#it looks awful upscaled like that

[kalivasquezart]

she scream

[tojicide]

SNIPER, SNIPER! ☆ LEON KENNEDY

summary. in leon’s line of work as a contract killer, weaknesses weren’t an option. luckily, he’d eliminated his… all except for one.

warnings. fem! reader, hitman! leon, ex! leon, re4! leon intended. discussion of murder, guns, bullets, etc. a loooot of blissful ignorance, porn with some plot, pet names, oral sex ( fem. receiving ), face sitting, missionary, unprotected p in v, creampie. wc. 5.3k.

note. i tend to fuck up a nice “ex who is a raging munch” fic or two saurrrr this is basically my staple now

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Leon isn’t sure why he’s here.

He hasn’t ever bid on a target as sought after as the one that he has now acquired. The target was only described as someone who simply ‘knows too much’ about something they shouldn’t. Vague, he thinks, especially because they remained nameless, genderless, and description-less otherwise. It was odd, for sure, but it was the highest contract that he had ever come by.

As a matter of fact, he’s positive that it’s the highest contract that anyone in his position has ever seen, let alone signed. He’s sure that he’s ruffled a bit of feathers by taking on the job, especially considering that he was still considered fresh meat among the other hitmen that he was distantly familiar with.

Leon preferred to stay out of the unusual politics that came with the underground world, and that meant taking on the jobs that no one deemed urgent enough to complete.

(Plenty of drug dealers, a few sketchy nightclub owners, and an awful bunch of politicians who he is 99% sure put the bounty on their own heads to avoid the scandal that was unearthed about each of them no less than two weeks after they were found with bullets in their heads. He preferred those hits. All men, all guilty of something.)

Nevertheless, he finds himself here, perched on the rooftop of an upscale bar with his sniper rifle angled over the ledge. His scope was perfectly aligned with the entrance of the night club across the street, his right eye narrowed while the other was completely shut.

He sighs, tapping onto his earpiece to communicate with his teammate that was a few buildings over. Alexander.

(Alexander was a tech-nut. He was responsible for ensuring that the coast was clear, that there weren’t an abundance of cops in the area, and that security cameras of the establishment were looped continually in order to ensure that no one could suspect anything more than someone being at the wrong place at the wrong time.)

“Reread the target description that was left for me,” Leon quietly commands.

“Aaand what’s the magic word?”

He heavily sighs. For a job like this, he figured that working alone would be the best option, but with the more he learned, the more experience he gained, the people he met—he was proven wrong. A team works more efficiently than a single person, even if the other half of his current team was a bit… annoying.

“Don’t piss me off,” he huffs, shaking his head as he closes one eye to look through the scope again.

Leon can practically hear Alexander’s grin on the other end of the line as he speaks. “Alright, man, jeez. Your g-string must be a bit too tight tonight, but that’s alright, I’m in no place to judge you.”

Before the blonde can even react to that unsettling quip, Alexander continues speaking, only this time, he does what Leon asks of him. “Bounty, bounty, bounty… where is the darn thing? Oh yes, here it is. Okay, it says that the target will be wearing a blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks tonight…. and that’s it.”

Leon hums, mulling over the very few words that were left for him by the person who had posted the contract in the first place. He’d never killed someone based on the description of an outfit alone,  but then again, he’s never gotten paid this much for sending a bullet through a random guy’s brain. He’ll take it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, turning off his ear piece to drown out the voice of the male on the other end.

It feels like hours pass by in which all he does is stare at the entrance, watching as each attendee leaves the establishment periodically. Each time he saw the color red, he’d perk up, only to find that they were wearing jeans, or they were wearing a white blazer, which only left him feeling more annoyed as time went on.

And then, the door opens. He can practically feel the air flee his lungs as he taps onto his earpiece out of instinct. A blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks.

“Ooh. Pretty. We guessed wrong, didn’t we?” Alexander speaks through the earpiece, which causes Leon to raise a brow.

“What’re you…” his voice trails. His blood runs cold, his palms begin to sweat, and his eyes blow wide. “Holy… fuck.”

“I know right? Not only is she a woman, but she’s miiiighty fine,” his teammate speaks, his voice oddly humorous for the given situation. A moment of silence passes, and Alexander continues to talk, but he can’t hear a damn word.

Leon freezes like a deer in headlights as he watches you emerge from the dim nightclub with a man’s arm slung around your shoulder, though that hardly taints how angelic you look tonight.

Your hair frames your face so beautifully, so soft and feminine. The tip of your nose was flushed given the crisp night air that you’ve just stepped into, your smile was wide and toothy as you walked beside a man that he didn’t recognize.

You’re gorgeous, is all he can manage to think right now. It’s the first time he’s seen you since the moment the two of you broke up six months ago, and you look even prettier than when he pictured you each night to fall asleep. He dreamt of you often, but his lovesick mind was no match for imagining the beauty that you possess.

Suddenly, Alexander’s voice pierced through his haze, bringing him back to the current scene. “Earth to Leon? I get it man, she’s pretty, very much so. I’d hit that too if she wasn’t gonna die in like… two secs.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses, his voice sounding just as venomous as he’d intended it to. “You aren’t going to lay a damn finger on her.”

“Woah, buddy. Big talk from the guy with a sniper aimed at her head.”

That is the moment in which everything clicks in the worst way imaginable.

It’s you. His target, the person who knows too much, the one who is supposed to die tonight—it’s you.

And then, he becomes acutely aware of the lines that are obstructing his view of you. His scope. The red dot in the center placed strategically on your temple, the bullet meant just for you waiting for a simple pull of a trigger.

Leon shudders, picking his head up. No. Absolutely not. Completing his task was not even a thought in his mind anymore, not if the target was you. His beautiful, sweet girl.

But he couldn’t leave the scene unscathed. It would raise suspicion, possibly even tie him to you in a way that you didn’t need. If he didn’t fulfill the obligation in some way, someone else would. He’d broken up with you to save you from all of this, and now, he’d unknowingly come here to make you familiar with his lifestyle in the worst way possible.

You were walking away, and it’s then that his trained eyes fall onto the man who has his arm draped over your shoulder in the way he used to all those months ago. His heart aches at the mere sight of you looking so happy in the company of another, but it gives him an idea.

Leon looks through the scope again, and within seconds, a loud gunshot rings through the air in the form of a thundering pop.

His jaw tenses as he hears screaming. They aren’t your screams though, because you’re not hit. They’re coming from the man you were with, because Leon has just lightly grazed his arm with a bullet.

He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t going to be killing anyone tonight, even if he desperately wanted to kick the living shit out of the man who is so close to you.

Well… was close to you. He isn’t anymore. Your date is writing on the ground all because of a flesh wound, and you’re standing above him with the most confused and concerned look on your face.

Leon can’t help but think that the man has no regard for you and your safety. For all this mystery man knows, more shots could be coming, and instead of trying to protect you, he’s rolling around on the concrete like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Such a man baby.

“What’re you waiting for? Holy fuck, uh… you still have the shot. Take the shot—”

Leon pulls the earpiece away, turning it off before he shoves it into his back pocket. He didn’t need to be scolded by anyone, let alone someone as useless as his teammate. He’d beat him bloody for how he had spoken about you if he weren’t already packing up his equipment to head over to your place.

He needs to check on you, first and foremost. He also needs to explain himself which was… going to be no easy feat, he supposes.

You don’t find your way home until about an hour later, keys jumbling about as you push it into the slot, twisting it with a tired hand.

To be shot at was not on your agenda for tonight, but being berated by your date for not reacting quick enough to help him evade a bullet you had no knowledge of was certainly not how you wanted to end your night either.

Annoyed, exhausted, and frustrated, you step into your apartment. When you begin to shrug off your coat, your body tenses. No. Fucking. Way.

“What the fuck?” you hiss, your voice rising in octave.

Leon stands from your couch, approaching you with his hands in the air, attempting to show you that he hadn’t come with malice. You knew he hadn't, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see him.

“Baby, it’s just me,” he says without thinking, the pet name slipping out before he could have a say in the matter.

“Yeah, I know it’s just you, that’s the problem!” you continue, hanging your coat up on the rack along with your purse. “Are you out of your damn mind? I—”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “I am out of my mind, and you must be out of yours for still keeping your spare key under your doormat. I told you to move it years ago.”

Your brows knit together. “You little— you know what? I’m not even going to entertain that. How about this? You leave, and we forget this happened, yeah?”

“Can’t do that,” he tells you with a shrug, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I need to talk to you.”

“Don’t do this, Leon, not tonight,” you huff, pinching your nose bridge. “I’m not in the mood, alright? I was—”

“Shot at?” he finishes your sentence. He immediately regrets it, pressing his lips into a line to keep himself from saying anything else.

Your demeanor falters at that. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes narrowing as you look at him from where he stands across the room. “How do you know that?”

He takes a moment to answer, his mouth opening without any words coming out. It spikes your frustration, so you speak again. “Damn it, Leon, how do you know that?”

Leon holds his hands up again, pleading his defense before he criminalizes himself entirely. “I was the one behind the gun, but it’s not what you think—”

Your jaw drops. “Not what I think? Not what I think? You tried to kill me!”

He shakes his head, his expression falling. “I didn’t, baby. I swear. Just let me explain, and—”

“You tried to shoot me in the damn neck!” you continue, your hand dramatically clasping into the side of your throat.

Leon closes his eyes for a moment, internally bracing himself for your outburst that he absolutely deserves. He opens them again, simply watching as you spew insults his way. He takes them without any hint of irritation.

“What the hell, Leon? Is that what you do now? You stalk your ex-girlfriend and try to kill her? Not only that, you missed. You missed! That’s almost fucking humorous, because how can you try to do something like that and then miss!”

Leon sighs, waiting for a moment to see if you try to continue, and when you don’t, he speaks instead. “I aimed for his arm, not your neck, or anywhere else that would endanger you—”

“Yeah, and you almost blew his arm off!” You’re more than aware that the statement was dramatic, but you don’t need to have any sense right now.

