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liveyun · 2 days

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EYES LIKE STARS | 1

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summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵‍💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn’t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You’d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

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dcandmarvelimagines · 3 days

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sweeter than you ever knew. (pt 4)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 7.9k (yikes omg)Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, fluffy and softness, Logan gives you a bath and also makes food, Wade is so gentle and cute, lots of kissing!!, descriptions of bruises, mildly horny? Author's note: Hi lovelies!! Take some intense fluff and softness! I maybe made Wade a little too serious in a spot but I just needed it, we all needed it after how intense that last chapter was <3 This is also an eternity long omg, but the comfort took me over, mind and soul. Next chapter is the last one :’( it makes me so sad to think that this will be over soon. But it’s going to be THE chapter. All the sexual tension is finally going to be resolved. ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know. If I forgot someone I'm so sorry!!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @movieat @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @amararosesblog @harryshousewhore @bontensbabygirl @belgium2 @g0ldenstarr @wolvndmouth @sseleniaa @reddesires

The next hours passed in a haze. A group of men in large cars picked us up. No flashing lights pierced through my closed eyelids, so I didn’t think they were police. Logan kept me in his arms, growls rumbling through his chest whenever someone came closer. At some point my numb hands pushed his mask away. I just want to see him, see the comforting lines of his face, finally be able to read his expression. But my brain was sluggish, unable to make sense of him as he blinked up at me. Instead, I nuzzled my face into his cheek, smearing blood on his skin, eyes drooping closed.

Then I was in a bright room and a woman was talking to me. She was wearing a lab coat but I didn’t seem to be in a hospital. Logan and Wade weren’t in the room with me. She told me she was a mutant that would be able to heal me, but not completely, that I would still be stiff and my wound would turn to a horrible bruise. I just gave weak acknowledgements to all her questions. I barely felt the discomfort of my skin and muscles knitting themselves back together. Her touch was gentle as she wiped away the gore from my face and hair, the same healing ability applied to my busted lip and aching cheeks. She handed me a bottle of painkillers, telling me I would need to rest for at least a week. I was grateful that she also gave me a pair of thin pants and slip-on shoes. She helped me hobble to the door and out into a bare hallway. That’s where I found a mask less Wade, bouncing his legs in a chair that seemed near breaking point, and Logan pacing, his hair messy from running his fingers through it. They both sprung toward me and I collapsed into Logan’s awaiting arms. Wade kissed my temple as his hand caressed down my back. The woman explained my situation to them before she disappeared again.

“We’re going to stay over, at least tonight, okay sugar muffin?”

“Can you stay longer?” The idea of being alone, especially in my apartment, made my head scream in resistance. My hands scrambled against Logan’s costume, trying to cling to him, to make sure he stayed right here next to me.

“Of course sweetheart,” Logan murmured, “we can stay as long as you need us to.” His beard scrubbed at my forehead as he drew me close.

“I’ll go back to the apartment and grab our stuff then.” Wade parted with one last peck at my cheek. Logan let me rest my head against him for a long moment. The fact that I was alive, that I had survived everything hadn’t settled in quiet yet. But I knew it was only a matter of time before I broke down. Maybe Logan knew it as acutely as I did because he lifted me into his arms once again. My consciousness blinked in and out. We were in a car that smelled of cleaner. We passed by the bright skyscrapers. Then I was being jostled once more as Logan stepped out of the car. He placed me on my feet before crouching down in front of me. I didn’t ask for an explanation and just climbed onto his back, arms and legs latched around him. He climbed the steps to my fourth floor apartment.

“I’m sorry I ruined your shirt,” I whispered, lips next to his ear. His hand squeezed my uninjured thigh.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I have plenty more that you can have.” By the time we exited the dingy stairwell, dawn was peaking through the hallways windows. Wade had clearly told him my apartment number, or I had in my pain induced delirium, because he found my door easily. I glanced down.

“I guess my pizza actually was delivered. Probably bad now though.” I would have thought after two weeks it would have been taken away or would have started to smell. Odd. Logan jiggled my door open and brought us inside, catching the pizza box with his foot and bringing that in as well. My body felt lethargic as I let go of Logan. My healing leg felt far stronger than before, only minor tremors in the muscle. He was drifting through my kitchen, filling a glass with cool water from my fridge, grabbing snacks from my cabinet. “Can we take a bath?” He studied me, worry etched onto his lined face. “I don’t think I have the energy to do it myself.”

“Drink this,” he tapped the glass, “and eat this first,” he pushed a small packet of crackers toward me. I did as he asked but didn’t sit. If I did, I doubted I would get back up again. He watched me closely, like I had any reason to hide from him. Once the glass was empty and the crackers gone, I trudged to my bathroom. My leg was tense and hard to move. The doctor had done a good job healing my face, leaving me only with two twin bruises on my cheeks. They were already in the yellow stage of bruising and would be gone within a few days. I stood in the familiar space for a moment. Something soothed in my soul at the sight of my towels, the new ones that were like a cloud. I felt back to myself, if only a bit.

While I waited for Logan to join me, I brushed my teeth. Twice. Then I raked a comb through my knotted hair. I started the bath, not caring about my neighbors and the early hour. When I turned, I found Logan in the doorway, naked. The small horny part of my brain shouted at the rest of it to take in every inch of his sculpted body. But I just didn’t have the energy. “Sorry,” he huffed, sounding a little self conscious. “The suits are hard to get out of without looking stupid.”

“Hopefully you can help me out of these,” I plucked at my shirt, “without making me look too stupid.” Fine, a small win for horny brain. He approached me in tentative steps, like I was about to attack him or scream. “Logan, I’m not scared of you.” His face relaxed, if only slightly, but he didn’t seem reassured.

His hands were gentle as he lifted the filthy shirt off me. The calluses whispered across my hips as he reached for my pants, thumbs hooked through my panties, and let them pool around my feet. I braced myself on his shoulders so I could remove my shoes. Logan’s eyes drank my body in before he closed them and shook his head once. “Not the right time,” he grumbled to himself. He stalked to the tub, sitting himself on the lip, before testing the waters with one thick finger. It was seemingly up to his standards and he shut the water off. He collected a washcloth, soap, shampoo, and conditioner before he lowered himself into the hot water. A little groan escaped his throat, neck bared as it fell back. There was a firm muscle in his jaw that relaxed as he sunk into the hot water. Steam filled the bathroom, the mirror foggy. It made him look like something from the cover of a romance novel, too handsome and otherworldly to be real. He propped one wet arm up on the edge of the tub and I followed a drop of water as it traced down a vein. “You just gonna stand there and stare, princess?”

I shrugged. “Nice to stare at.” I climbed into the tub, settling between his spread legs, melting into his comforting body. I watched as the blood coating my legs and torso swirled into the clear water, tinting it pink. We didn’t speak for several long minutes, the plunk of the dripping faucet the only sound echoing in the room. My thigh ached but the tight muscle started to loosen the longer I soaked. I absently rubbed at it, hoping to work the last of the soreness out, but only managed a wince of pain. His hair tickled my ear as he leaned closer.

“Hurt?” I shook my head. His fingers outlined the injury, touch feather light.

“If it means you keep touching me, then yes.” His chin notched itself between my shoulder and neck. But he kept up his soft touches, his other thick arm curled loosely around my stomach. It seemed like he was intending to let silence fall again. “Why the new nickname?” The question popped out just to give him a reason to keep talking.

“Wade has a new one every time he talks to you, thought I would try. I thought sweetheart would be dull by now. Don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” I teased, wet fingers running through his hair. “I figured you would be very old fashioned with your pet names.” I felt his chest rumble with a restrained chuckle. His chest hair tickled at my back. We lapsed into silence again. As it stretched, my mind started to wonder.

The man’s brain splattering across my face.

The crack of the wood seat as the knife drove in deeper.

The creeping numbness in my feet.

The sight of a man walking through my bedroom door.

“Hey,” Logan whispered against my ear, “come back to me.” I shuddered and clutched at his arm, wrapping it tighter around me, nails digging into his flesh. “You’re okay. Take a deep breath for me. Good job,” his big hand rested on my chest, right over my heart. “Deep breath again, okay?” I did as he said. His hand pushed down against me in a comforting press as I breathed out. I took five more inhales before he removed his hand. “You’re safe, sweetheart.”

“I know,” I said, trying to reassure myself. I knew I was. I trusted Logan and Wade with my life. But I felt a confusing mix of vulnerability and numbness. I wanted to cry, to break down at the injustices done upon me. I also wanted to retreat into myself and become nothing but a husk of my former self. Logan gave me a light kiss on the cheek.

“Time to clean you up I think.” I nodded. He was, as always, gentle. He used a plastic cup to spill water down my hair, hand braced along my forehead to stop any from falling into my eyes. He shampooed my hair three times, trying to get every bit of blood out. His fingers massaged into my scalp and I let out satisfied sighs at the feeling.

“You’re good at this.” The last of the shampoo was washed away, sending a cascade of soap down my spine. He pumped a generous amount of conditioner into his hand before spreading it along the ends of my hair. He worked diligently through the knots, never tugging or ripping.

“I’ve had a lot of…” his voice trailed off, seeming uncertain.

“Girlfriends?”

“I was going to say practice.” My lips twitched. “Lean forward.” I drew my knees up and rested my head on them. I heard the squirt of soap a moment before the washcloth touched my back. He rubbed in smooth circles, just the right of pressure applied. Eventually his hand curved over my shoulder and I sunk back against him. He was thorough, scrubbing spots I often passed over quickly. The hollow of my throat, the ditch of my elbows, between each of my fingers, behind my ears. Something hard nudged against my back. I pushed experimentally back against him. He let out a hiss and stilled my hips with a single hand. “No. Not now, just relax.”

“That usually does help me relax.” His hand disappeared under the cloudy water to scrub at my legs. I sat up suddenly and spun, a small wave of water spilling out of the side of the tub. My legs braced themselves on either side of his hips and my hands landed on his shoulders. I caught his hazel eyes flashing down to my breasts where they squished against his chest, before he looked back up at me. “You’re so handsome,” I purred, fingers mapping lines of his face.

“Hey,” his tone was commanding, but not mean, as his hands latched around my wrists. I tried to catch his lips but he was able to avoid me.

“Distract me,” I plead.

“Not like that.” I struggled a moment longer and then I deflated. My forehead fell, landing against his, eyes shut tight. Self consciousness and shame bit at me.

“I’m sorry. I don’t…I just don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“Don’t have to apologize, princess.” He brushed my damp hair off my shoulders, hand trailing up my pulse point, before rubbing along my cheekbone. “Let’s get you in bed. I know all your emotions are keeping you up, but you’ll crash soon. You don’t have to worry about anything else until you’re ready.” I groaned.

“Shit, I have to call work. That’s assuming I’m not fired for being gone for weeks.” His thumb stopped. He drew back, pinching my chin, forcing our eyes to lock.

“Weeks?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, looking at him with confusion. “Well maybe more, I was trying to count by the sun.” I pointed at the ceiling to convey the sunroof. He blinked, brows knitted together. “What?”

“You were only gone for about half a day. Wade started panicking when you didn’t text him that you made it home.” My mind spun. “We would’ve never let you be taken that long.”

“So, what, it was some illusion?” The water had grown tepid. My thumb nail broke easily when I began biting it after it’s prolonged soak. The fact I could track my days was one of my saving graces. It kept my mind anchored to reality as I sat, bleeding out. But it was all a lie. Why? Logan tugged at my wrist, taking the nail away from me, giving the abused finger a kiss.

“That woman,” Logan hummed, voice slow as he thought. “She was a mutant. I think she could fuck with time or make us feel like she did. Wade said it felt weird right before he killed her, like he was moving too slow.” That would explain all the odd inconsistencies. The woman standing outside the door for weeks. Bleeding out for days without dying. Never feeling hungry or needing to use the bathroom.

“Why? Why would they do that to…ah.”

“What?” He was back to watching me like I was half feral, like I would attack him. It was a heartbreaking combination of weariness and open affection.

“The man told me that,” my voice stuttered. His touch was light as it moved down my back, disappearing under the water to my waist. “He said that you guys wouldn’t-“ I hated that my eyes now decided to sting. That I was breaking at this, about him.

“Don’t have to say anything sweetheart.” I shook my head, wet hair sticking to my shoulders. I curled my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with the strands that had curled from the hot water.

“He said you guys didn’t,” I glanced down, looking at his chest instead, connecting the splatter of moles along his skin. “That you guys didn’t care or want me around anymore. That’s why you were taking so long.” He growled, the sound reverberating through the water.

“He’s wrong.” He aimed to reassure, but it was rough around the edges, anger tearing at the corners. It was very Logan. “We want you around as long as you’ll have us.” That mounting anxiety inside me began to dissipate. “Listen,” he squeezed my waist for extra emphasis, “don’t think of that waste of space. He deserved everything that happened to him and more. Everything he ever said to you was a fucking lie.” I nodded and leaned in for a kiss but paused.

“Just one.” Logan hesitated. “I promise I’ll be gentle.” He grinned and my heart stuttered at the sight. A true Logan grin was like spotting a shooting star, quick and stunning.

“I remember what your last kiss was like, I’m not sure I’ll survive it again. Having you against me has been enough torture.” Pride made me smile at him.

“Later then?” He nodded but gave me a quick peck anyways. I didn’t rush after him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He cleared his throat. “I promise, I’ll take care of you, do whatever you need, give you anything I can.” My heartbeat stumbled and I blinked back a wave of tears. “I’m sorry I haven’t always been there for you.” His fingers danced along my shoulders. The action felt a little shy, nervous even. But his gaze never left mine. “But I,” his voice died for a moment. He cleared his throat again. “But I don’t want to let you go, not anymore.” I opened my mouth, ready to say he already had me, that I was never going anywhere, but he covered it with his wet hand. “Don’t say anything sweetheart. Just let me help you.” Reluctantly, I nodded.

He washed the long forgotten conditioner out of my hair before he rose from the bath. I nearly drooled at the sight of his thighs, thick with muscles and covered in a dusting of dark hair. I tried to avoid looking at his dick, it would only rile me up, but I caught a brief sight of it anyways as he stepped from the tub. The tip was a dusky pink and it looked wide. He padded over to my towel rack and grabbed one for each of us. He kept his back, and perfect bubble butt, to me as he dried himself off. While he did, I pulled the stopper from the drain and let the dirty water swirl away. He wrapped the towel around his waist before he turned back to me.

Logan carefully guided me out of the bath, both hands gripping my arms. Being back on my feet reminded me of the wound on my leg and I grimaced at the tremble that went through it. “Need some of the pills?” I shook my head. I was tempted to look at the injury but my empty stomach lurched at the idea.

“No,” he squeezed the towel over my wet hair, “the water just felt nice. Gravity is a bitch.” Logan chuckled but still looked worried. When my hair was only slightly damp, he moved to the rest of my body. I let him rub me down, giggling as he found ticklish spots in his thorough work. Occasionally his lips would ghost over where he had just wiped, my knee, my hip, the rib nearest my breast. They were always light and fleeting, but I relished them nonetheless.

Once I was thoroughly dry, he hung my towel back up. He caught my shoulders before I left the bathroom. “Don’t panic, Wade’s been back for about thirty minutes.” I quirked an eyebrow.

“And he’s just been sitting there? Without saying anything?”

“Trust me it’s been hard! Just like me honestly.” Logan sighed, eyes flicking to the ceiling, asking anything that would listen for patience. But I smiled and walked into my short hallway and found Wade sitting on my couch. He was surrounded by an obscene amount of bags. He had changed into a pair of X-Men branded pajama bottoms. When Wade saw me, completely naked, haloed by the dawn light, he made a strangled noise. “Holy fuck, oh my god, shit.” He glanced down at his cock, which was indeed very hard, tenting in a comical way. It gave a noticeable twitch.

“Calm down bub,” Logan growled, skirting around me to reach Wade and the bags. He glowered down at the other man’s pants. “She’s going to sleep and you,” he punched Wade’s arm for emphasis, “are gonna leave her alone.” Wade whined, head thumping against the back of the couch. Logan opened a bag, fishing out a shirt and boxers, along with a toothbrush. He dropped his towel, not caring that the blinds in the living room were wide open. Both me and Wade tilted our heads, gaze skating over Logan’s exposed body before he covered it with his underwear. He picked the towel up and went to put it back in the bathroom. He handed me the shirt, “don’t get brains on this one.”

As I took the worn shirt, he turned, but I stopped him with a hand to his cheek. “Thank you.” His hazel eyes nearly glittered in the rising sun’s rays. I gave him a kiss, just on the heavy side of chaste, but not what either of us craved. I drew back first and left him lingering, eyes half closed. I turned on my heel and into my bedroom. As I was picking up a fresh pair of underwear, I spotted Wade coming into my room as well. The faucet in the sink began to run. Exhaustion was finally starting to prickle at me and I yawned so hard my jaw popped.

“You’re so tired, let me help you.” Wade tugged the underwear from me before falling to his knees. He stared unabashedly at my pussy. I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. I was sure to give him a show, stepping into the stretched underwear one leg at a time, spreading myself open more than needed, my hand planted on his head for balance. He was slow to move it up my body, rising into increasingly hunched positions to keep the underwear level with his eyes. He left them down to reveal just a bit of myself to him. He leaned forward, a little point of pink exposed between his lips.

Logan’s hand clamped around his neck, hoisting him straight, like a mama cat with her misbehaving kitten. “So bad at following directions. Go brush your teeth, asshole.”

“Yes daddy.” Logan grunted in response. “You sound much scarier all growly like that. Much hotter too.” Wade dodged Logan’s fist as it swung toward him. He scampered away, winking, before the bathroom door shut.

“Insufferable.” Logan scanned me and I hastily tugged the shirt over my torso. “Good girl, now get into bed.” I blushed but did as he said. Before I collapsed down, I snagged a hair tie and brought my still damp hair up into a haphazard bun. It would be a complete knot when I woke up, whenever that would be, but I just needed it out of my way. Logan climbed after me, the bed frame groaning under his weight. Movement outside my window caught my eyes. It was just a bird fluttering by but a sudden spike of fear rushed through me. There was a clear handprint on the pane of glass. Logan, perhaps hearing my heart rate increase, followed my gaze. “It’s okay,” he mumbled, going to my window to shut the blinds. The room dimmed, the blinds cutting off the bright morning light. “No one will be able to get in here without Wade or me knowing.”

