, your blade clashing with his claws in a shower of sparks. The force of each impact reverberates through your arms, but you hold your ground, refusing to back down. His attacks are ferocious, a whirlwind of claws and fury. He's fast, but you’re faster, dodging and weaving with a precision that keeps you just out of reach.

“Look, sweetheart,” he growls between strikes, his frustration evident. “You can make this easy or hard. I don’t care which, but I’m not lettin’ you hurt anyone else.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you deflect another swipe of his claws. “Oh, please. You think I’m the bad guy here? These jerks have been coming after me for days. I’m just defending myself.”

Logan doesn’t look convinced, and that pisses you off more than anything. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe you, why? You’re leavin’ a trail of bodies behind you.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling the anger boil over. “Because I’m not the one who started this! They did! But of course, you wouldn’t know that, would you? You just show up, swinging your claws around like you’re the big savior.”

“You got a mouth on you, don’t ya?” He retorts, snarling as he charges at you again, faster this time. You barely have time to block his attack, the force of his blow sending you skidding back several feet. But you dig your heels in, refusing to give an inch as he continues plows forward. Your speed kicks in, allowing you to duck under his next swing and land a punch to his jaw.

He staggers, but quickly recovers, swiping at you with renewed fury. You're a bit sloppy compared to him, not as much of a seasoned fighter. His claws swipe at your arm, cutting deep and drawing blood, but the wound heals almost instantly, the skin closing up as if it had never been cut. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it doesn’t slow him down. He lunges again, becoming a blur of motion as he ups the ante.

You parry with your knife, but this time, you’re on the offensive. You launch a rapid series of attacks, your speed and strength managing to drive him back. In the rush of movement, you're able to see an opening, grasping his shoulder and shoving him hard, sending him crashing into a nearby wall. The impact is enough to crack the brick, but Logan just shakes it off, pushing himself back to his feet.

“Gotta say,” you huff, panting slightly from the exertion, “I’m a little disappointed. I expected more from the you, after all I’ve heard.”

Logan grunts, clearly fed up with the banter. “I'm done talking.”

He lunges at you again, and this time, it’s a battle of wills as much as it is of skill. You don't back down, your knife clashing with his claws in a series of rapid, brutal strikes. The alleyway becomes a blur of movement, metal against metal, strength against strength. Each time his claws find their mark, your regenerative abilities kick in, healing the wounds almost as quickly as they’re made.

And for a moment, you wonder if you’ll have to kill him too, just to survive. But then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way your attacks grow weaker, less lethal. Or maybe it’s the way Logan’s eyes narrow in realization when he notices your hesitance.

“Wait a damn minute,” Logan says, stepping back just out of your reach, wiping his mouth, then spitting on the ground. He’s breathing hard, just like you. “You’re holdin’ back.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as they flick down to the knife you’ve been holding, and then back up to you. His expression shifts, a mix of disbelief and exasperation crossing his face. “And is that a kitchen knife?”

You glance down at the knife in your hand, realizing how absurd it must look in the middle of this intense fight. It’s not exactly standard combat gear, but it’s all you had when this started. You can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips as you meet his gaze again.

“It gets the job done,” you quip, shrugging slightly.

He shakes his head, clearly not impressed. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I'm choosing to take that as a compliment,” The sarcasm is practically oozing off of you.

He eyes you warily, his posture still tense. “You’re not makin’ this easy, you know. You got me here thinkin’ you’re some crazed mutant killer, but you’re just a girl wavin’ around a kitchen knife like you’re in a bad horror movie.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I didn’t exactly have time to hit up a weapons store. Besides, I didn’t ask for any of this. These guys came after me first.”

Logan studies you. “So you say. But you’re killing dozens of mutants. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent.’”

“Trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be doing this–fighting… killing–at all. Hell, I didn’t even know I was a mutant until some guy swung his fist at me a week ago.” You meet his gaze, challenging him. “And what about you? You’re not exactly known for playing nice.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, most of my casualties are from the missions I go on, so I'd say it's justified.”

Your eyes narrow, catching the implication in his words. “Oh, am I your mission now? How long have you been tracking me?”

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a slight shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve hit on something. “Long enough to know you’re not just some innocent bystander caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So, what? You’ve been watching me, waiting for me to screw up so you could take me down?” you demand, the frustration clear in your voice.

“Something like that,” he replies gruffly, “But from what I’ve seen, you’re more reactive than proactive," he looks you up and down. "I can’t seem figure out if you’re the real threat here, or just someone caught in the middle of a bigger mess.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to calm the fiery anger rising within you. “I told you, I didn’t start this. They did. I’m just trying to survive.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, teeth grinding as he considers your words. You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the truth or just playing him. He takes a step closer, his claws still out but not as threatening as before.

Finally, he asks, “You got a name?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “No shit I have a name.”

Logan huffs, unimpressed by your attitude. “Well, if you’re not gonna tell me, I’m just gonna have to call you somethin’… How 'bout Knifey?”

You stare at him, half-expecting him to crack a smile, but he’s dead serious. “Knifey? Really?”

Logan shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he eyes your weapon of choice again. “Fits, don’t you think?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you my name, alright? Anything but Knifey.” You say, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“... Gotta say, Knifey sounds a little better”

“Shut the fuck up, Wolverine”

“It’s Logan, actually.”

You release a deep sigh. “I know, and I don’t care. I’m telling you I am not the one you need to be going after.”

Logan scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’ve been around a long time. Seen my fair share of people who think they’re doin’ the right thing and end up doin’ a hell of a lot of damage. So, forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You would know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” The words come out of your mouth before you had time to think about them, and you regret it immediately. You can see the mutant in front of you’s face darken to a degree bordering murderous, and you think you’ve crossed a line you can’t come back from. Whatever playful banter existed before this is gone.

“Careful,” He growls menacingly, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You swallow hard. The Wolverine is infamous for a reason, and you just poked at the beast beneath the surface. You briefly consider backing down, but your pride refuses to let you.

“Maybe I don’t,” you admit, “But I do know what it’s like to be hunted, to have no choice but to fight back. So yeah, maybe we’re more alike than you think.”

Logan’s glare softens just a fraction, and he lets out a long, frustrated breath. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do ya?”

“Not when I’m trying to make a point,” you retort.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you, as if he’s trying to decide whether to continue this conversation or end it with his claws. Ultimately, he shakes his head, the anger in his eyes dimming, replaced by something more akin to weary resignation.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Maybe you’re not the one I should be takin’ down. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start trustin’ you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” you reply, feeling a bit of relief that the situation isn’t about to escalate into another fight. “But I swear, there’s someone else out there pulling the strings. And I’m not sticking around to be their puppet.”

He nods slowly, crossing his arms again. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, but I’m callin’ the shots. You step outta line, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

You smirk, a little of your bravado returning. “I’ll try not to disappoint you, Logan.”

You can tell he doesn't appreciate your attitude, but he lets it slide. “Let’s get one thing straight. This ain’t a partnership. I’m doin’ this to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on, not because I like you.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” you shoot back, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Logan turns abruptly, not even bothering to beckon you with him.

It makes you roll your eyes but you fall in step beside him anyway, knowing that despite the rocky start, this uneasy alliance might be the only thing keeping you alive.

“…So… where exactly are we going?”

He sends you a sidelong glance. "Who said I’m takin’ you anywhere?"

You throw your hands up, exasperated. "Well, if you don’t, these mutants are going to keep hunting me, and I’m going to keep killing them…” you shoot him a look, batting your eyelashes innocently. “You wouldn't want that, would you?"

“Fuck off”

"Well, too late for that now."

He grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but it sounds a lot like cursing his bad luck.

"We’re headin’ to my place. It’s the safest spot right now."

----

Turn’s out, it’s not really his place. Or at least, it’s what you’d thought it’d be. It’s more of an abandoned warehouse that he just decided to seek refuge in one day, doing the bare minimum to make it feel at the very least, home-y. The heavy metal doors creak open, revealing a chaotic interior cluttered with garbage, old newspapers, and a few scattered items. In the corner, a single bed and a sagging couch that look like they’ve definitely seen better days.

Your nose wrinkles in disgust as you take in the mess. "Seriously?" you mutter, your voice tinged with disbelief. "This is where you've been hiding out? It looks like a tornado hit a thrift store."

Logan, who had been trailing behind you, lets out a low grunt as he shuffles past, not bothering to respond to your jab. His heavy footsteps echo in the otherwise silent space, the sound bouncing off the bare, cold walls. He heads straight for a small, battered table that looks like it's one sharp nudge away from collapsing. On it lies a worn notebook, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges, evidence of extensive use. Without a word, he picks it up and starts flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step closer, peering over his shoulder. "What's this?" you ask, reaching out to take the notebook from him. He hesitates for a brief moment before relinquishing it into your hands. As you flip through the pages, your eyes widen in shock. The notes are detailed, almost obsessively so, listing the names of various mutants, their abilities, and the exact locations where their bodies were found.

"Oh, great," you say with a sarcastic, half-hearted laugh. "You've been keeping tabs on me. What kind of creepy stalker are you?”

He rolls his eyes and snatches the notebook back, his voice dripping with irritation. "I wasn’t exactly tracking you. I was trying to track whoever’s been killing all those damn mutants."

Logan’s jaw tightens as you just continue to stare, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "And don’t act all innocent. I needed to know who was causing all the chaos."

Scoffing, you continue to look through the notebook, stopping when you come across a particularly detailed entry. "Wow... 26 kills? Not too shabby for an amateur mutant, huh?"

“Is your mouth unable to stay shut?” he questions, though you know better than to answer that.

The notebook flops back onto the table with a casual flick of your wrist. "Hey, don’t be mad just because I’m doing a better job than you expected."

He crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. "I’m not mad," he snaps. "I’m annoyed that you’re making light of this. It’s not exactly a high score to brag about."

"Oh, come on. You’re the one who turned this place into a shrine to my success” you smirk.

"It’s not a shrine," Logan growls, his patience wearing thin. "It’s a record. If you’d been paying more attention to what’s going on, you’d know that."

The playfulness fades from your face as his words hit home. He’s right, but you’re not about to admit it. Instead, you deflect. "Yeah, and if you’d bothered to talk to me instead of playing detective, maybe we’d have figured this out sooner."

"You think you’re the only one who’s had a rough time? This whole situation is a mess, and we’re both caught in it." His eyes narrow.

You cross your arms, mirroring his defensive posture. "You didn’t have to get involved, you know. Unless...what if you’re the bad guy here?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "Using all these mutants to lure me into your dungeon under the pretense of trying to ‘stop’ me?"

His response is immediate. "I’m way too lazy to think of doing all that."

You can’t help but believe him, especially given the state of the warehouse. He clearly lacks the energy—or the interest—to tidy up his living space, let alone mastermind a complex plot. You let out a sigh and walk over to the sagging couch in the corner. The fabric is threadbare, and the springs groan in protest as you flop down onto it.

"Fine, fine... I trust you," you concede, though your tone is far from serious. "Did you notice anything specific amongst these mutants?"

"Yeah, I’ve noticed somethin’,” Logan says, dragging a hand down his face, now looking more tired than ever. “They’re all pretty low-key. Not exactly top-tier in the mutant rankings. Never caused any trouble before, yadda yadda. If anything, they’re usually on the weaker side."

You furrow your brows, intrigued. "So they’re not a serious threat."

"Exactly," Logan confirms with a nod. "It’s weird. These mutants aren’t the type to just go around being fuckin’ annoying like they have been. Someone—or something—must be pushing them into this."

"You think they’re all being controlled somehow?" you muse, the pieces slowly falling into place. "And that’s why they’re suddenly acting out of character?"

"Seems like it," He replies, rubbing his temples. "Must be powerful if they’re all falling in line like this. We’re going to have to dig deeper to find the source of it.

He moves to sit next to you on the couch, the worn fabric sinking even further under his weight. "Tell me everything you know," Logan says quietly, his voice a tinge softer now, almost coaxing. "Everything that’s happened to you."

You sigh and lean back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you start to recount your experience. "It all began about a week ago. Just a normal day, I was walking to the grocery store, then I noticed this guy following me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But no matter where I went, he was always a few steps behind."

His attention sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours. "And?"

"It started as just stalking," you continue, your voice growing quieter as the memories flood back. "Nothing violent. But then, it started happening with different people. Each time, they were more persistent, more intimidating. It became clear that something was off."

You can feel Logan’s gaze burning into you, his concern evident in the way he leans closer, listening intently. "Eventually, they started getting aggressive," you say. "One night, one of them blocked my path and tried to grab me. I managed to fight him off, but when he hit me, it didn’t hurt. I mean, it should have, he looked pretty strong, but my arm felt fine. That’s when I realized I had powers—some form of super strength, super speed, and healing abilities."

"And you figured that out just from fighting them off?" he questions, somewhat impressed.

You nod, rubbing your arms as if to ward off a lingering chill. "Yeah. I didn’t really have a choice. They kept coming, and I had to use whatever I had to protect myself—including my damn kitchen knife. The more I fought, the more I understood what I could do.”

Logan pauses, his expression unreadable as he processes everything you’ve said. The dim light from the single bulb casts long shadows across the room, emphasizing the lines of fatigue etched into his face. Finally, he stands up, his movements slow and deliberate. "So, here’s the plan," he starts, his voice rough and tired. "We need to figure out exactly where these mutants are coming from. There’s gotta be a main location where they’re getting their orders or some central hub for this control."

You hum in agreement, though a part of you is reluctant to jump back into action so soon. "Alright, so how do we start tracking that down?"

His lips press into a thin line as he thinks it over. "We’ll stake out the rooftops. From up there, we can get a clear view of their movements and see if they’re converging somewhere specific. Maybe spot a pattern."

You stretch, stifling a yawn as you glance around the shabby room. "Okay, but are we doing that tonight? I’m pretty beat."

“Seriously? You want to put this off?" he accuses, face twisting in irritation.

"I’m up for it, but I’d be more effective if I’m not running on fumes. Plus, you look pretty tired yourself," you shrug.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you sense his reluctance to agree. "So you agree with me," you state, not really feeling any real pride, but just wanting to push his buttons.

Logan grumbles under his breath as he starts to clear a space on the threadbare couch, which creaks loudly under even the slightest pressure. "Do you ever shut up? I’m letting you crash in my bed, aren’t I?"

You chuckle softly, watching him arrange a tattered blanket on the couch with exaggerated care. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Goodnight, old man."

"Watch it, Knifey," he mutters, settling onto the couch with a groan as the springs protest under his weight.

You roll your eyes at his choice of nickname, and with a sigh, you make your way over to the bed, which is small and far from luxurious, but it’s better than nothing. The mattress dips slightly as you climb in, and the covers are thin, barely providing any warmth. Still, exhaustion pulls at you, and you barely have time to think about what the covers smell like before sleep overtakes you.

----

pls comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the series taglist!

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yogurtkags · 6 months ago

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❝ HUSH ❞ — sakusa kiyoomi

cw. f!reader, fluff, olympics au, athletic trainer!reader, timeskip characters, established relationship, secret marriage, language (omi swears like once), not beta read (sorry!) word count. ~ 1.6k

“japan’s outside hitter sakusa kiyoomi and newly revealed wife, athletic trainer y/n l/n, steals the spotlight in the city of love!”