“It was a flesh wound, he’ll be just fine,” he tells you before he continues with what he was saying before. “And I wasn’t stalking you. Not knowingly, anyway. I would never hurt you. Not ever. Your date was just… collateral. I had no choice.”

He hopes that you don’t ask any more questions about that, because he won’t have any answers for you. It was for the better. All you knew was that his job wasn’t legal. It couldn’t have been, not with the copious amounts of money that rolled in while he hardly worked for half of the month.

The less you knew about what his line of work entailed, the safer you were. The further away you were from him, the safer you were. However, those last words now ring hollow.

“Look…” he whispers, taking a step towards you despite his brain screaming at him to leave. He couldn’t. Not when he was the only one who knew of your compromised position. “I know that much has changed between us. It’s my fault, I know it, but I can’t tell you anything more about my job. I just need you to—”

You need answers that you won’t be getting, and that sentiment alone makes you furious. When he gets too close, your hand moves to the leather harness that he has strapped around his broad chest, pulling a sharp-bladed knife from its sleeve. His eyes widen as you hold the blade up to him, his hands shooting up into the air yet again.

“You remember where I put my spare key, I remember where you keep your spare knife,” you taunt, the two of you standing so close now that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. “Guess we haven’t changed as much as you think.”

He huffs as the cool blade grazes his clothed chest, the metal so close that it nearly pierces his skin. Even then, you ensure that it doesn’t. It’s almost touching how you press such a sharp object to his heart of all places, he thinks.

Your situation is far more complicated than the both of you can handle right now. You have unresolved issues with each other, and that alone must be addressed before you can even begin to scratch the surface of the threats that now face the two of you.

“I still think you’re sexy when you’re mean to me,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side. “That hasn’t changed either.”

Was it the time for his flirtatious performance? Certainly not, but you were putting on a little performance of your own just the same.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

Leon shakes his head, his eyes narrowing just as yours did. “Disgusting? Oh, don’t romance me.”

“I’m not romancing you,” you huff with an eye roll. Your grip on the knife only tightens, but you have no real intention of using it. “I’m threatening you.”

He hardly finds you to be threatening. He’d liken you to an angry cat, but he wouldn’t dare voice that out loud. He’s letting you have your moment, truth be told. “Mm, even better.”

His calloused hand moves to shadow yours, slowly lowering the knife that begged to pierce his pale skin. You let him, which only gives him more incentive to pull it away from your grasp entirely.

He tucks the knife back into his sheath, moving to unbuckle the harness entirely. “Now, tell me. Who was that guy?”

A random guy you met on Tinder. “My future husband.”

You’re just trying to get under his skin now, and judging by the look on his face, it’s working. He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at you, taking note of that smug grin that stretches over your lips.

He really just wants to fuck it right off you, but he doesn’t make that known. Not yet, anyway.

“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head. “You gonna let him put a ring on that pretty finger of yours?”

No, you absolutely were not, but you’re enjoying this game. It’s what he deserves after scaring the shit out of you tonight. “Yeah, I am. Thinking about some baby names too, just for safekeeping.”

Leon doesn’t like the thought that you’ve just put in his head, not one bit. His hand finds your left one, bringing it up to his lips as he presses a kiss on your ring finger. “Huh. That’s what you want?”

You tilt your head, noticing how his lips linger on your hand for a moment too long. “You know what I don’t want? To be shot at.”

He hums, giving you a mocking frown. Of course he feels bad about that, but… you both know he hadn’t truly shot at you. Around you, yes, but not at you. His large hands find your waist, his fingers grasping onto the fabric of your shirt and slowly but surely, you find yourself being backed towards your couch.

“Answer my question,” he whispers, his voice now possessing a rasp that it didn’t have before.

You sigh, willingly sitting on your couch, even though you’re doing your best to front as though you’re totally disinterested. “Why should I?”

He shrugs, his lips tugging down as he tilts his head. You watch with blown eyes as he kneels in front of you, his palms gliding over your thighs.

“‘Cause if that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you.”

You tilt your head, eyeing him quite intently as his fingers move to the button of your slacks. You shouldn’t be turned on, but you absolutely are, and the damp fabric of your panties that he’s about to see conveys that pretty well.

“Give me what?” you ask, grinning slightly.

“A ring, a baby… both, neither,” he replies, his fingers hooking beneath your waistband. “Lift your hips for me.”

When you do just that, his eyes raise to find yours. He has a crazed look in his eye, one that you’re all too familiar with. “Whatever you want, baby, I’ll give it to you,” he whispers, leaning in until his soft lips just barely brush against yours.

Your eyes close, and you could have sworn that he was going to kiss you… but he doesn’t. When you open your eyes, you find him grinning. The same shit-eating grin that you love and hate to no avail.

“You just have to say the words,” he whispers against your lips.

You roll your eyes, your hand reaching out to rest on the back of his neck. He was already impossibly close, so all you truly did was hold him there. “I want to kiss you.”

Leon smiles, nodding his head in agreement. “Mm, like I said. Whatever my lady wants, she gets.”

His lips find yours in a searing kiss, his calloused hands smoothing over the soft, exposed skin of your thighs. Your lips move together in a gentle manner at first, as though you were allowing yourselves to get familiar all over again, but you were both quick to realize that gentleness was the last thing you needed.

Your breathing grows ragged as one of his hands cups the back of your head, tilting you just enough so that his tongue could easily slip into your mouth. The kiss was sloppier, messier, much more desperate. It was perfect, in your humble opinion.

He trails kisses down your cheek, jaw, neck… just about anywhere he could as he begins his gradual descent. His hands palm at your breasts through your shirt, and without hesitation, his hands grasp onto the fabric and yank it open. Buttons go flying about your living room, but Leon doesn’t seem to care with the way his face pressed into your cleavage.

One of his hands snaked behind you to undo the clasp of your bra, and the moment he saw a nipple, his mouth was already distracted once again.

“Leon, that was my favorite shirt!” you scold, glancing down at him.

He looks up at you with hazed eyes, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth before he releases it to reply to you. “Was it?” he asks, his reply lacking any care in the slightest.

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him, but your front doesn’t last long when his tongue swirls around your areola. He reaches into his back pocket, tossing his wallet beside you.

“Buy a new one, shit, buy anything you want,” he whispers against your skin, his hands grasping onto your waist. “Tits are so pretty, baby. I missed you.”

“Is that all you missed about me?” you ask, a huff of laughter leaving your lips while his trail down your stomach.

“Absolutely not, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric of your panties. He looks at you as he pulls them down your legs, and he presses his warm lips to your inner calves and thighs as he makes his way towards you again. “Missed everything about you.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s corny—”

“Sh,” he tells you, holding one finger up while he uses his other hand to slip one into your sopping entrance. Your walls clench around him, which only forces a chuckle to leave his mouth. “Let her talk for a bit, yeah?”

He hardly gives you a moment to reply before his head dips, his tongue curling up to stimulate your clit before he sucks on it entirely. He unabashedly moans into your cunt, introducing another finger into your entrance simultaneously.

Your head falls back, your hand delving into his hair to hold him impossibly closer to you, even though he seriously would get closer if he could.

“Sweetest pussy,” he murmurs into your heat, his voice rumbling against your wet cunt that he continued to eat like he would die if he didn’t. “Do somethin’ for me?”

You pick your head up to look down at him, nodding without question. He opens his eyes to look at you in return, pressing a kiss onto your mound before he turns around so that his back is now pressed against the front of your couch, still sitting on the ground.

“Sit on my face,” he suggests, tipping his head back onto the couch cushion.

He reaches for your hand to pull you forward, and you pivot on your knee, your front facing the back of the couch. He lays a light smack on your ass before he pulls you down the rest of the way to make you sit on his face.

Your hand reaches down, clutching onto his hair yet again while you cry out in genuine bliss. His tongue softens as he gives you long, deep licks into your pussy, wanting to taste every inch of you on his tongue.

And when your hips start to rock, he seems to be even happier. Much more incentivized too. He lulls his tongue out of his mouth, flattening it to let you ride his face as you so pleased. You made a mess of his chin, his mouth, his nose—he hardly cares.

(In fact, he doesn’t care. Not one bit. You might even have to pay him to care.)

“Y-You know,” you whine, grasping a bit firmer onto his hair while your hips continue to roll on his tongue, “I’m still mad at you.”

He nods his head, which only stimulates your cunt even more. “Mm, yeah?”

It felt so good. Everything about this was absolutely ecstasy, you can feel your eyes pricking with tears from how stimulated you’re growing.

“Yeah,” you choke out, resting your palms on the back of the couch to brace yourself. “I’m really fucking mad.”

Leon can’t help but grin, his hands brushing along the plush of your thighs. “I’m not too sure, sweetheart. Not with you riding my face like you love me ‘n all.”

“Shut… shut the hell up,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your movements begin to grow even more crazed the closer you get to your release. He was right, but that didn’t mean you had to admit that.

“Okay,” he complies, his eyes fluttering shut while he starts to greedily make out with your pussy, feeling the way you pulsate on his tongue. “Shuttin’ me up real nice with this pretty little pussy. Cum on my face too while you’re at it, pretty girl.”

Not nice enough, but you cry out anyway, your head falling while your legs tremble on either side of his head. “I… Leon, ‘m cumming,” you say through an airy moan.

His movements slow as yours do, his tongue eagerly reaping the benefits of its labor in the form of your sweet release. He lets out a content sigh, pressing a few sweet kisses on your inner thigh.

You slowly rise up from his face, and he turns around to face you again, licking his lips, not caring about the rest of your thin slick that coats his face. You chuckle, running your hand over his face to wipe it away.

“So…” he drawls, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re still mad at me? Tell me more.”

“Later,” you reply, hooking your finger into the loophole of his pants to pull him closer to you.

With a chuckle, Leon pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly on the floor of your living room. He gently nudges you until you’re laying back on your couch, his hands then moving to undo his belt.

