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mintyys-blog · 11 hours ago

Note

my fave thragg writer 🩵

this might be a bit long im sorry 😭 but I had this idea and thought you could do it justice queen…please can i request thragg with marks twin sister reader?

like imagine she’s especially vulnerable after her dad’s betrayal, mark has eve even her mother has paul but you are just…alone.

thragg picks up on this as because he agrees your father was weak he lowkey manipulates you at your time of weakness and promises you the world (he kinda has been eyeing you a long time anyway because 1 duh youre a cutie patootie 2 you are a twin, rare and powerful in viltrumite history)

so he seduces you and then mark comes to find you thinking you got kidnapped but finds you playing happy families with thragg bonus points if you’re like 2 months pregnant and he’s just totally horrified that thragg made you his brood mare, maybe your dads reaction as well?

maybe thragg actually loves her but regardless his methods of manipulation and praying on her issues was dark lmaooo

THANK YOU 🩵

TRICKED | thragg x grayson! reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: implied sex, pregnancy, manipulation.

There are some sounds you never forget—like the crunch of ribs collapsing under your father’s fists, the wet gurgle of Mark choking on his own blood, or your mother’s scream when she watched her husband fly away without looking back. Those sounds have carved themselves into your bones. They echo in your ears when you’re brushing your teeth, when you’re doing dishes, when you try to sleep. You don’t sleep much anymore.

You try to keep busy. Laundry. Grocery runs. Fixing up the house like it’s not built on top of something dead and rotting. You help your mom because you think you’re supposed to. Because Mark can barely look at her without guilt flickering across his face, and someone has to carry the weight of pretending everything is okay. You patch up broken drywall that Nolan smashed once in a temper tantrum you now understand too well. You clean out his closet and pretend you’re not looking for a note, a reason, something that would explain how he went from being your father to being a stranger. You go on patrols Mark’s too tired to take. You smile at civilians, sign autographs for kids who still think you’re a hero. Then you come home and sit in your room until the walls feel like they’re pressing in.

Mark is healing. Slowly. You sit beside him in the hospital when he’s unconscious and keep pretending he might hear you. When he wakes, Eve is there. She reads to him. Brushes the hair off his forehead. He smiles for her. You’re happy for them, or at least that’s what you tell yourself. But there’s a part of you that feels like the third wheel in your own life. A shadow. Something leftover. Mark has Eve. Your mom has Paul. Everyone found someone to hold them through the wreckage. You’re just… floating.

You’re not jealous. You’d never take anything from Mark. But it’s getting harder to remember the last time someone held you. Not with pity. Not out of obligation. Just because they wanted to.

You try to help your mom more. She doesn’t ask, but you see the way she looks at Nolan’s old coffee mug and then quickly shoves it to the back of the cabinet. You pretend not to notice her crying over the sink. You dry the dishes next to her in silence, like it’s normal, like you’re both not waiting to fall apart the second the other one isn’t looking. When she thanks you and kisses your forehead, it stings. Not because you don’t want it—but because it feels like a goodbye.

Paul’s nice. He tries. He talks to you like you’re a person, not a ticking time bomb. He makes soft, awkward jokes. Checks in. But it’s surface-level care. He’s not your father. He’s not trying to be. And you’re not trying to replace him. You’re just tired of feeling like the only person who remembers what your family used to be.

Sometimes, you fly so high the atmosphere stings your skin. The silence up there is better than the quiet down here. At least above the clouds, your thoughts don’t echo as loudly. You push your body to its limit, hoping exhaustion might feel like clarity. But when you finally land, nothing is fixed. You’re still alone. You’re still pretending.

You see Mark laughing again. He’s slowly becoming himself. Stronger. Whole. You know he deserves it. You want it for him. But sometimes you look at him and feel like you’re on the other side of a glass wall, smiling, waving, dying just a little more each time he forgets to look back. You want to be angry. At him. At Nolan. At the whole damn universe. But you’re too tired to hold onto anger anymore. All you have left is this numbness. This ache.

You keep dreaming about your father. Not the monster. Not the man who destroyed Chicago and called humanity beneath him. The one who used to swing you and Mark around like airplanes. Who kissed your bruises and whispered that you were strong, even when you cried. You wake up sweating, tears clinging to your lashes, and you hate yourself for missing him. But you do. God, you do. And that might be the worst part—still loving someone who would’ve let you die if it served a bigger purpose.

You’re not okay. You know that. But if you admit it, everything might fall apart. So you keep your mouth shut. You nod when people ask if you’re fine. You smile when Mark talks about healing. You tell your mom you’re just tired. You lie every time. You lie so well, it’s starting to feel like the truth.

But when you’re alone—really alone, in the dark, under blankets that don’t feel warm anymore—you wonder how much longer you can keep doing this. You wonder how long until something inside you breaks. You wonder if anyone will notice.

You wonder if anyone will care.

It starts with a small thing.

You forget to pick up dinner.

Your mom doesn’t yell. She just sighs—quiet, disappointed—and grabs her keys. “It’s fine,” she says, already halfway out the door. “I’ll handle it.”

You stare at the spot she left behind like it personally slapped you. You meant to get it. You even made a list. But somewhere between cleaning up after Mark’s mess in the living room and fixing that crack in the hallway ceiling, you just… forgot.

And now you’re standing alone in the kitchen, hands clenched at your sides, hating how useless you feel.

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal. People forget things all the time.

But this isn’t about dinner.

It’s about everything.

It’s about carrying the weight no one asked you to hold. About being the quiet, dependable one. The one who never made it about her. The one who picked up the slack, swept the broken pieces into her pockets, and smiled like her world wasn’t caving in.

It’s about how no one ever asked how you were doing—because they just assumed you’d manage.

Because you’re strong. A Viltrumite. A Grayson.

You’re fine, right?

You don’t even notice the tears until they’re sliding down your face. Hot. Silent. Shameful.

You try to wipe them away quickly, like someone might walk in and catch you being weak. But no one comes. The house is empty again. Or maybe it’s always felt empty.

You sink to the kitchen floor. Cold tile against your knees. Chest tight. Throat burning. You don’t sob—your body doesn’t even have the strength for that. It’s quieter than that. Just a slow collapse. A silent kind of breaking.

You pull your knees to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself like maybe, just maybe, if you hold on tight enough, something will hold you back.

But nothing does.

You stay like that for almost an hour.

By the time your mom comes home, you’ve pulled yourself back together. Slapped your mask back on. You joke about how she forgot the chocolate ice cream. She laughs. You pretend to eat dinner.

Later, Mark texts you a picture of him and Eve at some café. His smile is wide. Hers is brighter. He adds a dumb pun and a heart emoji. You respond with a thumbs up.

Then you put your phone down and stare at the wall for fifteen minutes straight.

You don’t cry again.

You don’t feel anything anymore.

The next day, you fly. Higher than usual. Longer. You don’t have a destination. You just want to escape.

You want to disappear. And that’s when he notices you. The sky is too quiet.

You’re miles above Earth, flying through thinning clouds, high enough that the air starts to bite at your cheeks. The sun’s warm, but the cold cuts through you anyway. You like it that way. It numbs everything. Lets your brain go still for a few seconds at a time. Below, everything is small. Manageable. Distant.

You close your eyes mid-flight and let yourself coast for a moment, arms loose at your sides, hair whipping in the wind. You try to pretend it’s peace. That if you fly far enough, fast enough, high enough—something might feel right again.

But something shifts. A ripple in the air pressure. A subtle shadow where there shouldn’t be one. Your body reacts before your mind catches up. You snap your eyes open—and nearly slam to a stop midair. He’s there. Right beside you. Floating effortlessly. Poised. Calm. Huge.

Your heart leaps into your throat as your eyes lock with his. Tall. Powerful. Familiar in the worst possible way. The red and white uniform. The eyes like sharpened steel. A living warning bell.

You jolt backward midair, almost losing your balance. The fear kicks in before the logic.

“You—” Your voice trembles before you force it steady. “Are you… are you a Viltrumite?”

He nods, slow and deliberate, crossing his arms like he’s not in any rush. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“I am,” he says. His voice is deep, smooth—almost gentle. Almost. “But I will not hurt you.”

Your fists curl instinctively. Your chest tightens. Your feet don’t even have anything to plant on, but your instincts scream defend, run, scream—because this man feels like gravity. Too heavy. Too much.

You shake your head, backing away a few more feet, heart hammering against your ribs. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk,” he says simply.

No sudden movements. No threats. No raised fists. Just patience.

And that might be the most terrifying thing of all.

You hover there, breathing hard, wind whipping around you both like the atmosphere itself doesn’t know how to feel.

You can’t read him. There’s no malice on his face—but there’s no warmth, either. Just focus. Just control.

“You were following me,” you say quietly.

Another nod. “For some time.”

Your spine stiffens. “Why?”

His gaze narrows—not in threat, but in… interest. He studies you like a scientist examining something rare.

“Because I’ve been waiting for the moment you would see me. Truly,” he replies. “Not as an enemy. Not as a threat. Just as someone who understands what you’ve lost.”

That strikes a chord you didn’t expect. You blink, caught between instinct and confusion. “I don’t need your understanding,” you snap, though it sounds more fragile than fierce.

“No,” he says. “But I think you might want it.”

The words hit like pressure on a fracture. You hate him already. For being right. For knowing. For seeing too much. You shouldn’t listen. But something in your chest aches louder than your fear.

You stay in the air, a few feet back, arms still half-raised, unsure if you should fly or fight.

Thragg doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to. His stillness is its own kind of power.

“You’re afraid,” he says—not like an accusation, more like an observation. “But not of me. Not really.”

You hate how your stomach twists at his words. How part of you wonders if he’s right. You are afraid. But not just of him. Not just because he’s stronger than you. Not because he looks like the man who ruined your family.

You’re afraid because it’s been so long since anyone actually looked at you like this.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you say quietly, bitter.