@tetzoro's summer olympics collab

your eyes glance in his direction, letting it linger on his figure as the team settles down into their corner. he’s a little tense, understandably so– it’s his first time at the olympics, and with the pressure of the finals sitting on his shoulders, the nerves are showing, though carefully hidden behind his standard resting face that you can see through so well. the lights hanging along the ceilings of the south paris arena cast a tasteful warm glow along the contours of his face. despite the subconscious clenched jaw and slightly downturned lips that make you want to kiss the frown off so badly, there’s a shine in his eyes like no other.

the last few days have been pretty rough, of stiff beds, subpar food and sleeping without kiyoomi. you know he feels the same if the progressively increasing frequency of late night calls and texts are any indication. with the boys sharing rooms in twos amongst themselves and the rest of the team’s staff being housed in a separate wing of the building, falling asleep in his arms was a faraway thought since you arrived at the olympic village.

loml ♡ : miya snores so fuckin’ loudly i can’t handle this me : well it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve dealt with it baby loml ♡ : i still think we should’ve fought harder for us sharing a room

he drifts off into slumber easily after washing up and getting his fill of talking to you (never enough), the mental and physical fatigue of matches and practices in between taking a toll on his body, but for you, being wrapped in his warm embrace was the perfect recipe and vital to a good night's sleep. it’s safe to say that you haven’t been sleeping well for the past week.

it didn’t help that being sworn to secrecy about your relationship also meant that any interactions you had with him outside being the team’s athletic trainer was like treading on eggshells. it feels like you’re in high school again, sitting next to him in the dining hall during meal times with your clasped hands hidden under the table from watchful eyes, his thumb rubbing soft circles against the back of your hand or squeezing ever so often, as if to affirm his presence and silently reassure that i’m here.

it seems to be a trend lately for athletes to be active on their social media platforms, be it their team’s or just a personal account, recounting stories or even taking avid viewers through “a day in the life of an olympic athlete” — without looking too far, even miya jumped on the bandwagon, often seeing suna running around filming short clips of their shenanigans in free pockets of time during the day. you and kiyoomi talked about it before the season began, keeping any non-professional interactions to a minimum. there’s eyes everywhere and it’s better to be safe than sorry.

both of you are very private people, it was only natural that you preferred to keep your personal life and matters to yourselves behind closed doors. this ended up being a double-edged sword, because everyone wants to be all up in your business, especially kiyoomi who finds himself in the spotlight more often, being apart of the “young handsome eligible bachelors” of the MSBY 4 and now one of the most sought-after new additions to japan’s national team.

you on the other hand, were better known by twitter as “the pretty trainer” from the shweiden adlers and now the national team, standing next to another fan-favourite, iwaizumi hajime. thankfully your role is kept more so behind the scenes, checking on the players during games and making sure they remain in tip-top shape on and off the court.

being the quiet and brooding one amongst outgoing chatterboxes meant that the media would try to dig any information out of kiyoomi, but prying interviewers and prodding questions towards him and his love life were smoothly deflected and brushed aside, the boys even coming to his defense if anyone got too pushy with it, which you were beyond thankful for. not that they needed to most of the time, he’s known to be curt with his responses and quick to bring the topic back to the game, and no one likes a snappy sakusa anyway, many have learned this the hard way.

just months prior to the both of you getting called in to begin training for the olympics and before schedules start to pick up, you had a small private wedding in your hometown with just close friends and family, the ceremony kept under lock and key and tucked away from the public eye. it made it all the more intimate, more like a quiet gathering to celebrate your union than a grand spectacle, which suited you perfectly. the honeymoon hasn’t happened yet with the timing of everything, you’re saving it for post-season when you both can finally take a break and relax for a little while.

you won’t deny that there are some days where you wished that things were different, and that you could openly express your love for each other without scrutiny and attention being on you, but alas, that is to be expected as someone exposed to the public eye.

the olympics is your first public appearance as married individuals, not that anyone particularly cares about your status, their eyes instead zeroing in on kiyoomi and the chain around his neck carrying a shiny new silver band. it's safe to say that judging by the scowl on his face and the chatter buzzing around the front rows of stands as the team settles into their side of the court, his “mystery wife" is the new talk of the town.

when he comes over to you during timeout, his eyes meet yours bashfully as you hand him a bottle, fingers brushing against yours in an unspoken apology. you just smile and lightly pat his back as he turns to join the team huddle. there’s nothing to be sorry for, silly.

these little moments mean everything to you, even though it looks like nothing in the grand scheme of things. just being there with him and coming together with a shared passion even if it's in different fields of the broader spectrum of sport, fills you with a sense of happiness and content. watching him in his element and being able to support him on the sidelines through it all, you'd never trade that for the world.

and as you’re sitting at the edge of your seat with your bum hanging on for dear life, you lean forward with your hands pressed together, the top of your index fingers resting against the tip of your nose like a pseudo prayer. match point.

it feels like you’re watching the longest rally of your life and like a bad habit, your knee begins bouncing up and down in your nervousness and anticipation. iwaizumi too, is so engrossed in the play at hand that he doesn’t notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care enough in this moment to stop you with his usual slap to your thigh and a chiding comment, “stop it, even my grandma back in sendai can feel the tremours from your goddamn knees.”

with bated breath, you watch kageyama tosses one beautiful arc of a set to kiyoomi as he leaps into the air and makes contact with the ball.

with a powerful spike, he is a force to be reckoned with, sending the ball home as the opponents dive to save it, their arms hands and fingers stretching out in a last ditch attempt to connect and rescue the point, but to no avail. the ball lands with a harsh thud and as he stands tall above their groveling, the whistle blows and the crowds roar.

your arms instinctively raise in a cheer, and in the next moment they’re closed over your mouth, tears pricking your eyes as you stumble over your feet and scramble to get up. as the team rushes towards him with shouts of celebration, his eyes immediately dart in your direction, softening as he sees you dashing over. with knowing smirks and crescent moons for eyes, the boys follow his line of sight and give him firm slaps on the back, parting the hoard for you and giving just enough room for him to uncharacteristically swoop you up in his arms and crash his lips into yours, all caution thrown to the wind.

all the noise halts and time stands still, everything fades away and nothing else in the world matters in the moment, not the people, not the cameras, just the overwhelming rush of joy and pride, and love, oh love, swelling from the depths of your chest and your heart bursting at its seams.

your senses flood with everything kiyoomi, from the way the sweaty strands of his hair at the back of his neck feel on your fingertips, his cheeks dampening from your tears, the nudge of his nose against yours, and the press of his smile on your locked lips. he breathes out and you breathe him in, letting all of his being rest in the room in your heart saved specially for him, seeping into every corner of your soul.

when you inevitably pull apart for air, the current predicament doesn't exactly click in your mind just yet until he grabs your hand and pulls you into his side, shielding you from the onslaught of reporters and press looking to get a fresh scoop on the hottest piece of news. with blown out eyes, you look at him in a daze and disbelief, did that really just happen?

the smug smirk on his face says it all.

the matching silver bands on your finger and hanging around his neck, it was always there. for the longest time it was your little secret, and now a declaration of love and devotion — not even a shiny new gold medal could compare.

#ᯓ★ : written in the stars !#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa kyoomi x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #dividers: @/cafekitsune

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luvether · 23 days ago

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FABRICS OF BATH SALTS & MILQUETOAST

summary, establishing and sharing casual intimacy and innocence with him and relishing in each other’s presence.

phainon x gn!reader. fluff + sensual (?) content, tender touching + physical touch. really intimate. sweet devotion. unlabeled relationship. innocent love at its finest. minor world-building for Grove of Epiphany and its academias. self-indulgent asf, enjoy ‪‪❤︎‬ [3.6k wc]

Thinking about Phainon and his acts of love for you.

You’ve known the pale-haired hero enough to learn that there’s a fabric over his cordial mannerisms. You dare not prod him of his past nor his hometown but even someone like you—a Helkolithist scholar from the Grove, you knew something was on his mind when he starts to trace a finger absentmindedly through the lines of your palm, a delicate touch that holds a crown of affection and deep satiated yearning. Maybe it’s because you are proficient with your studies of mental acuities that you manage to find a pattern of behavior within the hero, piquing your interest.

So it also came as a surprise to you when Lord Phainon took an interest in you the first time around, to the point of seeking such comfort in you despite the many rumours surrounding the people of the Grove—narcissistic, haughty, ascetics, exclusionist and many more. Even with your incessant excuses the first few times you’ve met briefly, Phainon finds every loophole in your pretexts to spend time with you.

When you told him you were busy translating slates for your academia, he would nod his head—oh, but the hero will not leave. He would make his way across your office and settle on one of your guest sofas, ensconced by reed-filled pillows and wool blankets he would pick up a random scroll from your floor and peruse its text in silence.

You spare him a look. “I was under the impression my Lord dislikes convoluted knick knacks.”

Those sea-deep eyes of his drag over to you, blinking. “Convoluted knick knacks, you say?”

Your finger is tracing the carved characters on the stone. “Those scrolls on the floor originate from the Lothophagist school, it's of no use to me.”

“Why are there so many in your office?”

“...My office was said to be an apothecary before I claimed it.” A brief seconds of silence. “I thought of airing the room when I got it, but judging from our current predicament—I thought those scrolls will be useful one day, in case someone gets hurt, at least there’s still notes of medicines somewhere in here.”

Your eyes remain on the slate in your hand, but Phainon’s gaze on your person is heavy—it did not feel uncomfortable, but you cannot help the burn on your cheeks knowing he was looking at you.

“You’re very kind.” Those were the words that left his mouth, and it jolts you because this was the first time someone has called you as such.

You take your stare off the stone and onto those blue eyes, dissecting his expression to find even a hint of fallacy, even a bare of falseness with his words but you found none.

Lord Phainon was genuine with his declaration, what decorated his face was the softest tips of upturned lips and wide honesty encased in those pupils.

Your fingers falter, oh how your heart burned beneath that ocean eyes of his.

Maybe it began that day, that you allowed Phainon to hang around you if he so pleases. And maybe he noticed your change in behavior and your lessening aloofness but he does not question nor tease you of it. Even if he comes by from time to time to visit the Grove, you're grateful that he’s not overbearing with his frankness. You’ve noticed that about him, the way he teeters between being approachable and reserved out of respect. He does not bother you when he sees you immersed in something and he does not pull you away from your work, preferring to bask in the atmosphere you created. He’s like a guest in your own quiet garden, but you had long promoted him to be a companion, someone that was welcomed into your bubble at any time of the day so long as the dawn Kephale carries.

That’s when you developed an art of noticing with him,

The length of his eyelashes, the arch of his eyelids, soft white bangs that hang over his eyes, the gentle exhales he lets out when he relaxes himself on your sofa, the reflection of the ornaments on his attire and the goldeness of his sun-shaped tattoo that painted the left side of his neck, stretching down to the prominence of his collarbone.

You press your lips against your knuckles, after a while Phainon feels the heavyweight of your stare on him.

He smiles at you, “is something on my face?”

You lowered your hands, leaned back against your seat. “You’re restless.”

Phainon seems surprised at your statement. “Why do you say so?”

“Since you’ve arrived you have not stopped moving.” you say. “Your leg wouldn't stop bouncing when you’re seated and you seem…more agitated than usual?”

The hero does nothing but chuckle heartily. “It seems like I've finally caught the attention of the infamous Helkolithist sage, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

You prayed that your cheeks were not noticeable to him, heated from his teasings. Even if he noticed, you were immediate with your response. You stand from behind your desk, picking up the scarf resting behind your chair, “Please speak up when you feel uneasy next time.”

Phainon stands up when he sees you walking to the door.

Everytime you feel like you achieved something with him, the hero surprises you again and again, especially when the next thing you felt was his very presence from behind. Phainon’s gloved hand comes to gently circle around your wrist, hindering your approach towards your door.

You turn to him and it's the first time you see his face fall in a worried frown. “Where are you going, did I perhaps irate you with my teases?”

Despite the smooth glove that serves as a barrier between your hands, it does not stop Phainon from tracing his bare fingertips from your wrist to the center of your open palm. You don’t know what he wanted to achieve with this, maybe it was to console you? Or console himself? But his actions drive your heart to pound in rhythms in your chest.

You doubt he’s cheeky enough to intentionally fluster you like this. He's playful but not presumptuous, and you can slowly feel your composure chip away at such a simple action.

It's just a mere touch of comfort, don't get ahead of yourself. Your mind sterns you so. When you find your bearings, you reach out to him, this is your first time touching him too.

Phainon’s eyes flicker and your eyes soften, crushed under a mortar and pestle. “No you did not anger me in any way, Lord.”

His skin is cold under your touch, your fingertips drawing a soothing pattern on the ungloved parts of his hand—which were his fingers, you rub them in your open palm softly. “Do you want to take a stroll with me? I feel a little stuffy after reading a handful of case studies.”

You see the way he perks up at your request, but he tries to hide his excitement. He cambers his head, a slight tilt to show puzzlement and you find it adorable.

“Are you certain?”

You tilt your head up in his direction. “Of course, I was the one who invited you. Come now, Lord Phainon, if we are fast enough the Academia’s parlor is giving away free coffees to both students and staff.”

When you dare spare a look over your shoulder you briefly catch his smile—a smile that seems to have shaved a part of the sun—because the upward tilt of his lips is so radiant and beautiful.

“If we missed the free coffee, will you throw me out of your office?” he grins playfully.

“Depending on how you pace yourself, I’ll be the judge of it.”

You wrestle the door handle and exit your office with a good-spirited Phainon trailing behind you. Completely unaware of your wavering stare and flushed tipped ears and cheeks.

It did not take long for the two of you to drop the formal salutations between one another. He stopped being Lord Phainon and hero to you, instead he was just Phainon—even if it was not his birth-given name, it was still a name he addresses himself with, a name that you loved to enunciate and shape vowels of. And to him, you stopped being the Helkolithist sage or the strict lecturer from the Grove. Rumours and nicknames that once plagued your many titles completely vanished with him and Phainon found mild joy in taste-testing your name in his lips. Every chance he gets, he calls you by your name and you’re a sudden victim to such a simple folly, turning every time you hear him say your name despite the situation you’re in, despite how hushed or quiet he calls you.

Whether or not your other colleagues noticed it, whether or not those avid looks Anaxagoras gives you, you ignored it because you secretly liked the way he addresses you; romantic intentions aside, he spoke of your name with such gentleness and ease, without intentions and tomfoolery, without the motive to manipulate information from you and without the definition to ask you of anything. Phainon called out to you simply because he likes to, he says your name without connecting it to formality upon your status.

He tastes the name on his tongue and calls you with a certain crave that is far too different from others.

With the formula of names already established, the next that came with your unlabelled relationship with Phainon were the touches. Months have passed by now, Phainon enters and exits your office at his own leisure, you became his companion for his conversations, someone that he can confide in with topics that he cannot bring up with Lady Aglaea, his teacher Tribbie, Miss Castorice or even his rival and brother-in-arms Mydeimos—not that the crown prince of Kremnos is even elated to share a conversation with him.

You were that person to him, his person that he comes to when he needs a hint of comfort at times where he finds himself at a loss.

Even if Phainon finds himself in one of his quiet moods of contemplation and wants nothing but solitude, he knows that the moment he enters your office he will be indulged by the quiet atmosphere you created��smelling that hint of herbs from your bookcases, seeing you hunched over your desk too concentrated in your texts to converse—not that he minded, because you would always look up when he enters, nodding your head in acknowledgement or look at him whenever he wants anything. He is grateful you don’t pester him for answers, but today is different.

Phainon is flooded with the thought of holding you.

He excuses it for his loneliness and feeling the heavy burden of the Deliverer on his shoulders—he wants to engulf you in his arms, to shape you in his embrace and reminisce in such a presence. So he stands, uncharacteristically so, his motive? to approach you now that your back is turned to him. You’re not sitting down at your desk, Phainon would sometimes follow you with his eyes as you buzz from the seat, to the bookcases, your seat then back to the bookcases—on extremely rare occasions, you would make your way to your window and tug the curtains open to aerate the office.

You were standing in front of a bookcase filled with case studies or imageries of tendons and ligaments, you told him a week ago you were working on studying about mesomorphic body habitus especially for the combatant individuals who will be in need to fight titankins around the cities, Phainon could feel nothing but a swell of pride by your passion to help the people despite your position. He hears you murmur something out, unaware of his approach but he makes sure he does not startle you.

He sees you try to reach for something from the upper shelves, so to ease you he takes the scroll that barely grazes your fingers.

The atmosphere is suddenly drenched with undeniable tension.

You spin to face him and Phainon has you caged between his arms, gripping the rough texture of the shelves beneath his hands.

“Phainon?” your voice holds question and you see his face folding in once again, his brows furrowed and lips pursed, as if he’s battling with inner conflict.

You’re not a scholar that specializes in remedies or medicines, despite the many boxes of scrolls regarding health in your office you cannot seem to wrap your mind about it, but deep down you craved to help Phainon—a man who battles titans as his duty and to help people in need—it must've been really hard on him to handle such a task all on his own, so you lift a palm and cup his cheek with it, hoping to ease his worries a bit even if it’s just a simple touch of a flattened palm on his face.

You should not jump to conjectures regarding his feelings, but when Phainon leans into your touch with fervor you cannot help but let your mind wander. You were both quiet and somehow you were unaware that he had discarded his gloves somewhere on the couch mere minutes ago until you felt his skin on yours, a searing feeling washes over you and he presses his hand to the back of yours as if to bury his face into the touch you gave him willingly, as if he’s calling your palm his homage.

He’s scared to let you go, and at this point Phainon has backed you against the bookcases fully, you feel the shelves on your back and his chest on your front and he leans down with his arms around your waist pulling you impossibly closer, so close and so fulfilling—you are finally in each other’s embraces and the boundary of that is thinning at the seams. You don’t reject his touch and find your arms wrapped around his shoulders, the softness of his white hair on your cheek and you inhale, the scent of the sun parades with him in every direction his future follows and you’re lucky enough to be a bare witness of his simple glory, his humanistic craves.