“Ah, I see,” he teases, pushing his pants and boxers down in one motion. He kicks them away before he settles in between your parted legs, his hand pumping his cock.

You raise your eyes from his cock to his eyes, and you give him the most weary expression alive. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you say.

It’s been too long, you were certainly not used to his size anymore. Leon knew it just as well as you did, but he didn’t want to make you nervous by saying that.

His brows knit together as he leans down to kiss you, his fingers moving a bit lower to prod your entrance. “You flatter me,” he says against your lips, his head dipping a bit lower to kiss your neck. “But there’s no need to worry your pretty head, baby. It fit before and it fit just right, remember? I’ll take care of you just like I did then.”

You nod your head, one of your hands cupping the back of his head while the other rests on his strong shoulder. “Okay… yeah, okay.”

He nods too, moving one of his hands to meet the one that you have resting on his shoulder. He intertwines your fingers, pushing your hand back onto the couch while he uses his other one to slide his tip along your folds.

“I promise,” he whispers, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

He always has. Even after the events of tonight, you know that he always will.

“I love you,” you say without thinking. A flush rushes across your face, and you close your eyes in utter embarrassment. (Seriously? A confession of your undying love while he’s actively entering you? Time and place.) “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he whispers, pushing his cock further inside of you until he bottoms out. “Mm… I love you so much,” he replies without a care in the world. “And I’m not sorry about it.”

Your eyes soften at that, and a small chuckle leaves your lips. “Well… that’s good, isn’t it…?”

His eyebrows knit together, laughing softly at your awkward reply. “You’re such a dork, baby,” he whispers, dipping his head to plant a kiss on your lips while he rolls his hips into yours. “A pretty one, though.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he presses a kiss on your lips, and they stay shut, even when he opts to just rest his forehead on yours. “Your dork,” you say, a bit breathlessly with a smile on your face.

“Mhm,” he nods in agreement, a toothy smile stretching across his face. “My dork.”

Such a lovely interaction that you nearly forgot that he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow, because the moment he falls silent, your eyes widen. “Oh, God…”

He smiles, kissing your cheek while he continues to thrust inside of you, his cock being swallowed whole by your pussy in a way that made him feel like he was finally home.

“See?” he whispers in your ear, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re taking me so well, pretty. So well.”

That makes you chuckle, but your laugh doesn’t last for long when the head of his cock rams into you even harder. Your hand smooths out along the expanse of his back, dragging your nails back up.

“You’re crazy,” you gasp out.

Leon smiles. “Crazy about you, sure.”

You laugh through an airy moan, tilting your head to the side as your eyes flutter shut. “Sooo corny,” you whisper.

He shakes his head with his same toothy grin, using his free hand to tilt your chin towards him again. His thumb brushes along your bottom lip before he kisses you, and it is just about the sweetest kiss that you could have ever asked for.

“You love it,” he murmurs in reply, a bit breathless as an overwhelming heat pools in his lower stomach.

You shake your head. “I love you.”

Leon clicks his tongue at that, giving your hand a squeeze. “And I’m the corny one?”

That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh. He loves hearing you like this, so happy yet so utterly ruined by the way he feels inside of you. He knows that the feeling is mutual, which only amplifies how much he’s enjoying this. Having you again.

He softly moans in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Pussy was made for me,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “You were made for me.”

After a few more strokes, he truly begins to lose himself. His cock twitches inside of you, and he dips his head into your shoulder. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” he rasps.

He pulls back, but you only pull him closer. It’s been so long, he hadn’t truly thought that you’d be okay with that. But here you were, his favorite girl. Always surprising him. “I love you, sweet girl.”

You nod your head, wrapping your free arm around his neck while the other gives his hand another squeeze. “I love you more.”

He grunts when your walls clench around his length, his lips pressing a longing kiss to your shoulder. “Cum with me, baby, c’mon. I need it, honey, please.”

You’re in no position to deny him or yourself. Your body trembles beneath him, a gorgeous moan ripping through the air while he buries himself deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his cum while you find your own release on his cock.

The two of you lay there for a moment, out of breath and entirely engulfed by one another. He slowly pulls out of you, pressing a few chaste kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, until he eventually kisses your lips.

When he pulls away, you smile up at him. You chase his lips once more, giving him a tender kiss before you lay your head back down.

“Now, as for why I’m still mad at you…”

note. yeahhh i need him bad in a way that’s concerning to feminism. anywhoooo interact if you enjoyed i rly like writing for him :D thank you so much for reading!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[lacroixqueen]

i'm so chill but you make me jealous jealous deadpool x fem!reader, 18+

Summary: deadpool sees you on a date with another guy and loses his shit lol

Pairing: jealous deadpool x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings/Tags: jealousy, possessive, angst, brat, noncon, dubcon

You were trying to figure out the fastest way to get out of this dumpster fire of a date. This is what you get for putting yourself out there, by the fervent advice of both your mother and entire social circle. So you went ahead and downloaded a dating app out of sheer boredom but also a tiny glimmer of hope. After quite a number of left swipes and a small handful of rights, you somehow wound up across the dinner table with… er, you forgot his name already. 

But you knew he worked in finance. Or was it accounting? Anyways, he was currently explaining the intricacies of the stock market to you, and the appetizer hasn’t even come out yet. And you realized that you couldn’t care any less. 

“I.. have to go to the bathroom,” you said, standing up quickly and pushing in your chair. Your date almost didn’t seem to notice, giving you a half-hearted acknowledgement and then continuing to drabble on to himself about cryptocurrency. 

Without another word, you darted to the nearest exit of the restaurant, finding yourself on the freshly rained-on sidewalk. You always loved the smell of the concrete after it had just rained. 

Your heels made a satisfying click-clack sound as you briskly maneuvered your way down the street. You opened up your texts to see if you missed anything during the god-awful date, and lo and behold, was a message from none other than Wade.

“Love the dress,” it read. 

You glanced behind you, then side to side, and once you turned back around, there he was, leaning against the side of the cornerstore. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, barely turning towards him before directing your attention back to your phone and continuing to walk past him. 

“Ohhhh, so it’s ice cold today,” he commented, following right behind you. “I love that flavor.”

“What do you want,” you said while texting a friend about how disastrously the date went. “I am just going home.”

“Well, I was just walking by when I caught a glimpse of you through the window of that Italian restaurant back there,” the assassin replied. “Speaking of which, what was on the menu? I mean that place looked upscale! Like they probably sprinkle gold dust on their pasta instead of parmesan.”

It was an Olive Garden.

“To be blunt, I honestly forgot,” you responded. “I didn’t even eat anything.”

“Well, why did you leave so early?” he pried, this obviously piquing his attention now.

“I-I felt sick,” you lied, your intonation increasing as quickly as your apprehension. “Can we just change the subject, please?”

“Oh ho ho,” Deadpool chuckled, as if he struck gold. “That bad? I mean, I didn’t get a great look at the guy, but from what I saw, he wasn’t terrible-looking. Also, he wore a fleece vest. I mean, that’s just the height of fashion, you really can’t get any better than that.”

“Are you having fun?” you said, rolling your eyes as he continued to mock your absolutely colossal defeat of an evening. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Deadpool laughed. “The other point of contention is why the hell you decided to pull out this absolute banger of a dress for your first date with Mr. Finance Bro there and not ours?”

“That was not a date,” you enunciated, pressing your finger into Wade’s chest. “That was a drunken one night stand that will never happen again and that you even promised to never bring up. It was stupid and nonsensical and I can’t believe it even happened in the first place.”

“Oh come on, Y/N, you’re going to break my heart,” he whined, clasping his hands together like a needy puppy. “I, for one, thought that night was very special. I mean, you even told me that you could see yourself fall-”

Before he could say another word, you grabbed him by the hand and led him into a dark alleyway so that innocent bystanders wouldn’t hear you scream.

“Stop! Bringing that up!” you exclaimed. 

Deadpool was shocked his casual mention of the event elicited such a strong emotion from you. “Okay, okay, jeez.. calm down.”

You sighed, letting him go and turning your back to him. 

But he didn’t let you. Not even for a second. Before you could even react, he grabbed you by the neck and slammed you into the wall. 

You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching up to clasp over his while his grip only tightened over your carotid. 

“Besides, you know that I only followed you here because I wanted to see more of you in this ridiculously skimpy dress..” his voice darkened as he continued to choke you like a helpless animal. “I mean, look at you. That thing practically clings onto you like skin! If you weren’t such a tightass I would have ripped it off of you by now..”

He unsheathed his pocket knife and ran it across your lacy scarlet choker, over the thin straps of your slip dress, and onto your chest. He traced the outline of your cleavage with the dull edge, and then slowly slid it down over your taut stomach. 

You were trying to gulp up air for just one breath, but his hold was unrelenting. 

“I mean a red mini dress, are you fucking kidding me?” he snarled, his blade gently brushing against the garter belt on your right thigh. “Wearing my favorite color? With some other guy? This has got to be orchestrated at this point, Y/N.”

“Wade.. please..” you begged, lips beginning to quiver. Regardless of how much he joked around with you, he scared you when he was angry. 

He finally released you, allowing you to cough and gasp for your first breath. 

“But you know of course I wouldn’t kill you, I mean who do you think I am, a psychopath?” his tone immediately brightened up the moment he saw how much you feared him. “I just like watching you not being able to breathe is all. It’s so cute.”

 After you finally caught your breath, you stared daggers down at the vigilante who stood before you. 

“Listen, Wade,” you said. “I understand you are not exactly pleased with the current state of affairs. But this isn’t entirely up to me. And I’ve told you this a million different times.’

The assassin let out a dramatic, almost cinematic sigh. “Yes, I know, Your mother wants you to date ‘someone sensible with a stable career and not a psycho killer’. Which is perfectly understandable! I get it. I mean, I would probably think the same thing if I lived in the suburbs and made tuna casserole in my spare time.”

“Wade..” you shook your head and rolled your eyes. “You know it’s not that simple.” You walked up to him and gently lifted up his mask to reveal only his lips. 