“I know your father left you,” he replies, voice low and even. “I know your brother almost died. I know your people abandoned you, and your planet praises you, but none of them see you.”

Your fingers curl tighter.

“I know what it’s like to carry the burden of someone else’s weakness,” he continues. “To be punished for someone else’s failure.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You feel winded. Like he punched the air out of your lungs with words alone.

“I’m not weak,” you say, because you have to. Even if it doesn’t sound convincing. “I’m not like him.”

“No,” Thragg agrees. “You’re not.”

And there’s something in the way he says it—something almost reverent. Admiration laced with something darker. Like he’s impressed. Like he’s pleased.

“Then what do you want?” Your voice comes out thinner than you mean it to. “If not a fight?”

His arms uncross, slowly. Deliberately. He hovers a little closer, but not enough to alarm you. Just enough that his presence starts to feel real. Inescapable.

“I want to offer you something,” he says. “A choice.”

You laugh, once. It’s hollow. “Is this the part where you offer me power and tell me to betray my planet?”

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. But close.

“No. That comes later.”

That should make you fly away. It should. But he’s already moving again—circling, slowly, like a predator with infinite patience.

“What I want,” he says, “is to show you what your father should have. What it means to be valued. Protected. Feared, yes—but never ignored. Never abandoned.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

“I know what you are,” he continues, voice now smooth, almost gentle. “I’ve known for some time. You and your brother—you are rare. Twins are almost unheard of among our kind. And yet Nolan left you here like you were nothing.”

You swallow hard. “Don’t talk about him like you know him.”

“I know what he is,” Thragg replies. “And I know what you could be, if you stopped trying to make yourself smaller just to fit in with a world that doesn’t deserve you.”

You stare at him, heart pounding in your ears.

He doesn’t break eye contact.

“I will not harm you,” he says again. “You have my word.”

“And that means something?” you whisper. “From you?”

There’s a pause.

Then: “Yes. It does.”

For a long time, neither of you moves.

Then, Thragg dips his head in what almost feels like a bow.

“When you’re ready to stop pretending Earth has anything left to give you,” he says, “find me.”

He doesn’t tell you where. He doesn’t have to. And just like that—he vanishes. One sonic boom. A ripple in the clouds. And he’s gone.

You remain suspended there, breathing hard, staring at the empty space where he stood. The cold air feels sharper now. The silence heavier. You should feel terrified. Violated. Angry. Instead, all you feel is the echo of his voice in your head. “I want to offer you something.” And the worst part? You want to hear more.

The first time you met him again, you told yourself it was for answers.

The second time, it was because you had more questions.

By the third, you stopped pretending.

You don’t know when it started feeling natural. The silence between you. The way he spoke in low tones like he was always restraining something just beneath the surface. A quiet power. You weren’t afraid of it anymore.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You met him where no one would look—on mountain peaks and in hollowed-out ruins, in long-forgotten corners of the world that felt like nowhere. He never demanded anything. Never touched you. Not unless you moved first.

He’d listen.

Really listen.

You spoke about Nolan. About Mark. About how sometimes you looked in the mirror and didn’t know who you were trying to be anymore. You told him you were tired of pretending Earth was home when it only made you feel alien.

Thragg never pitied you.

He didn’t scold or offer meaningless comforts.

He simply looked at you and said, “You were never meant to be small.”

And for once, someone meant it.

He didn’t see your grief as a burden. He saw it as a scar earned. A sign that you were surviving. Evolving.

You wanted to hate him for being the enemy, but over time, it got harder to remember why. Because in all those hours spent with him, laughing quietly, debating fiercely, laying side by side on cold stone under a starlit sky… he never treated you like a child. Or a soldier. Or a symbol.

He treated you like you.

And tonight, the world finally feels like it’s tipped too far to come back from.

It’s raining. Not hard. Just steady. A misty kind of rain that blurs the edges of your vision. You’re soaked when you find him—waiting in the shell of an old house, roof mostly gone, walls eaten by time and ivy. He doesn’t ask why you’re crying.

He doesn’t need to.

You don’t say much. Just walk up to him and let your forehead rest against his chest, rain dripping from your lashes, your fists pressed into his shirt like you’re still holding something in.

His arms go around you. Carefully. Like he knows exactly how fragile you are beneath the skin. You don’t remember how the two of you ended up on the bed. A mattress left behind by whoever used to live here. Torn. Springs poking at odd angles. But it’s big enough.

He lies back, arms behind his head, his massive frame sprawled as comfortably as he can manage. His legs dangle off the edge, and he doesn’t seem to care. You curl up beside him.

Not just beside him—into him. Head on his chest. Hand resting over his ribs. His warmth seeps into you slow, steady, constant. His breathing is calm. He doesn’t speak. He just lets you stay.

You don’t know if you’re imagining the way his fingers curl lightly around your shoulder, or how his body shifts just enough to pull you closer. You don’t care. You don’t want to question it tonight. This isn’t about love. Not yet. It’s about gravity. About finally letting yourself fall. You drift to sleep to the sound of his heartbeat. Heavy. Solid. Like it was always there, waiting.

You don’t know what time it is, but the world outside the cracked windows glows faint blue—too early for sunrise, too late for sleep. You’ve been lying there for hours, half-awake, heart beating too loud in the quiet. Thragg hasn’t moved. He breathes steadily beneath you, warm and unmoving, like the world could fall apart and he’d still hold his place in it. You sit up slowly, careful not to disturb him. But he opens his eyes the moment you move. He always does.

Your legs are tucked beneath you. You look down at him—this towering force of nature curled in the ruins of a broken house, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in his universe right now. You open your mouth before you can stop yourself. “I… Thragg, I think I love you.” The silence stretches. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t mock. He watches you with that same unreadable intensity you’ve come to know. And then— “Good,” he says.

And before your heart can decide whether to break or beat harder, he sits up, one massive hand cupping your jaw, and pulls you into him. He kisses you. Not with desperation. Not like it’s some forbidden sin. He kisses you like it’s inevitable. Like he knew you would say it. Like he’s been waiting for it.

His lips are firm, warm, and certain. His other hand settles against the small of your back, anchoring you in place. Your breath catches. You melt into him without thinking, hands gripping his shoulders like you’re scared you’ll float away otherwise.

When he pulls back, you don’t let go. You stay close, forehead against his, breathing heavy, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve never felt this with anyone,” you whisper. “I know,” he replies. “That’s why I waited.” There’s no smugness in his voice. No gloating. Just certainty. Possession, maybe. But not the cruel kind. The kind that claims.

He brushes your hair from your face, gaze sharp but soft at the edges. “You were never meant to be alone.” And somehow, hearing it from him—from Thragg of all people—it feels like truth. A dangerous truth. But truth all the same.

The room is dim, shadows stretching across the cracked walls, but you barely notice. All you feel is the weight of Thragg’s gaze—dark, steady, like he’s reading every secret you’ve tried to hide. His fingers brush a stray lock of hair from your face, gentle but possessive, tracing your cheek with a careful tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

He moves closer, the heat of his body grounding you, anchoring you in the present. Your heart pounds in your chest—an erratic rhythm that somehow feels right. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you down into a kiss that’s slow at first, like an exploration, a question. His lips are firm, demanding, but patient, letting you set the pace.

You respond, hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, fingertips trembling as you discover how carefully he balances power and care. Every brush of his touch sends a spark rippling through your skin, lighting fires you thought had long since died out.

When his mouth moves to your jaw, then your neck, you shiver, arching toward him, needing more but afraid to ask. His hands roam—strong and sure—mapping the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, drawing you closer still. You press into him, a silent plea for connection.

He’s immense beneath you—larger than life—but when he cradles you, it’s like you’re the only thing that matters. The world narrows until it’s just you, him, the quiet sound of your breaths mingling in the dim light.

You lose track of time in the warmth of his arms, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Here, with him, the weight of everything else fades. There’s no betrayal, no pain—just this moment suspended between heartbeats, full of promises you’re only just beginning to understand.

And when he finally pulls you close, a whisper against your lips, it’s not just desire you feel—it’s something deeper, something dangerous and undeniable

The morning light filters through the worn curtains, casting soft patterns across the small kitchen. Your mother, Debbie, sits at the table, eyes tired but hopeful, stirring a cup of coffee that’s long gone cold.

You pack the last of your things in silence. Clothes folded neatly, a few keepsakes wrapped carefully. You’re not sure how to say what you feel, or if you even want to say it. She looks up just as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Her voice is steady but tinged with something fragile—fear, maybe. You hesitate. Then shake your head. “I found someone,” you say simply. “Someone who means a lot to me.”

Debbie blinks, swallowing whatever she was about to say.

You don’t tell her about the months of secret meetings, the way Thragg’s arms have become your shelter. You don’t tell her about the tiny life growing inside you, tucked away beneath your ribs like a fragile flame.

You don’t have to.

Your heart pounds as you step out the door, the weight of the secret heavier than the bag on your shoulder. You don’t look back. Because this time, you’re not running. You’re choosing.

You stand in the clearing, the sun dappled through the leaves above, your heart pounding louder than the quiet hum of the world around you.

Mark’s voice breaks the silence. “Why did you leave without telling me? Without telling Mom?”

You swallow hard, keeping your gaze steady. “I needed to. For me.”

His eyes narrow, then flicker to the figure silently stepping out from behind you.

Thragg.

The man who’s been your secret, your refuge.

Mark jolts back, surprise clear in his stance. “Who is he?”

You straighten, your hand lightly resting on Thragg’s arm. “This… is my husband. And the father of my child. Thragg. He’s a Viltrumite, but not with the empire anymore.”

Mark blinks, struggling to absorb the words. “Husband? Father of your child? You’re pregnant? He’s a Viltrumite?”

You nod, feeling the warmth of Thragg’s hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Stress isn’t good for you,” Thragg says quietly.

You manage a small smile, resting your head gently against his shoulder.

“Viltrumites don’t betray the empire! You know that!” Mark’s voice rises, frustration and fear mixed.

You meet his gaze firmly. “Dad did.”