Phainon’s affections for you are intentional, it always was. From the moment you first met to your current relationship, he's been the barest with his manners, he has always been direct with your companionship and quality time you both spent together between the four corners of your office in the Grove of Epiphany. It was never prophesied by his fate to be this close with you but the humanity within him wishes to be more selfish, especially when it comes to you.

So when Phainon heard that you and a selective other scholars were ambushed by Nikador’s titankin, he finds his heart seizing. He has always been like this, fragile in the heart, maybe that’s why despite her usual coldness Aglaea tries to soften her tone when she announces it to the rest of the Chrysos heirs. Phainon could feel the quick look overs from his companions, Tribbie and Castorice lingering longer in concern for him.

He truly wears his heart in his sleeves, Mydei would comment when Phainon would turn away and leave the chamber with impatience. Despite his snides, the prince would still tag along and give him company.

Maybe his wishes for your safety have been answered, because when both Phainon and Mydei reach the destination of the clinic in Okhema City, you were the one kneeling down, clumsily wrapping your colleagues’ scraped knees to the best of your abilities. Phainon’s chest is heaving, having to run down Marmoreal Palace with such a chaotic mind truly exhausted him. He finds himself leaning against the frame on the open door before his ears are laid bare to Mydeimos’ click of a tongue, irritated. ”I told you to calm down, didn't I? The party wasn’t severely injured, they had Kremnoan people assisting them.”

“I…apologise.” Phainon heaves. “For showing such a side of me.” He addresses the people in the room, most of them were your affected party and a medic or two. The room seizes its pause, words of reassurance for the nameless delivery come fluttering into his ears and Phainon physically relaxes. He spares a look at Mydei, only to find him already looking. His honey eyes remain stoney, however he tips his chin in your direction and Phainon smiles at the gesture.

Everyone goes back to their own business but Phainon’s heart remains erratic with both the fear and the adrenaline.

He feels someone in front of him and his eyes open, landing on you.

Your fingers inch towards him, fixing his collar and the front of his attire. “It’s crooked.” you tell him and his blue eyes gentle like the psalm.

“I came here as fast as I can.” he breathes out. “I thought—” he stumbled on his own words. “You, I—”

“I made you worried, didn't I?” Your brows are pinched.

Phainon reaches out to touch your hand, the one lingering by his collar fabric and intertwining his fingers with the back of your hand. He lifts your palm to his face, his breath on your wrist as he feels your warm pulse on his lips.

“I’m just glad you’re safe.”

You cannot help the muddled fluster from painting your cheeks. “Phainon, we are…” we are in public, you wanted to tell him. But then your thoughts stumble, his intentions were always clear with you. He’s well-aware you two are under public gaze and yet he still showed such fondness for you.

It’s his public declaration of love.

You flinch when you hear Mydei’s heavy sigh. “Oi, Deliverer. I talked with the medics already, the situation here has been handled. I'll report back to Aglaea so get out of here.” His stare drags over to you, “Both of you.”

You would’ve turned and apologized to the prince if it weren’t for Phainon interlacing your fingers together and slipping out the clinic. Okhema’s dawn bathes your figure in gold and you tighten your hold on his—Phainon squeezes your palm as a response.

The pale-haired man turns to a secluded corner and immediately gathers you into his embrace. You chuckle at his clinginess, your fingers reaching out to tangle on the hairs behind his neck.

“Phainon,” You muse. “I’m okay.”

“I miss you.” Phainon’s voice is on your neck. “I’ve missed you so much I wanted to visit you, it’s been a week since I’ve seen you and now—I thought you were hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” You pull him closer. “I was the one that proposed this research expedition. I suppose I failed to take into account the dangers of visiting Janusopolis at this time. Because of me, my colleagues were injured.”

He has your face on his palms, blue eyes enough for you to sink into its depths like an anchor. “It’s not your fault.”

You closed your eyes. “I know.”

You cannot help the heat on your cheeks when Phainon pulls you into another hug, you relish in his golden presence. It has been a habit of his to start tracing your skin with his pining hands. When he pulls away, his thumbs brush over the pillows of your cheeks before travelling towards the arch of your eyelids, lingering slowly to the curvature of your lips then down the base of your neck. You nuzzle into his wrist when you find his hands on your head, rubbing through the roots of your tendrils. That’s when he speaks up, a bottled sort of rasp leaving between his lips.

He suggested that you stay with him in the city for a few more days, and you don’t see any reason to reject his offer. When the day grows gradually, you find yourself inside of a private room with Phainon—after the whole ambush your attire is caked with gravel and grime and you want nothing more than to take a long bath and rid yourself of the dirt.

“The water is warm now.” Phainon enters the room. “I placed a basket beside the pool with the oils. Just let me know if there’s anything else you need.” You cannot help but smile at his accommodations.

You see him freeze, blue eyes blinking at you.

You tilt your head. “Is something on my face?”

“You smiled.” He simply says. “I don’t think I ever saw you smile before.”

He hasn't? You pondered a bit, frowning. You could've sworn you smiled at him before.

Phainon calls out your name.

You turn to look at him, and his cheeks are flushed and rosy. He’s blushing red.

It did not take long for him to eat up the remainder of the gaps between the two of you, dissecting his expression—he looked like a mess. His eyes held a certain twinkle, his lips were pursed and his cheeks were ruddy.

Smitten beholds his eyes, then he holds your face again so delicately.

“Please, do it again.” Phainon asked you. “For me? You’re beautiful when you smile.”

His requests make your cheeks burn, but nonetheless you smile at him again, and again and again. Because at this very moment, you knew that Phainon—once just an imperfectly perfect hero to Okhema—was now someone who cannot stop being on your mind, his every tone and texture, every dip and curve of him has woven into your soul and you breathed him.

He was your very own warm sun encased in flesh and bones.

And you knew that Phainon felt the same way, for he had finally leaned down and pressed his tenacious lips against your own. Finally, finally expressing the fact that you too plagued his mind and he loved you so, so much with every waking fiber of his being.

#phainon x reader #phainon hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #amphoreus #⋆ ࣪. 🪐 kou works.#—stellaronhvnters.

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p1astr81 · 17 days ago

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‘tis the damn season

in which: Oscar’s ex calls him up one afternoon, proposing that they fake their relationship for a week at her parent’s house.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

warnings: loosely based on the TS song, use of y/n (once or twice), Oscar is hella whipped, cursing, idk I think that’s all.

wc: 7.3k

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

Your thumb hovered over the call button, mentally preparing for the awkward conversation that was about to take place. Your chest rose and fell in deep motions.

Before you could psych yourself out, your finger mashed the call button.

“Oh my god, please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t p-“ he answered after the second ring. “Hey!” Your voice shook, an embarrassing amount of vulnerability.

“Y/n? Has something happened? You sound… on edge.”

You pulled at the strings of the blanket draped across your lap. “Well, I have a very big favor to ask of you, and of course you can say no. I mean it’s a huge favor—really weird actually,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It can’t be that bad.”

It was tough to swallow the lump in your throat. “My whole family want to spend next week at our cabin, and I…” it was suddenly hard for you to breathe, your heart ten pounds heavier. Oscar remained silent. “Well,” you sighed, “would you be able to come along?”

The silence on the other end was deafening. Not even distant breath. The static filtering through the speakers inflated your anxiety with every passing second.

“Okay.” He gave in with a breath. “Just text me the details.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

SUNDAY

Living out in Nice, the drive to his Monaco apartment wasn’t unbearably far. You stepped out of the car to help him put his bags in your trunk. You’d decided to take your car because, changes are, it would do better in the mountains than his McLaren.

When you rounded to the back of the car, the trunk was already closed, and soon the sound of your driver’s door shutting reached your ears.

You found Oscar occupying the driver’s seat. “What are you doing?” You raised a brow. Oscar smiled innocently. “have you ever driven when we are together?” It was a question not meant to be answered. You didn’t fight him, knowing it was a losing game. You just rolled your eyes and took up your place in the passenger’s seat.

You and Oscar traveled in near silence, only your music filling the empty air. The atmosphere was light, rid of all the awkwardness you assumed would hang around the both of you. Maybe Oscar was just easy company to keep.

You allowed your thoughts to travel far away from you, to the past to be exact.

You and Oscar didn’t end things messy. Not at all. It was a mutual agreement. In your year and a half together, you didn’t have many spats. Every day spent with together was brimming with endless devotion.

The problem arose when your schedules began to conflict.

With dreams of being a mechanical engineer, a lot of your time was spent on your studies. Oscar knew how dedicated you were, and therefore never pushed you to travel with him. But only seeing him for a few weeks of the year—less than half of them—began to strain your relationship. Mentally, it was draining the both of you.

So to focus on your studies, and for Oscar to focus on his career, you decided to part ways.

That was two months ago, and you’d been no contact ever since. Well, until you asked him to come with you to your parent’s cabin.

You felt a poke on your shoulder, followed by a “hey” and a laugh. You tore your eyes from the window, peering at Oscar with raised brows. “Where’re you at?” He grinned at you, taking glances out of the corner of his eye.

“Hm? Oh. Just thinking.” You shook your head, watching as the buildings transitioned into dead trees as you left Monaco’s limits.

He hummed a response, leaving a gap of silence before asking, “so, why did you want me to come along?”

You sighed, your hands falling to your lap. “You know how they are. They think I can’t keep a guy, and… I don’t know, I was hoping if they’d see you and think you’re still with me then their image of me would change.”

Oscar frowned. Reflexes guiding his movements, he reached out to you, having every intention to place a hand on your thigh or over your own hand. He caught himself before it got that far, placing his hand on the center console instead. The role of comforting you was no longer his part to play.

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry. We should turn around I’ll just-“

“It’s not stupid.” He cut you off. “I think it sucks, and I’ll help you the best I can.” He assured, giving you a soft smile, one you returned. “Thanks, Os.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You and Oscar were the last to arrive at the cabin on Sunday night.

He followed in behind you. His eyes widened when he saw the whole family in the living room. Your parents, two sisters, your two aunts on your moms side, and your four cousins. Not to mention all of their significant others and your niece and nephew. In all, it was about sixteen people.

He leaned in close to your ear, whispering, “I didn’t realize you meant the whole family.” You shivered as his warm breath hit your skin. Goosebumps spread across your entire body. “It’s as much as a shock to me.” You told him truthfully.

Your mom saw you first, jumping up and running to greet you. “Oh! I’ve missed you.” She greeting, smothering you in a hug. Her strong floral perfume nearly choked you to death. “Missed you too, mom.” You forced yourself away before the noxious scent took you out completely.

Meanwhile, your uncle, Isaac, had kidnapped Oscar, dragging him away with a tight hold around his neck. “Oscar! My boy, good to see you’re still hangin in there.” Uncle Isaac was sure to stare dead in your eyes while saying the last part. The way he laughed at himself made Oscar’s stomach twist. His face remained straight, not a hint of amusement in sight.

“Hey, Uncle Isaac.” Oscar greeted politely.

Little five year old Theo jumped up, running toward Oscar. “Oscar!” He cheered, nearly toppling over from excitement. Oscars ability to move was inhibited when Theo latched around his legs. Isaac let go of Oscar.

“Hey mate!” Oscar greeted with equal enthusiasm, hoisting the kid up into his arms. Oscar held Theo over his head, and Theo spread his arms and legs out. “Mom look! I’m an airplane!” He cheered, making airplane noises. Lia, your sister, nearly had a heart attack when she turned to see what her son was talking about. “Okay, I think that’s enough airplane.” She rushed to Oscar’s side, who let Theo down. “Aww,” Theo pouted, crossing his arms and walking right past his mom, ignoring her.

Oscar felt a tug on his pants. Looking down, he was met with the large doe eyes of Theo’s twin sister, Thalia. She waved shyly under his gaze. He bent down to chat with her closer, pointing out the doll clutched in her hand. “That’s a pretty doll.” He smiled. “What’s her name?”

Thalia swayed herself from side to side. “Lillia.” She muttered. Oscar gasped softly. “That’s a pretty name.”

While Oscar was being bombarded by the children, you’d been dragged to the living room to greet all of your relatives.

“Ah, I see you’ve kept this one longer than a year. That’s a new record.” You uncle Leni laughed, embracing you loosely. You gave a half-assed laugh, though it hurt massively. You thought you could’ve avoided these kinds of comments if Oscar was here with you, but now it seems you’ve dragged him out here for no reason.

You should’ve known better.

“Are you still going for that mechanical engineering degree?” Your aunt Anne asked a bit of a judgy tone. She sat next to her husband Leni while swirling a drink in her hand. You nodded, sitting next to your sister Katie on the floor. “And you’re still aiming for a job with f1?” You gave another nod.

“Are you sure? I mean, isn’t that a bit unrealistic?”

Cocking your head to the side you asked, “what do you mean by that?” Your tone was harsh and accusatory. Anne shrugged. “Well, it isn’t really a place for a woman is it? If you look in any of those garages, it’s mostly men.”

You felt the anger swirling deep in your stomach, brewing a deeper feeling of resentment. You open your mouth to speak when Oscar’s voice joined the conversation from behind you.

“Yeah it is mostly men, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do it.” Oscar shrugged, taking a seat next to you. Close enough to not raise suspicion, but far enough to not be touching. You looked to him with raised brows. “I think she can do it. Last year, she majorly helped the team fix an issue with the car. And that was only in her third year of school.”

Uncle Leni laughed. “Eh, she’s got as good of a chance as any man.” He waved a hand through the air. For a moment, you thought he actually was showing some support. “She’s dating one of the drivers.” He motioned a hand toward Oscar, laughing loudly. Everyone else in the room chuckled.

You stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I need the restroom.” You muttered, trying your best not to run away from the family.

With worried eyes, Oscar watched as you disappeared down the hall. He had never been a violent man, but right now, he really wanted to take your uncle by the collar of his shirt and chuck him over the balcony to send him tumbling down the side of the mountain. Of course, he did not.

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As the family was winding down and preparing for bed, a realization hit you. If it was a physical force, it would’ve knocked you through a wall.

While Oscar helped you straighten up the living room, you leaned closer to him, whispering, “We have to share a bed.” Oscar turned his head over his shoulder to look at you with a raised brow. “What?” He genuinely had not heard you. “We have to share a room. And a bed.”

The color drained from Oscar’s face. “Oh,” he muttered, crossing the living room to create distance between you two.

When the two of you entered the room a little later that night, the air between you became tense and awkward.

“I’ll sleep in the floor.” Oscar proposed, making you shake your head quickly. “I can’t ask that of you. I dragged you out here.”

“I chose to come out here.” He reminded you. Your eyes drifted to the king sized bed. “I think it’ll be fine. We’ll just stay on our own sides.”

You moved a pillow, creating a physical barrier between your two sides of the bed. You faced him, motioning your hands to the quick fix as a way to say, see?

Oscar shrugged. “I guess.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

MONDAY

The family was off to the slopes the next morning. Oscar and yourself driving Theo and Thalia because your nephew was attached to Oscar, and Thalia was always by her brother’s side.

When you got there, Theo started dragging Oscar toward the small slopes. “I want to race you! I bet I’m faster than you.” Oscar laughed. “I was going to go down the big kid slopes.” Oscar pointed to the much steeper slope. Theo frowned. “But I can’t go to the big kid slopes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. It was hard for Oscar to deny Theo anything, so he looked to you with a question in his eyes. You gave him a small nod.

“Are you coming with us?” Thalia’s small voice asked form next to you, her hands, encased in bright pink gloves, gripping her goggles. You glanced up at Oscar and hummed. “Sure, why not?” You smiled, taking Thalias hand in yours and joining Oscar and Theo as they waited for a lift.

Oscar didn’t seem surprised that you had also wound up stuck with the kiddies. “I can look after the both of them if you want to go with the rest of my family.”

Oscar’s face scrunches up, like that idea inflicted physical pain upon his person. He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not a big fan of skiing anyway, so I think the kiddie slopes are the perfect pace for me.” He flashed one of his charming grins at you. You gave a small smile in response.

You flagged down Lia and Dylan, informing them from a distance that you and Oscar were looking over their kids. They seemed overly satisfied that the responsibility was taken away from them.

“I’m scared.” Thalia’s little voice squeaked from next to you. You smiled down at her, a comforting hand on her head. “It’s alright, Thal, I’ll stay with you.” You crouch down in front of her. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and safe. I pinky promise.” You offered your pinky to her. She hesitantly hooked your pinky with hers, splitting your lips into a smile.

Oscar called your name, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes. At the sight of your curious doe-eyed expression, he fought off a smile that tried to surface on his face. Half failing, he ended up with a slanted smile. “The lift.” He explained shortly.

The four of you piled in together. Thalia and Theo in the middle while Oscar and yourself occupied the outsides.

Thalia hung onto your ski pants when you got off. Theo and Oscar took off down the mountain, racing each other just as Theo wished. You could tell Oscar was majorly holding back, though.