“I know,” I sighed, curling under my sheets. The bed creaked again as Logan joined me. His arms were like steel rods as they latched around me, drawing me flush against his firm body. He tucked his forehead against the nape of my neck and his breath tickled at the hair dangling there. His breathing was slow and even. My eyes drifted shut, chest synching with his. As if from down a long hallway, I heard Wade make some comment about how cute we looked. Logan’s chest rumbled in response.

The first thing I felt when consciousness finally reached me was bumpy skin against my nose. I buried my face deeper into Wade’s chest, shifting my stiff legs to feel that ours had tangled together. My thigh twinged at the motion. “Good morning, my lovely sleeping beauty. Never thought you would wake up, thought I would have to do it with true loves fuck.” A sleepy grin tugged at my lips.

“It’s true loves kiss, Wade,” I croaked, my throat scratchy. I must have been snoring. Cute.

“Not in the movies I watch.” I rolled to my back, stretching my body with a series of cracks and groans. Wade watched me with a hungry glint in his eyes, following Logan’s shirt drifting over my underwear and showing a sliver of stomach. I glanced at the window. With the blinds shut I wasn’t able to tell the time well, but judging by the burnt orange rays leaking through, it was either dusk or dawn.

“What time is it?” I reached for my phone on its usual spot on my bedside table before I remembered it had been taken with me. It was probably on some long forgotten table or smashed to pieces in a fight.

“It’s,” his phone flashed, “seven at night.” I scrubbed the lingering sleep from my eyes.

“Where’s Logan?” He wasn’t in the bed and I couldn’t hear any noise from the rest of the apartment.

“He went to get food. According to him, you don’t eat enough protein.” I shrugged, stretching my hips open, face scrunching at the ache. My hands went to my thigh, kneading at the skin. Wade twisted, kneeling between my spread legs. His pajamas were low, the edges of his hip bones peaking above the waist band. The dim light danced across his stomach and my eyes followed along the ridges of his abs. “You have lotion?”

“What?” I asked, half laughing, the question taking me off guard. A full giggle bubbled up inside me as his hands coasted along the crease of my thighs, fingertips catching under the elastic of my underwear.

“Well, I can’t give you a good massage if you aren’t all slippery.” His touch drifted up, pushing farther along my hips, revealing more of my skin to him. “I know you have some, don’t get such buttery smooth skin without it.“ I pointed my thumb to my bedside table. He leaned over me, hips flush with mine, as he rifled through the drawer before he snagged the lotion. My arms snaked around his waist, pressing little kisses to his neck and cheeks. “Logan warned me that you would try to seduce me.” I gave a throaty laugh and it only seemed to rile him up, his hips adjusting between mine.

“Do you want me to seduce you?” Wade groaned. His nose knocked against mine as he looked at me.

“No need sweetums, your snoring was as much of a turn on as I needed.” I rolled my eyes, pushing his chest back so he was kneeling once again. He grabbed the ankle of my injured leg, bracing my heel against his bare chest.

“You sure know how to charm a girl.” He smirked and popped open the lid of the lotion with his teeth, squirting a generous amount into his hand, rubbing them together to warm the liquid up.

“You’re still here aren’t you? Just can’t get enough of me.” I was going to give some sassy retort, but it was cut off by a surprised moan as Wade’s knuckles dug into my calf. The lotion helped his hands glide over my skin, working through knots with pressure that would have been painful without it. He moved in sweeping half circles, squeezing as he went.

“Shit,” I mumbled, eyes drifting closed. The tips of his fingers worked at the back of my ankle with the last of the lotion. Wade’s hand disappeared before returning to just below my injury, slicked with more lotion. His motions were more controlled, the press lighter, dancing around the bruise. “How bad does it look?” I tried to keep my voice light but there was a faint shake to the words.

“It doesn’t matter how it looks,” Wade responded, fingertips brushing the damaged skin. “How does it feel?” His touch was light and nearly tickled as he doodled idly across it.

“Doesn’t hurt, just feels numb in that spot. I can feel you touching the skin but it doesn’t feel…connected to me, I guess.” Wade hummed thoughtfully, lifting my heel to be over his shoulder, still damp hands going to the joint of my leg and hip, spreading my leg wider for him to massage. I sighed contentedly. “You’ve been holding out on me,” I teased, “should have made you give me back rubs anytime I saw you.”

“Just trying to show you all my skills before you let me fuck your brains out.” I opened my heavy eyes to find him smiling softly down at me. I reached out and he met me halfway, resting his cheek on my offered hand.

“We can add romance to the skill list. Who would have thought.”

“Hey,” Wade nipped my palm, sitting back on his knees. “I can’t do anything nice for Logan without him throwing a fit. So all my hopeless romanticism goes to you.” He lowered my propped up leg carefully before grabbing the other. He added more lotion to his hands.

“Well I’m honored,” my voice tilted into a moan, back arching as he found a particularly sore spot on my calf. His eyes were glued to my torso, my belly button just peeking out from the bottom of Logan’s shirt, nipples hard enough to point under the fabric. His movement mimicked his work on my other leg, knuckles pushing deep into my tight muscles. He was able to be more thorough with this thigh since he didn’t have a bruise to dodge around. I gasped and moaned, being over dramatic just to see the look on his face. As his hands crept farther up my hips, I spread my legs wider, trying to entice him closer.

The lotion faded but his touch didn't, fingers going under my shirt. “You’re quiet.” He nodded, middle finger dipping into my belly button and making me laugh.

“Logan gets like this sometimes.” I cock my head in question. “He gets quiet and will just touch my face. Especially after we get back from jobs. I never really understood it.” He traced up my stomach in soft sweeps, catching the edges of my ribs. “But he’s a grumpy asshole so if I mention he’s doing it, he goes and pouts.” The shirt whispers up my skin as he exposes more of me to him, the bottom curve of my breast visible, and he takes the opportunity to run his thumbs along the sensitive skin. “I get it now though.” I wiggled my hips farther down the bed and Wade drew them higher, resting them on his thighs. “I’m not one to talk about my feelings, and if I do, it’s usually in ways that make people think I’m deranged.”

“Well you are,” I teased. He pressed feather light kisses to my knees before throwing them over his shoulders.

“But you love that about me, right?”

“Ooh, throwing around the big L huh?” Wade grinned.

“Why shouldn’t I? Life is short.”

“Mine is, you and Logan will live forever, won’t you?” I reached up, mapping his face.

“Logan will outlive the sun on pure spite. Who knows for me,” he inched my shirt over my chest, exposing myself completely to him. “I haven’t always been like this. I used to have to worry about my life. It always felt like I saw one wrong step away from dying. I used to be way more reckless.” I raised an eyebrow and he chuckled. He tested the lengths of his healing factor beyond recklessness. “Let’s not point out my flaws while I’m trying to be sweet and open. I at least am guaranteed to live when I do dumb shit now.” I held up my hands in surrender and they moved to his forearms instead. “Even then I didn’t see a point in being guarded and ‘reasonable’. If I loved someone, I loved them.” I swallowed and I knew my cheeks were dusted with pink. “When you were taken, I realized I hadn’t told you. I don’t expect you to say it back but I just want you to know.” He circled my nipples, drawing them to peaks, and a soft sound caught in my chest. “Just think about it, yeah?”

“I don’t need to,” I mumbled, pushing my chest into his hands. Wade’s mouth opened just as the apartment door was shoved open. My body goes tense for a moment, expecting an intruder, but Wade gave a playful tug on my exposed nipples.

“Just the old man,” he reassured. I could hear the crinkle of paper bags being placed on my counter, the clink of my keys as he dropped them into my purse, then the light padding of Logan’s feet on the hardwood.

“I see you’re awake,” Logan said. He strode to where Wade and I were tangled, leaning down to give me a brief kiss, his leather jacket creaking as he did. “You’re a nice sight to come home to.” I preened under the compliment. Wade tugs the shirt back over my chest with an overly jealous huff.

“Am I not nice to come home to? And where is my loving smooch?” Logan rolls his eyes but gives in, grabbing Wade’s chin with a harsh grip and giving him a rough kiss. But Logan draws back before Wade wants him to and he chuckles at Wade’s pout. “You’re so mean to me.” Logan shakes his head, straightening, his arms crossing.

“Uh huh. If you excuse me, I’m going to make us dinner since you,” he points an accusing finger at Wade, “would set the place on fire.” Logan, as if he couldn’t help himself, gave me another peck on the forehead. “Do you need anything princess?”

“Well for one, keep Wade out of the kitchen. I don’t have renters insurance.” Logan clicked his tongue, heading back out the bedroom.

“You need that, especially if you’re keeping us around.” Logan disappeared around the corner. I slid my legs off Wade’s shoulders, sitting up to kiss his nose.

“I’m going to go out by him, see if he needs any help.”

“Yeah, okay, are you sure you don’t just want to stare at his big bulging muscles?”

“That’s just a bonus."

Wade signed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll come with you, can’t let him hog all your attention.”

“I have to go to the bathroom first.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed but paused. Wade slid off, offering his hands to me. I wanted to refuse, to try and do it myself, but I was afraid of my leg giving out from under me, so I allowed him to help me up. There was a dull throb but no stabs of pain or awful trembles. I appreciated that Wade let me lean on him and walk myself. I felt weak as is. These two men could heal from anything and didn’t seem to feel, or care about, pain and I was nearly debilitated by a thigh wound.

“Can I come with you?” I walked on my stiff leg into the bathroom, flicking the light on.

“No Wade, I can pee by myself.”

“Aw come on, I can hold your hand.” I shook my head, closing the door on him. I took in my appearance reflected back at me in the mirror over my sink. I looked like a mess. There were lines from my pillow pressed into my cheek and my hair was sticking in every direction. I swallowed.

I knew I needed to look, to get the anxiety out of the way.

I nearly gagged at the sight of my thigh. The spot, about the size of my spread hand, was deep purple, nearly black. Green and yellow spiderwebbed across the edge. There were broken blood vessels across my entire thigh. I touched it timidly and scrunched my face at the odd numbness. It didn’t hurt to touch, the pain had settled deep into my flesh. The doctor had told me that it would heal from the outside in, so this bruise would be here for a while. The longer I stared, the more I grew to accept it. I had been fucking stabbed and walked away with just this nasty mark. It was the best outcome I could have. I quickly used the toilet and brushed my teeth before exiting to the living room. I found Wade on my couch, tv already switched on, scrolling through my last streaming app. He finally made his decision and I heard the recap of the previous week's Bachelor episode. I had been half way through a rewatch when I was taken.

“Why am I even surprised you are a fan?”

“Where else do you think I got my charm and narcissistic tendencies?”

I found Logan unloading the three overflowing grocery bags into neat groups. There were packages of meat, fresh fruits and vegetables, cookies, and of course, a six pack of beer.

“No, no, sit down.” He hadn’t even looked up. I ignored him, limping closer. My hands traveled under his jacket, wrapping around his waist, laying my head between his shoulder blades. The leather was soft against my cheek, well worn and well loved. He stilled, one hand encompassing my overlapped wrists. “I don’t need your help.”

“Perfect,” I hummed, “I wasn’t offering it. Just stand there and let me hug you.” I wanted to crawl under his jacket, to be completely flush with him, to pin him close. A blissful moment passed.

“Your leg is shaking.”

“I know.”

“Then go sit down.” I lightly head butted his back.

“Stop being bossy.”

“Stop being stubborn.” He turned in my arms, pinning me in place with an exasperated expression. He traced my face with his rough fingers, lingering on the bruises still on my cheek. Then he sighed, resigned.

“Fine, you can stay over here. But I can’t have you latched on to me like a tumor. Go lean somewhere.” I knew that’s the best I would get. I picked a small section of my counter that would keep me out of Logan’s way. He had clearly inspected my cabinet layout before shopping as he put everything where I would. Eventually he started on dinner: steak, rice, and a salad. Wade was completely enthralled by the Bachelor, shouting dating advice at the tv to try and save the bachelor from his many mistakes. I watched Logan chop vegetables with rapt attention. He had shrugged off his leather jacket, leaving him just in a tight t-shirt. Everytime his hand flexed over the knife or as he grabbed a pan, the prominent veins popped under his skin. I felt like I could watch him for hours.

He drifted nearer to my perch, grabbing a beer from my fridge. I stuck my foot out to catch his thigh and guide him closer. Once I was able, I hooked my fingers through his belt loops, wedging his body between my spread legs. He took a large gulp of his beer before it clinked against the counter, his hands braced on either side of my hips. I could smell the lingering smoke of his cigar, the barest hint of a cologne. “Need something princess?” I bit my lip as I smirked.

“Can I ask for that kiss now?” His thumb tugged my lip free of my teeth. I sucked it into my mouth, tongue brushing against the tip. A tiny moan caught in his throat. Just the sound, knowing I made the stoic man weak, shot heat through my veins.

I drop his thumb and grab the neckline of his shirt, drawing him closer so our lips could connect. For a moment my stomach drops as he stays still against me. He exhaled, breath coasting across my face. Then he’s kissing back. It’s slow, long languid strokes against each other. His hand caressed the side of my neck, thumb against my pulse point, his calloused palm a pleasant scrape. There’s no rush, no desperation like before in the bathroom with Wade. That tension, his resistance to me wanting him, has seemingly evaporated. I plucked his shirt from his jeans, hands exploring his torso, tracing the lines and ridges there. His head tipped to the side and mine mirrored it. His tongue stroked against my lip, begging entrance, which I freely gave. The wheaty tang of beer is heavy on him and it never tasted so good. I wanted to sink into this feeling, this pleasant hum of contentedness, but his mouth moved too soon from mine. It traveled across my cheek, along my jaw, before hoovering over my ear.

“You can get the rest of your kisses later, okay sweetheart?” I whined in frustration. “Do you want to eat burnt food?” He pressed one last kiss to my cheek before extricating himself from me. I wanted to draw him back, say fuck it to the food. But I just sighed.

“Fine.” He grinned. He flipped the steaks, checking under the pot lid at the status of the rice. Well, at least I get to watch those hands again. Of course, I rarely ever get what I want. The food was done too quickly and despite my stomach feeling like it was about to eat itself, I mourned watching him. I accepted my plate gratefully, pressing my lips to his in thanks. My steak was cut into thin strips, perfectly done, while his and Wade’s were still whole. I noticed a lack of a knives on their plates as we went to the living room.

“Not Victoria!” Wade cried, flopping back on the couch in defeat. I nestled next to him, plate balanced precariously on my knee. Logan, realizing we all wouldn’t fit on my tiny couch, sat on the floor in front of me, his wide back against my shins. To my horror, and amusement, both of them picked their steaks up with their hands and ripped into them. I watched a trail of juice run down Wade’s chin. He turned and smiled. “He’s rubbed off on me,” he nudged Logan’s shoulder with his knee. “He gets a hunk of meat in front of him and he just has to rip into it. When he first saw my ass, he tore a chunk out.”

“I did not.” Logan grumbled. “I just bit you, it’s not my problem your skin is thin.” Wade shook his head in exasperation.

“He loves downplaying his accomplishments.” I hummed, mouth still full of food. Logan was a great cook, the steak practically melted in my mouth.

“If I’m between you two, could we keep the stabbing and biting to a minimum? I’d rather not have to buy new sheets all the time because you two keep ruining them.”

“Aw,” Wade cooed, his breath ghosting across my cheek. “Come on baby, you already stabbed me once. Don’t you want to do it again?” I spun to face him.

“No,” my voice was louder than intended from shock, “didn’t it hurt?” Wade shrugged.

“Yeah, of course it did. But if your wet pussy is around my dick, the pain doesn’t matter. Probably just make me come harder.” My face was hot and I squirmed. He changed in the most attractive way when he spoke about sex. A look of brazen confidence came over him, his voice smug.

It turned me on.

The idea of injuring him was unappealing and sent a wave of fear over me. But if it was something he would want… “I don't even need a super sniffer to know you want to try it out. I promise I fuck so much harder when knives are involved.”

“Wade,” Logan warned.

“Doesn’t she smell good? Good enough to eat huh?” My thighs squeezed together and I swallowed. Wade was leaning in closer, like a spring about to snap. Logan’s hand shot up, gripping the other man’s chin, and yanked him to face the tv.

“Leave her alone. Don’t make me put my claws through your head.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time. You know your claws just make me even more sensitive.” Logan slapped Wade’s cheek, not hard enough to injure, just enough to make a crack. Wade groaned but settled back into the couch, giving Logan’s hair a little tug. We finished dinner in relative silence, Logan and I were quiet while Wade continued his narration, critiquing everything from the fashion to the date ideas. With Wade’s attention off me, the sudden flash of arousal faded, but not totally.

Once our plates were clean, I grabbed them before Logan could even attempt to move. “Hey, let me do that,” he grumbled, trying to grab my shirt to stop me. I evade his hand with a giggle. I run the dirty dishes under the faucet, putting them, along with the pots and pans Logan used to cook, in the dishwasher. “You should go and sit back down. Let me take care of it.”

“Jesus!” I yelped, the edge of the knife I had been handwashing catching the tip of my finger. “Need to put a bell on you,” I murmured, letting the warm water from the faucet run over the cut. It wasn’t deep but stung like a paper cut. Logan removed my finger, examining the injury. A thin line of blood oozed from it. “It’s okay, just needs a bandaid. Should have seen it after I got a mandolin.” He grunts, kissing the cut, before letting my hand fall. I flicked the water off.

“Have you taken anything yet?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t hurt Logan, just aches.” He drifted closer, our bodies flush to each other, my hips bumping the counter.

“I’d much rather you take it now,” he nearly purrs, gruff voice tender. “That way it won’t hurt later.” His hands caged me in.

“I think you just like telling me what to do.”

Logan shrugged, “one of you two needs to listen to me.” I hummed, considering, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Fine, you win.” It looked like he was going to pull away but my arms tightened in warning. “For being so nice and following your orders, I want another kiss.” He huffed a laugh.

“Are we using them are bargaining chips now?”

“Yes, you’re the one who keeps saying I’ll get more later. So I’m asking for at least one now.”

“Okay princess, you get whatever you want.” He gently removed my arms, grabbing me a glass of water, as well as the bottle of painkillers. “Here,” he plucked one of the little pills out, holding it for me. I open my mouth in response, tongue out. “You and Wade,” he grumbled, “always trying to tease me.” His fingers graze my tongue as he puts the pill on it. “Now drink,” the command in his voice made my skin prickle. I take the glass dutifully, swallowing the pill down, making a satisfied ah noise once I was done. “Here’s your reward.” The kiss was so brief I thought I had imagined it.