Mark takes a breath, his expression darkening. “Dad is a different story. Hell—he almost killed me.”

You take a shaky breath. “I know. But Mark… Thragg isn’t like Dad.”

“You don’t even know him!” Mark snaps.

“Yes, I do!” you say, voice steady, feeling a new strength rise inside you. “He understands me better than anyone has.”

Turning away, you say firmly, “I think you should leave. Now.”

Thragg’s gaze sharpens, a warning beneath the calm. Mark hesitates, tension crackling in the air, before finally turning on his heel and walking away.

You watch him go, your breath catching, but the weight in your chest feels lighter somehow. Thragg pulls you close, his presence a steady anchor as you face the unknown together.

The sky darkens suddenly, a vast shadow cutting through the afternoon light. You look up, heart lurching as a massive ship descends, its sleek silhouette blotting out the sun. The air hums with low, powerful energy that sets your skin on edge.

“What… what are they doing here?” you whisper, eyes wide with shock and a flicker of fear.

A familiar presence shifts behind you. Thragg steps forward, calm and unshaken, his expression unreadable.

“They are here for me,” he says quietly.

You turn to face him, confusion and disbelief twisting inside you. “What?”

His gaze locks with yours, unwavering and solemn.

“I am the leader of the Viltrumites,” he admits, voice heavy with the weight of the revelation. “I’m sorry for having purposely misled you. But I assure you, life will be better. We can be a happy family. The family you’ve always dreamed about.”

Your breath catches.

The ground feels unsteady beneath your feet.

The man you thought you knew — the man who’d been your sanctuary — just changed everything.

#thragg x reader #thragg #invincible thragg #grand regent thragg #thragg x you

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cinnamon7girl7 · 8 hours ago

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"THROUGH THE SILENCE, I WILL RETURN TO YOU – PART 2."

♡ — Summary: I thought I had it all — Satoru’s love, Megumi’s warmth, and Suguru’s trust. But even the strongest love can break when truth hides behind silence. One betrayal changes everything; pain drives them apart, yet memories and a love still alive won’t let them go. Now, Satoru fights for a second chance, and she must decide if, after all the hurt, love is still worth it. ♡ — Author's note: This is the second chapter of this story, and I recommend reading the first part first so it makes more sense. I know it's a little short, but the next part is the fight between you and Satoru. I’m really happy you enjoyed the first chapter, so here’s the next one. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: “What You Didn’t Tell Me”

The night breeze slipped in through the half-open window, and although the city seemed to sleep, something inside you couldn’t find rest. You had been smiling, as always, holding onto the routines that made you happy… but that night, you couldn’t ignore what you'd been feeling for weeks now: a soft, invisible, but constant chill growing right between you and Satoru.

The days went on, but his eyes no longer held the same steadiness as before. His answers grew shorter. The jokes you used to share before bed were no longer daily. Sometimes he left without telling you exactly where he was going… and returned late, kissing your forehead with a soft, distracted excuse, one that felt almost rehearsed.

—“I’m fine, it was just work,” he would say.

But you knew him. You knew him the way you know someone who lives in your soul.

And you knew he wasn’t fine.

One ordinary afternoon, you had made mochi for him like in the old days. He loved that gesture. He always said that taste reminded him he had a home.

—“Remember the first time I made this and almost set the kitchen on fire?” —you joked, offering him a piece.

Satoru smiled. But it was a dim, almost uncomfortable smile.

—“Yeah… how could I forget,�� —he replied, his eyes falling to the floor.

Then he hugged you quickly, almost as an automatic gesture, and murmured something barely audible:

—“Thanks for still being here.”

You froze for a few seconds. Why would he say that? Why with that tone?

With Suguru, you had always shared a quiet trust, a bond that needed no words. But lately, even he seemed different. Quieter, more distant.

One morning, while you were making breakfast, you sat beside him with a smile.

—“Do you know what’s going on with Satoru?” —you asked casually, pretending it didn’t hurt.

Suguru went silent for a moment. He looked at you, then turned his gaze to the window.

—“It’s nothing serious… he’s just tired. You know how the job is.”

But he didn’t meet your eyes.

And in his pause, in his voice, you knew he was hiding something.

Megumi noticed it too. Even though he didn’t say much, his actions spoke for him. He sat with you longer than usual. Sometimes he hugged you without a word. Other times, he stared at Satoru with an expression that seemed to carry too many questions.

Until one day, while you were folding laundry and he played with his stuffed fox, he suddenly said:

—“Mom… do you think Dad always tells you the truth?”

You turned immediately, surprised. He avoided your eyes.

—“Why are you asking that, Gumi?”

—“I don’t know… Sometimes I feel like he hides things. Like he doesn’t want you to know.”

And in that moment, your chest tightened. Something inside you clicked. As if the pieces were starting to fall into place.

That night, you went downstairs for some water. The house was silent, but as you passed near the study, you heard their voices. They were whispering. It was Satoru and Suguru. The door was slightly open.

—“…sooner or later she’s going to find out, Satoru. You can’t keep this from her anymore.”

—“I know, but I don’t want to lose her. Not yet.”

—“You will if you keep lying to her.”

You froze.

They never knew you heard them.

But from that moment on… nothing would ever be the same again.

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my-youth-hannah · 2 days ago

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What we can't avoid || "Bob" Robert Reynolds x f! reader ||

Summary: In which anyone can freely enter the void and see more of Bob’s shame rooms / past memories he cannot even recall. Thunderbolts kept him in the headquarters while is undergoing therapy so only few will know whenever he is having episodes that could open the void. "Bob" Robert Reynolds x f! reader

Warnings: trauma / schizophrenic

Word Count: 2.6k

Disclaimer: Writing style may be different from other writers on this platform since I was used to writing stories in different ways back when I was in my early teenage years. Just wanted to turn the scenarios in my head into words. Hope y’all enjoy it.

Quite not sure with how Russian words

༒︎

Y/N introduced herself as someone who used to work for Valentina along with Mel, but since all of them had an agreement they work together, she was assigned to stay with the team. Win win situation it is, now she was assigned by Valentina to assist Thunderbolts or what she calls New Avengers in anything they need in exchange of not testifying for her impeachment.

“Why Thunderbolts?” She asked

“West Chesapeake Bay Thunder-” Alexie got cut off by Yelena when she inserted bread into his mouth.

“It’s nothing, plus the government calling us New Avengers whatever now so.” Yelena.

“Mishka~” Alexie while chewing.

Bucky was asking Ava to tour me around but pointed out other members to do the work instead. “Why don’t you ask John instead” but Walker instantly declines it and passes it to Yelena again and tosses it to other members.

“Are they always like this?” She whispered to myself.

“Yes, they are, you’ll get used to it.” Then a cool looking guy who looks in late 20s appears on my side wearing some comfy clothes unlike the rest of the team who is fully geared. “I am Bob by the way” smiles but not looking at her. “My name is…” She offered her hands to shake but all of them caught it at the right moment and stopped her and made her completely clueless.

Ava gave her a tour around the HQ, showing everything from essential facilities to pointless rooms—even the bathrooms. Yet, there was one area that stood out. It appeared newly constructed but heavily used, with numerous scratches and visible signs of frequent use. “Never mind it, it's nothing.” answer from Ava.

She was instructed by her that all of them will be going to a mission for a week days from now, she was allowed to go anywhere but not near Bob since he has ‘contagious disease’ that they are looking for a cure at the moment. Normal conversation was allowed but no personal questions shall be entertained by Bob.

༒︎

“Hi uhmm lemon?” Bob offered. She woke up one morning with no one else but Bob, looks like the team left earlier than what is planned. “No, thanks.” Days staying in the HQ she got a chance to know all of them, attitudes and routines- basically observe them. Valentina would like to know if there’s something they are planning to do against her. “Seems like harmless…… even defenseless.” Bob smiled like the usual does. “Am I? I have no idea haha” pure innocence is visible in him. “But seriously, what is with that room? the dungeon like one” He stopped for a minute trying to think “t-the dungeon, haven’t been there.” whispers to himself that she got used to it even after a few days of staying.

Reading books, doing yoga, light workouts, and washing dishes became part of his routine whenever he stepped out of his room. Since it was just the two of them, Bob agreed to help him with the dishes, though he was careful to avoid any direct contact. “Relax, we’re just washing dishes,” she said, but Bob still kept his distance. “Y-yeah,” he replied nervously. It was probably a good thing they were both wearing gloves. Bob hadn’t realized washing dishes could be this fun; the last time he did it with someone was with John but didn’t enjoy it since he’s only telling stories how he saved people during the time he was serving the country as a military. “Hey, I’ve got a joke,” he said. “Why don’t dishwashers ever get lonely? They always have a full load.” She paused for a moment while removing her gloves, trying to get the joke. “Oh, come on, it’s funny!” Bob complained. She finally laughed and playfully hit him on the bare arm. “You—you’re the funny one.” He laughed along with her for a minute before realizing that she was in direct contact with him.

༒︎

He panicked and promptly asked her how she was feeling which made her confused when she looked completely fine. “I am fine, Bob. Can you settle here on the couch?” but he didn’t listen and kept walking around while talking to himself about being cured and healed. She is on the edge of contacting Bucky to ask for help since she didn’t see this coming and wasn’t even oriented. Hours after, the team arrives from their mission. Even looking exhausted they first check on Bob, while he welcomes them like a kid missing his father.

“Okay, Bobby, we can’t understand if you are rapping.” John.

“Breathe first, Bob.” Bucky said, “So what happened now?”

“W-we- We touched.” Bob.

“Oh little Bob, You are a man now. I am so proud of you.” Alexie.

“That is not what he is talking about, old man!” Ava. Yelena directly went to check on her. “Are you okay? What did you see?”

“I am fine, why you all overthink?” Based on their reaction, they didn’t expect her answer.