“You’ve got it, Thal, you’ve done this before.” You reassured her and she gave you a small nod. You kept your pace slow at first, waiting for Thalia to catch up with every movement so you didn’t stray too far away.

But she eventually gained her confidence, and even tried to be faster than you. You let her fly on the skis ahead of you. It was easier to keep an eye on her that way.

At the bottom of the slope stood Oscar and Theo, waiting for the both of you. “So who won?”

“Me!” Theo tried to jump but his skis weighed him down. You turned to Oscar. “Getting beat by a kid? Shame. Better luck next time.” You teased.

Oscar smiled. “He’s just too good.”

Apparently, you and Oscar had been smiling at each other for too long, because Theo gags. “Yuck! Come on I want to beat you again.” Theo urged, leading the group as he walked back to the lift station.

Oscar was quick to follow, then you and Thalia. Thalia called your name once again. “What’s up, hon?” You replied.

Her eyes were trained on Oscar’s backside. “I think Oscar is pretty.” She confessed. You didn’t laugh, only smiled softly at her. “Really? Would you like me to tell him that?”

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No. He’s too old for me.” You chuckled.

Later that night, as you’re around the table eating dinner, sat next to Oscar, she tells him for herself.

She came between your chairs, tapping Oscar’s arm twice. He leaned down at her signal for him to come closer. His brows shot up when she told him. “Really? Well thank you. I think you’re a cutie, Thal.” At that, her face flushed a furious shade of red and scurried back to her seat beside her brother.

“Now she’s going to think you have a crush on her.” You whispered in his ear. A chill ran down his spine at the feeling of your breath contacting his bare skin. He tried his best to ignore how it made him feel.

He grinned. “I’m sure she won’t.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

TUESDAY

She definitely did.

Now Theo and Thalia were attached to Oscar for completely different reasons.

When Thalia saw Oscar the next morning, the first thing she did was compliment him. “I like your hair.” She said from her spot on the couch. Oscar first glanced at you before looking at her. “I just woke up like this.” He brushed it off, smiling.

But the compliments didn’t stop. When you went out again to ski, she insisted on sitting next to him on the lift, and told him, “your goggles are cool.”

They were plain black goggles.

“You have pretty eyes.” During lunch.

Pointing to his plain maroon colored shirt during dinner and saying, “I like your shirt.”

Wedging between the both of you during movie night and telling Oscar he smelt good.

“I like your toothbrush,” while he was getting ready for bed.

Anything she could compliment him on, she did. And it started to freak you out a bit. “Oscar you’ve gotta tell her you’re just friends.” You advised while fluffing up your pillow. “It’s a harmless crush,” he ran a hand through his hair. “She’ll probably be over it by tomorrow.”

You doubted it. “And what if she isn’t?” You threw your pillow on your side of the bed. Oscar laid on his side, raising a brow at you. “Are you jealous of a five year old?” He teased.

You scoffed, sitting cross legged on your side of the bed. “There’s nothing to be jealous about. For one, she’s a five year old and you’re not a pedophile. And for two, we aren’t even together.”

Oscar shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. “If she isn’t over it by tomorrow, then I’ll make it clear that we’re just friends.” He chuckled, shaking his head. He thought it was a little ridiculous that he had to clarify to a five year old that they were just friends.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

WEDNESDAY

Oscar was proved wrong first thing in the morning, because as you and him came out to eat breakfast, Thalia was sitting in your spot. “I told you.” You muttered before taking Thalias empty chair.

Oscar whispered something to Theo, who moved over to take Oscar’s seat right after. You looked to him with furrowed brows, a silent request for an explanation. “Told him I’d buy him whatever candy he wanted at the markets today if he swapped with me.” You laughed loudly, a hand on Oscar’s shoulder to stabilize yourself as you doubled over. “You’ll come to regret that decision.” You forewarned.

On the way to the markets, Thalia tried to convince you to let her sit up front with Oscar. The whole time while telling her no, you were glaring at Oscar. He held back a smile at your fierce looks.

But she won one over you when you arrived at the markets. She clung onto Oscar’s hand like it was her lifeline. “Your daughter is stealing my boyfriend.” You muttered to Lia. She laughed before calling her daughter over to her. Thalia reluctantly listened, latching onto her mother’s hand instead.

You took the five year old’s place next to Oscar. “I suppose we should hold hands then.” He whispered close to your ear, gesturing to the intwined fingers of your relatives. “You know, to keep up the act.” He reasoned.

Though truly, a part of Oscar just may have just wanted to hold your hand for the sake of just holding your hand. No act about it.

You peered up at him, eyes widened slightly. “Uh- well- if you don’t have a problem with it.” Oscar smiled at the way you stumbled over your words.

You appreciated the warmth his hand provided. The December air was biting at you with every small gust of wind that blew through. At a particularly strong gust, you instinctively hid your face in Oscar’s chest. You muttered quick and quiet apologies when you noticed. But he didn’t mind one bit.

Theo ran up to the both of you, holding a remote controlled race car in his hands. “Oscar! Can you get me this?!”

Oscar chucked, kneeling down to be closer to eye level. He kept his hand in yours. “Buddy, I thought I said candy.” He was gentle with the kid, careful of his feelings. Theo frowned. “You did but… but Oscar this car is so cool.” He gave Oscar big puppy eyes, pouting his lips.

Oscar held back his laugh, taking care when sliding the toy from Theo’s grasp. “Do you want the car over the candy?” He asked. Theo nodded. Oscar smiled and stood. “Car it is then.” He tousled the boys hair, whose pout was now replaced by a big toothy smile.

“Thank you uncle Oscar!” Theo wrapped his arms around Oscar’s legs. An attempt at a hug. Oscar rubbed his back. “‘Course, kid.”

Theo ran off, joining his parents and sister at a vendor not too far from where you stood.

But your mind was suck on the title he’d given Oscar. And apparently Oscar was thinking about it too, because he bumped your shoulder and teased, “I’m an uncle now, hm? That wasn’t in the agreement.”

Head bowed, you chuckled nervously. “Sorry,”

Oscar smirked. “Don’t apologize. I think it’s cute.” His hand squeezed yours.

The both of you continued on, hand in hand, straying farther from the family. You stopped at a jewelry booth, a pendant catching your eye. On closer inspection, a small gasp left your lips. “Oh, Oscar, look how pretty.” You held the pendant in your empty hand. A small, flower-like shaped charm, a pretty pink color.

“It suits you.” He smiled, gaze jumping from the pendant to you and back. “Uhm, excuse me?” You called for the seller, an older woman. “How much for this?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three… hundred?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, it’s sterling silver and real diamond, just dyed that pretty pink color.”

You couldn’t justify spending that price, so you politely said, “ah maybe another time.”

Oscar frowned at the disappointment in your expression. Three hundred seemed like nothing to him, but he understood the burden it was to you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of little hands on his. When he looked down, he found Thalia trying to pry his hand from yours. You sighed, and gave him an ‘I told you so’ look. “I’m gonna go take Thalia, and discuss this crush with her.” You whispered close to Oscar’s ear before taking the child and walking off.

Once you were no longer in ear shot, he turned back to the woman. “Excuse me, do you take card?”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

That night at dinner, the conversation made a turn for the worse. Uncle Leni had one two many beers and couldn’t shut his mouth, so when he overheard your conversation, he just had to say something.

Oscar brought up your future, making a light hearted joke about you working in his garage next year. “Do you really think I have a chance? I mean, I did all that interning for McLaren last year and Andrea said he would ‘miss me greatly,’ but that doesn’t guarantee me a job anywhere in the paddock, you know?” You gushed. Oscar smiled at the way your eyes sparked when you spoke with such enthusiasm. He opened his mouth to speak, an encouragement and something about the future on the tip of his tongue.

The words were never spoken.

“I’d be careful with her, boy. She might be using you to get with your boss, and then fuck him for a job.” Leni interrupted. The vulgarity of the accusation had Oscar’s stomach twisting with something vile.

Your expression shaped into a mix of anger and disgust. Oscar watched you cautiously, offering a comforting hand to your knee. You stood abruptly just as his hand made contact. “I’d be careful with that alcohol, Uncle Leni. I think you’re one drink away from liver failure.” You shot back, leaving without letting him get another word in.

Oscar bowed his head, “excuse us,” he said to no one in particular, before turning to your parents and thanking them for the dinner. He cleaned up your plate and his and proceeded to follow you down the hall where you disappeared.

Muffled sobs came from the inside of your shared room. He knocked on the door hesitantly, calling your name in a soft question. “Go away,” your voice broke through your sobs.

But Oscar was persistent. He cared. You couldn’t get rid of him that easily. “I’m coming in.” He said, despite your very clear message.

His footsteps were cautious as he ventured into the room. You were lying on your stomach, sprawled out on the bed, face in a pillow. He was careful when he sat beside you, a hand coming up to rub in comforting circles on your back.

“It’s not fair, Osc.” The use of the nickname spiked his heart rate. He did his best to ignore it, putting his feelings aside for yours. “I know,” he hummed.

Your face emerged from the pillows, eyes already puffy and red. “No you don’t. Because you’re a man and they all love you.”

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.” There was no point in arguing. He knew you were right. “Come here,” he encouraged, arms outstretched and waiting for your arrival. You drug yourself up, into his arms, lying against his chest.

The white shirt quickly became stained with your tears. Oscar didn’t care. He held you close while you cried. “I hate them.” You choked out. “They all think so little of me, have so little faith in me. Like I’m going to be nothing in life.” You clutched onto the white cloth of his t-shirt. “They talk about me like I’m a fucking prostitute.” Oscar ran a hand through your hair, and you snuggled your face closer to his chest.

Oscar tried to think of something comforting to say, but nothing felt quite right. He decided to pull you closer, instead. “I thought with you here they’d stop, but…” you shook your head. “I’m sorry I brought you all the way out here for nothing.”

“No,” Oscar jumped quickly to sooth your worries. “No you didn’t. I’m happy you asked. I’ve had fun here, with you.”

“You don’t mean that,” you tried to push yourself away from him, but Oscar held tighter. “Yes I do. I- on my life,” you struggled against his hold, desperately trying to rid yourself from the restraints that were his arms. “I promise you I meant it.” He urged, muttering the words close to your ear.

You relaxed at that, a palm coming to rest against his chest. Your tears still flowed freely. “And… and I’m so proud of you, too. And I believe in you more than you can even imagine.” He continued, dull nails scratching idly at your scalp.

You weren’t sure if his words were genuine. That didn’t matter. They were words you needed to hear, even if you had not known it until that very moment.

Oscar continued to keep you in his hold. He offered no more attempts to soothe you other than the hand of his that were tangled in the strands of your hair.

The exact timing you’d fallen asleep was unknown to him. He only realized you left consciousness when he stopped feeling your body shake with sobs and when the rhythmic tensing and relaxing of your hand ceased.

Your breathing had become even, too. Which he only took note of after he carefully laid you down in a more comfortable position.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

THURSDAY

You woke up, the clock informing you it was midday. You shot out of bed. The family was meant to go sledding today, and should have left an hour ago.

The floorboards under your feet creaked loudly as you raced to the living room. You froze upon entering. The only person there was Oscar, sat on the couch, only half watching the show on the television.

He turned at the sound of you approaching, and smiled. “Hey,” he greeted, soft and far too intimate for the current dynamic.

“Where is everyone?”

Oscar looked a bit guilty at the question. “Gone. I told them you weren’t feeling well, and we’d be staying here today.”

You nodded, padding over to round the couch. The cushion beside him became occupied by you. “Is that okay?” He asked, head tilted while he searched your eyes for some emotion. You nodded once more. “Didn’t feel up to it anyway.” You confessed. Then after a moment, ��Thank you.”

A smile flickered across Oscar’s lips. “No need to thank me.”

You’d spent the day curled up on the couch together, strangely domestic for two people who had no business being so. Only when it was dark outside did Oscar raise any questions. “How long do they plan on being gone?” It was far past dinner time. 9pm to be exact. Oscar and yourself had already ordered and ate food.

Your head, being on his shoulder, tilts up so your eyes could meet. “They’re out at a restaurant, probably.” You shrugged.

Oscar’s eyes drifted to the window, the glittering snow having caught his eye. He had a sudden childish desire to go play in the fluffy white blankets.

So that’s what you did, before your family returned home.

You hid behind a tree with a tightly packed ball of snow held like a delicate jewel in the palm of your hand. The way your heart raced with anticipation sent a rush through you. Your face hurt, not only from the cold but also from the consistent strain of your muscles used to maintain the permanent smile on your face.

The sound of a snowball hitting the other side of the tree made you jump, but the reaction was quickly followed by a laugh. “Come on! I can’t get you if you’re hid behind a tree!” Oscar complained, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Then come get me!” You shouted back. The crunch of snow approaching closed caused you to smile harder. He had no idea what was coming for him.

But then it stopped suddenly. Definitely not close enough to be just on the other side. You peaked around the tree. Oscar stood still, his hands moulding a pile of snow. His brows creased in concentration. So much concentration, that he didn’t even hear the packed snow stress under your feet.

Once close enough, you let the snowball fly from the palm of your hand. It landed right on the side of his face. “Hey!” He laughed.

“That was totally on you. It should not take you that long to make one snow ball.” You teased, nearing closer.

Oscar frowned slightly. “It’s not a snowball,” he twisted his palm to face you. “It’s a heart.”

You stood close to him now. A small extension of your arm, and you’d be touching him. You smiled, soft and small. “It’s cute.” His cheeks were flushed with a light pink. Probably from the cold, you thought.

Careful fingers grabbed ahold of your wrist, twisting it so your palm faced the sky. Silently, Oscar transferred his creation from his palm to your. You chuckled. “Quite the romantic.” You teased once more.

“You more than anyone should know just how romantic I am.” Oscar leaned into the fun banter. You shook your head laughing. “Come on, I want some hot chocolate.” He followed you up the porch and into the house, pausing to wait for you to set his creation on the railing of the deck.

Plain white mugs were all that was in the cabinet, so it’s what you used to hold your hot cocoa. Oscar rummaged in the fridge while you blew into the cup, trying to cool it off. The steam continued to roll off it in heaps.

“Found it!” Oscar cheered, surfacing with a can of whipped cream. “Ah, good idea,” You hummed, holding your mug out to him. The spiral he put on top of your cup was nothing short of perfect.

You hopped up on the kitchen island, while Oscar stood beside you. He laughed at you after you’d taken a sip, his cheeks still colored pink despite the warmer environment inside the cabin.

“You’ve got a little—here, I’ll just get it.” He reached up, fingertips grazing your cheek. His thumb slipped across your upper lip, gathering the whipped cream.

His hand pulled back slightly, a smile on his face while he showed you the reason for his actions. You laughed.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, capturing his thumb between your lips. Oscar went red at the feeling of your tongue swiping against the pad of his thumb while your eyes remained on his. The situation far too sensual.

When your brain finally caught up to you, you jumped back. A hand of yours covered your mouth. “Oh my—I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, obviously I wasn’t but—“ your breath hitched, his hand on your thigh.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice came in hushed whispers. His eyes scattered all around your face, settling for a beat too long on your lips.

The both of you were locked in an intense staring contest, wanting the same thing but too scared to be the one to initiate it.

Oscar’s chest heaved, like the moment was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. Hesitantly, he reached a hand up to your face. It found its home on your cheek. When you didn’t react, his other hand traveled to your other cheek. Still, you did not move, but he did notice the rate of your breaths had sped up.

He was the one to take the risk. His body found its way between your legs, and he pulled your face down to meet his.

The feeling of his lips against yours was familiar. The feeling that bloomed in your stomach was familiar. The heat between your legs, familiar.

He overrode every one of your senses. Tasted sweet, reminiscent of the cocoa and whipped cream. Smelled of cologne, fresh. Like amber wood, orange, and a hint of vanilla. His hands in your hair and settled at the base of your neck were driving you crazy. His hips rut against the counter, and he released a small groan into your mouth.

The sound of the lock on the door caught your ear. Two hands on his chest, you shoved him away. He stumbled back, but quickly understood when your family funneled through the door. Your face was on fire.

“Feeling better, I see?” Your sister smiled, then her eyes shifted to Oscar. “Nice lip gloss.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

FRIDAY

The end of the trip was nearing. It was another relax day in the house, though the kids were far from relaxed. Their giggles were a constant echo through the house along with the patter of their feet.

You’d fallen asleep last night with Oscar’s arms around you, his body moulded perfectly to yours. But when you woke up this morning, the boy was no longer offering the warmth of his body heat to you. In fact, he wasn’t in the bed at all, and the sheets beside you were cold to the touch. He hadn’t been there for awhile.

It was the second day in a row you’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he was no longer there when you woke the next morning.