“Hey,” I growled, “don’t be mean.” Logan was smug as he brushed some loose hair from my face. “Fine,” I wiggled from between his arms, heading back to the living room. “I’ll go ask Wade for some.”

“Oooh smoochie time!”

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 18 hours

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Dad Jace would totally let him daughter braid his hair and let her use him as her mannequin head (who else had one when they were kids?). He would be such a good girl dad

Request: Jace and reader's daughter who disturbs small council meeting by walking in and Rhaenyra is sweet to her and don't care of the disturbance. She would have been such a good grandmother

This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks (early august...), and since I have not posted in a moment, here's a little blurb until I finish other things. I don't usually write fics with children/babies in it, but now that I'm a godmother, I have material for content XD

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Unlike her father, Rhaenyra wanted Jacaerys to be prepared for when he’ll, one day, ascend the iron throne. She gave him a seat at her small council, at her side, and taught him how to rule the Seven Kingdoms. He was not given a title other than heir, but his presence was important to her and for the future — his future.

While the council was deep in discussion about ships and importation, the heavy doors of the small council chamber creaked open. Heads turned as little Alyssa, who had just turned four, burst into the room. Ignoring the gathered noblemen, the young princess darted straight to her father at the far end of the table.

Jacaerys immediately shifted his attention from Tyland Lanister to his daughter. He could feel that the noblemen at the table were irritated by the disruption, but he didn't care.

‘’How do I look, Daddy?’’ Alyssa asked, spinning in her new dress, her eyes full of excitement.

''Magnificent,'' he said, smiling lovingly at the little girl who looked just like him, except for her eyes. She had your eyes.

Alyssa beamed at the praise, her little heart swelling with joy. She then skipped over to Rhaenyra, her small hand reaching out to display the dress with pride. ‘’Look, Grandma!’’

Rhaenyra's eyes softened at her granddaughter, removing her Queen facade. ‘’That is a very beautiful dress, sweetheart. You look lovely.’’

Alyssa beamed and pointed proudly to the light blue dragon with silver wings embroidered on the dress. ‘’Mama made the dragon,’’ she explained.

‘’Speaking of Mama, where is she?’’ Jacaerys asked gently, hoping to get a response.

But Alyssa just shrugged, her small shoulders rising and falling. Without a word, she spun around and dashed out of the council chamber, her mischievous giggles echoing down the hallway.

This time, Jacaerys was hot on her heels. He couldn’t let her wander alone — she was far too young. She could get lost or find herself in dangerous places, like the kitchens or the White Sword tower. Or worse, she could also get taken by ill intentioned people.

His long strides quickly closed the distance between him and Alyssa. As he finally caught up with her, Jacaerys scooped the little princess up in one swift motion, causing Alyssa to squeal in surprise and delight as she wiggled in his arms.

‘’No getting away from me!’’ Jacaerys held her closely, feeling her small arms wrapping around his neck and clinging to him. ‘’Did you run away from the nursemaid again?’’ Alyssa stayed silent. ‘’You know you're not supposed to run off like that. Let’s go back to the playroom before they send a search party for you.’’

Alyssa remained quiet, but she nestled deeper into her father’s embrace. She adored you, but there was something special about the bond she shared with her father. Same for Jacaerys. She was his precious little princess, his firstborn.

As they entered the playroom, Jacaerys saw the nursemaid pacing around worriedly. The young princess's escapade had clearly caused a bit of panic.

‘’Princess!’’ the nursemaid sighed in relief, silently thanking the Sevens that she had returned safely.

‘’She's safe and sound,’’ Jacaerys said softly, gently rubbing Alyssa’s back. ‘’Just a little adventure, right, Alyssa?’’

The little girl finally lifted her head and nodded, her grip loosening slightly as she glanced at the nursemaid. ‘’I wanted to see Daddy.’’

Jacaerys kissed her cheek before setting her down. His sweet girl.

Behind the nursemaid, Lucerys was playing with little wooden dragons, handed down to him by his uncles. Jacaerys played with these same dragons when he was young, and so did his brother Lucerys, who his son was named after.

‘’You may leave us and take the rest of your day, Saphia. I will take care of the children.’’

The nursemaid nodded, bowing to Jacaerys before retiring herself. Later, when you returned to your chambers after spending the afternoon with ladies from court, you were surprised to see your husband sitting on the carpet with Lucerys and Alyssa, who was in the middle of making ‘braids’ in her father’s hair. It looked more like knots than braids, by the look on Jacaerys’ face. A smile curled on your lips and you joined them on the carpet, finishing the day with your little family.

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

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#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #house of the dragon

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huaiian · 22 hours

Text

Imagine Being Loved By Me (Sylus x Fem!Reader)

Summary:

“I’ll relent. Give my kitten a few hours to…play with her toy. To do as she pleases.”

In short, it’s the MC/Reader’s birthday and Sylus let’s her have her way with him.

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader or MC

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY

Words: 4.6 K

AO3 Link Here

Tags: Light Dom/Sub, Dom!MC or Dom!Reader, Sub!Sylus, Bondage, Cumming (kinda) Untouched, Overstimulation, Porn but there's a thread of a plot

Author's Note: Hope you all enjoy! I haven't really written anything like this in a LOOOONG time so if it's not great I apologize. This is basically just me going hmm, what if you tied him up and made him cry. And well uhh….idk this happened. If you aren't into Submissive Sylus then I'm sorry, you'll probably want to skip out on this one ╥﹏╥

You awoke to rays of sun gently fanning across your face. Your nose scrunched up and you stretched your hands above your head, groaning slightly as your joints began to pop. You felt arms wrap around your waist and you smiled slightly, eyes opening slightly, glancing to the side.

“Someone’s up bright and early,” Sylus sighs, arms bringing you closer to him. His head moves to the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath and giving you a gentle kiss on your pulse point. Your smile widens, cradling the back of his head and guiding him upwards. You share a small peck before pulling back, adoration clear in your gaze.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispers into the morning air. You kiss him again as he envelopes you in his embrace.

The day progresses as any other day would, aside from the fact that it’s your birthday and Sylus will stop at nothing to shower you with gifts and attention. Did you mention a beautiful Tiffany & Co. necklace you wanted? He got you the entire collection. You said you wanted a new purse right? He took it upon himself to get you every Birkin he could find in person. It was all too much for you, having a more reserved and shy personality usually, but it’s your birthday so why not live a little.

Sylus led you from place to place, joining you in all of your favorite hobbies before surprising you at the end of the night with your closest friends and coworkers at the local karaoke bar. Sylus had to use his pseudonym, Skye, just as he did when you had coincidentally met him in a similar circumstance. Only this time, instead of trying to distance yourself from him the entire night, you were doing your best not to drag him towards you and kiss him until you saw stars.

“Sweetie,” he whispered in your ear, a shiver running up your spine, “you still have one more gift that you’ll need to open.”

“Oh?” You questioned, your eyebrow raising ever so slightly. “And what might that gift be? Don’t tell me you bought me an entire island or something ridiculous.”

Sylus was silent for a beat, causing you to straighten and whirl around, eyes wide and mouth agape at the implication. He chuckles while shaking his head, eyes scrunching up at the corners. “No my dear, though it can be arranged. All you need to do is ask,”

“NO, no I’m definitely happy and definitely don’t need you to spend anything more than you already have,” you stammer, a light blush coloring your cheeks. His laughter dies down and he smirks, leaning forward so his mouth is up against your ear.

“No love, this gift won’t cost me a thing,” his breath fanning out across your ear. Almost as if he could hear your confusion, he clarifies for you.

“I’ll relent. Give my kitten a few hours to…play with her toy. To do as she pleases.”

You could feel warmth rush through you in that moment, understanding the implication of his words. You never believed in the phrase ‘butterflies in your stomach’ until now, feeling the strange sensation combined with your heart stuttering in your chest, you could tell that it was going to be a long night.

After Sylus’ slight teasing, you slowly begin to exit the karaoke bar, hugging friends and catching up with some old co-workers here and there before finally making a subtle departure. You didn’t want to ruin the party for everyone else, but you also had a present waiting at home that had been plaguing your mind for hours now. You snatched Sylus’ hand and started dragging him over to his motorcycle, the man squeezing your hand gently.

“I see someone’s anticipation is slowly getting the best of her,” he teased. The motorcycle came into view, which only made you take larger strides.

“If I had known how much you’d enjoy this gift, I would’ve departed a long time ago-” his voice was cut off by you suddenly swinging him forward, leaning him against the bike before cupping his cheeks. His eyes widened before you brought his face forward, your lips colliding in an aggressive kiss, showcasing your pent up frustration. He hummed into the kiss before his hands came to rest on your hips.

As the kiss deepened, his hands snake towards your ass, that is until you swatted them away. You broke the kiss to find an adorably confused expression on his face. You lean forward, slightly on your tiptoes to try to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry, I thought the birthday girl was going to call the shots. Isn’t that right?” You questioned him with a smug demeanor. His eyes darkened before nodding. You grabbed his chin and pulled him in for another kiss, where it was obvious that you were in complete control. He could feel the smile on your face before pulling back again.

“That’s my good boy.”

He groans, eyes closing again before you bring him back into a possessive kiss. You wanted to muffle any sounds he might make in case anyone had the audacity of hearing him in this state; a state only you were allowed to see. You broke apart from him again, his eyes opening again and looking towards you for further direction.

“Let’s get you home baby, I’ll take care of you,” you softly tell him, hand cupping his face and thumb gently wiping just before his eye. He nods mindlessly at you before whispering “yes ma’am.” He climbs atop of the motorcycle as you follow close behind. Before you realize it, Sylus is weaving in and out of traffic at speeds you knew were nowhere near safe. Could it be due to your hand squeezing his inner thigh, your chest pressed against his back ever so tightly.

When you arrive at home, you notice that the twins and Mephisto aren’t there to welcome you home. You sigh slightly out of exasperation, taking Sylus’ hand once more before leading him inside the house. The darkness and silence is all encompassing, all that can be heard in yours and Sylus’ breaths desperately trying to calm yourselves of your racing heartbeats.

As you move through the house, you finally locate the bedroom door, noticing that candles had been lit, illuminating the room in a gentle glow.

“I’ll have to give the boys their thanks later,” you state, giggling slightly to yourself at the turn of events.

Sylus frowns slightly before squeezing your hand harder to indicate his irritation at the mention of the twins. You laugh openly now, ushering Sylus to sit on the bed.

“It seems that someone’s a jealous little toy huh,” you speak, an authoritative tone engulfing your words in a new weight. Sylus scoffs, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side.

“As though you wouldn’t be upset with me if I starting bringing up other women in the bedroom,”

“What other women Sylus,” you speak up, your hands grabbing his wrists and unfolding his arms. You widen your stance and take a seat on his lap, your index finger and thumb grasping his chin to force him to look you in the eye. He looks at you with a slight scowl on his face, but his widening pupils and growing bulge in his pants tells you that the expression is just for show.

“Enlighten me,” you tease, leaning forward so your lips ghost his ever so slightly, “what other women are you talking to?” The question falls upon deaf ears as your hand moves from his chin to his hair, curling around some strands before gripping tightly, tugging his head backwards. Sylus gasps sharply as you feel his cock twitch below you. You move your head swiftly to his neck, kissing up his neck before reaching his jawline just below his ear. You start sucking sharply, nipping at the skin to ensure that a mark appears in your wake.

He moans low, his hands fisting the sheets below him. His head falls to the side, allowing you greater access to his neck. You let go of the sensitive skin, but you don’t move away. Your breaths dampening the skin below you before you ask again, “Answer me Sylus: What other women are you talking to?”

“No one,” he states, sounding out of breath and ragged before groaning again as you bite his neck with pressure just enough to leave a mark. You release his neck before licking a stripe upwards, whispering in his ear, “that’s a good boy,” before softly biting his ear lobe.

Sylus’ hips buck upwards, searching for any kind of friction. You let out a ‘hmph’ before grinding down harshly, forcing a muttered ‘oh fuck’ out of his mouth.

“Now that won’t do,” you state, slowly getting up from his lap. He opens his eyes slowly, half lidded. His eyes watch you as you move your way towards the dresser, his breath stuttering as he sees you grab rope you both are all too familiar with. He kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed, positioning himself on his knees with his hands behind his back.

“How obedient,” you observe as he sits, awaiting for your instruction, “but we won’t be in this position today.” He quirks an eyebrow up at you, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. You smirk as well, knowing that the poor bastard had no idea what he had signed up for when offering his last present to you.

You kick off your heels and crawl in front of him on your knees. His chest starts rising and falling more noticeably and he tries to calm his breathing. You start undressing him, giving gentle instructions as needed. He obeyed without any resistance and as you were slowly peeling off his last layer, cock springing upwards and onto his stomach, you heard a quiet moan leave him.

You remove the boxers and throw them to the side, attention stuck on the pretty pink length twitching slightly at your gaze. You lean forward, licking a fat stripe on the underside of his cock, reveling in the way his breath stutters and his thighs shake. You give a quick suck to the head before pulling back, raising your head upwards to make eye contact with the man.

“Sweetie please,” he whispers, hand reaching forward to grab your waist. You quickly took his wrist and put your other hand on the middle of his check slowly pushing him backwards on the bed, pinning his hands above his head, straddling his hips. You could feel his cock underneath you through your jeans, moving your hips in a subtle circular motion. You hear him whimpering faintly, and you squeeze his wrists before letting them go. His wrists stay above his head, his gaze pleading with you to let him feel you in his rough grasp.

You grab the forgotten rope at your side before cupping his cheek, bringing him into a tender kiss. Sylus attempted to deepen the kiss, but you smiled and pulled away.

“Spread out baby,” you say to him, unraveling the rope. He rolls his eyes and spreads out, his hands and feet pointing towards their respective corners.

“You know, when I offered up this as a present, I wasn’t expecting…” he trails off, trying to find the right words, “all of this enthusiasm. I thought you enjoyed begging underneath me, begging for my co-”

He was cut off from his bratty tirade by a sharp slap to the inner thigh, causing his hips to buck and the words to die on his tongue.

“I didn’t think I needed to keep that pretty mouth of yours in check,” you say with a bored tone, sighing slightly. You finish up tying the last ankle to the corner of the bed, using a single column tie for his wrists and ankles. As you lean back to acknowledge your handiwork, you can see his arms and legs straining a little, testing out the ropes. Unfortunately for him, the ropes are secure and unless he’s willing to beg, there's no getting out of them now.

You straddle his midriff and he looks up at you with a slight scowl at you tying him down. You cup his cheeks with your hands and kiss him deeply, languidly. You’re able to take your time now and you’re going to savor every second of it. He kisses you back, matching your leisurely pace.

You part the kiss, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. “I have scissors in the left hand drawer,” you mutter, kissing the corner of his mouth. “The safe word is Featherstar. Do I make myself clear?” You look at him sternly, wanting him to take this seriously. He nods his head and attempts to lean forward to kiss you once more. You click your tongue at him, moving away.

“I’m gonna need you to use your words my love,” you tell him in a hushed tone. He pouts at you but nods again, replying with a simple “Yes ma’am, I understand.”

“Thank you sweetie,” you whisper in his ear, causing him to shiver. You start kissing down his neck, leading the middle of his chest. You start sucking and biting different areas on his chest, knowing that the man would start unraveling at the seams. Sure enough, he was humming and groaning at the attention his chest was receiving.

You moved towards his nipple, dragging your tongue across the sensitive bud. You felt it perk up and start to harden as you swirled your tongue around it in small circles.

“Oh sweetie, fuck,” he sighs, his arms straining against the ropes. He lets out an annoyed huff followed by a low pitched groan and you start to suck on the raised bud. You continue sucking and your other hand caresses his side, trailing your fingers upwards until they reach his other nipple. You tweak the unoccupied nipple in between your fingers, pinching and rubbing it in small circles similar to your tongues movements before swapping the two. Your mouth comes and replaces your hand while your other hand comes up to caress his pec.

Sylus moans and twitches underneath you, becoming more and more agitated by his inability to touch you. “Baby, when will you release me? This is getting a bit boring, don’t you think?” He tries his best to keep his voice from wavering with arousal.

You look up at him and bite down on his nipple, causing the man to moan and tip his head back on the bed. You release his nipples and kiss your way to the center of his chest again. “Bargaining isn’t going to work my dear, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to get used to this.”

He tries to calm his breathing as you start caressing his body, your fingers applying feather light pressure to him, goosebumps rising on his skin. You venture lower until you’re sitting back, his cock straining against his stomach in a red color that looks somewhat irritated from the lack of attention.

Your touch delicately brushes against his length, his cock jumping and twitching with every touch. “You’re killin’ me sweetie,” he says, sounding out of breath. You continue the movements, making no effort to apply anymore pressure or stimulation. He whimpers as his dick starts leaking a constant stream of precum, creating a shallow puddle on his stomach.

“You can come just from this can’t you?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. He shakes his head slightly before flinching as your fingers gather some of the precum, teasing the tip. His thighs flex, trying to plant his feet onto the mattress but to no avail. You giggle at his reaction, playing with the slit before leaning forward, licking the shell of his ear.

“Don’t you want to make me proud? It is my birthday after all,” you purr into his ear, his breathing becoming erratic. You could tell he was close, all he needed was some pushing. You took your free hand and grasped his hair.

“Don’t you want to be a good boy, make me proud?” You say, tugging his hair so his head would be pulled back. He made a choked off noise and shut his eyes suddenly, whimpering as he came, hot streaks of cum shooting up towards his chest. You could see the veins in his arms protruding from being restricted. You smiled, cooing in his ear praises of how well he was doing.

Sylus took a few calming breaths before looking at you, his eyes glassy and gaze filled with longing. “Please baby, let me go,” he tries again. You shake your head before getting up, straddling him again. He quirks an eyebrow before you start to undress yourself, shimmying out of your jeans and pulling off your top, only left in a matching underwear set you treated yourself to for your big day. His eyes widened as he gazed upon the maroon lace seemingly painted across your breasts.

His distraction was evident as you started to crawl your way upwards, pussy hovering over his face. Even so, his eyes had not left the lingerie once. It seemed as though he was unaware as to what your next move would be, completely taken aback by your choice of attire to ask any questions. You gripped his hair again to tilt his head backwards so he made eye contact with you.