༒︎

The team discussed the possibility of Bob being healed or if the Void already did vanish. Bob has never been so at peace even though they haven’t confirmed it yet. “We should still test it when he is already, Let’s give him another week of rest. Testing it would be stressful for all of us.” Bucky discussed which all of them agreed with.

In the other room, She was kept to be monitored for any symptoms of ‘contagious disease’ they said to her, but freed before the evening.

༒︎

At dawn, she heard her name being called by a calm, soothing voice, compelling her to follow it. Feeling lightheaded, she obeyed, wandering through the halls in her pajamas. The voice led her to a dungeon-like room, where only darkness awaited. “Who are you?” she asked, standing barefoot at the entrance, unafraid.

“I am... nothing. But come closer if you want to know better,” a no emotion voice replied.

Her mind felt blank as her body moved forward on its own, stepping into the darkness turning her into a shadow and consuming her entirely. John and Yelena witnessed it, having been drawn to the eerie, familiar sound—Void.

“Bob?” First thing she saw was him in an attic of a house where she was directed. Bob paused for a minute but not surprised anymore, he knew he’s not cured and the Void was still in him. “H-hi”

“Where are we?”

“My world haha, Welcome anyways, I haven’t prepared any warming gift for newbies here.” He joked while playing rubik's cube. Bob gave a brief explanation of what is happening and where they are.

༒︎

Outside the void, John and Yelena are arguing on who is going inside the void and who will stay. “I know I’ve been there infinite time, that’s why it's your turn. Are you afrai-”

“I am not!”

“You’ve been there like 2-3 times, what’s the big deal in saving our friend?!”

“Fine! Fine! I got into a room where he is touching himself, happy now?”

“Oh goshhh Walker, Every adult did that! Just ignore it. You must understand that, you even made your own baby!” Yelena.

“Still!” John.

Yelena left no choice but to enter the void while John waited outside for the others. As she stepped in, she was directed to her shame room- bathroom where she was lying drunk. “Not again.” but none of it was moving. A familiar presence she felt from her back going towards her “Lena tsk tsk…. I can’t let you intrude but only to watch.” Void himself.

༒︎

“You are supposed to have your own shame room actually, no idea why the Void decides to direct us to my shame room. I even have no episodes these days. He's so unpredictable.” Bob explained to her. Now she understands why thunderbolts are so possessive of him. Now they are just waiting for any doors to open to lead them to other rooms till they exit the void. Bob was already used to it as he knows what to do in every room they’ve been in. “Glad you don't feel heavy here.” Bob said

“Maybe I am used to episodes? Not so new to me.” She replied. Bob knows she is different, she does have a shame room, no episode in direct contact with him and doesn’t feel a burden in his void. “May I ask, what were you doing before you came here? You said you're working for Valentina, right?” Bob asked.

“Valentina, who’s that?” She asked.

༒︎

Meanwhile, Void made Yelena watch every room they are passing by through the mirror of her shame room. “What now?”

“Don’t be impatient, Lena. You are lucky I didn’t make you join the maze and just let you watch here. Also maybe you should know.” with a blink of an eye, the mirror went bigger and showed outside the void with two John. “I am improving… I can now let anyone go outside the void as an illusion.”

“Mel, yes, hello? Remember the intern you sent here, She went inside the void. Don’t let Valentina know about this-” Bucky made a quick call to Mel to advise her and to check any records they can have about her past. “Bucky, it’s 2am. What are you talking about? We have no intern sent there.”

“What did you say?” Bucky looked at Alexie with full of confusion.

༒︎

“It doesn't usually have this kind of count of rooms, It looks like Void is bringing up other traumas we’ve been, even to the smallest anxious times.” Bob explained, their hands were comfortably intertwined to each other without noticing- seems like used of it- or more on does in usual. “Are we just going to run and run?” She asked as she noticed that he wasn’t paying attention to the rooms and only running to escape it. “This is how we do this thing, just follow.” Bob's response.

“Aren’t you tired of it?”

“Of course, I do. But this is how I manage it”

“Running away?”

“.....”

“Bob…. this is not the answer. You should face it.” that made him stop when he’s about to open another door. Bob knew that would be a great help for this issue with Void but he was too weak to control and overcome it. “You don’t know him”

“I know you, I know him.” Echoing in the empty hospital hallway.

༒︎

Yelena was forced to watch John along with Ava to fight with Void John who was wearing a military uniform. “Fine! You proved yourself, You can now unleash the void version of ourselves, you can manipulate it not only inside the void. Can you stop the Void John?” Void actually enjoys kicking John and Ava’s ass since he’s still questioning why Bob cares over John when he is an asshole. “Fine” sighed and snapped which made void John stop and walk back to the void entry.

“You are no fun, Lena, tsk tsk. Let us just watch Bob again, shall we?”

༒︎

“I can’t recall this place. If I am going to face Void, I should know what room I go to.” Bob said while keeping her on his back. They’ve been wandering in the hallways and rooms of the hospital like it is infinite and no end. There were only a few staff but some screams could be heard from the end of the hallways.

After almost an hour running through the hallways and passing the rooms, they were able to find Bob in this shame room. They were trying to open the door, but Bob was peacefully standing in the center of the room. “Are you dancing alone?” She asked.

“I don't know how to dance, and I don’t even know this place.” He replies as he was trying to open the glassdoor. The other Bob inside the room, which they thought is the Void, continues to slow dance and reveal someone hugging with. “B-bob.. Why am I here?” It was her.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Void asked Yelena who was confused with what they were watching. “W-why? Who really she is?”

“Watch, just watch, Lena.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really know.” Bob cannot believe what they just saw. They were both slow dancing in hospital gowns. So peaceful, so quiet, yet, the affection is visible as how Bob handles her. It was love in an unexpected place. He kissed her forehead and placed his chin on top of her head while continuously slow dancing with no music on.

“You should go now, Bob.”

“No, I’ll be staying here, wth you”

“We have talked about this, Bob, Please…”

“But, I just can’t let go of the most beautiful thing that happened in this miserable life I have. This is.. like ending my life too.”

༒︎

“She….. She was supposed to be the Sentry Project and I was just a test subject.” Void started without leaving eyes in the mirror watching Bob and her. “She had this plan to escape from the facility after taking the serum but I need to go first, and there’s no assurance if she can really take it or not. They only know how her blood was.”

“Does it mean that all this time, what we had was an illusion from the void?” Yelena asked.

Void chuckled. “I just want all of you to meet her, but I enjoyed that too much I guess. Too bad, can’t keep her too much outside the void either.”

༒︎

“Bob?”

“Please don’t ask me questions, I really don't know. This is also exhausting for me.” He was on the edge of losing his shits when he felt a gentle cold touch on his face. As he opened his eyes, he saw her standing in front of him in the first room where they saw themselves. His hands on her waist, while her arms wrapped around his torso.

She looked into his eyes,“You should go now, Bob.” With that, his lost memory flashes on his mind, he now recalls her, the love of his life, the only person he considered as his other half, the woman who gave his life meaning, his everything. “No, no no- don’t say that. I’ll be staying here, wth you, my beautiful”

“We have talked about this, Bob, Please…”

“But, I just can’t let go the most beaut-” Without completing his sentence they were tossed to another room where he was laying down in a hospital bed, and she was busy getting medical tools that she needed to transfer her blood to him. “I know this, I know this- Please no! Don’t! Please!” He screamed out. He can now recall every minute of that day, on how they were supposed to escape but ended up transferring her blood to him to pass the inactivated Sentry serum.

“Please, Void! No! Not here on the rooftop.” He pleaded, but it was too late and everything was supposed to happen. The door opened and she was running to him to activate the Sentry Serum in his body. Gunshots are fired and her body catches it from her back.

“Bob…” She managed to take out the activator and injected it right to his veins. She looked at his eyes for the last time. “This ending was only meant for me, not for you. Go and fly. Look for the purpose, My Bob.”

Void Bob appeared with Yelena in the scene while Bob was quietly sobbing. Yelena immediately comforts Bob while Void Bob watches the body of her consumed by darkness.

“So long, my love.”

#thunderbolts #new avengers #bob reynolds #robert bob reynolds #sentry #robert reynolds #bob thunderbolts #ava starr #john walker #alexei shostakov #yelena belova #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu

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pyros-hollow · 1 day ago

Note

hi! it's me again. I had this idea of dad!joel going out with some else so his girl gets jealous and decides to get back at him. She brings some boy from her college to her house and starts making out with him when she knows joel is about to get home

(take your time with requests, im just here often cause i'm finally done with exams and i'm bored lol) -🌺

Ouhhhh this one is interesting I like the idea but I realized I went a different-ish direction when I was basically already done with it sigh

Naming dad!Joel's "lady friend" Sheryl, so sorry to any potential Sheryl's reading I guess :(

Right Back Atcha

Dad!Joel/F!Reader (Note: if this fic brings more hate anons, leave me alone please and thank you) ao3 WC:2.9k

18+

Summary: Dad decided it's time he got a girlfriend. You want 'revenge'.

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, Incest, Joel gets a new girlfriend, You're pissed, retaliation, major jealousy, making out, over the clothes stimulation (not between Joel/Reader), mentions of sex between Joel and his gf, revenge relationship, vaginal sex, coming inside, nipple play, daddy kink, age gap (obvi)

I DO NOT CONDONE THIS IN REAL LIFE THIS IS PURELY FICTION/FANTASY

Her name was Sheryl, and to your dad she might've been the best thing since sliced fucking bread.

And if she was like sliced bread then you were suddenly allergic to gluten.

In simpler words, you despised Sheryl. Dad called her his "lady friend" as if girlfriend wasn't obvious And you could tell that she wasn't exactly fond of you neither, despite how hard she tried to smile and laugh to your dad about how interesting she thought you were.

Joel and Sheryl had met around three months ago. Three months! Oh it made you seethe inside. They had met on one of Joel's contracting jobs. Sheryl's dear old dad had needed his back deck worked on, and while he was on the job he met the woman you would eventually recognize as the devil.