So it seemed he had a knack for fleeing when things got too intimate.

You swung your legs over the bed. The wooden floors under your feet were as cold as the winter air outside. You quickly shielded yourself with a pair of slippers, and the first hoodie you saw.

Just like yesterday, you found him on the couch. He wasn’t watching one of his shows, but bluey. Your brows were furrowed as you approached. Your eyes answered the question in your mind; Theo and Thalia sat on the carpet in front the television. Theo recklessly drove his new remote controlled car while Thalia played with his hot wheels. A content smile colored Oscar’s expression.

You ruffled his hair, muttering out a, “good morning.” Oscar’s greeting died on the tip of his tongue when he turned his head to find you in his hoodie and tight biker shorts. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly. “Morning,” he managed.

The dynamic between you two was different now. A conversation was never held after the events of last night, but the air shifted. An unspoken agreement that you crossed the line as friends but neither of you would dare to venture into the dating territory. You were stuck in a sort of limbo between the two, which meant neither of you knew exactly how to act around the other.

“Oscar, you sound like bluey!” Theo laughed, Thalia joining him. Oscar’s face contorted in amusement, brows raised and a broader smile. “You’ve got a good ear.”

When his eyes searched the room to find you, they landed in the kitchen, the fridge wide open.

You pulled out an avocado, an egg, and a bagel from the pantry. You jumped when you turned around to place them on the island. Oscar was standing with his back to the counter, staring at your every move. “stalker,” you laughed, standing beside him. He remained serious. “We should talk.”

Your body froze. “Where’s the rest of the family?” You asked, gaze focused on the countertop. “Downstairs. Playing pool.” He muttered, a quick glance at the twins. “They’ll be fine for a couple minutes.”

Your eyes met his, an unusual pleading look about them. You nodded. “Yeah. We can step outside.” You motioned towards the back deck.

Out on the deck, you waited for him to speak first, a foot playing with the fluffy white snow to avoid his gaze.

“So… last night,” he began. You shut your eyes, preparing mentally for an awkward conversation. He shook his head, restarting his mini speech. “I’ve tried to move on from you for the last couple of months. It hasn’t really worked and I’ve always had an idea as to why, but last night really solidified it.” His hand on your cheek directed your gaze to his. An uncharacteristically bold move.

His eyes searched yours. For what, you were unsure of. But his gaze burrowed into yours, making you feel light in the head and queasy in the stomach. “I still love you.” He spoke with finality, as if the statement would reign true for the remainder of his life. That’s what it felt like to him.

You gasped out a breath, shaking your head. “It’s not good for us. It didn’t work out. It won’t work out.” Your face, still held in his hands; your eyes, cast anywhere but on him.

He stepped closer. You could feel his body heat now. “It could. You’ll be out of school two months after the season starts, and then you can get a job at McLaren with me-“

“And then I’ll become everything Leni thinks I am.” You interrupted, words quiet.

“No you won’t, because you deserve it. You know it. I know it. Who cares if your drunk, deadbeat uncle thinks otherwise?” You breathed out a laugh, glancing at him for only a moment. “But that’s besides the point. It’ll be just two months with me away and you studying. That’s nothing. We’ve managed longer.”

His pleas were followed by silence, a slight frown, furrowed brows. Wandering eyes landed on the heart-shaped snow ball he carefully crafted for you. “I don’t know,” you spoke, almost too quiet for Oscar to hear.

The small swipe of his thumb against your cheek had your defenses crumbling. “The apartment has felt so empty without you.” He recalled how he continued to look for you in every room, even two weeks after you broke up. A hopeless dream that you’d be standing in the kitchen or sleeping in his bed. Of course, you never were. “Please. Just give me a month.”

The nod came slowly, after a long moment of silence; Oscar’s ears strained for even a breath from you. “A month.” You agreed, a silent pray to whatever god would listen that this wasn’t a horrible mistake.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

SATURDAY

Your last day at the cabin was spent back at the slopes, Oscar and yourself finally being able to break from the kiddie slopes and enjoy the more exhilarating ones. He’d tried to race you, and when you won, claimed that he slowed on purpose. His whole being exposed his lies, though.

The family ended the night on the couch, watching a Christmas movie, though Christmas was long past. Unfortunately for you and Oscar, you were demoted to sitting on the floor since you were the youngest of the adults.

Oscar didn’t mind. Not when you sat with your body pressed against his. Legs across his lap and head resting in the curve of his neck. He kept one of your hands encased in both of his. He wasn’t even sure what the movie was about. His eyes were hardly on the screen, opting to study you out of the corner of his eye. He felt incredibly lucky to be able to call you his again.

He only realized the movie ended when you looked up at him, laughing at how his eyes were already on you. “How was the movie?” You asked him, a soft smile. He absorbed every bit of it he could. “Amazing.”

Before you went to bed, Oscar pulled out a small box from his suitcase. Your back was turned, fluffing the pillow. He called your name softly. The curious look you gave him was just another thing he was sure to store in his brain for safe keeping.

“What’s that?” You hummed, interested. You stood in front of him now, the box within reach. He lifted the lid and presented it to you, earning a small gasp. “Oscar… that’s too much I can’t take that.” You shook your head, a hand pushing the box into his chest. “I bought it for you. No returns.” His nervous laugh filled the gap of your response.

A tentative hand of your reached for the pendant, the ridges of it gliding over your fingers. You bit the inside of your cheek, deciding there was no use in turning the gift away. “Will you put it on me?” He smiled. Nodded.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

JUNE

You began working in Oscar’s garage right out of school. Andrea was sure to pick you up before any team even had the opportunity to approach you.

The relationship between you and Oscar was common knowledge within the garage. Your teammates—the other mechanics—treated you no different, other than the occasional teasing about it.

“We agree that if anything is wrong with the car, we blame her, right?” One of the other mechanics joked, gesturing to you. Laughter rang out over the roaring engines.

Of course, once your family got wind of the news, they had something to say. Leni in particular washed up the achievement to be special treatment since you were dating one of their drivers. It didn’t get to you this time, because Oscar reassured you that it was purely based on your skill. His opinion mattered more than your Uncle’s.

Outside of the world of racing, Oscar treated you like an Angel fallen from heaven. Acting like he existed with the sole purpose to service you. It annoyed you at first until you came to the realization that it was out of love. He communicated his love for you through of acts of service. From then on, you cherished it.

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #op81 #f1 angst #f1 x you #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fluff #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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verxca · 2 months ago

Note

Hiii I maybe something with Jason who was recently injured nothing serious but enough to put him out of commission for a few days but for these few days the reader has been doing everything ,picking up his responsibilities,doing things for him and he realizes that it’s taking a toll on her so he persuades her to rest along side him

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ [ imagine #03 ]

[ j. todd ] ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

── . ✦ in which you tire yourself out for jason after he’d been hit with an injury, and he eases you into slowing down with him when he notices your stress.

On a typical day, you and Jason split tasks equally. Despite his rampant life of crime outside on the city streets of Gotham, he was still very domestic and responsible when back at your place. You would usually cook a nice dinner to share - He’d sweep the floors - And you’d always take a romantic hot shower together afterwards.

Despite your combined efforts, not everything remained completely equilibrated. You knew he was at a disadvantage… and you would be lying if you said you weren’t worried sick every day and night when he parts. Your stress was only fortified when he came home late one day with a sprained ankle!

“Jason… You need to rest, okay? I’m not letting you out the house like this. Please.” His eyebrows furrowed, a pain clenching his heart at your worry. “Okay- okay.” He nods reluctantly, hugging you.

You took extra care of him that night just to make sure; making his favourite food, doing all his laundry, cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, etc. You didn’t mind it, in fact, you liked taking care of Jason. He ushered you into bed afterwards, though.

Yet as the days continued on, more and more tasks got lifted onto your shoulders simultaneously. Even after Jason was forced to relax (reluctantly… the task of convincing him to stay in bed was probably the hardest of all), you still ran around the apartment. More papers you had to write, more errands you had to run, and more tasks you had to complete for Jason’s health and wellbeing piled up in the matter of hours and days.

You were currently finishing up an extra load of landry, packing your towels into the broom cupboard. Shit! You had forgotten to make dinner, too! Your gaze shifts towards the stove top, the time reading half past eight. You contemplate on what to make, and if you even wanted to make it in the first place. But then again, Jason… He was still recovering, and needed to build his strength back up. It’d be best if you made something small— You could have the leftovers.

You rush back into your shared bedroom to ask what he was up for, noticing quickly that he was already seated up on the bed— waiting for you in a manner. “You know you don’t have to do all this shit, babe, right?” You pause, standing in the doorway.

“Sorry?” Jason pauses, before starting up again. “This- I mean, you’re killing your self here, hon. You’re gonna’ work yourself to death doing too much for me. I’ve been seeing you run around all day.” You frown, taking a second to look back on everything. Sure, it’d been stressful, but you were just trying to help him, is all. After a second you walk over, sitting next to your lover on the duvet. His expression was evidently worried— Eyes flashing with love as he put a comforting hand on your knee.

“I’m just trying to help, Jay-” You explain, not really knowing how to put it into words, or even what to say for that matter. You just wanted to be a good, responsible girlfriend. “I know, I know, but you gotta relax too, yeah? If you managed to convince me to rest, then I sure as hell can convince you too.”

A chuckle almost immediately escaped your lips, and you nod after understanding his words. “This isn’t about some domestic shit, is it?” You pause, thinking. Maybe it was… again, you just wanted to take care of your boyfriend. Cleaning, cooking— They were common tasks, but still. On top of all that extra work, it was practically impossible to complete alone, let alone stay in a healthy mindset while running around.

He had to be right after all… plus, cuddling in bed sounded nice for the both of you right now. “Let’s order out, then watch a movie, okay?” You try to protest, but Jason had already pulled you into a kiss.

#jason todd #jaybird #red hood #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #batfam #dc #dc comics #fluff #comfort

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v6quewrlds · 3 months ago

Note

can u write a fluffy clingy joe one shot?? maybe building legos or something!! i love ur work!! i hope u have a nice day!!🫶🏾

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: here's a fluffy little palette cleanser <3

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 0.9k.

The scent of cinnamon wafted through the air as you stirred the pot of homemade hot chocolate on the stove. You glanced at the clock; it was already past six in the evening, and the darkness outside pressed against the windows like a heavy blanket.

"Joe," you began as you poured the steaming liquid into two oversized mugs, "I understand you're upset, but maybe you should take this week to recharge. Watch some movies, play some video games, do something that doesn't involve football."

Joe sighed, taking the mug from you with a nod of gratitude. "You're probably right," he admitted. "But it's hard to sit still when all I can think about is what we could be doing to fix things."

You kissed his forehead gently. "You can't control everything, Joey. Sometimes you just have to trust that things will pan out the way they're meant to." You leaned in for a quick peck, then stepped back to pick up your warm mug.

Joe sighed again, his eyes lingering on the TV that was muted in the living room, displaying highlights of the Cavs-Pelicans game. "Fine," he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Fine," Joe repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Can we build that Lego set we got last Christmas?"

Your eyes lit up. "Seriously?" You had been dying to tackle the intricate, sprawling Star Wars that had remained in its box since Joe's brother, Dan, gifted it for Christmas. "You know I've been waiting for this moment."

Joe nodded with a hint of excitement in his voice. "Yeah, I figured it's time we put it together." He followed you to the living room, where you cleared the coffee table with a dramatic flourish.

You sat down across from each other, the instructions sprawled out between you. You picked up the instructions, your eyes scanning the pages. "Okay, we're building the Death Star," you said with a smile. "Where do we start?"

Joe leaned over, his sarcasm in full swing. "I'm surprised you remember what it is. You're the one who said it looked like a giant space donut when we opened the box."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Hey, I know my Star Wars!" you protested. "The 4,000-piece count kind of took me by surprise, though."

Joe chuckled, sifting through the pieces. "Alright, space donut expert, let's get to it."

Your eyes were glued to the instructions, the pieces scattered around the two of you like a colorful minefield. A soft laugh filled the room as you held up a tiny Lego stormtrooper, your thumb and forefinger framing it like a photograph. "Look at this little guy," you said, grinning. "He's so cute."

"Cute? He's a symbol of imperial tyranny, babe," Joe retorted with a chuckle, earning a playful shove from you. Despite his initial hesitation, Joe was fully invested in the project. His mind was clear of the team dynamics that had consumed him all week. The Legos demanded his focus, and he gave it willingly.

You took a sip of your now lukewarm cocoa and leaned in closer to examine Joe's progress. "Looks pretty impressive," you said.

Joe glanced up, his cheeks reddening slightly. "It's just Legos," he said, but you could hear the pride in his voice.

"No, it's not just Legos," you replied, setting your mug down. "I love it when you get all focused like this for something other than football. It's cute."

Joe rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Cute, huh?"

You nodded. "Yeah, like a big ol' teddy bear."

"Teddy bear?" Joe scoffed, but the playful teasing had lightened his mood. "I'll have you know I'm a very intimidating Lego architect."

You couldn't help but laugh at his defensive tone. "Oh, absolutely," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm quaking in my boots."

Joe smirked and tossed a Lego at you. It bounced off your arm and you feigned injury. "Careful there, Burrow," you said, your voice full of mock pain. "You wouldn't want to hurt the one who's keeping you fed and hydrated."

"Well, you're not helping much with the whole 'keeping me hydrated' part," Joe quipped, nodding towards his nearly empty mug. "I'll need more of that hot cocoa if I'm going to get through this."

You stood up with a smile. "Your wish is my command," you said, practically skipping back to the kitchen. As you brought the pot to a boil again, you watched Joe through the archway. The stress of the season had etched lines into his face, but as he worked on the Death Star, you could see them slowly smoothing out.

When you returned with the freshly filled mug, Joe took a grateful sip and leaned back, eyeing the progress. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I've been so caught up in work that I forgot how much I enjoy just... doing nothing."

You sat back down on the floor, your mug now steaming in your hands. "It's important to have hobbies," you agreed, your voice gentle. "Things that make you happy outside of football."

Joe nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before returning to the Legos. "You're right," he murmured, his voice a mix of acceptance and regret. "I just... I want to win so badly."

You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I know you do," you said softly. "And you will. But you'll have to wait a week to do it. For now, just enjoy the quiet."

#&. joey b.#joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow x reader #bengals #cincinnati football #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #black!fem!reader #x black fem reader #black!oc #x black reader #black!reader #black reader

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nightmareweaverz · 3 months ago

Text

What Is Love? (Mr. Gap x GN!Reader)

(Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me)

This contains spoilers!!

CW: brief mention of murder, one single swear word, romantic gestures but it's all SFW, reader is a serial killer Word count: 1923

Hi, hello, I ended up writing fanfiction for this game after all. And it's for Mr. Gap because I love this dumb void creature obsessed with body parts. He's a love interest in the game, don't boo me, I'm right. Might continue this one later, maybe? Not sure if it's a one shot or not yet.

How long has it been since you’d decided to return to the other world indefinitely? You’re not entirely sure. Time is hard to measure here. You sleep when you are tired and you eat when you’re hungry. You’re at least certain you’ve slept many times since then. Sometimes you wonder whether decades go by as you remain here, among ghosts and monsters.

If you’re entirely honest, it isn’t so bad. You can massacre whoever you please and nobody bats an eye. There’s no need to hide bodies, build alibis, get rid of evidence.

Yet, at the same time, with every new set of hallways and decaying rooms, you begin to sympathize more with the likes of Mr. Stitch and Mr. Machete. You’d once wondered why someone would give away clothes for free or play hairdresser in this world. Now you find yourself yearning for something similar, a purpose or at least a way to pass the time.

At least you aren’t alone. Mr. Gap has become an expected presence in every crevice, hole and gash you gaze into. He’s still a mischievous little jerk, of course, but there is comfort in knowing someone nonthreatening is at your side at all times. And he keeps your boredom at bay sometimes.

One day (or perhaps night), you’re walking through the maze of hallways and rooms of the Other World, searching for a way to entertain yourself. You hope to encounter a new face. Or perhaps an old one. Part of you still hopes you’ll run into Mr. Crawling or Mr. Chopped again, as unlikely as it may be.

Room, after room, after room, you walk. Until, eventually, your legs grow tired and, with a long sigh, you lean against a wall. Mr. Gap’s face appears in a nearby hole.

“What wrong?” he inquires.

“Bored,” you confess.

“Me fun. Give your heart.”

You scoff. “You not fun.”

He shoots you a disgruntled look of disbelief, which begrudgingly makes you snicker. He thinks too highly of himself if he believes constant demands for body parts is considered entertainment. Messing with him on the other hand…

You set your crowbar aside, then curl your palms in the shape of a heart, which you then present to Mr. Gap.

“What you do?”

“This is heart.”