He didn’t hesitate to grab you by the waist and pull you so close that your body was pressed up against his. 

You stood up on your tiptoes in your heels, stabilizing yourself by holding onto his broad shoulders. You weren’t exactly sure what you were doing, but you knew something within you just wanted to kiss him. But you also didn’t know if this was the right idea. 

The plump part of your lip gently brushed against his. The smell of your watermelon lip gloss was driving him crazy. He started to breathe heavily, and if another second passed where you weren’t kissing him he would say fuck it and just do it himself. 

You felt his hot breath in your mouth, and you felt your arms twist around him like they knew exactly where to rest themselves. Like they have done this before. 

“I’m so stupid for this,” you sighed, as you felt his lips beginning to close over yours. 

He smiled smugly into the kiss, quite pleased with himself over the hard fought victory. Without another moment of hesitation, he grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you up without much effort at all. He walked over to the wall, pressing your back softly against it. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist automatically, kissing him like you would die if you stopped. You felt his tongue wrap desperately around yours. He was aggressive, hungry even. He wanted you all to himself, not some fucker in a fleece vest or anyone else for that matter. 

You knew you would regret your decision in the morning. And that no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you would come running back to him. Every single time. 

[nahoney22]

Hi!! Congratulations on 4,500 followers, you deserve it and SO MUCH MORE!! If you’re interested and comfortable of course, can I request from the fluff prompts “I like your eyes” and from the NFSW prompts “I wanna make love to you” and “you can be a little rougher” with Echo please? I love him and I’m so happy he made an appearance today, he deserves the sweetest and sensual things, thank you!!♥️✨

Moonlight***

🫧 Pairing: Echo X Gender Neutral Reader

word count: 1.6k

prompts:

“I like your eyes.”

“I want to make love to you.”

“You can be a little rougher.”

Summary: The flirtatious gazes and gestures finally leads to something more; but why is Echo holding back?

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, Explicit Sexual Content and Language, Sex, Multiple Positions, Nervous Echo, Reassuring Reader, Dirty Talk, Praising, Light Hair Pulling, Light Rough Sex, Aftercare, Creampie, Cuddling, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Spoiler Free. NSFW under the cut.

Authors note: Cheeky asking for 3 prompts when I said you’re only allowed 2… buuuuut I’m feeling generous 😌🩶 and you didn’t specify pronouns so I defaulted to GN so I hope that’s okay?🩶

He stands before you, his breath dancing with yours as you both find refuge in a secluded corner, shielded from the prying eyes of the others. "You look so good tonight," Echo murmurs softly, his hand gently resting on your waist, pulling you closer. "It almost feels a shame to undress you."

A flush rises to your cheeks at his compliment, and you bite your lip, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. "Perhaps... but I sense this is something you've desired for quite some time, Sir," you whisper huskily, before claiming his lips with your own, feeling a rush of excitement as he presses you against the wall.

After the consistent exchange of flirtatious glances and the occasional suggestive remarks after months, the tension between you and Echo finally reached its boiling point. Unable to resist any longer, you whispered in his ear for him to follow you after the batch decided to have celebratory drinks at a rather upscale bar.

As you both slipped away, your hands couldn’t stay off each other. "I got us a room… do you want to do this?" you asked, your words muffled by the heat of his breath against your lips, followed by a gasp as he trailed kisses from your jaw down to your neck.

"Absolutely," he replied, his smirk obvious against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Just lead the way."

Taking his hand and ensuring the others didn't see (not that it was any of their business anyway), you led him up to the room, a mixture of excitement and a touch of anxiety coursing through you as you entered. You were both really doing this.

When the door hissed closed behind you both, you looked at each other, the realization that you were finally alone together hitting you.

Silently, he unclipped all of his armor pieces and set them aside, you doing the same with your gear, but also slipping off your shirt. Echo gazed at you, nothing but awe in his eyes.

You chuckled at his reaction and pointed to your face. "My eyes are up here, handsome."

"Well, that’s good to know because…” he smirked as he approached, a soft hand cupping your cheek as his scomp rested on your hip, “…I like your eyes."

He pulls you closer, both consumed by another fiery kiss until you tumble onto the bed with him falling on top of you, his hand exploring your chest, touching you in all the places you've fantasized about.

Shedding the remainder of your clothes and Echo's, he sits between your legs, admiring you for a moment. "I feel so lucky right now."

"As do I," you grin, your lips swollen and eyes filled with desire as you take in his form. However, when you briefly glance at his cybernetics, you notice him shift uncomfortably. He doesn't say anything, instead chuckling and focusing on his hand's work. Slipping between your legs, you gasp his name as he expertly caresses your sex with precision and tenderness.

"Mmm, do you like that, darling?" he whispers in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "Do you enjoy it when I touch you there?"

"Y-yes, oh yes, Echo," you moan, your skin ablaze with desire as he swiftly brings you to climax, his words of praise and encouragement sending you soaring to cloud nine.

Your gaze drifts to his throbbing cock beside you, and you smirk as you reach out, taking it in your hand. His reaction is immediate—a gasp followed by a deep groan. "Such a beautiful cock," you purr, stroking along its length as his movements between your legs intensify.

Desiring to maintain eye contact as you pleasure him, you do struggle to keep your gaze fixed on him. Your eyelids grow heavy as the impending orgasm coils tightly within your core, causing your back to arch in response to his touch. He's biting his lip, gasping, his breaths deep and heavy as his hips grind into your soft palm.

"I want to make love to you," he breathes, and you eagerly comply with his request, releasing his cock and pulling his lips back down to yours, his member pressing against your stomach as his tongue eagerly explores your mouth.

"Then love me, Echo," you pant, your voice filled with longing. "Love me."

He groans in response, taking hold of his cock as he positions himself at your entrance, teasing you with the gentle rub of his tip.

He locks eyes with you as he slowly sheathes into you, filling you gloriously. "Fuck, yes—just… just like that," you moan, sitting up on your elbows, watching as his tip disappears inside you.

As you lay back on the bed, Echo places his hand on your thigh, spreading your legs an inch wider as he begins to rut inside you, his movements slow and tender. "This is all for you, darling… all for you," he whispers.

Your eyes flutter closed, savouring the sensation of his stiff cock pushing slow and deep inside you, your body tightening around his girth. But you crave more. You want him to love you passionately, yet at this moment, he's being too delicate.

"Faster, Echo, fuck me faster, baby," you moan, feeling him pick up the pace. But as you open your eyes, you see him deep in concentration.

"You can be a little rougher," you suggest, prompting him to still his movements, his cock remaining warm inside you.

Raising a brow at his concern, you reassure him, "You won't hurt me. I trust you. You can fuck me however you want."

His eyes flash with understanding, and suddenly, both of your legs are draped over one of his shoulders as he bends you almost in half, before he starts slamming down into you with increasing force, eliciting moans that scratch at your throat as he becomes more demanding.

Your hands grip at his shoulders, gasping as pleasure floods your senses, the sounds of his balls slapping against your skin reverberating around the room. "Is this rough enough for you, darling? Do you like it nice and hard?" he taunts, delivering a complete switch-up, bordering on rough yet remaining aware that he will be gentle if you ask him to be.

"Yes! Stars, yes!" you cry out in ecstasy, your legs aching from the intense position, but the pleasure is undeniably worth it.

"So perfect, feel so good around my cock. Can’t believe I waited so long to fuck you," he murmurs, his hand gripping your thigh tightly, his scomp ensuring your legs stay positioned over his shoulders. After another minute of him fucking you so good, he releases you, panting before flipping you onto your stomach.

Your face is buried in the duvet, hands gripping tight as he positions himself at your entrance again before sliding in. "O-oh, Echo!"

"That’s it, my beauty," he whispers, leaning over you to kiss between your shoulder blades. "Is this okay?"

It's more than okay. He's more than okay.

"Yes, don’t stop—don’t stop until you cum inside me, Echo," you beg, earning a sensual chuckle in return as he thrusts into you, his scomp resting on the base of your back and the other tangling in your hair, tassels of hair scrunching between his fingers as he delivers back shots like you’ve never experienced before.

With a steady pace and sharp, precise thrusts, your eyes sting from the intensity of him stretching you open and lightly tugging at your hair. "M-More."

He shifts from being on both knees to kneeling on just one, finding a better rhythm as he continues to plow into you, releasing your hair and placing his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back into him so you can meet his thrusts as he pounds you into the bed.

Stars blur your vision once again, your moans muffled by the duvet as he takes you from behind. You can feel your orgasm building again, and by his ragged breaths, you know he is too.

You're moved again, this time onto your side as he slides in behind you, keeping your leg raised in the air as his arms wrap around you, sliding into your slick hole effortlessly. Your gazes lock as he cups your jaw with his hand. "Are you close, darling? I'm—fuck—I'm not going to last much longer."

You nod feverishly, biting your lip as sweat glistens on your body. "Yes, yes, yes, please cum in me, Echo. I need you."

"I've got you," he murmurs, leaning in to tenderly kiss you, his thrusts becoming labored. "I love you so much."

Your arousal peaks at his words, and you whimper your reply into his mouth as you feel his seed fill you up and drain out of you. "I love you too, Echo."

Panting, you reach your climax, your body trembling, but he holds you close, murmuring softly in your ear. "That's it... you did so well." He kisses the side of your head as he slips out of you, the sensation lewd but a wave of tiredness washing over you.

When Echo returns from the refresher after saying he was going to get something to freshen you up, he pauses, his gaze lingering on you as you lie in bed, bathed in moonlight filtering through the blinds, casting shadows over your body.

Sensing his presence, your eyes flutter open, and you warmly smile at him. "See something you like?"

"Absolutely," he chuckles, stepping closer and handing you a cloth and towel. After you freshen up, you curl up under the duvet, Echo slipping in beside you. You nestle into his embrace, the silence between you comfortable.

But as you wince while shifting, he immediately panics. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, sweetie," you reassure him softly, kissing his cheek. "I'm just a bit tender. It's been a while," you admit sheepishly.