“Try to keep up,” you stated, using your other hand to push your panties aside. His mouth drops open, saliva beginning to pool in his mouth. Before he can retort, your thighs spread further apart, sitting yourself on his mouth, nose nudging your clit. You moan out as he tongue begins to work you open, lapping up the wetness with a new refound vigor. You started rutting against his mouth, grinding downward so his nose would grind against your clit at an addicting pace.

“Your tongue-” you groan, removing your hands so you could place them behind you, leaning back against his thighs, “God you’re good at this.” You gripped his upper thighs, feeling the firm muscle underneath your hands quivering. You lifted your hips up and away from his mouth for a moment to let him catch his breath. The smug satisfaction pools in the pit of your stomach as you see his chin glisten, mouth open while he takes a brief reprieve.

“You better get your ass back over here sweetie-” he starts, impatience in his voice. You roll your eyes at him once more pushing yourself back into his mouth. “I’m gonna need to punish you for speaking out of turn like that, ya know,” you tell him, grinding down harder and harder as he works you open. You gasp as he starts fucking you open with his tongue, moaning at your taste.

You glance behind you and find not only is he fully erect again, but it seems he’s just as close to release as you. And well, we can’t have that can we?

You could feel yourself getting close, and as rode him harder and faster, you reached for his cock behind you, squeezing just under his head. Sylus whimpers loudly in response, but continues to bring you closer and closer to the edge.

With one last nudge of his nose against your clit, your eyes rolled in the back of your head, body going stiff and you came on his tongue. You could feel him pant against your thigh as he tried to calm himself, hips thrusting upward to try and reach his release as well.

“Love please let me come, please, you tasted so good I wanna come too, please,” he begs, mumbling against the inside of your thigh. You pull back from his mouth as he whimpers in protest. You raise up, letting go of his cock as it falls against his stomach heavily. You take off your bra and panties, looking at him with a devious glint in your eye.

You grab him by the chin so his mouth would open slightly. “Open up,” you ordered and he reluctantly obeyed. You realized he was going to try to come up with a witty retort, but you knew how to satiate him for the time being. You took your panties coated in your wetness and shoved them in his mouth, gagging him. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and moaned loudly.

“Don’t worry Sylus, I just wanted to save your stamina,” you tell him, moving backwards so your cunt was hovering over his cock. He shivered and moaned at the feeling of you grinding down on his dick, heavy with want and radiating with heat. You moved your cunt against him, slicking up his dick. You finally lifted up and grabbed the base of his shaft, circling the head around your entrance. He started breathing heavily through his nose, the pressure from his yanking causing the ropes around him making the bed frame creak.

“Such a patient boy, you’ve been waiting so nicely,” you gasp out as you slowly start to sink down on him. He moans loudly, voice muffled by the panties. You take him inch by inch before sitting fully on him, feeling filled to the brim. All that can be heard are the desperate breaths between the two of you. You place your hands on his abs before raising yourself up, tip almost slipping out. As your hips come down forcefully, you hear a punched out moan escape Sylus, little noises escaping him the more you move, however slight.

You start riding him with new vigor, bouncing up and down on his cock, trying to get him to reach deeper and deeper inside you. His moans are becoming louder and louder, with whimpers escaping him whenever you take a moment to sit and swivel your hips in circular motions. The sounds Sylus begins to make sound more and more frantic, wobbly from desperation.

“It’s ok, cum for me Sylus. Fill me up, I wanna be filled with your cum,” your tone sounding strained and you uncontrollably start moving on his cock, desperate for him. It only takes a few more times bouncing on his cock before you hear a muffled shout, feeling warmth spread through you. You moan out, a high pitched squeal leaving your lips as you cum around his cock, milking him inside of you.

You look over and see his head lolled to the side, saliva dripping out of the side of his mouth around your panties. You lean forward and gently move his face so he looks at you. You cup his cheek and praise him as you gingerly remove the panties from his mouth. He breathes through his mouth deeply, coughing slightly.

You had planned to be done from here, thinking that you've had enough fun, but you can’t help but think of how far you’ll be able to push the infamous leader of Onychinus. A devious part in you wants to break him, while another part of you wants to give him mercy.

You decide to be selfish, still craving more and more from him. You squeeze around his cock and he groans out, mumbling a soft “baby, please”. Before long, you start moving in circles again, and Sylus is below you, pleading with tears in his eyes.

“Oh God, oh fuck, I don’t- I don’t know if I- SHIT!” He yells out, tears escaping from the corner of his eyes, head hitting the bed behind him hard as he tries grasping for something, anything to keep him grounded.

“Miss please, please, I can’t I- I need to touch you please please,” he begs, voice coming out shaky as you start lifting yourself up and down on his cock again. You were getting tired and felt as though his punishment had gone on long enough.

“Just your legs-” before you could continue, Sylus’ evol appears out of thin air, slicing the ropes that are connecting his ankles to the corners of the bed. You startle, stopping for a second before yelping, bracing your hands on his chest as he plants his feet into the bed, roughly thrusting up into you. You moan out harshly, sounds punching out of you with every thrust of his hips.

“You feel so good around me sweetie, so hot…so soft…kiss me,” he babbles. You prop yourself up and surge forward, meeting him in the middle. Your teeth clash and you can feel desperation in the kiss as you both try to ground yourselves with the other.

“Sylus please…please I need more, I need you to mark me, claim me, I’m all yours,” you whimper. His arms flex and his biceps bulge at the urge to grab you, feel your plush skin against his roughened palms. He whimpers at the realization of the restraints, giving you a pleading look that could send you to your knees.

“Touch me Sylus,” you order. Within an instant, his voice evol slashes the ropes and he’s grabbing you, taking you by the hips and physically lifting you up and down his cock. You scream out in pleasure as you can feel your release approaching swiftly. You can tell by his sloppy movements and frenzied expression that he’s close as well.

You begin to chant his name over and over, having the words be punched out of you by his thrusts. You feel him hitting you deeper and deeper, fucking his cum back into you over and over again. You grasp the back of his neck and pull him to you, kissing him sloppily.

As he returns the kiss to you, you break away slightly with a silent scream, hurdling over the edge and feeling nothing but a white static. Your body feels euphoric and, at the sight of your pleasure, Sylus gasps and thrusts up into you with one sharp movement, cumming hard to the point where it bordered on painful. After coming down from your highs, You languidly grab one of the random pieces of clothing you had discarded before to wipe off his chest.

Before you could get up to get some more cleaning supplies, Sylus holds you captive in his arms as he slowly leans back onto the bed, cradling your head and bringing you to his chest. As your breaths slow and the drowsiness starts to appear, you look up at Sylus.

“Thank you Sylus,” You whisper to him, kissing the center of his chest. He clutches you harder, kissing the top of your head. “I had no idea my love could be so…domineering,” he chuckled as you blushed, hiding your face into his chest. He laughed once more before kissing your head again.

“I don’t mind it though. We can play around a bit more in the future but,” he stops, contemplating for a moment. You look up at him with hope and mischief in your eyes. He sighs and holds you tighter, mumbling “maybe for special occasions only though. Don’t want my kitten to get too greedy with her toys now.”

You laugh and hug him closer to you, craving the intimacy of just being close to him. He tugs you upwards and burrows his head into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath in before he confides, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

You giggle a little at his words and kiss his shoulder, “I don’t think I mind that. Not at all.”

_____

Author's Note: HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! If you'd like to see any other stories or continuations of this let me know, I'd be happy to write some more.

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buckgasms · 23 hours

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Bunny and Clyde reader who ties bucky to the bed after he did soemthing she didn't like and decides to edge him for however long she can... lets just say when he finally gets out he will be using her to cum which means there's no reason for her to cum as she'll just be his toy. I'm fact, maybe there's no reason for her to cum ever again...

Hello!!

Thank you for this 🤌🏼excellent🤌🏼 ask and for all the amazing asks that have come through in the last few days!

They are all perfect! Please always feel free to send me filth and fluff and anything in-between!

So let's get started with this beauty....

🐇

I love the idea that Bucky wakes up with his Bunny sitting on his lap, his hands tied to the bed and you have the most wicked grin on your face.

And he's sooooo annoyed because somehow you have managed to do quite a good job at tying him up and he can't get to you. Can't grab you and show you whose boss. And you know it.

And he's so fucking hard about it too.

And you know it.

"What's going on Bunny?" He growls, trying to keep his voice calm, he's still in control...surely?

You pout and rake your nails gently down his chest, wiggling your heat against his cock as you do.

"You made bunny sad..." He lets out a sound somewhere between a huff and a gasp as your nails sink in a little harder. "You made fun of me in front of the other girls at the club and I don't like that..." You rolled your hips to emphasise your point making him groan again.

"Bunny...I...I'm sorry. Just untie me baby and I can make it up to you..."

You giggle and climb off him shaking your head. "Umm no, I want to feel better Bucky, I want you to feel how I felt. I think that's fair..."

When Bucky would cast his mind back to the moment in question, he thinks he may have made some lame joke about your taste in music that made two girls slightly chuckle. But that was life with his crazy bunny....

His crazy bunny who was busy plugging in a vibrator and has a very wicked look on her face.

"Now Bucky, when I'm naughty you tell me I can't come, even when I really, really want to. So guess what?"

You wiggle the vibrator and turn it on, it's humming filling the room as you climb back onto the bed.

"Bunny I swear to god...."

But he's words die in his throat as you gently press the buzzing device to his cock. He does his best to wriggle away but you know his moves and settle yourself on his leg.

"That feel good Bucky?"

You smile at him, his face a picture of anger and frustration. You know when he gets out you are in for it, but you figure you may as well enjoy yourself beforehand.

You lean down and press some kisses to his leaking tip, licking and sucking gently as the device presses into his balls.

"Fuck Bunny..." He lets out a delicious groan as his hips thrust forward into nothing. You suck a little harder, letting his tip hit the back of your throat before pulling away and letting the device take over.

"You gonna come Bucky? You sure look like you might..."

He growls and shakes, beads of sweat forming on his brow. His breath catches in his throat so you pull the vibrator off and giggle. "Uh uh! Not yet..."

He curses and tries to grab at you, but the binds are too tight. He exhales deeply and you feel his body relax a little. Well most of it.

"Look at your cock... It's so perfect" you muse as you run a finger over it, spreading his precum and making him cry out.

"Ooh too sensitive?? Poor Bucky, you need to try a lot harder if you want to make it up to me..."

He pants and tries to make his features more pleasant as he looks at you. "Told you bunny... Untie me... I'll make it up to you..."

You cackle and crawl over him, pressing a kiss to his face before pulling back.

"Nope"

🐇

Not to waste an opportunity you spend a little time grinding on him, letting yourself come as you ride his thigh and his stomach. You make a real mess of him, pressing kisses to his face as you deny him any pleasure.

His cock is throbbing and red but you are as good as your word and have refused to give him any release. You've teased, sucked, licked and vibed him to the edge many times, but nothing.

He must be delirious by now, you think as you consider finally letting him loose. Maybe too tired to punish you, and by the morning he will have forgotten all about it....?

What you didn't realise was that despite your hard work Bucky had been secretly working at releasing himself from your trap. Every moment of fury, focused on his escape.

To be honest he was actually very proud and he was as hot for you as he was cross. He should know better than to tease you, because you were his crazy Bun Bun.

But you had had your fun. It was his turn now.

You were standing in the middle of the room staring at the vibrator in your hand, deciding what to do next when you felt a strong pair of arms wrapped around you.

You let out a shriek as Bucky squeezed you tight and practically lifted you off the floor. "Buckyyy no!! Was gonna untie you just now!!" You wailed out as he threw you on the bed and squashed your body with his.

"Too late pretty girl, it's payback time..."

With a swift move he tied your hands together behind your back and pushed your face into the mattress, ass up in the air. Your feet kicked uselessly as he used the other rope to tie your ankles together.

"Now that's more like it. Just how a bunny should be." He said and you can imagine the smirk on his face as he admires his handiwork. You whine his name again but he just lands some broad spanks to your ass cheeks making your squeal.

You feel your face flush as his fingers spread your pussy lips apart and you feel his spit land on your soaked holes. His fingers delve in and out of you taking his time, prolonging the torture.

"Now bunny...I'm not cruel like you. You can come as much as you need. I don't mind one bit. In fact if you keep coming all night long that's fine with me. But I'm gonna keep using these holes until I'm satisfied... Ok? Don't care if you come so much you cry, dont care if you get all sore and puffy.... You made me wait, over and over and over. So I'm gonna keep going until I feel better. Got that?"

He took your moan as agreement before sinking into the hilt, a satisfied groan escaping from his lips. The room was filled with the slapping of skin at a steady pace, his filthy talk and your moans.

His hands gripped the cord around your wrists for purchase as he bounced you harder and faster chasing his long delayed release until his hips stuttered and he groaned, leaning down on your body for support as he emptied himself inside you.

He took a moment to recover before pulling out. Rolling you over and taking the sight of you in. Giddy smile on a tear stained face as you rolled a little more to look at him.

He sits himself down and pulls you into his lap and pushes his cock into you, enjoying your face of delight and the sound of his fat cock filling your already full hole. He gives you both a moment before bouncing you up and down as you can do nothing but take it, a glassy look drifting across your face.

"atta girl..."

🐇

It was early morning by the time he finally relented.

He'd fucked you every way he could think of, making up for all the orgasms you stole from him and then some. You had gone beyond the path of pleasure into another realm. Everytime you thought you couldn't come again, he dragged another from you. You were lucky you lived in his private mansion because you were sure the neighbours would have raised hell by now.

Now you were sitting in the bath, still trapped on his cock as he gently cleaned you all over, pressing kisses to your soft skin and whispering praises and filth in your ear.

"You like this don't you bunny? You like when we get a little feisty hmm? Like riling me up huh?"

You hiccup out a giggle when he drags a finger over your sensitive folds, reminding you he's still very much seated inside you with a gentle roll of his hips.

"Buckkyy I love it but please... I can't come again...please..."

He presses soothing kisses to your cheek and lays back pulling you with him, making his cock sink deeper somehow.

"Told ya bunny, I don't care... Your gonna come, just come baby, don't care how much it hurts, I want, what I want..."

He swipes and flicks at your puffy clit and gently thrusts upwards making the water slosh around you. You emit a long high pitched moan as your peak slowly but forcefully knocks the wind from your lungs.

He presses soft kisses to your face and shoulders, gently stroking your worn out limbs as you shudder to a halt, utterly exhausted.

"Good girl, that was a really good one Bunny..."

Eventually he is drying you off and bringing you back to bed, which he seems to have remade in your absence.

Your tired body slides into the middle of the bed and you sink into the pillows, limbs heavy and achey but you still feel on cloud nine. Strong arms wrap around you again, this time a lot less tight than the time before.

"Oh Bunny, such a silly girl hmm?"

You laugh softly, your voice feeling a little croaky as he presses kisses to your neck, making your tingle all over.

"Msorry Bucky. I just don't like it when you tease me in front of people..."

He chuckles as you yawn, hugging you closer and slotting his body closer behind yours. "I should know better shouldn't I baby girl?"

You yawn again and nod, letting your eyes flutter closed as his hands smooth over your body, gliding over your thighs, holding you tight.

You are just about to doze off when you feel his hands lift your thigh upwards and he presses his cock back into your pussy. You gasp and grip onto the pillow as his deep groan mixes with a chuckle.

"Bunny you need to pay attention more...I don't feel better just yet. Maybe one more and I'll feel better then..."

🫠

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #darling nonnie #mob bucky barnes #bunny and clyde #bunny!reader

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featguler · 3 days

Text

DID YOU LIKE HER IN THE MORNING ? ! a part of ' BUZZ '.

'cause i don't know if i can compete with the former crowned head of your old ford's front seat, and the story goes you blame it on the lonely nights for it ever starting. but answer the question: did you like her in the morning?

SUMMARY : you try piecing the puzzle of jude's ex-lover together. PAIRING : jude bellingham x reader TAGS : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. insecurity, angst a little bit-ish, jude is eepy WORDCOUNT : 1,218 NOTES : first one-shot in the series wooo!! 🎉🎉 make sure to check out the series master list!! this one-shot is also inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo and girl crush by little big town ♡ masterlist.

Jude’s previous love was a nobody.

Which is to say that no matter the amount of models he follows on Instagram, and no matter the amount of sparkling cars and glamorous lifestyle that he effectuates, Jude Bellingham is, after all, capable of feeling at home with somebody who is a nobody.

Which is to say that you sound like a fucking unbearable, out of touch, bliss-tippled piece of shit whenever you think about her in your stupid little head.

Which is to say that you have not stopped thinking about her in your stupid little head.

How she wears her hair, how she lines her lips. You memorised how often she reapplies her hand cream, how often she takes that sunstick out her bag; you know what warrants a smile from her face and what draws in a laugh.

You might be in love with her just as much as Jude was.

The girl, you learned, had little to no Instagram presence. But she is there, and not a single person on Earth aside from Jude’s inner circle—and you—know about their relationship. She was there on Jude’s private account—you had known him shortly before they separated—filling up his Instagram stories with recordings on how she is cooking him her homeland’s cuisine, how Jude was the only living man on Earth that her pedigree cat would ever let pet her.

And Jude had deleted all of their pictures together the moment they broke up; he calls it bitterness, you see it as resentment. He blocked her everywhere: he blocked her number, he blocked her Instagram account, he blocked her Spotify account, he blocked her Medium account (you didn’t even know that blocking someone on Medium is a thing you can do).

But you don’t share the same pettiness as Jude, right?

No you do not. You still go to her page, even if you don’t follow her, and scan over the love poems she still posts, studying each line and wonder if Jude is still the muse of her writing—her delicate, brittle writing.

Ultimately, your concern lies in how Jude was not the one to break the relationship off. She saw a loss of spark, she saw that fame is getting into his head. And Jude? Jude wanted nothing but forever with her. Something she could not match.

God.

It would be easier if you just mind your own business, shut the case, and not bring her up in whatever chance you got. But it would also be easier if she was not someone he had loved.

A pizza delivery man fell from his Vespa and she was the first person to help him up, he once laughed a fond reminiscence, just a few months before you get together. No one even moved an inch—I certainly did not. I have tried helping others as much as I can since then, y’know? I don’t know, man. I just think of her every time I do something nice.

How are you going to fill such a deep gap?