“That is hand.”

“No, this is heart. Above world heart.” You grin mischievously.

He looks entirely unimpressed and partially confused. “That not heart.”

“This heart humans show when lots of like someone.”

He goes quiet for a bit, still staring at your hands like they’re an unsolvable riddle. Then he stares at your face, even more confused. “You lots of like me?”

Oh. You hadn’t considered that’s how the explanation would come across. You were only trying to poke fun at him. How do you talk your way out of this one? Would he get mad if you said no? Would it even be true to say no? You don’t think you’re ready for that type of introspection.

“That…” you search for the right words in the very limited vocabulary of the Other World’s language. “Not… know…” you finally force out.

“Why this heart show?”

Now it’s your turn to grow frustrated with him. “Why you want heart?”

He’s already given you an answer to that question in the past. Because it’s fun. Something you failed to comprehend. Perhaps the same way he failed to comprehend your idea of “like.” So before he can answer, you grab your crowbar and march off.

Unfortunately, the question pops into your mind again as you continue to wander aimlessly. Can someone like you fall in love?

You've taken so many lives, simply because it was fun or convenient or you got sick of their attitude. You've done the same thing in this world.

The hunched over figure of Mr. Crawling pops into your mind. Then, the smiling face of Mr. Chopped. And, eventually, Mr. Gap's annoying grin. Those are people you wouldn't kill. They are people you want to keep around. Perhaps people you would kill for instead, if needed. But does this attachment go deep enough to be called love?

Perhaps you aren't sure of what that feeling is anymore than Mr. Gap and it’s all feigned knowledge.

Your feet are hurting by the time you finally find a proper place to rest. You've lost track of time.

Though your body is tired, your mind remains restless as you set aside your crowbar and sit on the bed. This is a far cry from the entertaining activity you’d hoped to find.

“What wrong?” a familiar voice inquires beneath the sheets. You lift them up to reveal Mr. Gap’ face once again.

How do you even explain your issue to him?

“Feeling not know.”

He goes quiet for a bit. “Teach me lots of like?”

Is he saying he wants you to explain love to him? How do you even begin to do that? Perhaps you can narrow it down to romantic love at least.

“When lots of like, person special. Say nice words. Want to protect. Want to follow. Do special touch. Help person when need.”

The limited vocabulary makes it especially hard to put it into words. You aren't sure how well you'd explain it to another human either.

As expected, Mr. Gap looks puzzled. “Nice words? Special touch?”

He's focusing on the more romantic aspects, it seems. You prop your head against your hand, thinking. “Nice words not have here language. My language have nice words.”

“I see…” he murmurs. “Show special touch?”

You pout at him. “Why?”

“Want to know.”

So he's just curious. Or, knowing him, he heard the word “special” and decided he wanted it to be about him. He does have a bit of a big ego, always taking pride in startling you, often shoving pages of articles about him in your face. You cross your arms and turn your back to him.

“What wrong?”

“You bad. Me need help, you want heart. Me need help, you want hand, you want head, you want leg. Me not show special touch.”

“Me nice,” he says, sounding offended. You don't have to turn around to know he's giving you that astonished look he makes whenever you criticize or baffle him.

You laugh mockingly. “Not. Goodnight.” And with that, you shove down the sheet, blocking him from view. He's always poking fun at you, it's about time he got a taste of his own medicine.

. . .

When you wake up, Mr. Gap is nowhere in sight. It isn't entirely unusual. He has moments when he's off doing his own thing. Deciding to do the same, you take off in search of something interesting to occupy yourself with. Preferably not another mind boggling question.

Hours pass, probably. Residents appear every once in a while, some friendly, some hostile. None of them scare you anymore. You only interact with them to pass the time. Until you eventually come to a stop in a room full of debris and objects from the human world. There, you sit down and begin to search for anything worthwhile. Maybe something to read.

To your luck, you gather several magazines and books. Your arms are full by the time you feel a tremor shake the room. Another earthquake. You waste no time getting out of there with your new haul.

But as you stop to set everything down, you realize you've left your crowbar behind, in the now collapsed room. A few curses rush out under your breath.

“Hello.”

You turn around to find Mr. Gap peeking out of a hole in the wall. “Want attack tool?” He waves the tip of your lost crowbar around. “Take, take.”

“Take? You not want heart?”

“Not want!”

Huh. Maybe he took your criticism yesterday to heart. You grab the crowbar and mutter a “Thank you.”

That wide, unnerving smile of his spreads over his face before he fades off into the darkness. What is he planning now?

For the next few days, he continues to go out of his way to bring you things, take you places and fulfill any requests you might have without demanding any body parts in exchange. Relying on him almost becomes a habit. However, you have a slight suspicion he's not doing this out of the goodness of his heart or because he felt particularly sad about your accusations. These nice gestures must be leading to something.

And surely enough, at some point, during one of your breaks from wandering, he appears before you, looking particularly delighted.

“Me nice. Show special touch.”

How typical. You narrow your eyes at him.

“No?” he asks, the smile fading from his face.

Part of you wants to lecture him on doing all that to prove a point. The other part suspects it won’t do much.

“Okay okay. Me show,” you give in. Maybe this will make him act nicer overall. You can't deny the fact that he's helped you a lot lately.

“Thank you.”

You position yourself directly in front of the hole in the wall and then point at him. “Hand.”

He blinks. “Not give my hand.”

Of course he thinks you want his severed hand.

“Me touch your hand,” you clarify. At that, he finally understands and sticks one of his hands out.

His palm feels cold and damp to the touch when you press yours against it, but his skin is oddly soft. You interlock your fingers. His own remain limp in the air for a moment. Then, upon observing what you're doing, his fingers press down against the back of your palm, mimicking yours. It's not an unpleasant feeling.

Are his nails naturally black or does he paint them, you wonder. The image of Mr. Gap painting his nails makes you snicker internally.

“This one touch,” you explain. “Human person do this with special person.”

He stares at your interlocked hands, intrigued. “You know more?”

Naturally, you do, but you hesitate as the next gesture comes to mind. Your own curiosity is beginning to kick in, ushering you to try it. Will it awaken anything in you?

Driven by that curiosity you say: “Yes.” Then, reach into the opening in the wall with your free hand.

His cheek is just as cold and damp as his hand, perhaps the effect of dwelling inside crevices and hollows all the time. Gently, you tug him towards you and he follows, gaze flickering between your hand and your face. You lean closer as well.

His lips are dry against yours. And you feel no breath from him. Whether it's because he's holding it in or he never breathes to begin with, you aren't sure. You don't linger for long, but something odd stirs your insides for the brief moment you spend kissing him.

How suitable, for someone like you to be exploring love with a sinister void dweller who knows even less about it than you do. Oddly enough, you don't dislike it.

“This lots, lots special,” you explain after you've pulled away and let go of his hand.

He uses his now freed hand to touch his lips. A smug look is slowly overtaking his face. This arrogant little jerk.

“Me special,” he concludes.

“Not,” you argue. “You ask. Me show.”

You have a bit of a staring contest between your glare and his smug grin.

“Me want your heart,” he says finally, still with that smug look.

“Oh, fuck you!”

It's going to take a long time if Mr. Gap is to become anything akin to a lover.

#homicipher #homicipher x reader #mr gap x reader #drabble #fluff #reader insert #mr gap

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yeowangies · 3 months ago

Text

A beast to toy with

PAIRING: Kenpachi/AFAB!Reader. CONTENTS: Explicit Sexual Content, Cunnilingus, Yandere!Kenpachi, Size Difference WORDCOUNT: 1240

Summary:

Every time you walked to the fourth division, you could feel it everywhere. Whenever you went back to the barracks, there he was, somewhere in the roofs of the buildings. Even when you were alone in your room, you could practically smell him; he had been there at some point while you were gone.

Notes:

KINKTOBER DAY 16: Size Difference

I think I'm not that good at writing yandere stuff, so this is more lighthearted than it should be, i suppose. I still tried lmao, either way, I enjoyed writing the smut part of this 🥴

@actuallysaiyan

divider by @/cafekitsune

You regretted sleeping with Kenpachi the minute you started feeling his spirit pressure around at practically all times, the day after the deed.

Kenpachi was known for being insane in a different way than this, so you couldn't lie to yourself and say it didn’t turn you on to see him being so obsessed with you. As creepy and insane as it was, you still found it somehow flattering.

But it was getting ridiculous.

You had just ordered a drink at a bar, and the guy handing you the glass had talked to you for not even a minute before you felt Kenpachi’s looming presence behind you.

“You have got to be kidding me.” You growled, turning to see him behind you as the man scurried out. As did most of the people in your surrounding. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Who was that?” Kenpachi asked in an intimidating tone, but you paid it no mind.

“Just some guy, serving me a drink! And what is it to you?”

“What is it to me?” He growled.

You ignored him, downing your sake in one gulp before walking past Kenpachi and out the bar. Your short legs weren’t a match to his long ones, and he had grabbed your arm as soon as the cool air hit your face.

“Let go!” You tried to yank your arm free, but he remained unfazed.

“No.”

“What do you even want?”

Kenpachi looked at you with the deepest frown. Like he couldn’t believe you were even asking him that.

“Why did you disappear the next morning?”

“What?”

“Why did you disappear the next morning?” He repeated with a louder voice. His stare was threatening, but you knew better than being scared of it.

“Because I had to go.” You replied flatly. “It was just a one night thing.”

You were fully aware of what kind of beast you were toying with, even more so when you noticed the muscles in Kenpachi’s jaw tense.

It amused you to no end that he actually wanted something more than a casual affair. You hadn’t pegged him as that kind of man, quite the contrary. He gave the impression of being completely aloof and carefree, not looking for any deep connection, let alone being obsessed enough with one person to keep them by his side.

You were obviously wrong.

With a smirk on his lips and an alluring gleam in his eyes, he replied:

“You are mine every night from now on.”

You could only keep up the banter for a while, huffing and complaining about how he didn’t own you, and that you were your own person. You were, but you submitted yourself willingly to him when he tugged at your arm to drag you to a dark alley. And you didn’t put up a fight.

Your body shivered uncontrollably, hips jerking forward on their own accord. It was difficult to stand up and not succumb to the immense pleasure you were experiencing; if it wasn’t for Kenpachi’s hands on your thighs, you would have fallen down already.

You moaned loudly, supporting yourself with hands against the wall, as Kenpachi devoured you from behind, your pants and panties discarded at your feet. His face, buried in the curve of your ass and between your legs, never left you, delving in your entrance, as if he had been craving your taste for years. As if he hadn’t just tasted you a few nights ago. His hands were burning your skin, digging his fingers where your ass and thigh met to keep you as still and open for him as he could.

You had objected to this affair for a number of reasons, but you had forgotten what they were then. He was just too good. That a man as big and proud as Kenpachi was kneeling behind you, eating you out from behind, was a thrill on its own; but his tongue and mouth were marvelous, exploring every inch of you, making your veins pulse with pleasure.

He slurped and hummed, kneading your flesh every time his tongue pressed inside you just right, making you press back against his mouth. You panted heavily as he lapped at your clit next, coaxing you closer to the edge of an amazing orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come…” You warned him, reaching behind to thread your fingers in his hair.

Kenpachi growled, animalistic and raw, as he kept swirling his tongue against your pussy, not leaving any bit of skin untouched.

Your legs shivered when you came a few moments later, seeing white behind your lids as a long, dragged out moan left your lips. His firm grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you in place as he coaxed out more and more of your release.

When you yanked at his hair, wordlessly commanding him to stop, Kenpachi pulled back. He only gave you a second to respire, standing up and positioning himself behind you. You didn’t even register what he was doing until he pulled down his hakama enough to free his cock, and his big hands on your hips made you gasp when he brought you closer, making you stand on your tiptoes to align your pussy with his dick.

Kenpachi didn’t waste any second in sliding his erection inside you. You let out a choked out moan, thigh shuddering as you struggled to accommodate his size, but you could barely do anything, your toes hardly reached the floor.

You were small, vulnerable, when he started to thrust against your pussy. You tried to keep your balance with your hands against the wall, but every jerk of his hips made you totter, and his cock grazing the deepest part inside you left you speechless. You were going to be sore the next day; just like you had been after the first time you laid with him. He was simply too big, thick, making it a tight fit for him each time he glided inside you.

Grunting and groaning against your neck, Kenpachi hovered over your body, covering you completely with it. He wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you close to his body, his other hand sneaking under your clothes to grope your breast. You whimper in overwhelming delight when he pinched your nipple just as the tip of his cock pressed against a sensitive spot inside you.

“Look at you, you can’t even talk.” He mocked you, roughly squeezing your tit. “No one else would make you feel this way.”

You wished you had it in you to contradict him, but it would have been in vain. You were moaning, mewling and whining as if you were being tortured, but it was all due to his touch, his hands on your body, his lips against your neck, and his cock relentlessly sliding in and out of your pussy.

“You’re mine.” Kenpachi said against your ear, voice spilling lust, giving you goosebumps. “ You belong to me, don’t forget it.”

Your eyes rolled back when the heat inside your abdomen built up, closer and closer to the edge of an impending orgasm.

#my writing #bleach x reader #bleach imagines #bleach fics #bleach smut #kenpachi zaraki x reader #kenpachi smut #zaraki kenpachi x reader #kenpachi x reader #kenpachi x you #kinktober #k2024

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karinab00bs · 7 months ago

Note

Can i request Karina x Male Reader office sex?

Cubicle Rival

Karina x male reader

tags: nipple play, fingering

Nearly everyone in the building had left for the day by ten minutes after fifteen; the janitor had even switched off the lights on purpose to prevent anyone from working overtime. Karina and you remained in the same room where they'd been working; the woman had taken off her blazer and was draping it over the back of her chair, while the man had rolled up his long sleeves to his elbows. As long as their report received approval and they could return home, their looks held little concern.

"Mr. Ethan hasn't replied?" Karina asked you since you had been refreshing your email. Waiting for the first message in their inbox determined whether they could go home early or stay in the office longer.

"Not just yet.” Perhaps sloppily or exhausted, you respond, "It's still being checked."

Karina says, her tone unpleasant to hear: "It's half past eleven; is it crazy that Mr. Ethan still wants to check the report?"

"Why are you anyway blaming Mr. Ethan? You know he is a perfectionist. He promised to wait until today; hence, he will wait until twelve. You are the one who is wrong; why would you hand over such a critical report to an intern who is already on his way home at five? It's not going to be right," you ramble, drawing visible eyebrows furrowing on Karina.

"Why are you blaming me? Blame Ms. Je for putting the director's daughter in our division. What do you think I can do if she's nagging me to do a report? Tell her you can't do your job like that?" Karina started pounding on the table; maybe both of them were already tired, so they were more sensitive and easily ignited.

"You could try pointing the finger at other people. You brought Mr. Ethan and now Ms. Je; pointing fingers at others won't make them do anything or prevent such incidents in the future. Do you also intend to hold the intern responsible, given his obvious ignorance in preparing the report? Indeed, it is your responsibility to consider this matter. How can a child, lacking any knowledge, solve such a significant problem? You, equally irritated, began pointing at Karina as if assigning blame.

"Now you're blaming me?"

You didn't have time to reply to Karina's words because a call came into your cell phone from Mr. Ethan.

"Yes, sir? Yes, thank you very much, sir. I'll send it later. I will finish it in 15 minutes. Thank you very much, sir." You disconnected the phone and looked at Karina. The man sighed softly before saying to karina, "The report is okay; I just need to check for typos. I'll finish it first. Can you get me a coffee?"

Karina was silent for a second before responding, "Fine."

Upon seeing Karina exit the office, you instinctively shut your eyes.

Although Karina was really terrified to visit the pantry by herself since all the lights had been turned off, she couldn't resist your demand so that everything would be finished rapidly and she could head home. Under low lighting, she began preparing two cups of coffee in paper cups, using a combination of saset coffee and sugar, to ensure you wouldn't have any complaints about the taste. She carried the black coffee paper cups with both hands, but her foot stumbled on something, and one cup of coffee spilled on her chest. "Ah." Karina turned to show a faint smile. Indeed, it appears that she has paid the price for all her mistakes over the past year. Why is this so unlucky?

She took off her shirt, which was full of spilled coffee, and then she walked back towards her office.

She gently opened the door, and she found you closing your eyes and leaning on your chair. Okay, the initial plan was for Karina to stealthily walk to her cubicle, retrieve her blazer, and put it on before you woke up. Karina then crept over, set the coffee she had produced next to your laptop, and hurried to her cubicle.

You blinked up at the scent of coffee, but your attention quickly went from the paper cup on her desk to the figure of Karina, who was unclasping her bra. Fuck.

"What on earth are you doing?" you inquired, your voice quivering with disbelief.