"Well… if you're sure," he says softly, visibly relaxing.

"I'm sure. I loved tonight. Thank you for being careful with me," you smile, and Echo can't help but plant a kiss on your hair, holding you close until the two of you fall asleep after a perfect night, at long last.

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog g @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @lulalovez @thiswitchloves9904

[ricciardo133]

Miami 2023

maxiel, Max in a bikini, light frotting

-

Max walks from the hotel hallway into the dark suite. He flips on the lights to see an inexplicable hot tub. There, just a few yards from the California king in the upscale room, is a marble jacuzzi.

It seems elegant but out of place, plopped in the otherwise normal room like someone was drunkenly designing in The Sims. The entire hotel is quite elegant, but Max wasn't expecting his solo suite to be this fancy.

He looks over his key card's paper pouch while dislodging his phone from his jean pockets. After confirming with his team that, no it was not a mistake and yes this was the only room the hotel had left, he hangs up and stares at the jacuzzi like he would a strange wild animal. He then calls Daniel.

"Mate, do you have a hot tub in your room?"

"What? Like the bathtub with jets?" Daniel asks back, his mirthful tone intrigued.

"No, like a fucking pool hot tub by the bed."

"Holy shit. You got a honeymoon suite? Complete with rose petals and champagne?"

"Sadly just coffee packets and little soaps." Daniel laughs that charming honk that always makes Max smile reflexively.

"I'm sure they can bring some in for ya. Aw, you're a lucky man, Verstappen. Sounds divine. Far cry from our little shared teammate suites back in the day, right?"

Max's smile falls. He bites his lip, thinking of the gentle touches, the hushed friction from back then. Furtive handjobs in darkened rooms, twisted sheets and nervous assurances it was only out of convenience. Daniel's lips around Max's length, then switching spots and swearing that whatever happened in that pocket of time didn't mean anything after. Always 'just for now' and nothing more. Just for now, never, despite Max's silent yearning, bleeding out from the hotel rooms' private universes to something more.

"Hotels are more boring without a roommate," Max says. They haven't done it in so long, but now that Daniel's back with the team? Max snuffs the thought. "Well, it's weird but fine. We won't be at the hotel much anyway."

"Hey, well, enjoy it while you can. A little pre-race soak sounds hella choice."

"I don't have a bathing suit."

"Max, it's in your room. You can use it naked."

Max flushes. "I guess."

"I can bring you a suit, if you reallly want? I'm actually out on the town right now."

"Uh, sure. And one for you. You can use it, too."

"I always pack one, Maxy. Don't have to get ready if you stay ready. What kind you want? Trunks? Speedo?"

Max laughs. "Surprise me," he says. He glances at the tub, picturing Daniel's lean frame in there with him, legs brushing like ice baths back then or past soft contact in hotel showers, knees on wet tub floors. He shivers. "Whatever you want. You know...just for now," he adds, as if the underlining, wordless current of want would somehow be beamed telepathically from iPhone to iPhone.

Daniel doesn't say anything for a moment. "Max, I..." He takes a sharp breath. "Do you remember Spa 2018? When that chick threw a bra on the fan stage?"

Max smiles but then freezes when he remembers getting back to their shared suite that night. That Daniel kept it, cheeks as red as the laced bralette as he handed it to Max to try on, both of them still slick with sweat after qualifying, thighs slipping against one another, Danie's damp hands on Max's cupped breasts.

"Yes, I remember."

"Just for now, right?" Daniel asks, in that soft tone he hardly uses with anyone else.

"Just for now."

"Okay, I'll bring two options."

He hangs up. Max stares at the cold marble and feels heat well in his belly. He lets a nervy breath go and unpacks just to do something to get his mind off the defrosting longing.

He still feels lost in snippets of horny memories as someone raps a little staccato melody on the door. Max darts over, opens it, and resists unspooling immediately.

"Damn," Daniel says as he eyes the hot tub. Max watches his friend stroll into the suite as he looks over the room. He's still in the team kit from some media event he must have been at downtown. Max feels undone seeing him in that shade of blue again. "A nice touch. Floridian elegance," Daniel says.

"I should start the water."

"I'll do it. Here," Daniel says, tossing a bunched up shopping bag into Max's arms. "Whichever you want, okay?"

Max looks into Daniel's big brown eyes and nods. His mind is a cat pawing Daniel's words like a ball of yarn as he slips into the bathroom to change.

The first thing he pulls out is a classic pair of swim trunks covered in little palm trees. He sets them aside, opens the bag further, and peers down at the other two red items at the bottom. He swallows. That throbbing, electric current ups in kilowatts in his heart, thinking that Daniel missed it, too. He wants it again, too. It's a simple mantra he repeats mentally on loop as he shuffles off his jeans and shirt. He puts on the bikini and assesses his reflection.

He wishes he had shaved. He looks from the smattering of facial hair around his full lips and soft cheeks down to his tense, strong neck and further down past his collarbones to his two pecs. His hand-full breasts are held in place by the scarlet triangles of silky fabric, edged with a slight lace design. He adjusts the thin bikini straps over his shoulders, feeling flustered at how defined and full his tits look. They lightly bounce as he lets the straps go, soft flesh jiggling and making his head spin. His hands slip down along his waist, pulling the bikini bottom out and then letting it similarly snap back into his plush love handles that slightly swell over the fabric.

Fuck, he thinks. He wraps himself in a hotel towel. His body is torn between being wildly self-conscious and uncontrollably horny. The latter wins out. Daniel picked this for him. He wants to see Max in this. Max feels whirled again in old, familiar, hot need. He leaves the bathroom.

Daniel has also changed into his own swim trunks, his torso bare as Max takes in the sight of old tattoos he hasn't seen in years. Daniel, thankfully, also seems a bit wound up. He looks up, one hand under the running water and the other clenched around the marble lip of the tub.

"Max," he says.

"Daniel."

"Whatever you want, y'know."

"And for you, too, of course."

"I want this." Daniel stands up, turning off the water. The room is suddenly thrown into a wild silence. "For now."

"For now," Max nods and lets the towel drop off his body.

The hotel air is cold but soon Daniel's warm hands are on him, tracing gentle lines up his arms.

"Holy shit," he breathes. He leans in. Max's hands mirror his lines, running up Daniel's arms, palms resting on ink. "Max, God. You look so good."

"Daniel."

Daniel squeezes Max's shoulders, fingers skating in to dip under the straps of the bikini like Max did just moments ago. "Tell me if it's too much."

"It's not enough."

"Jesus Christ, Max," Daniel says, hands moving back to press down into Max's shoulder blades. He swears and lets his hips roll forward. Max feels relieved at the press of Daniel's already hard cock against his.

"You missed this, too?" Max asks.

"Of course."

"I bet it was just as good, with the others?"

Daniel steps back, shaking his head. "There was only ever you." He looks down at Max. The room is so soundless, he can hear the soft rustle of skin on fabric as Daniel's fingers gently wrap around his tits. He squeezes, tenderly at first until Max's small whines make Daniel's grip harder. Daniel's hands press faster, squeezing Max's tits together as Max reflexively searches for friction, his hips bucking into Daniel's.

"I only ever wanted this with you," Daniel says in a small whisper. "God, I haven't...it's been so long."

"We used to do something like this," Max says. He holds Daniel's bare biceps, spins him gently, and pushes him onto the bed. Daniel's wide eyes meet Max's gaze as the younger man straddles his hips. "But usually we were not wearing anything."

Daniel smirks. "Yeah, not usually clothed for long." He pulls Max down gently by the straps of the bikini, his fingertips dancing along the lace and then under the fabric to squeeze Max's hardening nipples. Max groans. His eyes water as Daniel twists gently. He wants. He needs. He feels his thighs clench around Daniel's hips, his cock pressing against the bikini's bottom and wetting the fabric with a leak of precome.

He lets Daniel maneuver him, moving one of Max's thighs between his legs. Max rolls his hips down, his dick rubbing against Daniel's tattooed thigh. He groans. For a moment, there is a heated rhythm of Max bucking into Daniel's leg and Daniel's hands working into Max's breasts, a dizzying tempo. Max's head swims in the careening pace.

"Daniel," he whines as he pinches harder and twists until Max feels ready to burst. "Daniel."

The other man pauses, watching as Max struggles to keep composure. He sighs.

"I fucking missed this," he breathes.

"You can come by whenever now," Max says before he can think. He stops short of saying more, of saying it can be anywhere, anytime. That it can be more than just for now if Daniel wants that. "Even if there is not a hot tub in the next hotel."

"Oh, yeah, the hot tub," Daniel says. He looks over at the still, clear water. They hadn't even turned on the jets. "Probs too cold by now, you reckon?"

Max nods, his tone matching Daniel's mock sobriety. "Oh, definitely. Shame. We can just...stay here in bed instead?"

"Sounds good to me, Maxy," Daniel says. He gives Max's breasts a final squeeze before his fingers lace into Max's hair and pull him down into a heated, urgent kiss. Max melts in fully, losing all sense of space and time. Like years ago, it was just them. Just for now, that's all that matters.

[brodygold]

A Straightforward Proposal

Connor strolled down the hallway of the Golden Army’s stadium, his polished loafers tapping softly against the tiled floor. He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up here—a random detour during a walk around town had led him to the imposing structure, the very heart of his city’s famed soccer team, the Golden Army. He wasn’t into sports, much less one as intense as soccer. But lately, a strange feeling had been pulling him toward things outside his comfort zone, and here he was, wandering through the hallowed halls of a world he didn’t belong to.

The locker room was quiet, almost sacred in its stillness, and he walked slowly, taking in the row of metal lockers, the slightly worn benches, the walls lined with framed photos of the team’s most victorious moments. He admired the team from afar, had even been to a few games with friends who raved about the players, but he never quite understood the appeal. To him, sports were just… messy, loud, and unpredictable.

But as he walked through the room, Connor’s gaze landed on something unusual—a glimmer of gold hanging from one of the open lockers. He stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. It was a jersey, but not just any jersey. The iconic golden hue, the dark green trim, the embroidered initials “GA” on the chest. It looked pristine, like it was waiting for someone to claim it.