You accidentally saw a text from his friend one night. “I don’t like this one as much.” You didn’t need much explaining, and pretended to not see how Jude typed a quick “Fuck off????”, but you thought about that comment for a long, hard week. The same friend had pointed out earlier in your relationship that Jude had only blocked her because if he were to hear her voice once again, he would come running back to her. It was something neither of you nor Jude appreciated.

But it made you think.

Thinking sure is the root of disdain.

You stare at your bathroom mirror, and Jude snores softly in the background, lying face down with his lips parted slightly. You wonder why loving Jude Bellingham has turned you into such a narcissist: always looking so deeply into every single crook of your face, every bump and scars and pores.

You have never paid attention to yourself this much, not since forever, not since your first love in middle school.

But somehow, this is worse. Much, much worse.

It’s seven-thirty in the morning, and the sun is barely up. You step out of your bathroom and take in how he lays upon your bed, unknowing how much bigger he is than the small cranny of your apartment.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, opening his eyes for a quick second before quickly shutting them again. You step closer, sinking the bed with one knee. “Sun’s up early, eh, love?”

“Mhm?” Your fingertips reach to travel on his hairline, fading in clarity and needing another visit to the barber soon. “Sun’s not up, Jude.”

“Jude?” He let out a disgruntled groan, eyes still closed with his hand blindly grasping for yours on his face. “Why Jude? ‘Tcha mad at me?”

The sleepiness is as thick as his accent. You laugh softly and lean in to press a tender kiss against his temple, interlocking your fingers with his, but your mind cannot help but speculate on how she had kissed him like this before, how he would sleep on her ribbon-adorned bedcover, with her Birman just in the corner, curled up on a window sill, as pretty as she was.

“Am not, baby.”

Jude hums. “What’d I do?” He asks again, but before you can answer, he snuggles deeper into his pillow rambling. “Wanna sleep on your lap, wanna cuddle—can I?”

“My love,” you coo, climbing deeper into the bed, letting him climb onto your lap, “come.”

His ear rests on your thighs and arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him, holding on you tight like your air conditioner is going to blow you away.

“Not goin’ back to sleep, candy?”

“That’s a new one,” you wonder if he had used that nickname on her before. “No, baby. I’ve been up a while.”

“Why didn’tcha wake me up?”

You shrug, trying to get comfortable with being in love with him. “You look peaceful sleeping.”

He answers with a grown into your lap, pressing a soft kiss on your thigh before nuzzling into his prior position. “Wanna be awake when you are, love.”

“You need your rest,” you rub your palm along the side of his neck, stopping to move just move your thumb.

“Rest comes everyday,” he says, “I don’t get to see you everyday now, do I?”

This time, you smile. The fear is consistent—it creeps up your veins like anxiety towering and taunting your every breath.

“Well, you’re awake now” —

If he is offering his love to you, though it was once someone else’s, would it be so much of a sin just to try it? Even if he ends up hurting you, even if he ends up leaving you for something that he knew was much sweeter?

— “what would you like to do?”

“Mhm,” Jude opens his eyes, turning his head to catch your eyes.

You freeze, and her face appears in your head: how does she talk about you to her friends? How does she compare you to her? The way you do your hair, or call Jude your baby?

“Dunno, love,” he mutters. “What do you want to do?”

You trace your fingers again on his hairline, drawing down to his neck.

“What about pizza?” You suggest. “Let’s order some pizza.”

#BUZZ !#໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა : 𝑬𝑼𝑷𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑨 𝑺𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑨 #jude bellingham #jude #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #bellingham x reader #real madrid #real madrid fic #real madrid x reader #football fic #football x reader #one-shot

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sunahsvt · 1 day

Text

—FLOWERS FOR YOU.

kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader

+ angst and fluff, childhood friends to lovers (guess how it ends lmao)

other tags: tiniest bit suggestive (idk im bad at these), small cases, not entirely canon

word count: 9.5k

note: came back from writing after a good 3 years. this is NOT proofread and was written within 6 hours so it's just word vomit TT

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR POST ANYWHERE IN OTHER PLATFORMS

you love receiving flowers.

at first, you thought it was a such a waste of money. this thought rooted from the fact that you're not from a wealthy family. you weren't poor either. middle class, they would say.

you just turned 8 years old when you realized money doesn't grow on trees. when your parents bought you cake, but when your classmates had their birthdays, they would throw princess parties— cake, flowers, toys, and all.

you didn't want to sound ungrateful, so with a smile, you blew the candles and thanked your parents as they hugged you. regardless, you were grateful with what they can give you.

kuroo was the first one to give you flowers— or should you say, a flower. it wasn't a bouquet, but it was, in fact, a flower.

you both just met at a playground. his family just moved in the neighbourhood yesterday, and thanks to the soft chatters of your mom's neighbour friends, you heard he's the same age as you. the shy person you were, you sneaked out of your house to play in hopes you'd meet him there. (you had no idea what he looked like or what his name was.)

you were on the swings. you've been waiting for a solid hour. at 4:30pm, your parents would have realized you weren't in your room. it was almost dark out and dinner would be ready.

at 4:50pm, you decided maybe he has no interest in playing at the park. you were about to get up when a boy with spikey black hair came running towards you. you took a few cautious steps back before he could reach you while you also noticed the rose in his hand.

"hi! im tetsurou!" he exclaimed, attempting to hide the rose behind him. he sure can't hide things, you thought.

"i just moved here," he swiveled his body just to point where his house was. "it's that one with the white roof!"

although you already knew which house he moved to, you were trying your best to look for it from where you stood. he was much taller than you for someone of the same age.

distracted, the rose that he tried his best to hide from you earlier was now right in front of your small face.

"a rose for you!" he said as he smiled so brightly you almost squinted. hesitant and confused, you took the rose from him anyway.

"y/n," you muttered.

"i saw a rose on the way here and thought maybe i could give it to someone," he explained. "you're the only one here so maybe it's destiny!"

a small smile formed on your lips, fidgeting the rose's torns. maybe it is destiny to wait for you for that long. you're careful not to prick yourself.

you played together for a while because at 5:00pm, the sun was already setting and you thought maybe receiving flowers wasn't so bad after all.

since then, you and tetsurou were inseperable.

tetsurou gave you another flower shortly after that. he had surprised you with a small makeshift bouquet with three roses wrapped in colored paper.

unlike last time with smiles and bright energy, he gave it to you in a sheepingly manner while muttering a "happy birthday". he added that he kept a silent promise to himself that'd he'd get you at least two flowers, better than last time.

you smiled, your smile reaching your eyes. he was so proud of himself from your reaction. you also noticed the torns were scrapped off. this made your heart swell even more with joy.

"where have you been getting these though?"

he scratched the back of his head, "you know that garden next to—"

"i knew it!" you laughed. you told him to stop stealing your poor neighbour's garden of roses before he gets caught. that lady had the nastiest attitude, you warned. all he did was pout.

a month later, tetsuro got caught stealing roses from your neighbour's garden, and he never attempted to steal the roses ever again. that lady has a nasty attitude, he went to you right after he was scolded by your parents. you shook your head, trying your best not to laugh and tell him "i told you so."

after that mishap, he decided he'd get creative instead. so the next time he gave you flowers, it was purely made out of colored paper. the kuroo tetsuro, at 9 years old, did arts and crafts all on his own and at his own will at that. it took him a whole month just to finish 12 paper flowers.

"why do you keep giving me flowers?"

"i like you, silly."

at 9 years old, you realized you loved receiving flowers.

if the paper flowers wasn't creative enough, tetsurou had given you flowers made out of all sorts of materials: crepe paper, post-it notes, clay, satin ribbons, pipe cleaners, papers from books (don't worry, not out of his text books), and so much more. all of them were so beautiful.

at 10 years old, he gave you a bouquet of flowers made out of crochet yarn. he even told you it took him months to learn how to crochet, master it, and finish the entire thing. little did he know, whenever you visit his house, you could see the crochet yarns, results of failed attempts of crochet flowers, and crochet tools hidden away in one of his cabinets left slightly ajar. he sure can't hide things, you chuckled to yourself.

flowers of all types made out of all kinds of materials were given to you, and all of them you happily received from tetsurou. until at 15 years old, when he had saved enough money for all the years he had given you diy flowers, he surprised you with a bouquet mixed of all types of real flowers after your first day of high school. this is why you can't seem to have a favourite flower, he noticed that too.

"you sure you don't have a favorite flower?" he asked again.

"i'm really coming out blank," you were carrying yet another bouquet of flowers and crochet coin purse he made, walking home together after his volleyball training. "i love all of them the same."

"how about me?" he teased.

you giggled, "but you already know that i love you!"

"we'll make it official someday," he promised.

you nodded, contented. i may not have a favourite flower, but "just because" flowers from you are always the best.

after the both of you turned 17, you two made your relationship official, deciding why wait when both of you were certain you have the rest of your lives to love each other plus bragging rights for that.

on his last year as nekoma's captain and middle blocker, you watched from the sidelines how nekoma lost against karasuno, concluding his last game in high school.

at 18, you gave him a bouquet of flowers of red roses wrapped in mixtures of black, red, and white cellophane. touched, he cried yet again in your arms. kenma and his other teammates watching the two of you from a far, smiling with tears in their eyes waiting to spill.

at 19, you both got accepted to your dream universities. you also got accepted at a cafe for a part time job, whereas tetsurou got accepted in his university's volleyball team. all is well.

on your 3rd anniversary, you both celebrated at an art cafe museum. he had given you a promise ring (soon to be engagement ring, he teased), a handwritten letter, and of course, a bouquet of flowers.

three down, a lifetime to go, part of the letter says. the whole night you both expressed just how in love you were with each other. you actually saw the shreds of the receipt of the ring he purchased under your shared bed. he still can't hide things, you chuckled.

at 21, when both of you graduated uni with flying colors and when he decided to go pro, things started to change.

when the flowers you would receive weren't personally given from tetsurou in the flesh, and instead, they were delivered at your office or at your shared home. when the "just because" flowers turned into "i"m sorry" flowers— "i'm sorry i was late last time" flowers, "i'm sorry i'm never home nowadays" flowers, "i'm sorry i can't update as much", "i'm sorry i can't make it" flowers.

it all became too much.

you were starring at the engagement ring on your finger— one of tetsurou's 5th anniversary surprise— when the doorbell rang. you dragged your feet to the front door, already know what to expect.

by the 10th flowers you received via delivery, you stopped counting. sometimes when tetsurou disappointed or upset you, he would either facetime you, give you flowers, or in rare times, he would be radio silent— not a single text or message or call. because how can he notice you were slowly fading away when he was so busy all the goddamn time?

this cycle repeated over and over again for 2 years. you can tell he tries so hard to keep communicating with you. he loves you that much.

it was 4:50pm, the sun was almost setting and you were in your car waiting for him at the airport. his team was miraculously given a month off to rest from the constant training and leagues. he kissed you as soon as he got inside, putting his things at the back seat. he handed you a single rose made out of paper which was colored with, as you can tell, a red marker.

this was the first time in 24 years that he gave you a lone flower instead of a bouquet.

"i bought you a lot of things! i remembered you mentioning them!" he beemed.

before you could say "you didn't have to" he pecked your lips, wiggling a finger at you. "i missed you. let me you love you just how i have been doing so for the past 24 years."

so for a month, he did. he made it up to you so well, showering you with kisses the moment you wake up and the moment you fall asleep, making love to you in every part of the house, telling you stories and becoming such a loser in love when he expresses how much he loves you all the while rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand, or you being wrapped up in his arms. not a single milimeter of space between the two of you. most of the time, he would do everything, from cooking to cleaning.

when you would eat out together, he would always give you the princess treatment. you barely lifted a finger during the whole month of his stay.

on his last day before he had to leave for overseas again, you wondered when will you ever get married.

and so when he made love to you that night, when he kissed you goodbye, when he texted again that they just landed, you had a sickening feeling in your gut.

for a few weeks, everything was fine until he gradually became radio silent again. this time, he rarely delivered flowers, or called, or texted. this time, he was mostly a ghost.

the first message from him and flowers via delivery was given to you a day late on your birthday, and that's where you decided you just can't do this anymore.

you prolonged it for weeks, even after he said he won't be having any oversea activities for a while. it just wasn't the same anymore. he was still never home.

"i love you," he said out of the blue, his eyes downcasted. all these years, he's still bad at hiding things from you.

"i love you, tetsurou," he turned his head to look at you, dreading what you would say next, "but i think we should break up."

he tried. you both tried, but it just didn't work anymore. maybe it was destiny to wait for you for so long— but that doesn't mean it works. for 24 years, you loved each other so much— but that doesn't mean it works.

after crying in each other's arms, he let you go.

you had the rest of your lives to love each other— but from afar.

a year and a half after the break up, you were sitting at a cafe, waiting for the blind date your friend at work set up for you. kenma was against the whole idea, but he realized you had the right to move on from kuroo. you and kuroo both did. the two of you were his best friends after all. it was just sad how he had to witness the both of you barely functioning after the break up, all the while doing his best not to talk to you or kuroo about each other.

so when a boy with dark brown hair went inside, quickly approaching you, you thought this was a bad idea.

"are you y/n?"

you nodded slowly, eyeing what he was holding. your heart was in your throat.

his eyes shone, handing you the bouquet— yellow daffodils and red roses.

at that moment you thought:

you hate receiving flowers.

general masterlist | haikyuu masterlist

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR POST ANYWHERE IN OTHER PLATFORMS. feedbacks, comments, and rbs are appreciated!

#kay.writes✏️#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo tetsuro fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsurou x you #kuroo x reader

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fear-is-truth · 2 days

Text

❝ 𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝑰𝒕 𝑯𝒖𝒓𝒕 .ᐣ ❞

── tate langdon x virgin!fem! reader

TAGS: sexual content, mdni・virgin!fem!reader・loss of virginity・ unprotected sex・ vāginal fingering・ english is not my first language・not proofread ・2.2k words

note: this is highly requested so here goes… please excuse the poor writing, thank you.

“No need to be so nervous, I’ll take care of you. Promise.” Tate gave you that cocky, boyish smirk before nuzzling his nose against yours. He was kissing you again before you could think of a sassy comeback, rolling you to lay on your back. You succumbed to the warm, throbbing sensation in your lower gut that had ignited the second his hands tugged at the hem of your skirt. Long, agile fingers traced the planes of your abdomen and delicate hipbones as you were exposed, the garment discarded to the floor. You tilted your head back against the pillow when he moved his attention to your collarbone, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he started kissing and sucking at your pulse point.

His palm was warm when it made contact with the underside of your breast, gently squeezing. You jumped a little at the sudden contact and Tate withdrew his hand as if he was scalded, eyes darting up to look at your face.

“…You okay?”

You nodded, biting down on your lower lip, feeling your face heat up. Your chest felt tight, excitement and nervousness swirling together.

“Yeah, ‘m okay,”

“You sure?”

His gaze softened as he reached up to gently press his thumb against your lip, pulling it free from your teeth.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured, his voice low but gentle, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves still bubbling up, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—like he wasn’t in any rush, like he wanted to make sure you were comfortable before anything else.

“I just wasn’t expecting it,” you admitted, fingers fidgeting slightly in your lap.

He gave you a soft, understanding nod, his thumb still lightly brushing your bottom lip.

“Alright, tell me if I do something that… doesn’t feel right, m’kay? We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell. It wasn’t that you didn’t want this—you did. But the nervous energy still buzzed beneath your skin, and he was perceptive enough to notice it without you having to say anything. His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Okay.”

Your eyelids fluttered closed as Tate’s lips returned to the hollow of your clavicle, his breath warm and soft against your skin. You could feel his soft blonde curls brushing against your cheek, the sensation comforting and electric at the same time. Each tentative kiss he placed there sent a ripple of desire through your loins like molten honey, the nerves from before slowly melting into something warmer, softer.

His hand returned to cup your breast, but this time the touch was lighter, his fingers barely ghosting over your skin as if silently asking for permission. You swallowed as Tate gently rolled your stiff nipples between his thumb and forefinger, giving enough stimulation without hurting you. Pleasant warmth tingled down your spine, and a soft sigh escaped you.

This felt nice.

Tate pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips curving into a soft smile when he saw that you were more at ease.

“Does it feel good?” he murmured earnestly, the words barely filling the space between you. You nodded, cheeks still flushed but for a different reason now. There was no denying it now, your panties were embarrassingly damp.

“Good,”

His lips pressed against the underside of your jaw, when his tongue traced a slow, deliberate path along your jugular, your pulse fluttered wildly beneath his touch. Tate carried on with his administrations for a while, massaging your breast with his palm and occasionally running his thumb across your nipple. The sensations that he evoked was almost overwhelming, and without thinking, your hand reached out, grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets to steady yourself. Warm breath ghosting over the skin of your other breast, he moved closer to his destination, leaving goosebumps and hickeys in their wake.

You gasped when his lips brushed against your nipple, hot tongue circling the areola and causing your abdominal muscles to tighten. Warmth spread through your body like a wildfire, and you found yourself arching your back and grinding against his palm for more friction. His hand slid down to curl around your waist, gently tugging at the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips slightly, allowing him to remove the last article of clothing.

With a shuddering intake of breath, you fought the urge to cover up your body. This isn’t just anyone. This was Tate, and he loved you as much as you loved him. You trusted him, and he had promised to take good care of you.

You raised a hand to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his soft, golden curls as his chin rested on your shoulder. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, grounding you in the moment.

“Can I– can I touch you?”

Tate pulled back slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet yours, those dark brown eyes shining with earnest concern. Brows furrowed as he searched your face, trying to read you.

“Yes,”

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your fingers tightening in his hair as he traced his fingers along the inside of your thigh before tugging at your knees, having you plant the bottom of your feet on the mattress, on either side of his hips. By the time his fingertips explored the junction of your thighs, liquid desire was dripping down from the centre of your chest, pooling in your abdomen and spreading down to your loins.

“Fuck… you’re so wet,”

He muttered lowly when he spread open your folds with your fingers. Instinctively, you clenched your thighs around his waist as he gathered your slickness, circling around your aching core before slowly pushing a finger into you. A strangled gasp escaped you when he curled his finger, the sensitive bundle of nerves set alight by his touch. Panting and whimpering, you clawed at his shoulder when you felt Tate insert another finger, the pad of his thumb stroking you in a soothing rhythm as he steadily pumped his fingers in and out of you.