"My shirt is all sticky from spilling coffee," Karina answered, her bare back now showing.

"Are you not afraid of me doing anything to you?" You asked while getting up from the chair to get a box of tissues. The man was now sitting on Karina's chair, and you could clearly see the girl's large, saggy breasts. While the woman sat at her desk.

"You and I fight every day; I doubt you have any desire to do anything to me, even though I'm naked in front of you right now," Karina replied confidently.

"Do you think if I were naked in front of you, you'd be horny?" Your question made Karina snort in annoyance.

"No, it's crazy to lust after you," Karina said, folding her arms across her chest, making her breasts pop out even more as if challenging you.

"I have submitted the report, and Mr. Ethan accepted it. You raised one eyebrow and said, "All that remains is your business with me."

"What business is it? I have nothing to do with you. Better turn back; my body is all sticky and a little blistering thanks to the hot water dispenser," Karina said, looking down at her coffee-sticky chest.

"You're sure you won't lust after me, right?" you asked again.

"No."

"I'll just clean it so it's not sticky and then go home," you said. "Shut up." You looked down and swept your tongue over every inch of Karina's breasts to clean the coffee off her skin, occasionally giving the man a light sip.

"What the hell are you doing?" Karina tried to keep your head from coming closer to her body, but then she froze as the tip of your tongue rubbed against her nipple. Damn. It was so good.

"They say it's better to use saliva or running water when it's hot." You soaked Karina's upper body, including her skirt, with the remaining water from the glass she used to drink.

"Fuck, what are you doing? I swear.. I'm wet.."

"Wet, huh?" You lowered your head and took one of Karina's nipples into your mouth, sucking gently, while your other hand wiped Karina's body with a tissue.

Karina bit her lip, both hands clutching the edge of the table she was sitting on. "You won't lust, right? There's no way you'll lust after me; after all, I'm just cleaning you."

"Hurry up and clean it.. I'm going back." Karina's words made you smile.

You took a tissue and, using both hands, rubbed Karina's nipples with it. While closing her eyes, the girl looked up. She hadn't felt a touch on her body in a long time, so a touch like this sent her into a trance. Indeed, your skill level is beyond reproach. Just observe how the tissue continues to twist both Karina's nipples, creating a more pleasurable sensation. You idly pinched Karina's nipples so hard that she couldn't help but moan.

"Don't be horny; I'm just cleaning it," you said half-mockingly.

"I'm not fucking horny." Karina's answer made you laugh. You pulled down Karina's panties and let them fall to the floor.

"It's just wet," you teased with a finger that had rubbed Karina's pussy. "I'm just cleaning it; you don't want to feel uncomfortable."

"What the hell are you doing- ahhh ..." Your tongue entered to explore Karina's pleasure hole with your finger stroking the small object on it, creating a stifled moan from Karina's lips, which made you smile because, after all, Karina's sigh had made you win. You deliberately inserted two of your fingers, then scratched Karina's pussywall rather roughly, causing her affection to shift to her clitoris. "A-ahhh.. ahhh.."

"Why mm? Is it good? You said you wouldn't lust after me, but you're so wet, Rina." Karina stared resentfully at your face as she bit her lower lip, deliberately holding back a moan so as not to feed your ego. "Why do you want to end it?" you asked, bending your two fingers precisely at Karina's weakest point, and soon her pleasure juices melted away.

"Damn you.." said Karina in the end, while catching her breath.

"1-0, there is no need to deny that you are also horny for me," you said with a chuckle, and you lowered your head to lick Karina's pussy, which had just reached its release.

"Watch out; I'll get you back."

"I can't wait," you replied as she helped put the blazer on Karina's body.

#idol smut #aespa #fanfic #girl group smut #imagines #aespa smut #karina aespa #karina smut #yoo jimin #gg x reader #yoo jimin x reader #karina x reader #karina x male reader #aespa x male reader #aespa karina #aespa x reader #aespa x you #girl group x reader

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donatellawritings · 1 year ago

Note

Rich to me is always the friends to lovers (everybody sees it but you two) it’s him yelling “behind” at everyone but sliding behind you with a hand on your hip “behind sweetheart” it’s you walking into the group of boys smoking outside & u bypass everyone to grab a smoke straight from his lips “thanks babe” it’s family having no empty chairs at the table so you sit on his lap while Syd & carm just stare. I think you’d bring my wish to life beautifully written. I need all the build up to the smut

can i just say that richie is definitely the type to be a jagoff to everyone, but never to you - everyone else knew how to work his last nerve, but you and your cutesy smile and bright eyes would make him all warm and fuzzy for sure

explicit sexual content ahead

it was no secret to anyone who worked at the restaurant (or had eyes) that you and richie had a ‘special’ kind of relationship. for starters, it wasn’t common for a hotheaded man, like richie jerimovich, to be so touchy and lovey-dovey with anyone. i mean, not even his ex-wife got to see that side of him often, and they shared a child. however there was something about you that just made richie feel as though he needed to be around you, protect you, handle you tenderly.

maybe it was because you were younger than him - fuck if he knew, all richie knew in his heart of hearts was that he had it bad for you.

things between you two started off gradually, “gotta get past you, sweetheart,” the older man rasped, the warm and calloused palm of his hand gently cradling the small of your lower back as he made his way past you, his tall frame easily reaching over you to grab ahold of a pot from the top cabinet.

you’d simply nod wordlessly, keeping your eyes trained forward in an effort to conceal the blush that rose to your cheeks.

after weeks of comfortability that increased between the two of you, you decided you’d test the waters. you’d watched carefully as he made his way out of the back door that led behind the building of the beef. quickly scanning over the not-so-busy environment of the restaurant, you walked away from the cash register, towards the back exit of the beef.

“i’ll be back in ten!” you called out, earning a mumble of approval from carmy and sydney who were entirely too engrossed in a conversation about expanding the menu.

the moment you’d exited the restaurant, the unforgiving cold winter chicago air bit at you, causing you to hiss as you quickly folded your arms tightly over your chest, your fitted ‘the beef’ t-shirt lifting a bit as you turned to find richie leaned against the brick wall.

he was so rugged and laid back, it drove you insane. his hoodie remained open, revealing the matching t-shirt that clung to his slim abdomen, one of his hands shoved in the pocket of his adidas track pants, while the other held a cigarette to his lips. richie didn’t notice your presence yet, too involved in a conversation with sweeps and marcus.

you’d decided it would be the perfect time to push the envelope, walking directly past marcus and sweeps as you approached richie, a flutter now swirling in your stomach as he raised his eyebrows at you, cigarette loosely held between his sharp teeth.

you two held eye contact for a beat, before you gently grabbed the cigarette from his mouth, before raising it to sit sit between the swell of your lips, taking a quick pull from the cigarette, “thanks babe,” you exhaled with a sweet close-mouthed smile.

all richie could do was swallow thickly, nodding to himself before he returned his attention back to the conversation at hand, softly swatting the side of your thigh when he decided that it was time for you to return the cigarette.

it was then, that things started to reach a whole new level of touchiness and couple-like actions between you and richie.

today was family. your second-most favorite day of the week, aside from payday. you were a bit late to the function, courtesy of your hair appointment, walking into the main room of the restaurant, instantly being greeted with a chorus of differing ‘hello’s’.

“hi, m’sorry for being late, my hair girl was late!” you rushed to explain, shrugging off richie’s your zip-up hoodie as you glanced around the room, seeing that all seats were occupied, “oh.”

sydney’s eyes widened as she shared the same realization, “fuck, uh, maybe we can get you an extra seat from the office, i-” she began, taking a bit too long, leaving richie no choice, but to come up with a solution of his own.

“s’nothing syd, she can sit with me,” richie spoke with a careless shrug, his mouth full of pasta as he looked up at you, swallowing his food before continuing, “c’mon, sweetheart.”

you obliged, your lips suddenly running dry as you walked towards richie’s seat, softly grabbing his outstretched hand as he gently guided your hips to sit comfortably against his.

you slightly shifted your hips, sending a shock to your clit as his bulge deliciously sat flush against your ass, “thanks, richie,” you muttered, focusing your gaze on the pasta dish that sat before you.

richie leaned back into his seat, the suddenly awkward silence of the dining room now becoming a bit too apparent to him. shaking his head, richie kept one of his arms loosely hung around you, before clearing his throat.

“yo, i don’t know why the fuck everyone is being fuckin’ quiet,” he huffed, his eyes now landing on carmy and sydney, before he sighed, “cousin, just say what the fuck you’re grateful for already!”

it wasn’t long before everyone returned to their normal conversations, about twenty minutes passing, before richie decided to lean in close to you, bringing his lips to your ear.

“m’ready to get the fuck outta here.”

and that’s how you ended up in the driver’s seat of richie’s car, his seat fully reclined back, one hand gripping the back of your neck, while the other guided your hips to bounce hard against his.

“ah, fuck - y’gonna make me cum in you if you keep fuckin’ me like that, sweetheart,” richie groaned, moving the hand that guided your hips to your back, pushing you further into his chest as he fucked up into you.

your face was in his neck, throaty moans and gasps leaving your lips as you sloppily kissed and sucked at the skin of his neck, the sound of your hips slapping into each other mixed with the squelch and slurp of your wet pussy taking his length leaving you a needy mess.

you were so close to reaching your peak, your pulsing hole clenching around richie’s dick as his thrust remained forceful and rough, “i can fuckin’ feel you around me, baby, y’want me to make you cum, yeah,” he chuckled, leaning his head against the headrest as he brought his hand to your hip, grinding your hips flush against his in circular motions.

“fuck, richie,” was all you could mewl through your gritted teeth, your stomach tight as your clit rubbed against the wet skin of his pelvis.

“keep ridin’ me, sweetheart,” he whispered, pecking your flexed temple as he forced your hips deeps against his, “just keep fuckin’ ridin’ me.”

yeah, your relationship with your coworker was far from orthodox, but neither of you seemed to get enough of it. nor, did you want to.

#dadbodfanatic-x #asks #richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich fanfic #richie jerimovich imagine #richie jerimovich smut

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astralis-ortus · 9 months ago

Text

you're always enough

✱ boyfriend!bc x fem!reader

— losing you was not an option.

w.count → 2.3k genre → angst, fluff, a dash of comedy warning → mild cussing, mention of infidelity, insecure chan :( a.n → based on this request! it honestly was a challenge for me hahahㅠ i think it's been a while since i wrote something with this quick of a vibe change in a while but i'm glad i got to try again! ⋆ see masterlist

the clock at the bottom right part of his monitor shows its lingering around the 1pm mark—a mere 2 hours since he had stepped foot inside the building—and yet, he’s already stressed.

one block and straight to another, work hasn’t been looking good for him so far. he’s so ready to call for another break—but the soft knocks to the melody of twinkle twinkle little stars on chan’s studio door could only mean one thing.

“well hello there, miss producer,” chan’s frown turned into a smile in the split second you peeked your head between the crack of the door, eyes turning into a pair of beautiful crescents you oh-so adore. you couldn’t even stop yourself from smiling—chan just looked so adorable with his messy natural curls decorating his forehead, beanie discarded somewhere on his leather couch. “come on in. i missed you.”

4 years ago, you were graced with the opportunity to participate in a song camp with the 3racha—one of, if not the, biggest producers in your company. it was a great experience—you got to learn a lot of new things, and somehow, your luck seemed to prolong as you kept in touch with the boys; occasionally called in for inputs while some other time just to hangout while grabbing a bite when the three realized the unidentified voice bleed turns out to originate from your producing room.

“oh really?” your smile easily mirrored his as you stepped inside the cold room, not forgetting to close the door behind you, “you missed me?”

taking his extended hand, the wide grin painted on your face soon met the end of its reign as your boyfriend pulls you into his lap—tiny yelp involuntarily left your lips while chan had his arms wrapped around you in a tight hug. you couldn’t even continue with the witty remarks on the tip of your tongue when his complimentary dozen of butterfly kisses fell across the span of your face; all replaced with the series of giggles and ‘oh my god—stop!’s as you attempted to free yourself from his trap.

you thought your little crush on the oldest of the three was going to remain as a silly little crush—but as life turns out, it has somehow been around 2 years since chan asked you to be his girlfriend, and a little over a year since you two gradually came clean to your closest friends and coworkers; though the thought only came after repeatedly being caught secretly meeting up or sneakily holding hands during your increasingly overlapping recording sessions.

“you little monster!” a high pitched squeal slipped past your upturned lips when you finally caught his rosy cheeks between your hands, keeping him still as you brought your lips onto his for a few quick pecks—which seemed to work, seeing how chan’s antics now reduced to a simple giggle as he held you close. “you really missed me that much?” you hummed, gently running your thumbs on his freckled cheeks.

“of course i do,” chan pursed his lips in protest, warm hand gently running down your side, “it’s not every day i couldn’t see my girlfriend both at home and at work. 24 hours a day alone wasn’t enough, and now it’s reduced? of course i’m bound to miss you!”

swarms of butterflies fill the hollow of your chest while you let laughter echoes through the familiar green walls, feeling both warm and ticklish from chan’s cheesy line. “gosh,” your wide set grin now completed with a tinge of rose-colored flush on your cheeks, “you’re so head over heels for me, aren’t you?”

chan’s reverberating low hum became his reply, nodding his head confidently. “of course i am,” he smiled, eyes twinkling as the pair of deep brown eyes peered right into yours. “aren’t you?”

“well,” you grinned, arms wrapped around your boyfriend’s neck, “maybe if—”

your train of thought was forced to a halt when you felt a buzz in your pocket, quickly hopping off chan’s lap after a quick glance at the name. a short apology was muttered before you finally took the call outside the studio, leaving chan feeling a little dumbfounded and… hurt.

chan knew it’s probably work—despite the promised time off since the artist you’re working with is on their vacation, as someone who works behind the scenes, you’re never actually off duty. there’s bound to be urgent matters you need to deal with, and chan understood that.

he's just… confused.

and his confusion certainly multiplies in size when he heard another voice laughing with yours, right outside of his studio.

“no! geez, didn’t i—oh!” your attention instantly shifted when you heard the studio door crack open, eyes catching your puzzled boyfriends’ as he looked at you and the figure across. “channie, this is kyungho sunbae. he’s a new addition to the team but i met him in college. kyungho sunbae, this is—”

“bang chan-ssi, of course,” kyungho cheerily greeted chan, extending a friendly hand. “i’ve heard a lot of good things about you!”

“oh,” the confusion on chan’s face turned into a tight smile—which equally reflected on his grip on the stranger’s hand. even through a quick scan of his eyes, chan notices a lot. “couldn’t really say the same, but welcome. i hope you’re adjusting well so far,” chan continued, returning his hand to the small of your back.

“i am, thank you! i—”

“i’m sorry i can’t really talk much right now, i have my things to return to,” chan was quick to cut kyungho off, surprising both you and the latter. “it was nice meeting you, though,” chan quickly bowed before disappearing behind the metal door, leaving you slightly bothered.

“well, i gotta get going too,” kyungho finally broke the awkwardness between you. “i’ll text you later about the details?” he smiled despite the peeking confusion behind his eyes, to which you nodded before sending him off.

it was unlike chan to behave like that. sure, he might grow a little rough with his actions when work hasn’t been going the way he wanted things to be, but he was doing just fine. he was all lovey dovey with you less than 5 minutes prior, wasn’t he?

“baby,” cracking the door open, you were met with a stern-faced chan—eyes locked to his monitors with a muffled bass resonating from the headphone over his ears. the sight led you to a defeated sigh; you knew better than anyone to not bother the lion when he’s in this state.

but little did you know,

when you decided to back away and close the door, chan felt as if his worst nightmare had come true.

he knows it’s stupid to think that you’d ever cheat on him, but there’s also no guarantee that you would never fall for someone else and realize that maybe your happiness wasn’t with him. it terrifies chan to realize that maybe one day, you’d meet someone and realize that there’s someone better than him—someone better looking, someone who could treat you better, someone who could give you everything that you could ever wished for.

chan is scared that he’s not enough, and never will be.

for someone who’s been in his seat for so long, chan understands that at times his life does feel rather fleeting—like he’s simply going through the motions as he tries to stay afloat. everything—everyone—goes by so fast, and along the way, chan somehow learned how to shut down his feelings just so he could survive. he knew—he hoped, that as life gets better, he’ll come to find the opportunity to learn how to feel again.

but then, again, not everything he knows he needed to do proves to be easy.

it took him a while, but when he finally reached a point where he felt like life’s doing better for him, chan finally realizes that he now has love within him to give. he tried sharing them with his bandmates, he tried sharing them with his friends and family—hell, he even tried to share them with every single soul he met, but nothing fills him with the sense of content he was looking for…

until he met you.

chan knew he shouldn’t—you were his coworker, but despite him trying his best not to view you in a special light, he couldn’t help but return his gaze to your bright smile whenever you’re in the room. sure, you’re passionate about what you do, and it sure inspires him—but to see how your shoulders relax whenever you pop open a new book, or how happy you looked browsing through the convenience store aisles while trying to find what kind of new snacks you’ve never seen before,

it feels like he finally found what to be at peace felt like. he finally knew what love should look like—and it’s you.

a soft touch on his shoulder snaps chan out of his trance, eyes wide as it met your worried pair. your gentle smile was the second thing he noticed, and his eyes finally trailed down to the box of pineapple juice and a few snacks along the roll of kimbab perched on his desk.