They were like two peas in a pod. It made you sick. You would walk into the living room some nights and see them cuddling, laughing, watching whatever home improvement channel one of them put on the TV. Just like you and dad used to. She would joke and tease Joel about those shows, saying how they could be like those designer/contractor couples on the TV. Ugh.

Some nights you could hear them fucking. She was definitely a screamer, sounding like a howler monkey you heard on the nature channel every time dad's cock fucked into her. Like it should be doing to you. As you drowned out that woman's moans, you could focus on dad grunting, groaning, his hips slapping against her, in your opinion, unimpressive ass. You hoped they were using protection. Sheryl wasn't that old and you didn't want her stuck in your life forever because of half siblings.

The sound of him made your jaw shake, it made you shake all over. You missed him. You missed Joel touching you, playing with your pussy, your tits, how he'd pinch at your nipples when he would have you ride him. Oh God it made you ache.

Tonight you were laying, staring at the ceiling as you heard them going at it again. Sheryl had been staying over more and more frequently. Joel must have pressed her face into the pillow or something, because you couldn't hear her damn yelling this time. But dad's grunting and groaning made you feel that familiar warmth between your legs.

God fucking damn it.

You flipped onto your tummy, grabbing a pillow and shoving it between your thighs. This would do for now. You whimpered, muffling your own moans in your mattress as you humped your pillow; thinking about how you could be the one getting fucked instead, how amazing it would feel after so long. It didn't take long for you to finish with a sharp gasp, your hips stuttering to a stop against the pillow as your poor clit throbbed. It missed her daddy.

You whined, rolling back onto your back as you pondered what you could possibly do to win back his love, his attention. And then you had it.

If you couldn't have him anymore, you could get someone else.

That's how you met Mark.

Mark was about to graduate with his bachelor's in business, and he was on the college's baseball team. Not to mention, he and Joel had similar eyes, so it wasn't that bad to look into them.

After around two weeks of dating, you realized this might actually be good for you. Mark was different, he was someone new. He wasn't your dad. Which... you weren't sure how to feel. Joel was the only man you had ever been with, you thought it would stay that way forever.

But Mark was so sweet. He never pressured you, would hold your hand and kiss you in public. All the things you wished you had with Joel but couldn't do them.

So when you finally brought Mark over for dinner, you could tell it upset Joel greatly. You could see the twitch in his jaw, how his nostrils flared slightly when you introduced them to each other.

As you sat at the small dining table in the kitchen, you noticed the she-devil wasn't in attendance this evening. Joel had fired up the grill tonight, made some ribeyes, he thought you would be bringing a friend over. Not some boy.

Dinner was awkward. Strangely quiet. It made you feel almost guilty.

"So... Max."

"Mark, sir."

"Whatever." Joel rolled his eyes. Who the hell was this punk? What was he doing with his baby girl? "What exactly is it that you're in school for?"

"I'm a business major, sir." Oh Mark. Poor, respectful Mark. That would be his downfall. Joel let out a subtle scoff.

"Really? And what are you gonna do with that?"

"Well, my dad owns that restaurant downtown. You know, Costello's? I want to turn it into a chain, I think there'd be lots of opportunity-"

"Dad, I think Mark and I are just gonna go hang out." You interjected before it got to be too long and boring of a conversation. You pushed away your plate, standing up and pulling Mark with you. Quickly going upstairs to your room.

Joel didn't like that one bit. But he knew he had to keep it cool for now. Play dumb. Let you do whatever act of rebellion this was.

So you and Mark were sat on your bed, the full size mattress holding the both of you comfortably. His lips were on yours, it felt weird kissing someone without facial hair, you noted. You sighed into his mouth, your hand instinctively going to his growing bulge and he whined.

"Shit, babe. You sure you've never had a boyfriend before?" Mark panted against your mouth. He let out a shaky little moan, his clothed cock humping against your palm. This was new, you've never seen someone so eager, someone not rushing to take control. You palmed at him some more, feeling the shape of him beyond his jeans. He felt smaller than dad, you had to stop comparing the two.

Just as Mark's whined were getting louder, his hips growing more eager to move, and as his lips smushed to yours uncoordinatedly; the door to your bedroom opened.

Fuck.

"Get. The hell. Out." Dad's voice rang out like a shot through the silence. And when Mark didn't immediately move, he was coming over, picking him up by the collar of his shirt and pulling this punk off of his baby girl.

"I- I am so sorry, Mr. Miller, I-"

"Enough. You are not coming back here, you are not seeing my daughter ever again, and if you do... I know a guy with a cement truck and someplace they'll never find you."

Well that was probably the most typical dad threat ever given. But it was clear Mark was scared off. Like a big dog and a little dog. Joel would always be the big dog.

Mark gave you a pitiful look for a moment; it was clear that he would not be texting you later, or ever again for that matter. And he rushed out of your room, the tent in his jeans not having fully died down, poor guy. Dad had told you, you weren't ready to start dating yet and look what happened. Once you and dad heard the front door close it was dead silent.

He just shook his head. He was so damn disappointed, he couldn't even let the words leave his mouth. Joel crossed his arms as a long, loud sigh escaped his nose.

"We need to talk." That's all he said before sitting down on the bed next to you. God, you were so embarrassed, so ashamed. Joel cleared his throat before he began. "So... we both, uh, we've both been doing our own thing haven't we?"

"Yeah... I guess so. I'm surprised Sheila or what's her name isn't here." You rolled your eyes. You knew her name pretty damn well by now.

"Her name is Sheryl, you know that ya brat." He gently elbowed you, but he wasn't looking yet. "Miss Sheryl and I decided to... part ways, I guess." Joel shook his head, mostly in disbelief.

"Y'all broke up?" You sat further up on the bed. Those two had been attached at the hip! What could have caused them to split so abruptly?

"We had some differences we couldn't work past." He finally looked at you, and it made your gaze soften because you realized dad was actually hurt. He hadn't officially dated anyone since your mother, and you realized just how silly and stupid this all was. Joel had just wanted to try again.

"Differences?"

"About you." Your eyes met and your gut twisted, it must have been bad. "She told me that she thought we were too close. That you should move out already with a dorm and roommates and what have you." His hand went to your knee, lightly resting there. "And I told her that you're all I've got, 'cause it's true. But then she made me choose- you or her."

"Well, I still live here so I assume it wasn't her." And that made dad laugh, the best he could when he was pouring his feelings out to you anyway.

"You're right. It wasn't." One of his hands went to cup your face gently, his thumb rubbing over your cheek.

"I only got with Mark to make you jealous too." You murmured, leaning into his touch.

"I figured. And it worked, you damn rascal." He leaned forward, kissing your forehead like he always did; before he pulled you into a hug. You both sat like that for a moment, before dad leaned over just so, pulling until you both were laying on the bed and you were wrapped tightly in his arms.

"You know, I don't think she was right for you anyways. She complained a lot when you weren't around."

"You complain a lot when I am around."

"Wow." You dragged it out, sounding so annoyed that he was so right. "You know, I think it's better if I'm the only girl in your world." "You know what? Me too, kiddo." Dad hummed before finally, after three long torturous months, he pressed his lips to yours. You sighed, instantly opening your mouth slightly to kiss him proper. Your tongues ran along each others, they definitely missed each other. A whine escaped into Joel's mouth and that made him tug on your bottom lip with his teeth before pushing you onto your back.

His rough hands pushed up your tank top, kisses traveling down your neck, your collarbone, to your tummy. He blew a little raspberry on the skin like he used to when you were little, and it made you squeal, scolding him. He wasn't sorry. Joel's lips made their way to the front of the denim shorts you were wearing. Kissing you through the fabric before moving back up. Tease.

He pushed your tank fully up and off, quickly undoing your bra with the practiced ease of a pro. Dad eased it off of you, chucking it behind him with a smile, before burying his face between your tits. Big hands coming up to cup them, thumbs and fingers tweaking your pretty nipples. Pinching, flicking, whatever he wanted.

Then the button to your shorts was popped open. The offending garment, including your panties, peeled off and thrown elsewhere. Finally. You missed this. You missed being desired by the one man you could depend on.

"Switch spots with me sweetpea." Dad hummed, patting your hip before he moved to sit up against your headboard. So you straddled his lap, your cheeks hot and your hands against his shoulder, expectant. Joel's hands went to pull his t-shirt up and off, dad's soft tummy on display. God, it was so handsome. Then his belt was unbuckled, jeans and boxers pushed down just enough that his half hard cock was exposed to you.

You knew the drill by now. You let spit dribble out of your mouth and onto your palm, your soft hand wrapping around the velvety skin of his cock. Working it up and down, his foreskin and precum bunching at the head on the upstroke. Spreading your spit up and down until it was slick enough to really move your hand faster. It took some work to get him hard lately, dad was getting older after all. Joel hissed at one particular stroke, before gently moving your hand away.

"C'mon honey, sit on it, I know you wanna." And you did want to. You moved, letting the tip notch at your pussy, slowly moving down until he was stretching your hole all over again. Like the very first time. "That's my girl. You missed your daddy, didn't you?"

"Yes daddy." You whined, his hands gripping your hips to ease you down at the pace he wanted.

"Y'ain't gonna mess around with stupid boys no more are ya?" He cooed, his poor, dumb, misguided little girl. He could never stay mad at you. You didn't know no better.

"No daddy, I swear." You shook your head vehemently; finally you were settled against the thick bush at the base of his cock. The salt and pepper hairs nuzzling your clit.

"I know you won't. Daddy raised you better'n that." Dad sighed, slowly helping you move up and down his cock. A gentle pace. He could very well punish you later, but for now... He wanted to really feel his girl.

Your head fell to his shoulder, and normally he would have scolded you. But this time he let you hide. Poor girl. You just missed him so damn much; it was hard not being close like this- suddenly stopping after doing it nearly every damn day. It must have been the worst for you, he knew it was difficult for him.

Now though, he was wrapped in the snug little pussy that belonged to the one girl he'd always have in his life. It made you both happy, why on earth did you ever stop?