It wasn’t long before you felt your entire body tense up, the pressure he had been coaxing from you having finally reached its crest. The tight coil in your lower belly snapped — segueing into white hot bursts of pleasure that was blinding in its own intensity. Walls still fluttering around his fingers, you trembled with the force of your orgasm, a kittenish mewl bubbling deep from your throat.

And suddenly Tate was gone. Your eyes snapped open blearily to protest, but the whimper died down when you saw your boyfriend hunched over in concentration, fingers working frantically; the noticeable bulge of his arousal straining through the denim as he yanked down his jeans and boxers, his erection springing free and touching his belly. He grasped his cock in his hand, giving it a few harsh pumps. The entire time his gaze was locked on you, revelling in the way you stared at him. You have never seen a real penis before.

He returned to his position onto the mattress and between your legs. Upon feeling his hardness pressing against your hip, your body tensed in anticipation and your breathing quickened almost instantly as Tate guided his cock towards your entrance.

How was that even supposed to fit?

“Are you ready? I mean it’s okay if–”

His gaze flickered down to your warm, weeping hole, waiting and ready just for him. He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, trying to stop himself from shoving himself inside you right then and there.

“Y-yess. Oh please, yes.”

Smiling at your eager answer, he shifted a bit, angling himself as he pushed the tip into you, and you winced at the sudden intrusion. There was no excruciating pain like you’d imagined — just a burning sensation from stretching unconditioned muscles. Sensing your reaction, Tate paused, breathing heavily.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your legs around his waist and relaxed your muscles, allowing your body to sink back onto the sheets. Tate resumed his movements, carefully sliding deeper inside you. Each delicious, agonising inch stretched you in a way that could only be described as glorious, you could feel every ridge and vein that mapped the surface of his length rub against your walls. Taking your fingers through his hair, you felt him shudder, his cock throbbing and hardening inside you which caused the embers of warmth in your gut to reignite.

“Oh my… mghm please, T-Tate..”

You whimpered into his ear, who prompted a low moan from him. An arm wrapped securely around your waist as his hips withdrew before pressing back inside; you spread your legs wider for him and he groaned. The pace he’d established was slow, but steady. Heat washed over you in waves every time he moved, trailing hot kisses along your neck. Every slow pass of his tongue against your skin made your chest tighten with a mixture of nerves and excitement — he moved with a perfect balance of sweetness and intent, never too much, but just enough to leave you breathless and aching for more.

You mewled softly as his hips jerked a bit harder, the movement sending a ripple of sensation through your body. Tate leaned down, capturing your lips in his. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing gently along your cheek as he guided you into the kiss. The other hand found yours, fingers lacing together in a firm but gentle hold, anchoring you. Arching your back, you tilted your hips to meet his thrusts and was immediately rewarded when he brushed against a specific spot inside you that made you cry into his mouth. Tearing away, you panted out his name, your sweaty foreheads pressed against each other.

“P-please,” you begged, the ability to string together a coherent sentence lost.

“…Please Tate,”

“Yeah?” He nuzzled the tip of his nose against yours. “What do you need baby?”

“Need you to… to…”

He withdrew the arm that was holding your waist and shifted his weight on his elbows before sliding the hand between you, pressing the pad of his thumb gently against your clit.

“Like this?”

A stretched whine escaped from your lips into the space between you, and you dug the heels of your feet into his backside, anchoring him to bury himself deeper into you, helping him breach that magical spot once more. Fingernails scrabbling frantically across his shoulders, down to his chest.

Tate grunted, face scrunching up in pleasure and restraint. His hips stuttered, his thrusts growing increasingly sloppier but the rhythm of his thumb remained steadfast — you felt him twitch within the confines of your plushy walls, and with a muffled whimper against your shoulder, he spilled into you, warmth spreading through your womb like a wildfire. Your thighs quivered and your eyes screwed shut, fingers digging crescent indents into his skin as white-hot pleasure consumed over you once again, your cunt convulsing around him.

After you’ve came down from your high, which was a sticky, sweaty but satisfying mess, you untangled your legs from his waist to rest on the mattress, fingers tangling into his hair. Tate raised his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You alright?”

Basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, you simply hummed in affirmation, nosing at his cheek with a tired smile. He pulled out carefully before collapsing beside to, reaching over to lazily tug you into his arms. You snuggled against his chest, the sore ache between your legs only registering when you moved.

Tate’s breath was warm against your shoulder as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his voice a soft murmur, laced with concern.

“Did it hurt?” his tone hesitant, almost fragile. “I’ve heard that the first time usually does.”

You could feel his heartbeat, fast and anxious, the tenderness in his voice making your own chest tighten. His fingers brushed softly along your arm, as though he was trying to soothe you without knowing whether you needed it. You gently exhaled, your hand still resting at the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the curls that had fallen there.

“No,” you whispered, your voice steady but soft. “It didn’t hurt. It was just… intense, but not in a bad way. Not the hurting kind.”

Tate lifted his head, brown eyes meeting yours, relief visibly softening the furrow of his brow. He searched your face, still wanting to make sure, still holding onto a hint of concern. His thumb grazed your cheek, and his gaze softened even more, his lips parting slightly as he seemed to drink in your every word.

“You sure? I didn’t want to—”

You shook your head gently, cutting him off with a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure, Tate. It was perfect… you were perfect.”

He exhaled deeply, as if he’d been holding his breath, and his whole body seemed to relax. He pressed his forehead to yours, his fingers lacing with yours once again, holding on as if to remind you that he was still there, still gentle, still yours.

“Okay,” he whispered, the word barely more than a breath. His thumb caressed your cheek once more before his lips found yours again, softer this time.

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changetyre · 2 days

Text

He's okay

SUMMARY: It's Ivy's first time at a race and it's a lot more emotional than anyone imagined. Part of the Verstappen Family verse

WARNINGS: crash-ish, crying, fluff

A/N: Requested over on Wattpad and one of my favorite parts of this series.

"And make sure you don't let go of mommy and daddy okay?" You smiled at Lea as she repeated instructions to her 1 year old sister both in their car seats at the back.

"Listen to what your sister is saying Ivy it's super important okay?" Max encouraged Lea looking at his daughters through the little mirrors

Today you were taking Ivy to her first race, memories flooded your mind of Lea's first race. Lea had been older when she went to her first race but this time around Lea had been so insistent on getting her little sister to the track ever since she was born, Ivy was a little calmer than Lea was when she was a baby so after a lot of discussion you and Max agreed she would be okay to go to the Monaco GP just like her sister for her first race.

"Okay, girls we're here you ready?" Max asked.

"YEAH!" Lea cheered happily.

"Yeah!" Ivy simply repeated what her big sister said not really knowing what was going on.

"You ready my love?" Max asked you as he parked the car.

"More than ready." You let out a nervous breath before hopping out of the car.

You grabbed Lea from her car seat while Max grabbed Ivy keeping her safe in his arms as you all made your way into the track.

Cameras flashed everywhere at the sight of the Verstappen family all together for the first time at the track, both daughters dressed up in RedBull merch much to Max's pleasure also getting flashbacks from his oldest daughter in orange in her first race.

"Papa woud." Ivy whined covering her ears yet a big smile on her face.

"I know honey we're almost there." Max kissed his daughter's cheek holding her a little tighter as you walked past the cameras and reporters.

"IVY WE'RE HERE!" Lea screamed excitedly pointing at the Redbull hospitality where she spotted familiar faces.

"LEA!" The team members cheered as you walked into the hospitality high fiving the toddler who felt happily at home in this environment.

"And who's this?" Christian and Geri stood up from his table where he was having some coffee.

"Tell them your name darling." You encouraged your daughter to talk with the few words she knew.

"Iby" She babbled still struggling to properly pronounce her Vs

"Oh, what a gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl." Geri melted at the sight of baby Ivy.

Ivy giggled shyly as her eyes explored her surroundings just like Lea on her first day taking in everything around her.

"Papa cow." Ivy pointed at the large Red Bull logo on the wall.

"No Ivy it's a Bull, a Red Bull," Max explained frustrated, despite having Red Bulls everywhere around the house Ivy always insisted they were cows much to Max's dismay.

By the time Max had finished explaining Ivy's attention was already on something else. "Papa down." Ivy squirmed in her dad's arms. Ivy was mostly good with being carried but not long ago she started walking on her own...still stumbling frequently and still not running...but since then she wanted to be put down as much as possible.

This time watching her big sister running around and playing with the rest of the Red Bull team members gave her enough motive to try to run (walk) around on her own. Knowing this was a closed space where you could keep an eye on her Max put Ivy down who took off as quick as her little legs could carry her to her sister.

You and Max both watched happily as Lea introduced her baby sister to the team members holding her hand at all times.

"So far so good." Max let out a sigh of relief he didn't even realize he was holding in.

"We've got some backup this time." You hugged your husband gesturing at Lea who was still holding her sister's hand while pointing out pictures of their dad through a wall in the hospitality.

"NO WAY IS THAT?!" Your attention was drawn to the loud and obnoxious man you now called family coming into the hospitality.

"DANIIIII!" Lea yelled letting go of her sister's hand causing Ivy to plop down on her bottom on the spot.

"They literally saw him this morning," Max spoke baffled at the overjoy of both his daughters at seeing his best friend.

You were going to help Ivy up but she didn't cry or whine getting up herself before walking over to Dani on her own. "Dani!" She yelled too as soon as she was in his arms.

"Aww my babies." Daniel hugged them tightly.

"Actually...my babies." Max chimed in expressing his slight jealousy at the sight of his daughters in his best friend's arms.

"MY BABIES!" another voice echoed from outside the hospitality doors, Lando standing there with his arms wide open.

"AHHH WAN!!" Ivy screamed even louder this time running (speed stumbling) to her godfather's arms, Lea close behind her.

"This is ridiculous." Max shrugged while you laughed loving how your daughters felt at ease and loved.

_____________

"bye bye papa." Ivy waved her little hand as Max's car drove out of the garage ready for FP1.

You laughed. "That's right bye bye papa." You stared at your daughter who sat in your lap looking adorable with earmuffs on that were squishing her cheeks way too big for her little head.

"Dani!" Ivy pointed at the screen where she recognized her uncle's car driving around.

"That's right baby that is Dani." You confirmed.

"Chas" Ivy continued pointing at her uncle Charles's car driving around.

Ivy continued pointing at the cars calling out her uncle's names despite sometimes getting the number of cars wrong you still encouraged her to keep it up.

But your attention was drawn away from your daughter when you noticed an orange car hit a barrier and spin out. Your heart skipped a beat not seeing the blurred number 4 car coming to a halt, some spoke coming out the back. The Red flag was brought out immediately.

"WANN" Your attention was brought back to your youngest daughter who had witnessed the accident, a terrified expression on her face as tears welled up in her eyes.

"It's okay darling." You picked your daughter up off your lap turning her around so she faced away from the screens.

"WANN huwt!" Ivy sobbed in your arms.

You sighed in relief at seeing Lando hop out of the car unscathed as he walked to the motorcycle ready to bring him in.

"Lando's is okay baby I promise you." You tried to comfort your daughter to no avail, luckily for you, Lea had fallen asleep in her dad's driver's room where Vicky was watching her.

"Mamma WANNDO!" Ivy continued inconsolably crying as her dad drove back into the pits and his car was wheeled back into the garage. Max hopped out at the sight of his distraught daughter.

"Hey, what's wrong?!" Max pulled his helmet off running over to you.

"She saw Lando crashed and she thinks he's hurt so she won't settle." Max noticed your distress too.

"Ivy Lando's okay honey." Max tried his shot at comforting your youngest daughter taking her from your arms.

"Papa Wann huwt." Ivy now cried in your husband's arms hiccuping and gasping for air between sobs.

You and Max looked at each other wondering what to do. "Head to McLaren I'll text Lando." Max handed Ivy back to you. You nodded following his suggestion.

Ivy continued sobbing in your arms as you made your way to McLaren, you noticed the camera's following you so you tried your best to shield your daughter's crying face from view.

As soon as you arrived you hesitated to go in not wanting to overstep but Lando hopped out from the hallway, probably after receiving Max's text.

"Ivy look." You tried to get your daughter to look up at her godfather but she was so distraught she wouldn't budge.

"Ivy darling I'm okay." Lando walked to you nudging Ivy.

Ivy's face immediately popped up at hearing his voice, her sobs stopping momentarily taking in her godfather. "Oh Wando." Ivy let herself fall into her godfather's arms hugging him tightly as she started crying a little softer this time.

"Aww baby I'm okay." Lando's heart both broke and grew bigger at the thought of his goddaughter worrying so much for him.

"Huwt?" Ivy asked him.

"No I'm not hurt darling I'm okay I promise you," Lando reassured his goddaughter who held on tightly to him.

You sighed another breath of relief at seeing your daughter calm in Lando's arms your heart also bursting at the thought of your daughter being so empathic with her godfather and those she loved.

You let your daughter stay with Lando as long as she needed knowing Lando wouldn't be able to hop back into the car at least for the rest of FP1 but most likely also FP2 due to the damage. Eventually, Lando had eased Ivy so much that she had fallen asleep in his arms, her face all red and swollen from all the crying she'd done.

"Looks like she tired herself out." You stroked your daughter's hair as her head rested on Lando's chest.

"She really loves me doesn't she?" Lando asked with genuine emotion.

"I think that's clear." You smiled.

Lando rested his head on top of her little head embracing her a little tighter. "I love her so much too." He kissed her head.

"I think she's deep in sleep, I can take her back." You were about to grab Ivy from Lando's arms.

"No no!" Lando whispered yelling at you. "Just a little longer." Despite Lando's arms being numb at this point he didn't want this feeling to go away just yet.

What a rollercoaster of emotions for baby Ivy's first race.

#f1 x reader #changetyre #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1fic #formula 1 #f1fluff #max verstappen x reader #Dad!Max Verstappen #Verstappen x reader #lando norris

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onmyyan · 1 day

Note

(ive been spottily active lately and missed soooo much amazing stuff I'm trying to catch up still but the one thing someone mentioned to you is now running circles like an energetic puppy in my brain) yandere batfam angst with (yandere?) superfam fluff. The savior complex. The rivalry. I love your writing so much. I love how so many cool people message you and share ideas. You're awesome.

A/N: First of all you're so sweet ❣️ thank you!! I so appreciate this request and how it made my brain turn!!

In this situation let's say you've already done the whole 'neglected so you leave and trigger their yandere instincts' thing, so you've been kidnapped, bound to the manor for months at this point, but Bruce decides you've been behaving well enough to deserve a treat. He knows how cooped up you feel, he's not as delusional as the rest of his family who believe you love it there, so he takes you with him to the hall of justice, he isn't worried about you escaping after all the hall of justice is in outer space, and you're surrounded by experienced heros, you're not going anywhere.

That's his first mistake.

Clark takes to you immediately. You've got the Wayne charm but so clearly your own person, you stand away from Bruce, asking Clark earnest questions, listening oh so intently, he knows you're an adult, but your so much smaller than him, (the man is 6'3 he's bigger than most people.) he noticed the way your heart rate picked up when Bruce so much as touched you, you were scared of him, he could tell, and this is what ignites that dangerous flame inside him.

He starts by inviting the whole Wayne family over for dinner, can't draw suspicion by inviting only you, (despite that being exactly what he wanted to do) Lois makes a feast, that night you meet Clark's entire family, his son's Conner and Jon, Kara his cousin, and of course Lois his wife, they all focus on you despite trying to play it cool, Kara's around your age and asks if you'd like to go shopping with her in metropolis some day, you smile starting to nod before Bruce answers for you, "Her studies are taking up most of her time nowadays, some other time." He grins taking a bite of his steak.

Clark sets his silverware down, grinning that friendly smile of his, "Well surely she can take a little break, one day away from her studies won't kill her, besides she'll be safe as can be with Kara by her side." Bruce glares at him, he can't outright deny the claims because his own possessive need to have you by his side at all times, and because they're true, so he relents, and that's how you find yourself spending time with her, and in turn the superfam.

It doesn't take long for them to fall in love with the idea of you being there, with them, at their dinner table.

The second they're all in agreement,(about a week after getting to know you) they quickly decide you're better off with them, and when Superman breaks into the Manor one day and sweeps you off your feet, the batfamily can't do anything but watch in horror.

#yananswers #anon submission #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere dc imagine #yandere dc x reader #yandere dc #yandere Batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere superfam #yandere superfamily

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l4ndonorizz · 12 hours

Text

falling in love in 4k - lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

warnings: none

song: Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein - The first I love you

summary: Lando falling in love with a reporter in 4k

wc: 1.1k

The event was buzzing with energy as you moved through the crowd, mic in hand, ready to ask the next set of questions. You’d been working as a motorsport reporter for a while now, but something about this event felt different—mostly because Lando Norris was in attendance.

He caught your eye as you approached him, his signature smile in place, but there was something different about the way he looked at you.

“Hey, Lando! Ready for a few questions?” you asked with a grin, trying to keep things professional. You’d interviewed him before, but lately, the interviews had started to feel more personal—like the way he lingered after your questions, as if waiting for more than just the next topic.

“Always,” he replied, flashing that familiar grin. But his eyes weren’t just on you—they were locked on you. Not in the usual way drivers look at reporters, but in a way that made your stomach flip.

As the camera crew got ready, you could feel the subtle tension building. You weren’t imagining things, right? The way he was looking at you—there was no mistaking it.

“Alright, Lando, let’s start with how you’re feeling about the upcoming race…”

He answered, of course, but as the conversation flowed, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze softened when you spoke, or how his smile grew whenever your name came up in the conversation. It was like he wasn’t just talking to a reporter; he was talking to you.

Later, when the interview was over and you moved to the next person, you could feel Lando’s eyes lingering on you. It made your cheeks flush, and you tried to shake off the feeling.

But it wasn’t long before the internet caught on.

After the interview aired, clips of Lando staring at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room started circulating on Twitter. Fans started making jokes, sharing memes with captions like, “Lando Norris falling in love in 4K,” and “Lando’s got heart eyes for the reporter.”

It wasn’t just a one-time thing either. Every interview, every interaction you had with him seemed to fuel the rumors. Fans were quick to point out how his demeanor changed whenever you were around, and soon enough, the jokes started piling up.

And as much as you tried to laugh it off, every time you saw Lando after that, the way he looked at you only confirmed what the internet had already guessed—he was falling for you. Hard.