“i know you’re busy,” your voice finally came clear as soon as chan took off his headphone, “but you need to eat first, okay? it’s almost 2, and i know you didn’t eat much earlier before you left. i’m not gonna bother you again if you eat now—i’ll even head home if you need time to focus, but that’s as long as you eat. okay?”

“…then i’m not eating.”

“baby—”

“i don’t want you to go home,” chan reiterated—and that’s when you finally see the tinge of sadness behind his eyes. “i’m not eating if you’re gonna go.”

“oh baby—what happened?” your voice turned gentle as you took his face in your hands, gently grazing the pads of your thumbs over his skin. “are you okay? do you—”

“i’m sorry.”

“sorry?” you tilted your head, now confused. “for…?”

“just… everything,” chan exhaled, arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close and rested his forehead on your stomach. “i know i’m difficult, but please. don’t leave.”

“baby you’re not difficult,” you furrowed your eyebrows, puzzled. what happened in the 30 minutes you were gone? did something terrible happened? all sorts of thoughts were running through your head.

“and i’m not leaving,” your voice were stern, and you felt the way chan slightly tightened his arms around you. “where am i supposed to even go anyway? i’m already home.”

if chan wasn’t tearing up before, then he sure is now.

“even if i’m not perfect?” he quietly muttered—and you’re slowly piecing the puzzles together. “even if i’m not tall enough? even if my hair is always messy? even if i’m not fashionable? even if—"

“stop right there, mr. bahng,” you stopped him, peeling yourself off from chan and gazed right at his flushed face, “why are you being mean to my boyfriend? where does this came from, hm? no one’s allowed to say shit to my boyfriend like that!” your pursed your lips and gently lowered yourself to place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, only then smiling when chan let out a soft giggle.

“were you upset about me talking to kyungho sunbae earlier?” you questioned, and despite the lack of reply from your boyfriend, you’re pretty sure you knew what his answer was based on the minuscule shift on his face.

“i’m sorry, baby. i thought our interactions wasn’t important enough, so i never really brought him up to you. had i known you’d feel differently about that, i would’ve told you right away,” you apologized, smiling as you noted the faint glint returning in his eyes. “we did met in college, but he was just a senior i came to shadow a couple times when i started out in the industry.”

“i was really surprised when he turned out to be the new guy in my team,” you continued, fingers gently tracing his features, “but what really shocked me was turns out, i actually know his wife.”

you watched as your boyfriend connected the dots, jaw falling upon realizing the tiny detail he had skipped through despite catching a short glimpse of thin silver band on his finger.

“i met his wife a few times since we were pretty close in high school, and he’s been trying to dig out some information from me since their anniversary is just around the corner and he wanted to surprise her. he was just making sure he got the details right without texting me since his texts are synced to their shared device,” you explained, letting a giggle slip when you caught the blush creeping up your boyfriend’s face.

“…i see.”

the echo of your laugh only grew in volume when your boyfriend began to avoid your eyes, resorting to him burying his face on your stomach. adorable.

“it’s okay, baby. i understand why you’d get jealous,” your lips were set into a wide grin as you held your boyfriend close. “i’m still really sorry, though. i really wasn’t trying to hide this, i promise. i’ll tell you straight away if anything like this ever happened again.”

“okay.”

“so…” reducing your giggles to a smile, you gently run your nails on your boyfriend’s scalp, trying to soothe him, “am i forgiven?”

a muffled whine and a nod after, chan finally gazed up at you and added, “if only you’re eating with me.”

“oh baby,” cradling his face in your hands with a smile, you inched closer and placed a light peck over his pouting lips, “i’ll even stay here and cuddle all day with you.”

only then, chan finally allowed himself to laugh.

“well, then don’t mind if i say yes to that.”

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year ago

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Really? Thank you so much, you are so very sweet. I was just going to request some pent-up, passionate, loving, wedding night sex with Miggy because they've wanted to get handsy for a long time but couldnt because of the fact that they were in public and now they're married and just want to celebrate privately.

Thank you so much, again, you're so kind for that

hii lovie!! :(( you’re so sweet, ofc, anytime !! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

MR AND MRS O’HARA

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

word count. 630

warnings. 18+ only!! unprotected pinv, size kink? bit of teasing, slow, lovey-dovey sex, think that’s all. mdni

You both spent the day cautious, declining touches from one another, far too worried that it may lead to something else - that it may lead to a quickie in the storage room during the reception. So, to deflect the situation, you and Miguel would keep kisses and lingering touches to an absolute minimum - wanting to wait until night when you'd finally be alone.

Luckily for you both, that moment eventually came around.

Miguel was all over you from the very second he got you alone - lips latched on yours, working over them as if were deprived of your delicate touch -which he was- briskly walking you backwards into your grand wedding suite, undressing yourselves. He made haste movements as he undid the back of your dress, desperately wanting to feel as much of your skin in as little as possible.

He led you to the edge of the bed, his towering height peering down at you, staring in awe at the measly pair of lace white underwear you wore specially for tonight - for him. He slips his large hands past your throat and into the backs of your hair, holding behind your neck, forcing you to peek up at him.

Even though he was desperate for you, he remained gentle, touching and caressing your heated skin with love and kindness, utter compassion as he roamed your upper body.

He mutters a soft praise against your lips as he guides you, laying you on the mattress behind.

You adjust, scooching up the bed, bringing Miguel with you so he hovers above, his massive build caging you to the sheets. He shifts his weight, balancing on one forearm to slip a hand between you, sliding his palm down your jittering stomach and all the way down between your thighs.

"Don't look down there. Look up at me, cariño," Miguel softly mumbles, searching for your gaze as he teased over the mound in your underwear - thumbing over your clit through the damp fabric. Whispering against your lips, "Such pretty eyes."

All teasing stopped when he slipped himself from your grasp, moving down the bed to sit on his knees between your legs. He palms over the large, bulging tent in his boxers before pulling his cock out over the waistband, rolling over the reddened, leaking tip. He keeps his gaze fixed on you, watching how you gulped and squirmed under his attention, eyes flickering between his fat dick and pretty face.

Itching forward, he slides his thick head through your folds, parting your glistening pussy, collecting your juices with his cock.

"Been waitin' for you all day," he husks, his voice hoarse - struggling to even his breathing. "All day."

"I know— me too," you roughly exhale, screwing your eyes closed when you feel him trail his cock a little lower - down to where you wanted him.

You wanted to savour this moment - hang onto it, but you've been waiting far too long, and if you continued the teasing, neither of you would last long.

He places a firm grip at the base of his cock, guiding himself towards you, slowly pushing his head through your plushy folds and into your sweet cunt. He stills, letting you adjust around his thick tip, allowing your greedy pussy to swallow his cock at your own pace.

Miguel's chest is finally flush with yours once more, his broad torso caging you to the mattress - large palms cupping your face, lips smothering yours, swallowing your pretty moans. His desperate touch remains delicate, only caressing you with tender love and care as he slowly winds into you - giving you soft, gentle strokes, nice and slow.

Treating his new, beautiful wife with all the love and warmth she deserves <3

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

#request #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x reader #miguel smut #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel atsv #miguel spiderverse

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infiniteglitterfall · 10 months ago

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A Chabad synagogue in Pomona, New York, burned to the ground on April 17th, along with its three Torah scrolls.

Torah scrolls are hand-written, hand-made, and kept in elaborately decorated cases or wrappings.

Many of them have long histories; my synagogue has two, I think, that were smuggled out of villages being destroyed in pogroms or in Nazi attacks. One of them is the only remaining piece of that village on earth.

Sometimes, the Torah scroll doesn't even belong to the synagogue, but is on loan from a place like the Memorial Scrolls Trust:

There's an entire Jewish holiday just for taking them out and dancing with them: Simchat Torah, "The Joy of Torah."

In fact, that was the holiday on which Hamas's invasion took place.

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So it's a particular tragedy when a Torah is destroyed.

Chabad itself has a page about what goes into making just one Torah scroll:

"An authentic Torah scroll is a mind-boggling masterpiece of labor and skill. Comprising between 62 and 84 sheets of parchment -- cured, tanned, scraped and prepared according to exacting Torah law specifications -- and containing exactly 304,805 letters, the resulting handwritten scroll takes many months to complete.

"An expert pious scribe carefully inks each letter with a feather quill, under the intricate calligraphic guidelines of Ktav Ashurit (Ashurite Script). The sheets of parchment are then sewn together with sinews to form one long scroll. While most Torah scrolls stand around two feet in height and weigh 20-25 pounds, some are huge and quite heavy, while others are doll-sized and lightweight."

I learned all of this on Tumblr.

Once upon time, in people's "punch Nazis" days, I would've been able to find some mention on Tumblr of this synagogue burning.

There is none, so I'm posting about it.

And I'm going to quote Daniel Weiner, Rabbi of Temple de Hirsch Sinai in Bellevue, Washington, when his own synagogue was vandalized last November:

"It’s horrific and heartbreaking.... [Taking out your feelings about] what's going on in the Middle East by defacing a sacred space of a synagogue -- that’s the very definition of antisemitism."

I'm also posting about the Kehillat Shaarei Torah Synagogue in Toronto, whose windows were broken on Friday, April 19th, by someone who also tried to break the front door down.

And the April 15 graffiti outside a Bangor, Maine synagogue that said, "Nazi Israel 30K murdered," next to a crossed-out Star of David. The same synagogue faced pro-Hamas flyers plastered around it in November.

I was going to include all the synagogues vandalized over the past six months. But there are way too many. Several every week. Lots are swastikas.

I'll go back to just doing attacks on and near synagogues.

Someone has to talk about the 1-year-old who was stabbed outside Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel (BZBI) synagogue, in Philadelphia, on April 13th.

The foiled terrorist attack on a Moscow synagogue on April 11th.

The man who, on April 9th, screamed at the rabbi at Moldova's Great Synagogue, "What are you doing here? How come no one has finished you off for everything you are doing to the Palestinians?" Just one week after people had vandalized a Holocaust memorial in nearby Soroka, and sprayed "Free Palestine" on it.

The Oldenburg, Germany synagogue that was firebombed on April 5th.

The Florida Las Olas Chabad Jewish Center, which on March 16 burned, but not to the ground. The Torah scrolls were safe, and no one was hurt, but the back of the building was severely damaged.

The planned-but-thwarted-on-March-7th ISIS massacre in a Moscow synagogue.

The stabbing of an Orthodox Jew in Switzerland on March 5th. (He was badly injured, but expected to survive.)

A man leaving a synagogue in Paris was beaten on March 3rd.

People set the courtyard of a synagogue in Sfax, Tunisia on fire on February 27th. Firefighters managed to put the fire out before it consumed the inside of the building.

The synagogue is no longer used; there are no Jews left in its area, and fewer than 1,000 Jews left in Tunisia overall.

(Thousands of Tunisian Jews were sent to work camps during the Holocaust. Antisemitism across the Middle East continued to increase rapidly for decades. By the 1970s, 90% of Tunisian Jews had fled to France or Israel.)

On February 18, an Orthodox Jew leaving Synagogue of Inverrary-Chabad in Lauderhill, Florida, was beaten by an attacker yelling racial slurs.

Someone deliberately chose International Holocaust Remembrance Day, January 27, to smash all the windows in the front of Sgoolai Israel Synagogue in downtown Fredericton, New Brunswick.

On December 29, Turkey arrested 32 people linked to ISIS who were planning attacks on synagogues and churches.

On December 17, a man drove a U-Haul truck up onto the sidewalk between a barrier and the front door of the Kesher Israel Congregation in Washington D.C., got out, and started yelling "Gas the Jews." He also sprayed a foul-smelling substance on two people leaving the synagogue.

December 17 also saw 400 synagogues across the United States receive bomb threats.

On December 11, a man attacked an elderly couple on their way into a synagogue in Los Angeles, screaming, "Give me your earrings, Jew!!" and beating one of them bloody with a belt. (Happily, he chased the guy down the street, and caught him when his pants fell down.)

On December 10, a 16-year-old was arrested in Vienna for planning an attack on a synagogue.

On December 8, on the first night of Hanukkah, 15 synagogues in New York State received bomb threats. And someone screamed, "Free Palestine," and fired shots outside of Temple Israel in Albany, NY. Which has a preschool that was in session.

Meanwhile, the five Jews left in Egypt were canceling public Hanukkah candle-lighting at their synagogue out of fear of reprisals. Particularly after two Israelis in Alexandria had been gunned down by terrorists on October 8. (While Israel was still fighting Hamas in Israel.)

On November 15, a terrorist group set the only synagogue in Armenia on fire.

Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA) has a history of working with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP).

(PFLP is part of Hamas's network of groups. Samidoun is their nonprofit arm - which is why Germany banned Samidoun last year, although it's still active in many other countries.

PFLP is also actively supported by the Palestinian Youth Movement (PYM), a diaspora nonprofit group, and Within Our Lifetime (WOL), an SJP spinoff in NYC.)

On November 11, halfway through Shabbat services, police asked Central Shul in Melbourne, Australia to evacuate "as a precaution" due to a "pro-Palestinian" protest that had chosen the neighboring park as its gathering place. Australia has seen some very outspoken antisemitism at protests, including the march shortly after October 7 that chanted "Gas the Jews."

Also on November 11, protesters targeted a synagogue along a march route. They sat in their cars, spraying green smoke and shouting at people leaving the synagogue. The march itself featured a record number of horrifying signs and chants.

On November 7th, Congregation Beth Tikvah in Montreal was firebombed, and the back door of the Jewish organization across the street (Federation CJA) was set on fire.

On November 4, protesters chanted "Bomb Israel," and burned an Israeli flag outside the only synagogue in Malmo, Sweden.

During October, there were 501 antisemitic acts under investigation in France in just three weeks, including groups gathering in front of synagogues shouting threats, and graffiti such as the words “killing Jews is a duty” sprayed outside a stadium.

On October 18, people firebombed a synagogue in Berlin after homes all over the neighborhood were graffitied with stars of David.

And also on October 18, hundreds of "pro-Palestine" rioters attacked the Or Zaruah Synagogue, in the Spanish enclave of Melilla in North Africa, while worshippers were inside.

Based on the video, they seem to have blocked the synagogue entrance completely, while screaming "Murderous Israel" and waving Palestinian flags. (Melilla is an autonomous zone belonging to Spain. It borders Morocco.)

On October 17, during pro-Palestinian protests, hundreds of rioters set fire to Al Hammah synagogue, an abandoned house of prayer in central Tunisia. They hammered down the building’s walls and raised a Palestinian flag on the building. Police did not intervene.

The Facebook page "Tunigate", which has around 88 thousand followers, published a video of the assault. So did "Radio Bousalem”, with 83 thousand users. The vast majority of comments on these videos welcome these acts. The building was severely damaged and almost completely razed to the ground.

On October 15, bomb threats were sent to many East Coast synagogues. Attleboro synagogue Congregation Agudas-Achim received one of the emails, which read, "The bombs will blow up in a few hours. A lot of people will die. You all deserve to die."

On October 8 -- again, while Hamas was still in Israel -- Madrid’s main synagogue was defaced with graffiti that read “Free Palestine” next to a crossed-out Star of David.

And on October 7, an assailant in Rockland, NY fired a BB gun at two women entering a synagogue. Later in the month, a banner at the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in the area was vandalized with the words, “Fuckin kikes."

#if you have used “Free Palestine” as if it's a sort of verbal assault you can shout in comments or scribble over flyers #if you are unwilling to hear what the Jewish term Zionism means to the people who use it #if you cannot name one Palestinian human rights activist #and most of all if you don't know how Hamas abuses Palestinians and you still think it's The Resistance #then you. are. the. problem.#if you don't know people in gaza have been protesting Hamas and blaming it for deliberately instigating a war they don't want #if you don't know how often they've spoken out about Hamas stealing aid and selling it to them #and especially if you don't want to believe me much less find Palestinians in Gaza to listen to #also if you didn't know about any of the stuff in this post BUT you have taken it upon yourself to tell Jews that “it's not antisemitism”#like seriously everyone deal with your learned distrust of Jews challenge #wall of words #fire tw #guns tw #violence tw #Instagram

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