Connor couldn’t resist reaching out and running his fingers along the smooth, sturdy fabric. It felt different from his usual designer clothes—strong, like it had been built to withstand anything. A little voice in the back of his mind told him to walk away, that this wasn’t for him. But a stronger urge tugged at him to put it on, just to feel what it was like, to imagine himself as one of those powerful, unstoppable players who wore it with pride.

With one last look around, Connor took a deep breath and slipped off his tailored shirt, folding it neatly on the bench beside him. Then, with a mixture of excitement and hesitation, he pulled the golden jersey over his head. As soon as it settled against his torso, he felt a strange warmth spread through his chest, like the jersey was coming alive, molding itself to his frame.

Connor looked down in surprise as his body began to change. His chest began to fill out, his muscles expanding beneath the jersey, stretching the fabric. His arms, which had always been slender and toned from careful exercise, started thickening with muscle, his biceps and forearms bulging as if he’d been lifting weights for years. The sensation was strange, almost surreal, but he found himself enjoying it, watching his transformation in awe.

His shoulders broadened, stretching the collar of the jersey. His torso shifted, becoming leaner and harder, with defined abs pressing against the fabric. He turned to look at himself in the mirror, and a shock of disbelief hit him. His face, once soft-featured and refined, had become sharper, his jaw more pronounced, his cheeks taking on a rugged, chiseled look. Even his hair, usually perfectly styled and gelled, had become slightly messier, like he’d just come off the field, the strands falling in a way that looked effortlessly cool.

As he admired the changes, a strange dizziness washed over him, and he steadied himself against the locker. It wasn’t just his body that was changing—his thoughts, too, were shifting. Memories of afternoons at art galleries and brunches in upscale cafes began to fade, replaced by images of practice drills, intense workouts, and the sound of cheering crowds. He thought of the thrill of scoring a goal, of hearing his name chanted by fans, of pushing his body to its limits alongside his teammates.

Connor felt a surge of adrenaline as these new memories took hold, filling him with a sense of purpose he’d never felt before. He could see himself on the field, fighting for victory with every ounce of strength, his teammates by his side, their bond stronger than anything he’d known. The idea of camaraderie, of being part of something bigger than himself, ignited a fire in him. He was no longer the preppy guy who drifted through life with little direction—he was a Golden Army player, a warrior on the field, dedicated to the game, to his team, to victory.

And as his memories continued to reshape, so did his interests. Gone was his taste for designer clothes, his carefully curated lifestyle. In its place grew a love for competition, for strength, for the thrill of the game. He could feel his attraction shifting too; his old boyfriends and dates felt distant, almost foreign, like they belonged to someone else. Now, he saw himself with girls cheering him on from the stands, joining him after the game in victory celebrations. Their soft lips and lovely breasts just begging to be squeezed. His old life seemed laughable compared to this new world of intensity and purpose.

Just as he took a deep breath, adjusting to the strange yet exhilarating transformation, he heard a chuckle from behind. Turning, he saw Brody, one of the Golden Army’s most respected players, leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“Enjoying the jersey?” Brody asked, clearly amused.

Connor grinned back, the confidence and ease in his expression startling even himself. “Yeah… feels like it was meant for me,” he said, his voice deeper, rougher, and rich with a newfound bravado.

Brody nodded, stepping forward and clapping him on the back with a strong hand. “Guess it found the right guy, then. We could use someone with your… enthusiasm.”

Connor felt a surge of pride at the unspoken approval in Brody’s voice. He could feel the weight of the team’s legacy on his shoulders, and instead of intimidating him, it excited him. He felt ready to prove himself, to show everyone that he belonged here.

“So, when’s the next game?” Connor asked, the words slipping out naturally.

Brody raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Tomorrow morning. Practice at six sharp. Think you’re up for it?”

“Of course,” Connor replied confidently. The idea of waking up before dawn for training didn’t faze him. In fact, it thrilled him. “I was born for this.”

Brody chuckled. “That’s the spirit. Welcome to the team, man.”

With one last look at his reflection, Connor felt a surge of excitement. He was no longer the preppy guy wandering aimlessly through life. He was Connor of the Golden Army, a fierce, driven athlete with a team, a purpose, and a brotherhood he’d fight for. His life was now about pushing his limits, winning for the team, for the pride of wearing the golden jersey.

As he and Brody walked out of the locker room, Connor felt a deep sense of belonging, of purpose. He knew he’d never go back to his old life—the designer suits, the gallery openings, the carefully curated image. It all seemed so empty compared to the thrill of the field, the roar of the crowd, and the loyalty of his teammates. He couldn’t wait to dominate on the field with his bros and with the chicks in the sheets!

[delicatebarness]

safe & sound | chapter one

Summary: An attack on the estate causes the security to tighten and means the worst of the Rogers comes home.

Warning: Mob AU. Age Gap (Bucky - late 40s/Reader - early 20s). Dad's Best Friend. Mentions of Violence/Blood/Bones. Mentions of weapons. For Peter being 3 and a half minutes older, he is an immature man-child.

Word Count: 1322

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A/N: I wrote this and the last chapter of I Think He Knows in the same night and I am such a wreck. Oops, I dropped this.

Tags: @wintrsoldrluvr | @mostlymarvelgirl | @abaker74 | @scott-loki-barnes

It started as a seemingly ordinary day, the morning sun casting long shadows across your family’s estate as you went through your daily routine. Your newly assigned bodyguard, Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, always stood at a discreet distance away, scanning the surroundings with his practiced vigilance. 

You adjust your bag on your shoulder, giving Bucky a small smile. You always felt a strange sense of comfort knowing Bucky was near. He was more to you than just your protector; he’s your father’s best friend since childhood and second-in-command. You’ve known and trusted him for your entire life.

The estate’s iron gates creak open as you walk towards the car waiting to take you into town. Bucky’s posture remained relaxed, but you noticed the slight tightening of his jaw. He’s always alert.

The Rogers Estate; is strategically located offering privacy and security. Situated in a sprawling countryside upscale neighborhood. Surrounded by acres of lush greenery and perfect landscaping. Shielded by towering walls and guarded gates, the head of the Rogers family believed security was paramount. Installing state-of-the-art surveillance throughout the entire grounds. There was not a single blind spot, he saw everything. 

Yet, no fortress is impervious, and danger always finds its way in.

~

Suddenly, a screech of tires shatters the silence of the estate. A black van swerves into the driveway, and masked men with guns begin to pour out. The peaceful morning instantly turned into chaos as the men began shouting orders and brandishing their weapons. 

“Get down!” Bucky barked at you, pushing you behind a marble column. 

Drawing his weapon, Bucky fired with deadly precision. Your heart pounded in your chest as you crouched low, bullets ricocheting off stone and metal. You weren’t entirely native to your parent's work, you’ve always known they had enemies, but this was the first time you felt their malevolence so close. 

Bucky moved like a predator, every shot he took neutralized a threat. He was outnumbered, but his determination and training kept him in control of the situation. As you peek out, your fear mixed with awe at his focus.

Your breath catches in your throat as you notice one of the attackers rushing towards you. Bucky’s gaze met yours for a brief moment before he was able to react. In what felt like the speed of light, he tackled the man to the ground, disarming him and delivering a punch so brutal it left the man unconscious.

In the distance, you notice the familiar SUVs arrive, the estate’s backup security. The shoot-out ended as quickly as it began, leaving an eerily silence in its wake. 

Bucky reached out to help you to your feet, his pull gently. “Are you hurt?” he asked with urgency as he examined your face. 

“No, I’m okay,” you reply, your voice trembling. “Thanks to you.” you offered him a small reassuring smile, and he returned it as he reached out, rubbing your cheek with his thumb for only a moment. 

Your father, Steve, arrived moments later, his face contoured into a controlled fury. Rushing over, he embraced you tightly before turning to Bucky.

“Who were they?” he demanded, his eyes turned a deeper shade of blue with his anger.

“They looked like Rumlow’s,” Bucky replied, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “It seemed like a random hit. But,” his voice trailed as he took another glance at you. “We need to tighten security all the same, they knew when to strike.” 

Your father nods, his expression hardening the more the gears in his head turn. “I’ll speak to Stark,” he stated firmly, referring to Tony Stark, a longtime ally of the Rogers family and exceptional in mechanics and technology. 

As your father began making calls to arrange meetings, you stood by reaming close to Bucky. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, softened as he looked down at you. He placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the safety of the house. 

Inside, the atmosphere was tense but yet, controlled. Bucky remained close by your side, guiding you to a secluded area of the house, away from the commotion your father brought back in with him behind you. 

Before you can fully process the events that happened moments ago, the door bursts open with a thud, and Natasha, your mother, storms in. Her eyes were wide with fear and desperation, a look you had never seen your mother sport.

“Are you alright?” she demanded your answer, trembling with emotion as she rushed toward you. Her hands reach out to cup your cheeks, moving your head and twisting your body to assess any signs of injury. Her controlled demeanor which she usually wears, shattered.

You met her gaze, she searched for reassurance in your eyes. “I’m okay, Mom,” you tried to reassure her, your voice threatening to discredit you. “Uncle Buck kept me safe,” you shot her a small smile. 

Grasping you into an embrace, she turned to Bucky, “Thank you,” she whispered, sincerity laced in her tone. 

Bucky nods, “I won’t let anything happen to her,” he vows to one of your parents, for the second time. 

~

As the days passed, you found yourself seeking peace again in the tranquil embrace of the garden. The vibrant blooms and gentle rustle of leaves provided a calm sanctuary for your mind. 

You were suddenly startled by the sound of approaching footsteps. Glancing up, you saw Peter, your twin brother, emerging from the shadows. His presence casts a shadow over the serenity of the garden. 

His gaze was cold and calculating, “What are you doing here?” his voice dripped with contempt as he approached. 