The Miami Grand Prix was no exception. The heat, the energy, the roaring crowd—it all seemed to amplify everything, especially the undeniable chemistry between you and Lando. You’d been assigned to cover post-race interviews, and after Lando’s stellar performance, the adrenaline was still coursing through both of you.

You weaved through the bustling pit lane, making your way to Lando, who was already surrounded by his team, celebrating the victory. His face was lit up with pure joy, and when his eyes finally met yours, you felt a flutter in your chest. He broke away from the group, wiping the sweat from his brow, and beelined towards you.

“Congrats, Lando! How does it feel to win in Miami?” you asked, holding the mic up to him, keeping your voice professional, even though inside, your heart was racing.

He was still panting from the race, the adrenaline clear in his eyes as he grinned, but there was something else—something more intense in the way he looked at you.

“It feels… unreal,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair. “The car was amazing, the strategy was spot on, and Miami… well, it’s always got that extra bit of magic.”

You laughed softly, catching the spark in his eyes. “You sure it’s just Miami, or are you feeling that post-race high?”

Lando chuckled, looking away for a second before turning back to you. “Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s the win and… something else.”

You raised an eyebrow at that, feeling a little heat rise to your cheeks. “Care to elaborate?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make it more personal, more intimate. “I think you already know.”

The crowd around you was buzzing, but it felt like the world had faded for a second, leaving just the two of you standing there, the tension thickening between you. You couldn’t help but smile, the air between you charged with something that wasn’t just post-race excitement anymore.

And then, as you were about to pull away to wrap up the interview, Lando suddenly grabbed the mic, still smiling but with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Actually, there’s one more thing,” he said, his voice clear, but you could see the adrenaline coursing through him as his words tumbled out.

Your heart skipped a beat. “What’s that?”

“In all this excitement… I almost forgot to ask,” he said, turning to look directly into the camera, still holding the mic. “How would you feel about going on a date with me?”

Your eyes widened, and the pit lane erupted in gasps and laughter. You were live on air, every viewer watching this unfold in real time. Lando’s grin widened as the shock registered on your face, but you could see the genuine hope behind the teasing. He wasn’t just messing around—he was serious.

You blinked, momentarily speechless as the cameras zoomed in on both of you. The world seemed to freeze, all eyes on you, waiting for your answer. You could feel the tension in the air, but all you could focus on was Lando, his expectant smile, and the pounding in your chest.

“I—uh, I think… I think I could be convinced,” you finally said, trying to keep your voice steady, but you couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face.

The crowd burst into cheers, and Lando, clearly riding the high of both the race and your answer, laughed, running a hand through his hair again. “Well, that’s a yes, then!”

He handed the mic back to you with a triumphant grin, winking as he stepped back into the crowd of his team. You stood there, your mind racing as the reality of what had just happened sunk in.

The internet would have a field day with this. But right now, all you could think about was how you’d just agreed to go on a date with Lando Norris—live, on air. And from the look on his face, this was only the beginning.

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #lando norris one shot #lando norris #lando imagine #lando x reader

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wolfjackle-creates · 15 hours

Text

I took part in the Demon Twins Who Wrote That game over on the Haunting Heroes DPxDC server and author reveals were today. So now I can finally post the fic I wrote for it!

No Place Left to Hide

Danny is on the run. He wants nothing more than to see his family, but they're out of his reach at the moment. Then he sees a magazine article and accompanying photo of Damian Wayne. His long-lost twin brother. Maybe he does have some family he can check on. Just to spy from a distance, of course. Getting too close would only make his situation worse. But when he gets caught in the halls of Gotham Academy, he might not have a choice in the matter.

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: T

Warning: a trans Danny mentions his deadname to Damian

-----

Danny stared down at Gotham Academy. Damian was just inside those walls. All he’d have to do was go intangible and he’d be able to see his twin for the first time in eight years. The thought made his core ache, a throbbing that echoed in his still-healing injuries.

He was descending before ever consciously making the choice to actually see his brother.

It was stupid. What if Damian caught him? Told Talia, or worse, Ra’s? Then it wouldn’t just be the Fentons and the GIW after him, but also the League of Assassins. And he was already injured.

But he had to see. He hadn’t seen Damian in years. Had lived half his life without his twin at this point.

He should leave. He shouldn’t be here at all.

A moment later, he’d phased through the roof and floated invisibly in the middle of a locker-lined hallway. He allowed gravity to once more take control of him and his feet settled on the linoleum floor.

Now, to find Damian. Just to see him, make sure he was safe. The rest of his family were out of his reach; the GIW was monitoring them too closely for Danny to risk visiting. Or even just check in from a distance. And Danny’s core was demanding he check on his loved ones.

He’d been debating risking a visit to them regardless of the risk when he saw the magazine article: Wayne Boy Volunteers at Animal Shelter. The attached picture brought a smile to Danny’s face. One of the few genuine smiles he’d worn since being forced on the run. In it, Damian was glaring at the camera, but his arms were gentle as he cradled a puppy. Behind him stood Bruce Wayne, grinning widely. In the article, Bruce talked about how proud he was of his youngest son and his big heart. Back when they’d been with the League, Danny had been the only one to know of Damian’s gentleness.

Reading the article, seeing the picture had healed something in Danny. Damian had gotten out. Something he’d thought impossible when he left half a lifetime ago.

And now he was here to confirm it. To check on the twin he’d left behind. Make sure he was healthy and safe and happy. He’d never seen Damian be any of those things before. Not beyond fleeting moments carved out in secret.

Though… He looked around the empty hallway and bit his lip. The school was huge and he had no idea what Damian’s schedule looked like. Where should he even start?

Footsteps echoed down the hall and Danny instinctively moved to the side to let whomever it was pass.

Only to feel a hand grip his shoulder.

Danny just barely kept himself from twisting and throwing a punch at the person. He wasn’t able stop himself from jumping a foot in the air, though. And if he hung in the air a bit longer than gravity should’ve allowed, well, Danny could only hope the person gripping his arm didn’t notice.

“Wayne, why are you in the hallways out of uniform rather than in your class?”

Danny blinked in surprise. “What?” he asked. This guy couldn’t actually have mistaken him for Damian, could he have? They weren’t identical twins. They didn’t even have the same skin tone!

Though Danny did suppose he’d gotten more tanned lately. Being on the run meant he was spending much more time outside than normal and he always did tan pretty well, one thing to thank Talia for he supposed.

The hall monitor rolled his eyes. “Where are you supposed to be right now?”

Danny opened his mouth, then shut it again. Should he disappear? But what if the teacher reported it? Would the GIW come to investigate? Would Damian, growing up around Lazarus pits, ping on their sensors?

He stayed put and he stayed silent.

The teacher sniffed and pulled out his phone. After tapping a bit, he announced, “History with Mr. Binder. I’ll accompany you back and we will be contacting your father about this behavior.”

He grabbed Danny’s shoulder again and marched him through the hallways. Danny allowed it, not sure what else to do. And still so desperate to see his brother.

When they reached what must be Damian’s classroom, the man knocked once, then pushed the door open.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Binder. But I found one of your students wandering the hallways.”

Danny had barely glanced inside the classroom when his eyes fell on Damian. Everything else fell away. He didn’t see the other kids, didn’t hear Mr. Binder’s response. All he could see was Damian.

Even sitting, it was clear Damian was taller than Danny. His hair was shorter, his muscles more defined. And he was holding his pencil like it was a dagger he was going to throw through Danny’s throat.

Danny grinned and, speaking a language he’d barely used in eight years, said, “It’s been a long time, brother.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed further, but he kept his posture relaxed. Except for his grip on his pencil. “You’re no brother of mine. Who are you?” asked Damian, also in Arabic.

Danny clutched his hands to his chest. “How could you not remember me?” he wailed. But he couldn’t keep up the feigned offense for more than a second and grinned. “Though, I suppose you did used to call me sister. A lot’s changed in eight years, brother. Liat died in the league; I go by Danny now.”

At Danny’s mention of his deadname, the pencil fell from Damian’s hands. The sound of it hitting the floor was loud in the otherwise silent room. But when Damian spoke, his voice was steady. “Prove it.”

Danny inclined his head in a mock bow. “If you insist,” he said, switching to English. “The sun did not shine, it was too wet to play. So we sat in the house, all that cold, cold, wet day.”

Damian stood, sending his chair tumbling to the floor. “Enough!”

Danny obediently stopped reciting and grinned at Damian.

Damian hated The Cat in the Hat. Danny had heard it when he’d been sent to a daycare on one of his first missions to slip a child a mild poison that’d leave her sick for a few days and a letter for her father, a man who’d been planning to betray the league.

Danny had fallen in love. He’d smuggled the book out with him when he’d finished his task. The idea of a cat in a hat coming to the league and causing a bit of destruction helped him withstand the endless trainings and trials. Besides, their grandfather and mother deserved it. And Damian just didn’t see.

Though now Danny realized that was because Damian had never been allowed to glimpse what life could be outside the League. Danny, on the other hand, had been trained in spying and infiltration. Which meant he had to understand how kids his age worked and thought and acted. So he had to be around them with some regularity.

What he’d learned was that he wanted their lives, not his own. A lesson he tried, and failed, to teach Damian.

Before either Damian or Danny could think of something to say to each other, the History teacher cleared his throat. “Damian, what is going on here?”

Damian immediately stood to attention, just as Talia had taught him. “I apologize for the intrusion. My… brother came for an unexpected visit. May we be excused to the office so I can call my father?”

“I wasn’t aware you had another sibling your age,” said the teacher with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s from my mother’s side,” said Damian.

Danny hummed. True enough, he supposed. They did share a biological mother. Even if Danny refused to ever acknowledge her as such ever again.

He really didn’t have much luck with mother figures, did he? Maddie had turned out to be just as bad as Talia.

In the end, the teacher really didn’t have a choice but to let them go. Though the hall monitor who had caught Danny insisted on accompanying them all the way to the office despite Damian’s protests that he knew the way.

Danny hid a scowl at the situation. He’d had no intentions of meeting Bruce Wayne and now it looked like he’d either have to reveal his powers and run or meet his biological father. His core ached at the thought of leaving Damian, though. And he couldn’t risk letting Ra’s or Talia find out about his powers.

He ignored the longing he felt at the potential for a true family, for a father who loved him unconditionally. He was zero for three on parental figures. No way was he going to try for a fourth.

“How are you here?” asked Damian in Arabic as they walked.

Danny shrugged and answered in the same language. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be. Saw you in a magazine and figured I’d check in.”

“In a—” Damian cut off with a noise of frustration. “I thought you were dead. Did Mother put you in a pit?”

“As far as I’m aware, both Talia and Ra’s are also under the impression I am dead-dead. Though now that we’ve had contact, I don’t suppose that will last much longer.”

“How did you survive?” demanded Damian.

Danny stared ahead and bit his lip. After a moment, he said, “I did try and take you with me, you know. You were the only thing I regretted leaving behind.”

The resulting silence lasted until they reached the front office. Danny didn’t know how to break it.

They were instructed to sit in plush seats facing the office staff where they could be observed as Damian spoke to their his dad.

Damian pulled out his phone, but before he dialed, asked, “How did you get caught? Have you forgotten all your training?”

Danny didn’t bother to try and hide his blush. He’d been relying on his powers and must’ve let his invisibility drop by mistake. It was just…he’d been on the run for almost two months now. He was hungry and tired and in pain. If Jazz knew, she’d scold him for neglecting himself. He should’ve expected something like this would happen the moment he got distracted.

But how to explain that without explaining everything? “The last few months have been hard,” he settled on. “Due to certain circumstances, I am no longer welcome at the place I’ve called home the last few years and had to leave suddenly. Thus, I am not currently at optimal physical health. I grew careless.”

Damian frowned and looked down at his phone. Rather than answer, he opened his contacts and dialed the one labeled “Father.”

Danny probably should be more cautious. He probably shouldn’t trust Damian. But this was his brother. The only good thing from his early childhood.

And he was so, so tired.

Danny let himself slump against Damian’s side. Damian tensed for just a moment before he relaxed.

“Hello, Father,” said Damian into the phone.

Danny let his eyes drift shut as he listened to Damian’s side of the conversation.

“No. I am well. But there’s been a situation.”

Danny snorted at that description, and Damian pinched his thigh.

“It is not something I can explain over the phone, but I need to be picked up from school. Immediately.”

Bruce Wayne’s voice was just indistinct enough that Danny had a hard time understanding it, though he could hear the worry in it.

“It is a family matter. You will wish to be here quickly as there is a strong possibility we will not have the chance again.”

“Think I’m that good, do you?” huffed Danny under his breath. Damian just pinched him again with a tut.

“Could you stop and pick up a smoothie on your way in? With extra protein powder?”

Danny’s breath caught. Was Damian asking on his behalf? It’d been so long since he’d been around Jazz or his friends. He hadn’t had anyone look out for his wellbeing in months.

He screwed his eyes tight against the burning and focused on keeping his breathing steady.

The rest of Damian’s conversation consisted of stilted goodbyes and promises of explanations once they got home.

Despite his apprehension at meeting Bruce, sitting in a comfortable chair leaning against his brother after months of being on edge was enough for him to slip into a shallow doze. Damian would keep him safe. Whatever disagreements they’d had as children, that had been a constant. Danny was vaguely aware of the office staff talking and making noises. Damian’s shoulder shifted slightly as he did something on his phone. But Danny was more asleep than awake.

Until Damian tensed and shrugged his shoulder. “Father’s here,” he whispered in Arabic.

Danny was instantly awake, though he kept his posture relaxed. Bruce Wayne was someone who had attracted the attention of Talia al Ghul. Whatever face he presented to the public had to be a lie, and Danny didn’t know what to expect from him.

One thing Danny did know, though, was that he refused to go back to who he’d been with the league. The formality was so exhausting. And his very core rebelled at the thought of going back to a life of violence and suffering. He’d left to be a regular American kid, and that was what Bruce Wayne would meet.

Maybe his second death made that life impossible, but while he still had breath in his lungs and a heart that beat, he was going to cling to the dream.

So, rather than follow Damian’s lead and sit up straight and formal, Danny stretched his arms up and yawned loudly. “Ope, sorry for falling asleep there on you Dami,” he said in his strongest Midwestern accent.

Damian shot him a look, but didn’t respond. Still, when he stood, he offered a hand to Danny to help him up as well.

Danny grinned as he took it. Then he took a fortifying breath and turned to face Bruce Wayne, his biological father.

Bruce stared at him, face blank. His eyes lingered on where Danny still clasped Damian’s hand. To his disappointment, Damian let go at the look.

The stern look only lasted seconds before Bruce smiled broadly and his body language became relaxed and open. “You must be a friend of Damian’s! I take it this is for you?” He held out the smoothie for Danny.

Danny hesitated. His stomach ached with hunger, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. This was his biological father.

Damian misunderstood his hesitation and grabbed the smoothie himself. He took a deep swallow and in Arabic said, “It is safe, brother.”

If Danny hadn’t been staring so intently at Bruce, he would’ve missed the small twitch the man made at the word “brother.”

Danny grabbed the smoothie and took a long drink. He couldn’t stop the quiet sigh at the taste. It was the best thing he’d had in weeks. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m parked right out front! Let me just sign you both out and we can be on our way.”

“Oh, you just have to sign out Damian. I’m not a student.”

“Well, I suppose that explains the lack of a uniform! How do you know my Damian, then?”

“Father,” hissed Damian. In Arabic he said, “I will explain what I can in the car as I promised.”

Danny just took another sip of his smoothie and remained silent.

Bruce’s eyes flicked to Danny, gaze sharp. But he remained relaxed and ruffled Damian’s hair. “Of course, of course.”

Damian glared at him as he smoothed his hair back down.

Bruce laughed with the office staff and signed the requisite paperwork, then the three were making their way outside.

The car out front was a fancy sports car. Danny hesitated a moment before entering. He glanced down in both directions, but knew a school like this would have too many cameras to hide from.

And now that he had Damian in front of him, he was certain his core would protest if he tried to leave.

Damian made a sharp gesture to him, ordering him into the car. Danny slid in. The door shut behind him. He gripped his smoothie with both hands to mask their shaking and took another sip.

“Father,” started Damian. “This is…” he broke off.

“Yes?” prompted Bruce after a moment.

“This is my twin brother, Danny. Your other biological son.”

Bruce froze. Danny didn’t even think he was breathing. One hand rested on the gear stick where he’d been planning to put the car in drive, the other dug into his own leg.

“What.” Bruce’s voice was hard and flat, not a hint of the jovial man from the office.

“In his defense,” said Danny. “He thought I was his twin sister. And that I was dead.”

Bruce’s eyes closed and he took several deep breaths. “Your name is Danny?”

“Yep.” Danny popped the p. “Chose it myself six years ago.”

“It’s…a good name.”

“Thanks! It was my dad’s dad’s name.”

“Your dad?” asked Bruce.

Danny hummed. “Yeah. Got myself adopted after I ran away from Talia and Ra’s. But that living situation fell through a few months ago.” Which, really, understatement of the century, but Danny wasn’t going to go into it. “So I had to leave. Thought I’d check up on Damian. Mind if I come over to visit after Damian gets out of school for the next few days? I’ve got a hotel room lined up in the city,” he lied. Squatting was way easier when you were half-ghost.

Damian broke in at that. “You will be staying with us, not in some hotel,” he spat the last word. “And not just for a few days. Live with us.”

“Can’t stay more than a few days, I’m afraid.” The GIW or his parents would definitely find him if he did. “But if no one minds, I won’t turn down a room if you’ve got a spare.”

“Father’s house is large,” said Damian. “There are plenty of spare rooms.”

“Damian is right,” said Bruce. “I insist you stay with us. We can discuss more over lunch when we’re comfortable.”

Danny shrugged. “If you insist.” He’d disappear, of course. Too risky to stay and lead the GIW to Damian when he still wasn’t sure of the connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus pits.

Bruce let out a long sigh and put the car in gear. “I do,” was all he said.

Danny watched the scenery go by, pretending not to notice the two pairs of eyes glued to him.

After several long minutes of uncomfortable silence, Bruce spoke again. “I am glad to meet you, Danny. I’m happy you came to Gotham.”

Danny hummed. He supposed time would tell if any of them would come to regret it.

-----

Hope you enjoy!