Nobody could take this away from you both. It was just for y'all.

Dad's hips snapped up a bit harsher, setting a steady pace as he stretched you open. Joel looked down to where you were connected, seeing the creamy ring beginning to form at the base of his cock. It was gonna make the hair there tacky later, but he didn't give a damn. He groaned as he pushed himself up into you, just taking his time to love you.

You whined as you rocked up and down on his cock; how he helped you go up and down. Dad was always helping you out. Sex was no exception. You remember what it was like when he taught you how to ride him, how gentle and encouraging he was then. How gentle and encouraging he was now.

"Daddy..." You grabbed at his shoulders, nails digging into the tan skin. Your knees were shaking, you couldn't keep it up on top much longer.

"I know sweetie, I know." He cupped the back of your head, holding you close to him. "It's okay. Gonna be okay. Just gotta learn how to do it all over again, don't we?" He hummed, kissing the side of your face a couple times as he held you.

Joel kept fucking up into you, holding you while you whined and squealed, using the strength of his core to make this happen. You were slowly losing it, letting one of your hands drift to your poor clit. And this time he would allow you to do it, he owed you that much. Your fingers circled your slick little nub over and over again. Breath hitching, toes clenching, everything felt so right again. Like you could see color after living in black and white. It built, up, up, up, until you were dropped from the high, your orgasm making your walls clench his cock tightly; your jaw shaking with a shouted moan. Milking dad for all he was worth.

His hips snapped once, twice, three times before you felt his cum shoot out in ropes inside you. Burying himself as deep as he could before settling down. His head fell between your tits, kissing along the soft skin as he panted. God, he missed his girl.

Dad pulled out of you after a few more moments, but he still held you close as he rolled onto his side. His fingers stroking up and down your spine. Both of y'alls breathing had evened out by now. Even if it wasn't rough like either of you had expected, it was still wonderful to be back.

"It ain't late yet. We can still watch a movie or somethin'. Maybe I'll drive to the Redbox-"

"They went out of business, dad."

"Oh." He smushed his lips shut for a moment, trying to think. "Well we got some DVDs here, if my spoiled ass daughter would like to watch any of them." He squinted at you with one eye shut, nudging his head into your shoulder.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that." You mirrored his motions, rubbing your hand up and down his back. The only difference is that you knew it would definitely put him to sleep soon. "If you can stay up, old man." "Mhm. Whatever you say, kiddo."

It was nice that you got your dad back.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #joel miller x reader #dad!joel miller #dad!joel #cw incest

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angstfactory · 2 days ago

Text

It never occurred to Jesse that others could read him, and that his mood might rub off just as easily. Honestly, the man thought he was perfectly stoic and impassive; that nobody would be able to tell one way or another what was going on in that head up there. Apparently, however, that wasn't the case because the shift between the two of them was stark.

Dante's sudden dim of personality would have certainly clued him into it, if not. Jesse swallowed, trying not to let that guilt blossom and knowing it was a moot attempt as it only forced the cowboy to consider his actions of the night so far. He had done nothing but ruin the other man's time from the get-go, first with the parking stunt and now, the other cut off his fun at the knee so obviously because his own hype had failed to live up to the moment. Because he was too wrapped up in his own head and thoughts, concerned about looking stupid, of all things, in front of a group of people who quite literally could give a flying fuck tonight.

This movie itself, was all about throwing caution to the wind and being yourself, to hell what anyone else thought. To enjoy the moment. To give into base desires. And he called himself a fucking fan?

"No," Jesse cleared his throat, shaking his head and looking over at Dante and then down, as if in shame, "it's not you, man." Wasn't it obvious that he was the problem? "I'm just.." He cleared that fourth bottle and sat the empty aside, pushing curls out of his face as he took in a heavier breath. "I get uh, stuck in my head sometimes, that's all.. I've never been able to be like that." The male gestured vaguely, to where Dante had danced about not moments earlier with other guests. "Eddie would be disappointed, huh?" This joke came, head hanging as he looked over the other some, a faint smile of apology there but unsaid.

As much of an asshole as he knew he could be, this time he honestly hadn't intended to be. And the night had been a good one, until he'd let his thoughts kick into overdrive and dampen things.

Eddie definitely would have called him a pussy. Jesse shifted then, so he could lay out next to Dante, though propped up on an elbow. This didn't leave much room between them, actually, which hadn't exactly been intentional on his part, but something Jesse took advantage of in order to continue talking with Dante. There was a quiet need to erase away the damage he'd just done to this person; he wanted that light to return to his eyes.

"D'you know that Meat Loaf came out with the ultimate car sex song?" He asked, attention now strictly on Dante rather than the film. "Him n' Jim Steinman, they got a whole damn album about it, Bat Out of Hell. Easily the best thing ever created. Seein' them on stage was wild, man, n' they went all out, too. Even made out on stage n' shit," his mouth picked up at the corner. "Next thing you know, she's wantin' promises n' he's desperate, n' they both ruined their lives for a hot time in the back of a car. It was intense."

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Dante’s grin faded slowly, replaced by something tighter at the edges. Jesse’s eyes were on the fire again, not the screen, like his mind had dipped out. Dante took another swig of his beer, his tongue clicking against his teeth afterward like the taste had gone sour. Anxiety fluttered in his chest, small and sharp like a trapped moth. The energy between them had shifted, subtle but unmistakable, like a dropped stitch in a pattern you couldn’t quite fix. Maybe I read him wrong? He mused, trying to keep his expression neutral as his gaze dropped to his boots. Wouldn’t be the first time. Too much for the folks back home, too much for the folks here.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He leaned back, putting a little more space between them, stretching his legs out and letting the heel of his boot dig into the dirt. There was a beat of silence between them, the sound of the crowd singing echoing up around the truck bed.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Right,” he muttered, gaze flicking to the screen and then back to Jesse. “Guess it’s a little too much, huh?” His voice was still casual, a little quiet, but the brightness in it had dimmed, like a lightbulb on a fading circuit. The brunette rubbed his chest, sighing. He suddenly felt awkward and self-conscious. Something about it stung - not just Jesse’s detachment, but how familiar it felt. People pulling back, pulling away, once the fun got too weird. It reminded him of the way everything had changed back home, after he got into the accident. They sat there, the movie playing beyond them, and he sighed.

#dante & jesse #;; a bluejean serenade some kind of slick chrome american prince 🐎#anxiety tw

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cementcornfield · 7 months ago

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beat writers talking about ja'marr teasing joe in the locker room after the game 🥲

#well thank god i didn't skip the ad read this time!#these guys get to watch them interact all the time #and only deign to tell us about it in the middle of an ad read at the end of the podcast!!!#what are these priorities!#these interactions are what i need from the hard knocks this season #(crazy conspiracy theory: ja'marr DID get this outfit for joe because it does have ja'marr vibes)#(and he's teasing him openly in the locker room about it because they've made it into an inside joke <3)#(or ja'marr just did really like the fit and instead of complimenting he had to pull some pigtails because of course <3)#also lmao at joe's 'i cannot confirm'#joe burrow #ja'marr chase #joe'marr #thank you paul. i always liked you the second best of all the beat writers!

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xxplastic-cubexx · 6 months ago

Note

I LOVE your art first of all gahh!!

And i love the way you draw Charles like, did you just make this bald old man incredibly attractive????

thank you so much !! with that i always say I Draw What I See ... charles xavier already attractive nuff said tyvm i didnt do anythin extra.....

#snap chats #big bumper sticker that says I Love Bald Bitches. another equally large bumper sticker that says I Love Old Men #im so serious with charles tho like ..... there's been instances in the comics where he has hair and thats not .. thats not it #some people just look infinitely better bald and charles xavier is one of them #im gonna have to foam at the mouth if i think bout him in 97 again sorry i reminded myself of caps ive been lovingly given 😔#i do love my old men and With That the small differences between his older and younger self ..... girl i get it ... both of em..#cause like sometimes (read: most of the time) i only like an older ver of a chara but naw ..... LOWKEY .... nay... i must be silenced .....#@ all six of charles' exes I Get It ... yo if he gets one more. stop i just made myself laugh like a loser we're moving on from this joke #ANYWAY POINT IS any day where someone tells me they find the way i draw charles to be attractive is a day i win automatically #whatever else happens dont matter ....... my truth is being realized ...#ANYWAY THANK YOU AGAIN !!!!!! i do my best for the people 😌

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alygator77 · 4 months ago

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another wip from me. hehe. supermodel satoru.

warnings: mdni, smut, fluff, masturbation, obsession. (honestly, satoru feels kinda yandere af. he's fucking down bad for you.)

supermodel! satoru whose life is a whirlwind—flashing cameras, designer clothes, and breathless whispers of adoration. on the surface, he has it all: the perfect career, the perfect face, the perfect life. but perfection… has its price.

supermodel! satoru who, after a ten-hour photoshoot that left him feeling more mannequin than man, slumps into the cold embrace of his sleek penthouse. the city glimmers outside his floor-to-ceiling windows, vibrant and alive, but it feels distant, like a movie playing on mute. he’s surrounded by luxury but drowning in solitude.

supermodel! satoru who, running on three hours of sleep and bad coffee, barely notices when his fingers fumble over his phone, sending a text message to you—meant for his manager. tossing the phone aside with a sigh, he stretches out on the couch, exhaustion pulling at his limbs—unaware that this accidental message is about to flip his world upside down.

supermodel! satoru who, when your response comes through, doesn’t realize at first that he’s texted a stranger. his initial confusion shifts to mild annoyance, but that changes the moment he reads your sharp, unfiltered reply. intrigue replaces irritation, and before he knows it, he’s texting back, unable to resist the pull of you on the other end.

supermodel! satoru who keeps his identity a secret, finding it strange at first, but soon, it becomes refreshing. for once, he’s not the face on billboards or the name in glossy magazines. no—for the first time in forever, someone is talking to him—not his fame, not his face, just him.

supermodel! satoru who finds himself grinning like an idiot whenever his phone buzzes with your name. you tell him about your life—mundane, you call it, but to him, it’s captivating. days turn into weeks—texts in the middle of the night when he’s jet-lagged and bored in some foreign country. voice notes where you laugh at his terrible jokes.

supermodel! satoru who one day, finally reveals who he is, and with a mix of arrogance and curiosity, boldly asks for your photo—eager to see the face behind the name he’s grown so fond talking to.

c’mon now... I show my face to the world every day. least you could do is show me yours ;)

your reply pings through, accompanied by an attachment, and for a moment, his breath catches.

supermodel! satoru who has seen countless beautiful people, surrounded by them every day, but there’s something about you that has him hooked. perhaps it’s not just the way you look—it’s the way you’ve made him feel. for the first time in forever, he’s not just admired; he’s seen.

supermodel! satoru who ends up sprawled out on his couch later that night, your picture propped up on the coffee table in front of him as he grips his shaft. his shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, his sweatpants pushed down to his thighs as his cock strains in his hand—red, leaking and desperate for attention. all he can focus on is you.

supermodel! satoru whose glossy lips part as he pants, pumping his dick, his head tipping back while the phone’s glow casts shadows across his flushed skin. his penthouse is filled with the slick sound of his hand sliding over his length, mixing with his shuddering breaths.