He was, ever the hostile older, by 3 and a half minutes, brother and you could only assume that his mood had only worsened since your parents cut his business trip short. Despite sharing the same bloodline, your paths diverged sharply. 

“Reading,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady as you gestured to the book you were holding.

Peter scoffed. “Of course,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the garden. “Always so sensitive, one little scare and you seek refuge in pretty flowers.” 

Your grip on your book tightened, and the sting of his words cut deep, “Just leave me alone.”

A cruel smile tugged at the corners of Peter’s lip, his eyes gleamed with malice. “Make me,” he taunted, snatching the book out of your hands. You watched with frustration as his actions were fuelled by his desire to provoke and intimidate. 

“Give it back, Pete,” you demanded, rising to your feet.

Peter laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that echoed through the garden. “What’s the matter, little sister?” he continued his taunts, flipping through the pages. “Can’t handle a little fun?”

Your fists clenched, the urge to lash out nearly overwhelming. But, the years of conditioning yourself to keep emotions in check and not be like him, held you back. “Just give it back,” you repeated, your voice almost breaking.

His grin only widened, he thrived in your discomfort. “Or what?” he challenged, “What are you going to do about it?”

Before you could respond, a voice cut through the tension, sending both you and Peter snapping your heads around in surprise. 

“What’s going on here?” Bucky stood at the edge of the garden, his expression was a mix of concern and disapproval as his gaze flickered between you and Peter. “Peter, your dad wants a word with you,” 

Hesitating for a moment, Peter narrowed his eyes in defiance. But, he ultimately tossed the book aside with a dismissive flick of the wrist, indifference spread across his features. As he disappeared toward the house, you let out a shaky breath. The tension drained from your shoulders as you kneed down, reaching for your book.

In your haze, you never noticed that Bucky had also knelt. For a moment, his hand grazed over yours and your gazes met.

---

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[cookiepie111]

I just can't get over the idea of könig looking over at your plate of food, asking if you're going to finish it, so I wrote this 😭 (könig x black reader) also please let me know if there's a better take away place to use for this.

König's heard you talk about this upscale restaurant for a while, glancing past it when you're out on the street. When asked why you didn't go, " I don't want to go alone, it's also stupid expensive," he'd be more than happy to take you. Only he's quickly met with disappointment, seeing a sliver of meat and sauce on his plate. It was 7 course meal but if every course was going to be like this... "tch." it's too late to go somewhere else. They're already sat, and the number of hoops he had to jump through to reserve a table made his head hurt. You, on the other hand, looked ecstatic, in absolute awe of the slice of food they placed in front of you. The techniques, plating, and taste. You went on about each with every new dish brought out. He sighed if nothing else, at least you're enjoying yourself, he won't ruin your mood with his sour face.

Happy as you were it was clear to see könig wasn't enjoying this experience as much as you, and food of this amount probably wasn't going to fill him up, even after he you gave him your share. " Hey, why don't we go to Salzburger Grill after this?" it was a struggle to hold down a laugh after seeing him light out at the idea.

[romacharm]

do you want to be with somebody like me | leon kennedy x reader

SUMMARY: you've lost your friend at the bar. TAGS: alcohol, profanity / explicit language, first meetings, some humor, meet-cute, unresolved romantic tension, hints at depression LENGTH: 3.6k

[AO3]

Someone is singing awful karaoke. Bye, bye, Miss American Pie, he’s singing, way off-tempo, and he doesn’t know any of the rest of the words, even though every few lines he insists he has the song memorized. Your friend is off somewhere, doing something—you thought she was getting another drink, but when you’d followed her through the crowd she was nowhere to be found. 

So now you’re camped at the bar, running your fingers over the sticky wood of the bartop, unsure if you should get another drink or keep looking. You decide the best course of action is to stay in one place, so your friend can find you, and hope she didn’t also think the same thing. 

The bartender in front of you’s got his lips twisted into a frown. He’s watching the guy on the tiny stage at the front of the room, belting notes that are nowhere near the real ones. You imagine this is his favorite song, and he’s livid to hear such a blasphemous rendition of it. The crowd is going wild. You—well, you would also be going wild, if you could find your slippery friend, because at your core you love deeply terrible things. Instead, you turn to watch while still leaning on your elbows over the bar, taking up space that people are clamoring to get into. Because you’re a nuisance like that. 

A man sits at the bar next to you, and he runs a hand down his face. He’s nursing something on the rocks, in one of those nice glasses you always see mafia bosses drinking from on TV. It looks like crystal, even though it can’t be, because this isn’t one of those upscale bars that would shell out for nice glasses. He glances over at you and your eyes meet. On a whim, you mouth along to the song, This will be the day that I die. 

The line repeats, and he mouths it back. 

The guy on stage is falling over the mic, tripping over the friends crowded around him. It’s probably his birthday. He’s probably drunk out of his mind and hoping to get lucky tonight. You scan the crowd for your friend and can’t find her, again. 

The guy in front of you follows your gaze and puts a fist to his mouth. He leans toward you. 

“You a fan of this kind of stuff?” he asks you. 

“No,” you answer immediately. You press your fingers to your mouth, wiping away the hint of a smile that had been there. God. You love bad singing. 

You do not, however, love losing your friend in a karaoke bar full of drunk twenty-somethings with no impulse control. As a sort-of drunk twenty-something yourself, you’re all too familiar with the way your brains will latch onto anything. Your friend can handle herself, sure, but can you? 

“Looking for someone?” the guy asks again. 

“Yeah,” you say, and you have to lean in to be heard over the horrendous singing. How fucking long is this song? “My friend. You seen her?” 

“Probably not,” he says. “I’ve been right here.” 

“She’s like this tall, and she’s wearing all blue. Dark hair. You haven’t seen her?” 

“No,” the guy says, “but I’ll help you look, if you want.” 

You’ve half a mind to slam your head against the bartop, but you do not do that—in part because getting kicked out would greatly lower your chances of finding your friend, and would otherwise be totally humiliating. Nice of this guy to offer to help—in your experience, most guys would implore you to stay here. Which is a slippery slope to come back home with me, a guy you don’t know at all, and you are not really interested in getting murdered tonight. Point being that—at least this guy is asking to help. At least that’s something new. 

“That’s okay,” you say, because as much as you may want to, you do not believe the best in people. 

The guy gets up from his seat. It is immediately filled behind him. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “Might be easier to find her from my vantage point.” 

…He is taller than you, you suppose. You scowl, but you don’t really mean it. 

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks.” 

The guy stretches a hand out to you. “I’m Leon.” 

You give him your name in return with a shake. Like you’re business partners, not two random people meeting in a club. 

The two of you push through the crowd. The guy on the stage is finally wrapping up his butchered version of “American Pie,” which you are exceptionally excited for. No act can top his, you think. You will forever be in search of something as terrible as his pitchy, off-tune rendition of a classic song. Leon cranes his neck, looking for your friend, and you’re forced to watch the muscles in his chest contract and expand as he breathes. Must he wear a shirt so tight? Goddamn. Not that you’re checking him out or anything. 

He leans down to breathe into your ear, “I don’t see her.” 

You try, very hard, not to shiver. Weird. 

Like, you can admit to yourself that he’s attractive, even in the dim lighting. You have eyes. But you also don’t know him, which means you should very much be on your guard. You keep reminding yourself of that, and yet… 

There’s this look in his eye that makes you want to believe in him. You hate that. You hate when people are good, and nice, and kind—it’s so much harder to find people like that. They make you want. They make you hope. 

“Damn,” you say. The two of you make your way to the back wall. You almost get swept away by the crowd as they part for the end of the song, and the guy on the stage is bowing and screaming something about college football. Someone shoves into your space, and Leon holds his arm out in front of you to push them away. 

“Oh, wait,” Leon says, and he squints into the opposite corner of the bar. “Is that her?” 

You stand on your tiptoes to peer over the crowd, but you can barely see. You make out a flash of blue in the corner booth, and you say, “Maybe?” 

Leon leans down, and you repeat yourself. He’s very close. 

You can not be falling in love with strangers again. 

The crowd does not move for the two of you, but someone else gets up on stage—they’re singing a Kelly Clarkson song, and you wish them luck for all the belting parts. You and Leon shove through to the opposite corner of the room, where—lo and behold—your friend is leaning toward some guy sitting in the booth next to her, a guy you think you recognize, vaguely, from somewhere. 

“Elsie!” You grip your friend’s shoulder in a vice-like grip. She whirls around to look at you, and says your name with a brilliant smile. 

“Hey!” She puts her hand over yours and turns back to the guy in front of you. “You remember Daniel!” 

No, you do not remember Daniel. 

“Oh, yeah,” Daniel says. “We met at the racquet club.” 

You do not go to the fucking racquet club. Who do you look like? Someone who can afford membership to the racquet club? 

“The time I brought you with me,” your friend tries to remind you, nudging your side. You feel like you’re going insane. You have never been to the racquet club. 

“I remember seeing you guys and thinking I had to talk to you,” Daniel says, staring at your friend. She avoids his gaze. 

“Who’s that?” Elsie asks, nodding at Leon. 

“Oh.” You turn back to Leon. “Thanks for helping me, Leon.” 

He nods, his eyes never straying from Elsie and Daniel. Like he’s sizing them up or something. Assessing threat levels. Elsie pulls your arm, forcing your head down next to hers, and whisper-yells way too loud in your ear, “He’s hot.” 

You know. 

Elsie scoots over on the booth and pats the now-open seat next to her. “Leon, why don’t you sit?” 

“Elsie,” you hiss. She meets your gaze with fake-innocence. Leon looks at you, then Elsie and Daniel, then you again, like he’s confused. He swallows; you watch the movement of his throat. The music is too loud, and the singing is just mediocre—not bad enough to be good. And it’s too hot. The press of bodies and sweat and alcohol closes in around you. 

If Leon sits, there will be no space in the booth for you. At the other table, this really old guy in full safari gear sits and stares at the floor. You don’t think he’s moved in hours, maybe years. Daniel has an unreadable expression on his face. Lights dance across your faces. A spike of irritation at your friend stabs through your stomach. 