#dpxdc #danny fenton #damian wayne #demon twin au #i have so much i could say about this #it is based on the very first plot bunny i ever got for dpxdc #one that ive never really done more than gesture at #only talked in detail about it in private #because i was focusing on other things #so i am so happy i got to finally write this #danny falling asleep on damian #and the smoothie #are two things that i have been thinking about for like 2 years at this point

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miaaluvspaige · 1 day

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Rivals at Heart

Parring : Caitlin Clark x reader

You stood at the edge of the court, heart pounding as you watched the women’s basketball game unfold. It was the championship final, and the tension between you and Caitlin Clark — the star player for the opposing team — had been palpable from the moment you both stepped onto the court.

You had been rivals for as long as you could remember. Ever since high school, it seemed like every big game or competition came down to you and her. She was good — annoyingly good. But so were you, and the competitive fire burned bright in both of you.

There had always been something more beneath the surface, though. Sure, you clashed on the court, but there were fleeting moments — a glance across the locker room, the way she would smirk when you made a good play — that made you wonder if the animosity was hiding something deeper. Not that you’d ever admit it to yourself. No, you were too busy hating her for the way she always seemed to be one step ahead.

Tonight was no different. The intensity between you was electric, both of you giving it everything you had. The crowd was roaring, the score neck-and-neck, and every time you met Caitlin's gaze, it was like a silent challenge, daring each other to be better.

But there was also something else in her eyes tonight. Something that made your breath hitch.

The final buzzer sounded, and your team came out victorious by a single point. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as you bent over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. Victory felt sweet, but something was tugging at the edge of your thoughts.

Caitlin.

You glanced across the court to see her standing with her hands on her hips, eyes fixed on you. She didn’t look angry, though. She looked… curious. Determined. Without thinking, you found yourself walking toward her, your heart racing faster with each step.

When you reached her, the world seemed to still. You could hear the celebrations of your teammates behind you, but all you could focus on was her — the intensity in her eyes, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

“Guess you got me this time,” Caitlin said, her voice low but carrying that same confident edge that always drove you crazy.

You gave her a half-smirk, trying to hide the strange mixture of emotions swirling inside you. “Yeah, well, there’s always next season.”

She held your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The rivalry, the competition — it all felt like it was shifting, like there was something else bubbling beneath the surface that neither of you had acknowledged before.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Caitlin asked suddenly, her tone soft, vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before. It caught you off guard.

You blinked, the question throwing you for a loop. Hate? You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Did you really hate her? Or had you been telling yourself that for so long because it was easier than facing the truth?

“I don’t…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I don’t hate you.”

Caitlin raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Really? Because it sure seems like you do.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know. Maybe I thought I did. But maybe…” You paused, looking into her eyes, feeling that same electric pull you always felt around her. “Maybe I just didn’t know how to deal with the fact that you’re always in my head. On and off the court.”

Her expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah, well, you’re always in mine too. Trust me.”

The air between you felt charged, and you could feel the distance between you closing. For the first time, you let yourself acknowledge what you’d been avoiding for so long — the tension between you wasn’t just competitive. It was something more.

“I don’t want to be your enemy,” Caitlin said quietly, stepping closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired of pretending that’s all there is between us.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. “Me too.”

For a moment, everything hung in the balance. The rivalry, the history, the unspoken feelings — it all seemed to be leading to this.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the gap between you, your lips crashing against hers in a kiss that felt like both a release and a beginning. Caitlin kissed you back with equal intensity, her hands gripping your jersey as if afraid you might pull away.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Caitlin rested her forehead against yours, her eyes shining with something new, something hopeful. “What now?” she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of the shift between you.

You smiled, your heart racing. “Now? We figure it out. Together.”

And just like that, the rivalry that had once defined you both began to fade, replaced by something deeper, something stronger. You were no longer enemies on the court — you were something much more off of it.

#caitlin clark x reader #iowa women’s basketball #iowa wbb #indiana fever #caitlin clark #wbb x reader #wnba x reader #ncaa wbb #wbb

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simplygojo · 21 hours

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Can't Remember To Forget You

Author's Note: I totally agree with you anon. This song does fit Toji sooooo well. I recommend listening to the song on repeat while reading, it really helps set the mood. Thank you so much for your kind words about The Devil He Made Me and my writing, and thank you for requesting!!

My requests are always open :)

Request: “Can I please request a smutty fic with Tojiiii? I was hoping you could base it on the song Can't Remember To Forget You by Shakira and Rihanna...I just think it fits him soooooo wellllll....Love your writing so much!! (Also obsessed with the devil he made me with Gojo <3) THANK YOU” - Anonymous

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f/reader

Word Count : 3.3K

Warnings : 18+ Content, SMUT!, fingering, intercourse, spanking, hair pulling ;)

You woke up with a start, sheets tangled around your legs, breath uneven. The faint light slipping through the blinds barely lit the room, but you didn’t need much to see the Post-it note stuck to your nightstand.

"Forget about him."

Three simple words scrawled in your own handwriting, a reminder you forced yourself to leave before bed, knowing how easily your mind wandered when you weren’t careful. The sight of the note made your stomach churn, but not in the way it should have.

The words echoed in your head as you crumpled the note in your fist, tossing it aside. You knew Toji Fushiguro was a problem. A criminal. A danger to everyone, including you. He was the kind of man you were supposed to run far, far away from. But every time you closed your eyes, it wasn’t fear you felt when you remembered him—it was heat. He had a hold on you—you’d never met someone so…different.

Even though your mind knew the truth, which was that he was an ass, your body remembered something else.

Damn that selective memory, you thought.

You sighed, trying to shake the thought, but you couldn’t escape it. You could only ever remember the way he felt inside you. The way he gripped your body so rough.

—

‘I can't remember to forget you…’

The first time Toji touched you, it wasn’t gentle. There was nothing soft or tender about him. He’d cornered you in an alleyway, his towering figure looming over you like a predator with prey. His smirk was sharp, full of arrogance and danger, like he knew exactly how easy it would be to have you.

And in that moment—you hated how much you wanted him.

You could still feel the way his fingers had curled around your wrist, pulling you close with a rough tug, his body heat scorching against yours. His breath had been hot on your neck as he leaned in, that deep, gravelly voice of his laced with something sinful.

"You're shaking, y/n," he’d whispered, but the way his lips ghosted over the pulse point on your neck made it clear he knew it wasn’t fear. "Can't decide if you wanna run or stay."

You had wanted to run, but your body betrayed you, legs rooted to the ground as he pressed closer. The way his hands slid down your body was possessive as if he had already claimed you in his mind long before you could resist.

‘I can't remember to forget you…’

—

You groaned, tossing the covers off as you sat up, trying to shake the memory from your head. But it was no use. The way your skin burned just thinking about him only brought more moments rushing back, one after another, each one more intoxicating than the last.

His voice and touch were branded into your skin, impossible to forget. And even if you could, did you want to?

Toji was always rough, always urgent. His hands were large and calloused, dragging over your skin with a hunger that felt primal. Every time you were with him, it was a fight—against him, against yourself. And every time, you lost.

You could still hear the low grunt he’d made that night, the way his mouth crashed against yours, all teeth and tongue like he couldn’t get enough of you. His grip was tight, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pushed you back against the nearest wall. You remembered how he had pinned you there, his weight pressing into you, his lips travelling down your neck, biting and sucking until your legs gave out.

You shook the thoughts away and went to the bathroom to wash up. You splashed the cold water on your face, reaching lazily for your toothbrush and toothpaste. As you brushed your teeth, you couldn’t help but watch your own reflection in the mirror. The bruises left by his lips still lingered on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone. And your mind could not help but wander to that night, only a few days ago…

—

‘I can't remember to forget you…’

That night, the rain had been pouring outside, drumming loudly against the windows of your dimly lit apartment. Toji hadn’t knocked when he arrived hadn’t bothered with pleasantries or words of warning. He had barged in like he owned the place, the weight of his presence commanding attention.

You remembered the way he’d closed the door behind him, his eyes locking on yours, dark and unreadable. There was something animalistic about him, something primal in the way he prowled toward you, like a predator cornering its prey.

His large hands were rough as they gripped your arms, pulling you close as he towered over you. There was no softness in his touch—only pure, raw need.

"Why do you always look like you're waiting for me to take you apart, y/n?" he had whispered, his voice a low growl against your ear. The heat of his breath sent a shiver down your spine.

It wasn’t a kiss meant to be sweet—it was possessive, consuming, like he was trying to devour every part of you. His fingers curled into your hair, tugging hard as his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"You want this, don’t you?" he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with arrogance and lust.

Your body betrayed you. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your legs felt weak beneath you, your hands instinctively reaching for him. The heat between your bodies was electric, sparking with every touch, every desperate kiss.

You could only moan in response, your body too lost in the sensation to form words. The way his hands held you in place, the way his mouth moved over your skin, made it impossible to think of anything else but him—of how he made you feel, how he always knew exactly how to push you to the edge, only to pull you back with a sharp, knowing grin.

And as you gasped his name, as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, you knew this was a moment you’d never be able to forget.

‘I can't remember to forget you…’

—

The memory lingered like a shadow, its intensity just as raw as the night it happened. Toji wasn’t a man who made you feel safe—he made you feel alive, in the most dangerous, reckless way possible. No matter how much you tried to push the thoughts away, your body remembered. It always remembered.

You ran a hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face as you stood up from the bed, legs feeling heavy.

The morning air was cool against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to douse the flames licking at your insides. You wandered toward the kitchen, hoping coffee would wake you up and make you forget about him, even for just a little while.

“I really need to practice the art of self-control,” you muttered to yourself as you opened a window to let some fresh air into your apartment.

But you knew the truth: no matter how many times you tried to remind yourself that Toji was bad for you and that you should forget him, you knew you never would.

He was a permanent scar on your skin, a reminder of every time you gave in to temptation. The kind of man you knew was dangerous, but that danger had been exactly what drew you in.

You sighed, standing in the middle of your apartment, hands on your hips, eyes scanning the mess. The dishes were piled in the sink, laundry strewn across the couch, and empty coffee cups cluttering the table. You hadn’t realized how much of a mess things had gotten.

Maybe that’s what happens when you let your mind get consumed by someone like Toji.

"Focus, y/n," you muttered to yourself, pushing the sleeves of your oversized shirt up your arms, determined to keep your thoughts from wandering.

You started with the dishes, running hot water and letting the steam rise, hoping it would help clear your head. The repetitive motion of scrubbing the plates, rinsing them off, and stacking them on the drying rack was calming, and mindless. You could almost let yourself relax.

Moving to the living room, you started gathering the clothes scattered across the couch, tossing them into a basket with more force than necessary. The silence in the apartment felt too heavy, too full of the memories you were trying to escape.

You could almost hear his voice again, low and teasing.

"Miss me already?"

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as you shoved another shirt into the basket. You didn’t want to admit how much you wanted him, how badly you wanted him to bend you over like he did.

But it was there, undeniable, no matter how much you tried to fill your day with mundane tasks.

You turned to the coffee table, stacking the empty cups and sweeping crumbs into your hand. Your movements were stiff, hurried, as if moving faster would help clear your head. It didn’t.

As you wiped the table, you caught sight of something half-hidden underneath a book—a crumpled piece of paper. You hesitated before pulling it out, smoothing it flat.

"Forget about him." Another goddamn post-it note.

The words from the note you’d written stared back at you, mocking. It was so simple in theory, but your body wouldn’t let you forget. Every time you tried to push him out of your mind, he slipped right back in—like a shadow, always lurking just out of sight, waiting for you to let your guard down.

—

Later, as you sat on your couch, tea in hand, your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced at the screen, your heart sinking when you saw the name.

Toji.

You stared at it for a long moment, fingers hovering over the screen as you debated answering.

You shouldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t. But your body reacted before your mind could catch up, thumb swiping across the screen to answer the call.

"Miss me, y/n?" His voice was a low purr, sending shivers down your spine.

You swallowed hard, heart racing as your mind screamed at you to hang up, to put the phone down and block his number for good. But all you could think about was the feel of his hands on your skin and the way he stretched you out just right.

"I…"

You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

Toji laughed softly on the other end, and you could almost see the smug smirk on his face, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

"I’ll be over in 20 minutes, just collecting a bounty near your area." He said, voice thick with promise. "Don’t you try to forget about me. I want you ready when I arrive. "

The line went dead, and you stared at the phone in your hand, pulse quickening. You knew what you should do—lock the door, turn off the lights, pretend you weren’t home. But the memory of him was too strong, the pull too irresistible.

As you set the phone down and stood, a familiar heat began to pool between your legs. God, just the thought of him made you squirm.

You’d try to forget later. For now, you knew exactly where the night was heading.

‘Oh here we go…’ you thought to yourself, crossing your legs in an attempt to quell the arousal you already felt.

—

Your hand lingered on the phone, still warm from the call, as Toji’s words echoed in your head. “Don’t try to forget me.” It wasn’t just a statement—it was a command, one that you were powerless to disobey.

You swallowed hard, glancing around your apartment. The air felt heavy with anticipation, the minutes ticking by too slowly as you waited for him to arrive.

Part of you considered fighting it, locking the door, ignoring the inevitable. But it was pointless. Every time he appeared, you crumbled.

Every time you swore it was the last, you ended up right back in his arms, a willing prisoner to your own desires.

The knock at the door came quicker than you’d expected, your heart skipping a beat as you turned toward the sound. The moment you heard his voice on the phone, you should have known better than to think you could resist.

You crossed the room slowly, feeling the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on you.

Before you could reach the door, it opened, his tall figure waltzing into the room with no care in the world. "Didn’t expect me to wait, did you?" Toji’s voice was low, rough as his eyes scanned your body.

Toji leaned against the wall, that familiar cocky grin playing on his lips. His dark eyes locked onto yours, taking in the way you stood there, staring at him like you’d been caught in a trap. And maybe you had.

"Told you I’d be here soon," he said, taking a step forward without waiting for an invitation, his broad frame filling the space as he slowly closed the space between you.

You should have stopped him—should have said something, anything, to slow him down—but the between your thighs grew unbearable, your body betraying you.

His presence was overwhelming, intoxicating, and the tension between you two snapped the second his hand gripped your waist, pulling you close.

His fingers dug into your hips, his body pressing against yours with a possessive force that made your pulse race.

You tilted your head back, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment before his lips crashed into yours. The kiss was hard, demanding, full of the raw need that neither of you could deny.

He didn’t wait for permission—he never did. His hands moved over your body, sliding under your shirt, his rough palms grazing your bare skin.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he pressed you back against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat flooding your body.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a line of fire in their wake, his teeth grazing your skin where you were already marked, with enough pressure to make you moan.

"Sounds like someone missed, hmm?" He growled against your throat, his voice thick with amusement, though he already knew the answer.

The way his hands roamed over your body, pulling at your clothes, left you too breathless to form words. His touch was rough, unrelenting, and exactly what you had been craving.

Toji’s hands made quick work of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside before his mouth found your beautiful tits, his teeth sinking into the delicate skin. You let out a loud whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched against him, desperate for more.

"What happened to wanting to forget me?" he rasped, his voice dark and low as his hands gripped your thighs, lifting you off the ground with ease.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, your back pressed hard against the wall as he held you in place, with one hand around your neck, his mouth colliding with yours, and his tongue entering your mouth without permission.

Your pussy was just throbbing at this point, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you pulled him closer, your body burning with need.

The truth was, you didn’t want to forget. Not right now.

"That’s what I thought," he muttered against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he carried you to the couch, not even bothering to close the blinds to your window before practically ripping off your pants, his mouth never leaving yours.

The world outside ceased to exist the moment Toji pushed you down onto the couch, his body hovering over yours like a storm about to break. He was all you could see, all you could feel.

His touch was rough, his kisses demanding, and the way his hands moved over you left no room for doubt.

He was in control—just like always—and you were more than willing to let him take what he wanted.

As soon as your skin came in contact with the cool leather couch, you felt the lace of your panties snap as his two fingers tore them from your body.

And there you were: Toji hadn’t been here for 5 minutes yet, and there you were—completely naked, just squirming under his rough touch.

He leaned down, hovering two fingers over your soaked pussy as his thumb circled your clit, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me you don’t want this.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t even try.

Instead, you let your body speak for you, arching against him, your hands gripping his back as he moved over you, every touch sending another wave of heat crashing through you.

“God—You’re just desperate for me.” He said darkly, his unlit gaze piercing your wide eyes before forcefully shoving his two fingers into you, thrusting in and out of you roughly.

His name left your lips in a desperate moan, your body responding to his in ways you couldn’t control.

And with that, he claimed you, every movement, every rough kiss, and every growl reminding you why you could never truly forget him.

Before you could respond, he lifted you up from the couch, removing his fingers and gripping your hips with an unrelenting force as he pushed you forward, bending you over the back of the couch. The fabric dug into your stomach, grounding you in the moment as heat flooded your body.

He gave your ass a rough slap, one that caused a loud yelp to escape from your lips. “You think you even could forget me, forget this?” He taunted, his one hand still dripping with your juices, caressing your ass.

With his other hand, he swiftly undid his own pants, pulling them down just enough so he could fuck you. His long cock, dripping with precum, was positioned at your entrance, almost teasing you as you squirmed under him.

"I don't think so," he rasped, his breath hot against the back of your neck as he leaned over you, moving your hair to one side of your face so he would still have a view of it.

He entered you slowly, making sure to feel every inch of your warmth consume his hardened cock. You let out a pornographic moan, fingers gripping the edge of the couch as you felt him stretch you in every direction, his hands pulling your hips back as he pushed his into yours.

Once he put his entire shaft in you, he groaned loudly before quickening the pace, the couch moving along with you.

His touch was rough, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks—a reminder that he owned this moment, and he owned you.

His rapid pace was causing you to see stars as he fucked you into oblivion. He leaned forward again, this time only briefly, to grab a handful of your hair to tilt your head back so he could see your rosy face.

“You look so good when you’re getting fucked by me.” He bragged as if complimenting himself, too.

Your only response was a loud moan as his hands travelled down to your clit, massaging it with dominance. The couch shifted under your weight, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, closing the distance between you both. The moment felt thick with tension, electric in its intensity.

Toji’s grip on your hair tightened, and his pace was dominating, his voice low and dark as he whispered, "You won't forget this."

And you knew he was right–Toji Fushiguro was a mistake you had no issues with repeating.

You knew better—You knew you should’ve learned to forget him.

But these days, you just couldn't remember to forget him.

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