“fuuuck… so fucking pretty…” he rasps, his hips bucking into his fist. his strokes grow faster, more desperate, as his body thrums with heat.

supermodel! satoru who murmurs your name like a prayer, thick with need, chasing his inevitable release. “nnngh… gonna—ahhh—gonna cum f’you,” he moans, breathy and broken. His voice cracks as his back arches off the couch.

supermodel! satoru whose strokes grow frantic, erratic, his abs flexing tight as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his stomach, painting his skin in sticky streaks of white. the release leaves him trembling, every drop wrung from his body as a low groan escapes his parted lips.

supermodel! satoru who exhales a quiet laugh, his chest heaving as a lazy smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. he trails his fingers through the mess, smearing it across his toned abs as his smirk deepens—amused and awed by how much you’ve made him cum.

supermodel! satoru who can’t focus during his photoshoot the next day, every click of the camera drowned out by thoughts of you. his mind lingers to the filthy fantasy of your body beneath his—your lips whispering his name, your legs wrapped around his waist.

the ache in his pants becomes unbearable, and he excuses himself, slipping away to the bathroom under the pretense of ‘fixing his hair.’

supermodel! satoru who locks the bathroom door behind him with trembling fingers, his breath hitching as he pulls up your photo again. his hands fumble with the buttons of his designer pants, desperate to release his aching erection.

supermodel! satoru who stares at your picture with half-lidded eyes, his thumb swiping over the swollen tip of his dick, spreading a slick bead of precum across the sensitive head. "fuck… you’ve got me so worked up," he whispers with a cocky smirk, and his free hand grips the edge of the sink, his cock twitching eagerly in his fist.

“pretty girl… god, I’d ruin you,” he shudders as he fucks his hand. with a sharp inhale, he reaches out to twist the handles of the porcelain sink. but honestly, the cascading water is a feeble attempt to drown his debauched sounds—sounds he knows he can’t hold back.

supermodel! satoru whose mind spirals into pure filth, his fantasies running wild as he pictures your body beneath his—writhing, trembling, utterly at his mercy. your hands would cling to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he holds your legs apart, spreading you wide as he fucks your tight little hole.

"bet you'd look so fucking good under me," he hisses through gritted teeth. “all spread out, legs shaking… pretty little mouth begging f’me.” his hand tightens around his cock as his hips jerk forward, “fuuuuck, you’d take me so well, wouldn’t ya? haaa—every fucking inch.”

supermodel! satoru who is teetering on the edge when a sharp knock cuts through the haze, echoing against the bathroom door.

“satoru? you’re needed back on set!” his manager calls, muffled but clear.

but his strokes turn frenzied, the interruption fueling the thrill—the sheer audacity of jerking off in the middle of a shoot. his moans mix with the rush of running water and the persistent pounding on the door.

“shit—fuck—fuck—” his voice cracks, his body seizes, and in that instant his cock erupts. he whimpers, milking his dick as his forehead falls forward against the mirror. as his thick hot seed spills on his hand, it streaks across the counter in messy, sticky arcs.

“satoru!” the knocking continues, louder this time, his manager’s voice growing sharper.

“i’m coming!” he yells back, and the irony of his words pulls a breathless laugh from his lips.

supermodel! satoru who stands there for a moment, panting, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. he’s a fucking hot mess—cheeks flushed, his hair a disarray, and his lips are swollen from biting down so damn hard, trying to keep quiet.

supermodel! satoru who tucks himself into his pants, buckling his belt with practiced ease as his smirk slides back into place. he splashes cold water on his face, tidies his hair, and by the time he steps out of the bathroom, he’s the typical picture of confidence—swaggering back to set with a cocky grin as though nothing happened.

but deep down, he knows he’s utterly, completely fucked.

why? because you’ve become his favorite addiction, his sweetest downfall. and it’s only a matter of time before he finally makes you his.

a full fic for this will be coming out! lmk if you wanna be tagged. edit: taglist closed

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joelsgoldrush · 9 months ago

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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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divinedomainn · 2 months ago

Text

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 1 ▷ || play next song?

summary : After another horny stream, you drop the bomb: fuck-a-fan fridays—seven weeks, seven fans, seven filthy videos. masks on, faces hidden, just you and one lucky subscriber tangled up on camera each week. All they have to do? strip down, get hard, and show you why it should be them. Auditions start now.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men

A/N : and so it starts!!! is everyone ready to see the submissions from your favorite horndogs? :) (also i hope you can tell whose who hehehe) i'm trying to keep the writing inclusive for every sort of female presenting person so let me know how i've done!

The next few weeks passed in a blur of lace, lube, and direct deposits that made your head spin. What had started as a desperate half-joke had morphed into a full-blown empire - your empire. The girl who once contemplated selling her underwear for gas money was now clearing rent, tuition, groceries, and still had enough left over to drop serious coin on clothes and silk bed sheets.

You’d gone to the next level. Your friends were of course benefitting from your suspiciously newfound wealth, you casually said you had found a better part-time job, never letting them know the truth when you decided to take them shopping. Not yet at least.

Private requests were your bread and butter. You weren’t just good anymore - you were a professional tease, a digital siren with a library of toys, outfits, and vocal tones that could bring grown men to their knees. They paid for everything; soft whispers, rough talk, slow stroking, filthy roleplays. Some just oddly wanted to hear your moans on loop. Others wanted personalized videos where you called them by username and told them exactly what you’d do if they ever had the balls to show up in person.

You were making big bank. Like “accidental tax bracket change” big. Like “should probably consult a financial advisor” big.

And the men?

Oh, the men were obsessed.

Especially the regulars. Their usernames lit up your screen night after night, tipping with reckless abandon, flooding the chat with unfiltered thirst. You didn’t know who they were in real life, yet, but their personalities bled through the screen in such vivid, chaotic little ways.

EmoWithaBoner was yearning. Desperate in a way that made your chest clench and your thighs twitch. His messages were usually soft, almost sweet - You deserve everything, You looked so beautiful tonight - until something cracked open inside him mid-message and he’d type something crazy like: I would lick your cunt until you beg me to stop. Now that had gotten a small “Oh.” out of you. He wanted to worship you and ruin you all at once.

SixEyesOnly was a fucking menace. Flirty, cocky, constantly sending emojis that were way too smug for someone probably watching with only one hand available. His tips were ridiculous, like, spend $300 just to watch you eat grapes in a bad wig slowly sort of ridiculous, and his messages read like he was trying to fluster you on purpose. You assumed it was some sort of control thing with him, throwing money at people and getting them to do it. No complaints from you.

TempleOfSin was smooth, a little poetic, a little filthy. He asked for long, descriptive videos where you described what you were wearing, how you’d touch him, how you'd taste. He liked to also order roleplay videos where you pretended to worship him like he was some sort of God. Sometimes he called you his loyal little follower. You didn’t ask questions.

daddyissuez was feral. No other word for it. His requests were blunt, primal, always toeing the line of what the platform allowed and your own, now lacking, self-control. He liked spit, degradation, and power games. His tipping was sporadic and a lot less compared to the others, though, it was enough to keep him in your attention.

OfficeAfterHours was different. Polite. Polished. His messages came like little business memos laced with innuendo. “You looked stunning tonight. That color suits you,” followed by a $200 tip telling you to buy more in the same color. Never crude, always composed. It made him stand out more, somehow. Like a man who didn’t need to beg. A man who expected what he wanted, and always got it.

And then there was KingOfRot.

Unpredictable. Crude. Arrogant. He dropped tips like they were nothing. $500 just because you looked at the camera in a way he said was like a ‘deer in the headlights’. Odd, but $500 was a good amount to keep your mouth shut. He called you “pet,” “whore,” “delicious little thing.” You should’ve blocked him. Instead, you kept reading his messages twice over with your jaw unhinged and in wonderment whether or not he actually said that. His energy was intense and you hated how hot that was.

Which brings us to tonight.

You were perched in your new silk sheets, ring light warm against your skin, wearing your most transparent slip where your nipples were clearly on display and a smug little smirk behind that now iconic mask of yours. You’d hyped this stream for days - teased it on your feed, hinted at it in DMs. The chat was already on fire and you hadn’t even said a word yet. Tonight was a big one.

EmoWithaBoner: god ur so fucking hot tonight SixEyesOnly: i logged in 15 minutes early and i still feel late :(( OfficeAfterHours: You’ve outdone yourself this evening. KingOfRot: Come on, get to the fucking point, girl.

You grinned, slow and lethal, dragging your fingers along your inner thigh and ignoring KingOfRot.

“Well,” you purred, “I figured since you’ve all been very generous lately… it’s time I give something back.”

SixEyesOnly: oh fuck You licked your lips, loving the short little power trip it gave you. “I’ve been thinking,” you said, voice sweet and dangerous. “Maybe it’s time to start a little… tradition.”

You paused for dramatic effect.

“Fuck-a-Fan Fridays.” You bit your lip. Boom. Chat detonation. SixEyesOnly had sent you $200 just for the phrase.

EmoWithaBoner: you’re joking SixEyesOnly: oh shit baby TempleOfSin: Perfect. KingOfRot: You say when and where, pet. daddyissuez: i’ll be first. fuck the line OfficeAfterHours: I trust you've thought this through..

You leaned in close. OfficeAfterHours was cute in the way he was concerned for you. “I mean, why stop at one, right?” You giggled, cheeks burning behind your mask as you kicked your feet a little bit out of the view of your webcam. “I was gonna keep it casual, but um… yeah. What if I made it a thing? Like, a series?”

Another pause. You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that still carried heat.

“One fan. Every Friday. For seven weeks.”

You crossed your bare legs over one another, your slip rising on your thighs as you did so. “Seven Fridays. Seven people. Seven chances to fuck the brains out of a very nervous, very willing woman who cannot believe she’s actually saying this live right now.”

You sat up again, brushing the slip back into place like your nipples weren’t clearly on display.

“I mean..obviously, we’ll keep it anonymous. Like, we’re not stupid here. Masks. No faces. Just hands. Bodies. And my camera.” The chat was still in full meltdown, comments stacking so fast the shitty platform could barely keep up. Your heart was pounding, your skin warm and tingling from the high of it all—of watching them fall apart just from your voice, your words, the soft shift of silk and skin. You hadn’t even done anything explicit yet, and they were on their knees.

God, it was addictive.

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft sigh, the movement pulling your slip just high enough to tease your hips. A final little gift before the curtain dropped.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” you said with a giggle, feigning innocence even as your gaze sparkled with something much dirtier. “You guys are gonna give me a heart attack.” SixEyesOnly: no no no don’t leave yettt!! :(( KingOfRot: You owe me for the buildup, woman. You tilted your head, lips curving into a sweet little smile as you leaned forward, giving them just one more generous view of your tits before the curtains closed.

“But before I go…” you said, voice slipping into something quieter, softer, like a secret you didn’t mean to share. “If you’re serious about Fuck-a-Fan Fridays… I want you to show me.”

The pause that followed had its own kind of weight. You watched the chat stall for half a second. The anticipation was thick enough to choke on.

“Send me a message,” you murmured, “with a picture. No face. Just your body, and cock, obviously.”

You let your fingers trail down your own torso, to your hips, your thighs, hinting at what you wanted to see. “Let me see what I’d be touching.. What I’ll be fucked braindead by.” EmoWithaBoner: fuck i’ll take a hundred SixEyesOnly: don’t lose your mind too much baby KingOfRot: It’ll be mine you dream about when you touch yourself. OfficeAfterHours: Submission will follow shortly. No face. Clean framing. High quality.

You had to laugh—giddy and a little breathless. You honestly didn’t think they’d go this feral.

“Think of it as an audition,” you said, tucking your knees to your chest, playing sweet again. “Show me what you’re offering. How you’d fit against me. In me.”

You smoothed your hand up your own thigh, lazily now, teasing.

“And just so you know,” you added with a little grin, “I’m only really looking at the ones who’ve tipped enough to keep my attention. You know who you are.”

Oh, they most definitely did.

The seven of them were already scrambling—photos incoming, tips rolling, blood leaving their brains. You didn’t need names. Their usernames were burned into your memory. Their obsessions with you were paying your bills.

“Goodnight, boys,” you whispered. “Impress me.” The second you ended the stream, you collapsed backward into your pillows with a dazed little laugh, limbs spread like you’d just run a marathon and won a gold medal in filth. The glow from your laptop cast a soft haze across your legs, the screen already lighting up with the chaos you’d left behind—tips still pouring in, messages stacking, your inbox begging for attention.

And the photos?

Oh, they were already flooding in, from people you didn’t want, but it was there regardless - upping your activity.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin resting in your palm as you clicked open the first one with a half-curious, half-unhinged smile.

No face, just like you asked. Neck down. The guy was standing in front of a mirror, one hand wrapped tight around his cock, the other lifting his hoodie to show off his chest. His abs were flexed. His cock hard enough to cast a shadow.

You blinked. Let out a slow breath.

“…Damn.”

Another one came in. Different guy, different vibe—tattoos on his hips, hand slick and stroking himself in a dimly lit bathroom, captioned: Fridays look good on me. Want to see how I look underneath you?

“Oh my god,” you whispered, laughing as you pulled your legs up behind you. “This is real. I’m really doing this.”

And you were. One fan. Every Friday. Seven weeks. Seven videos. Each one getting posted to your feed, available for your hundreds of subscribers to watch, rewatch, tip on, comment under, and probably break their dicks to.

It wasn’t just a hookup. It was content. Premium content.

Still riding the rush, you opened your messaging panel and started typing.

New Mass Message Sent to All Subscribers:

Hey babes— If you missed the stream tonight (rip to you), here’s your official invite.

Fuck-a-Fan Fridays is happening. Starting next week, I’ll be choosing seven of you to spend one very intimate night with me. Every Friday for the next seven weeks, I’ll be posting a new video. One fan. One full-length scene. Just me… and whoever impresses me the most.

How to audition:- Send me a photo. - Neck down only. No faces. Masks will be worn on camera, so full anonymity will be protected. But I need to see everything. Cock out. Hard. Your body. Your vibe. The way you'd look on camera—underneath me, on top of me, behind me, inside me.

Show off a little. Or a lot.

Make me want it. Let the auditions begin.

xoxo,

—Your girl

taglist : @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @syubseokie

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dc-gotham-instincts-wild · 3 months ago

Text

Headcanon that Jason just kidnaps his siblings instead of asking them to hang out sometimes.

Sometimes he does the normal abduction thing and other times he has his methods.

Dick: Jason sneaks into Dick’s apartment in Blüdhaven at 3 AM, throws him over his shoulder, and drags him to his motorcycle. Dick wakes up mid-ride, half-conscious, groggily mumbling, "Jay, what the hell—?"

- Jason just shushes him and tosses a burger into his lap. "Shut up and eat, Goldie. We're bonding." (Jason, allowing his big brother to ruffle his hair? Nooooo, absolutely not...)

Tim: Jason straight-up drugs him asleep him when Tim refuses to take a break. He wakes up in Jason’s apartment with a cup of coffee and a sandwich waiting for him, while Jason sits on the couch reading a book.

- “You looked dead on your feet, Replacement. Either you napped willingly or I made you. Guess which one you picked.” (Jason totally doesn't rake a hand over his lil bro's hair during this time)

Steph: Jason knows Steph is a wild card when it comes to hanging out, so he has to be a little sneakier with her. He'd show up at her place unannounced, pretending to just be casually passing by, and in one smooth motion, he'd grab her and yank his little sister into his car or bike before she even realizes what's happening. (He totally doesn't do this in time with hard school, noooo)

Damian: Jason scoops him up mid-battle and just walks away with him. Damian kicks, bites, and yells, "UNHAND ME, TODD!" but Jason holds him like an angry kitten.

- They end up at a rooftop picnic with Alfred’s homemade food. Damian eventually eats while grumbling about Jason's “barbaric methods” but secretly enjoys the attention. (Jason maaayybe ruffles his hair a lot.)

Cass: She just lets it happen. Jason shows up, gestures toward his bike, and Cass just hops on without a word. They go on long road trips in comfortable silence, getting ice cream at 2 AM and scaring off criminals for fun. (Jason totally doesn't take the time to help her with her speech-)

Duke: Duke gets fake-napped. Jason tells him, "Be outside in five minutes," and when Duke says no, Jason still shows up, grabs him, and hauls him into a car.

- Duke just sighs and texts Bruce: "Jason's 'kidnapping' me again. Back later." (Jason totally doesn't get the names of school bullies from him and uses them, noooooooo)

Bruce knows this happens. He just sighs and lets it happen because, honestly? It’s Jason’s way of showing love. And at least the kids are getting along.

Jason kidnaps his siblings because it's his way of saying, "You're important to me, and I'm gonna drag you into ridiculous situations whether you like it or not."

He also, however, does it to Bruce.

In fact, it might be one of his favorite things to do, just because Bruce is always so serious and “responsible.”

Jason thinks it’s hilarious to force Bruce to take a break. He just shows up at the Batcave, probably with some kind of overly complicated plan to "kidnap" Bruce without him realizing.

Step 1: Jason would distract Alfred with a "Oh, just a quick check-in, you know, 'cause it’s been a while.’"

Step 2: He would wait for Bruce to get fully immersed in some case files and then sneak up behind him, tap him on the shoulder, and when Bruce turns around, Jason’s already got him in a headlock, pulling him out of the chair like, "Get up, old man. We're going to a diner. No arguments."

Bruce would protest, of course. He'd probably try to get out of it with his usual grumpy “I’m too busy” routine. Jason might fake-sigh and act like he's just trying to help Bruce loosen up, reminding him, "I know you think you’re invincible, but you still need to eat, Batman."

And if Bruce insists on not going, Jason would just drag him anyway. He might even grab the Batmobile for a joyride (he's always wanted to), making Bruce sit shotgun while Jason drives like an absolute maniac (Jokes on both because Bruce taught him to drive-)

Bruce would probably be scowling the whole time, but Jason would know his dad is secretly enjoying it, even if he won't admit it.

Eventually, Bruce would probably give in and get his grumpy little “dad” lecture—“You’re so reckless, Jason—” but Jason would just smile and be like, "Whatever. You’re welcome.”

Jason totally doesn't like it when his dad just ruffles his hair at some point.

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ham1lton · 6 months ago

Text

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

now part of a trilogy!

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

──────────────────────

u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

──────────────────────

‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

──────────────────────

view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

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[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

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liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘trailblazer’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

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