“No, thanks,” Leon says. You look at him sidelong. He’s looking at you. 

Elsie frowns for a moment, then decides, “We need more drinks!” She hauls Daniel to his feet. To you, she says, “Hey, so you’ll be okay on your own, yeah?” 

You look between her and Daniel. “No, not really,” you say. 

“I’ll meet back up with you outside later,” Elsie says. “Let’s go!” 

“Wait—” you start to say, but she and Daniel have disappeared into the crowd. The Kelly Clarkson song is over, and the DJ’s put on some weird EDM abomination you can’t imagine anyone dancing, drinking, or talking to. 

You look at Leon again, and he cocks his head. 

“Sorry about that,” you say. “I guess I’ll just… head outside.” 

“Want company?” he asks. At first, you don’t hear him, so you get on tiptoe to get closer to his mouth. He repeats himself. 

“Sure,” you say. Because why not. You can only stomach so much betrayal in one day, the dramatic in you decrees. Why not. 

Leon follows you out through the entrance, onto the balcony. The bar is situated on the second floor—the first floor, coincidentally, is dedicated to some other bar that you’ve never heard of. To be fair, you hadn’t heard of this one before either, before Elsie had called this afternoon and told you she needs to get drunk and make out with a stranger tonight. You suppose this is not an uncommon feeling for her, if the amount of times she’s complained to you about her experiences with men are anything to go on. 

You rest your elbows on the railing of the balcony. It’s made of black metal; in the dark, it looks like there’s nothing under you. Leon stands next to you, mirroring your stance. 

It’s not that high up at all, but the cool night breeze paired with the near-midnight sky makes you feel like you’re a speck in a much larger city than this, like you’re just one of many people escaping to a balcony from a crowded room. Through the open door, you hear the music shift abruptly to “Mamma Mia” by ABBA. You watch Leon nod along to the beat, and sudden affection thrums under your skin. That small movement is enough, you think, to get a read on him. 

Because at first glance, Leon looks like someone you’d be scared of. He’s got a permanent scowl and furrowed eyebrows and a chiseled jaw, which is already a recipe for intimidation. It’s hard to tell if the reason your heart is pounding is because of fear or attraction. So the image of him—this handsome, dangerous stranger—bopping along to ABBA’s Swedish pop is so terribly cute that you can’t help but love him. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“You’re staring.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Your eyes trace the curve of his jaw before you pointedly look away. 

“What?”

You should say something. Shouldn’t you? Make friendly conversation. He’s keeping you company, after all, when you would otherwise be staring at the sky feeling sorry for yourself. 

“Tell me about you, Leon,” you say. 

“There’s nothing interesting.” 

You hum in acknowledgement. “Wow. So secretive.” 

“There’s just not much to say about me.” 

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.” 

Leon scowls. He looks like a pouting puppy. 

So, rather than prying further, you start talking. It’s not something you have a lot of experience with, just rambling without end. You talk about a clue in the New York Times crossword that you hated. You tell him about how you met Elsie, and how you have never belonged anywhere, not once. About the time in college when you stayed up all night to watch the sunrise and how maybe that’s why you keep living. 

He looks at you when you say that, a strange understanding in his eyes. Like someone who’s seen the sunrise for the first time and gets it now, too. You want to squish his cheeks between your palms. 

“You,” he says, “have a lot of thoughts.” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I guess.” 

You wonder what goes on behind those eyes. What kinds of things does Leon think about? What does he do for fun? You’re so curious, but you can’t ask—he’s drawn a line, and as much as you want to, you can’t cross it. 

“You’re shivering,” Leon says. 

Huh. You are.

Leon’s jacket falls around your shoulders before you can insist you don’t need it. Once you have it, you don’t want to let it go. It’s a nice damn jacket, with fur lining and big pockets. You hold it close around yourself. 

“Thanks,” you say. Guilt pricks at you—now he’ll be cold.

Like he can read your mind, Leon says, “I run warm.”

This, somehow, is surprising to you. But also, it’s not. You suppose you hadn’t thought about it—not that you’d had time to. You’d only met him thirty minutes ago. 

“So, Leon,” you say, “what brings you to the bar tonight?” 

“A drink,” he says simply. 

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “You know, that’s a surprisingly rare answer.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. Most people I know go out to party, or to get laid.” 

“Oh. Well.” He doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. You wouldn’t either, if you were him. Maybe you shouldn’t have said it. You suppose the people you know are the worst kinds of bar-goers. The kind who never know where to stop. A beat later, he says, “Is that why you’re here?” 

You forgot that you count as people too. “No,” you say. “I was here playing wingman for Elsie. My friend. Supposedly.” 

“Supposedly,” he echoes. 

You watch him, then, the way his lips are set together and his jaw isn’t clenched, per se, but hardened, the lines of it stark. The way his gaze darts to you when he notices you staring, then quickly away. He’s sizing you up still. Trying to figure you out. There’s an insurmountable wall of unfamiliarity that neither of you seem properly equipped to traverse. 

“I wasn’t very good at it,” you say. “Playing wingman. If that wasn’t obvious.” 

“It was pretty obvious,” Leon says. “So you’re anti-social, and you like crosswords. What else?” 

Your face feels warm, right up to the tips of your ears. You chalk this up to the extra blood flowing to the parts that need desperately to stay warm, even though it’s not that cold out. He says it all huskily, like he’s confiding a secret in you. Like you are his hidden-away gem. He’s got big hands, you notice. 

There’s not much else to say, you suppose, but you search anyway. You tell him about the things you like, the little doodles at the corners of your planner, the keychains dangling from your bag. The places you’ve lived. He listens like he’s never heard anything more interesting, hooded eyes and the beginnings of a smile pulling at his lips. 

He doesn’t seem the type to smile often. You’re not sure what you did to make it happen, but you want to do it again. You want to see a real smile. 

“You have a nice voice,” he says suddenly. You flush. Is he trying to make you explode? Spontaneous combustion isn’t off the table here. 

“You do too,” you say, unsteady. 

He laughs at that—you think. It’s barely there, a quick exhale and a rumble in his chest you can’t really hear. “I didn’t think I did.” 

“Well, you do,” you say, and because you are an embarrassment to your family name, you add, “Plus, you’re attractive.” 

Leon’s eyes widen minutely. He opens his mouth to say something. Nothing comes out. 

“Sorry.”

“No,” he manages. “That’s okay.” He presses a palm over the bottom half of his face, obscuring his mouth, fingers splayed across his cheek. He’s flustered. He’s flustered. What the fuck did you do to him? You broke him. 

You grip the railing of the balcony and try not to feel so many types of ways. 

“I’m, uh,” Leon starts again, then stops. He swallows, and you watch the hunted-animal movement of his throat. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Oh,” you say. He’s glad? Okay. That’s new. You clasp your hands, let go, re-clasp them. You think about his big hands. What do you say to that? “Well. I’m glad.”

Leon seems to be satisfied with this answer. He tilts his head back and looks up to the sky, the starless expanse above saturated with light pollution. His chest expands with a deep breath in. You’re tempted to press your palm to the center of his chest, just to feel the movement. God, how dare he be attractive.

“I haven’t been relaxed like this in a long time,” he says. You shiver. “What, still cold?” 

“No,” you reply, “your jacket is really warm.” 

“Would be warmer if you used the sleeves.” 

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” 

“And if I do?” 

You blink at him. “If you do?” 

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

This, somehow, delights you. He’s got jokes. You’ve got banter. It’s the closest you’ve felt to another person in a long time. You think of Elsie, probably sucking face in the bar proper, and you’re reminded that it’s okay not to want that—to want this, instead, learned easiness—or something like that. Maybe you’re just being hypocritical. After all, you don’t really know Leon. 

But that’s okay too, isn’t it? 

You’re not really making sense. 

“Not much for me to do about that,” you say. 

“You could laugh.” 

You let out a half-hearted, obviously fake laugh. 

“Ouch.” 

“Oh, did that hurt?” 

“So much. I’m wounded.” 

“Get better jokes, then. I’m waiting.” 

Leon’s face scrunches up in thought, like he’s shuffling through joke ideas in his head and not liking any of them. “You can’t put me on the spot like that.” 

“Mm. Sounds like an excuse.” 

“Hey.” 

You’re about to say something else—something you hadn’t thought through, as always, but that you hope was funny enough—when Elsie stumbles out of the bar. Her heels clang against the metal of the balcony. You and Leon both turn to look: her lipstick’s smeared across her mouth and her eyeliner is smudged. 

“Didn’t go well?” you ask. 

She greets you with a cheeky grin, at odds with the state of her. “It was fucking fantastic,” she says. “I’ll never see him again.” 

“Let’s hope not,” you quip. “Daniel's a good kisser? He goes to the fucking racquet club.” 

“It’s a perfectly nice place to hang out.” 

You make a face. 

“I’m being serious. And anyway, I didn’t kiss Daniel.” 

Elsie wobbles over to stand next to you at the railing. Leon tenses minutely. 

“Who then?” you ask. 

“I don’t know. Some guy. Don’t remember his name.” 

“Sure. Fair enough,” you say. Elsie leans her head on your shoulder. “Think it’s time we go home.”  

“Ugh. I don’t want to.” 

“And yet, you came out here anyway.” You wind your arm around Elsie, who is a disaster in very different ways than you, but you’re all she’s got and vice versa. Leon’s jacket shifts around you, and you clutch it to you with your other hand. “We should get going.” 

“Fiiine,” Elsie whines. 

You release her and shrug Leon’s jacket off. Immediately, your arms erupt in gooseflesh, missing its warmth. It takes all of your willpower to hold it out to him. “Thanks for keeping me company, Leon.” 

“Sure,” he says. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open. “You got a pen?” 

“For what?” You pat down your nonexistent pockets. You do not have a pen. 

“Oh, found one.” He scribbles something on the back of a receipt, then takes his jacket from you. You blink and he’s swinging it back over your shoulders. Elsie retches behind you. 

“What—” 

“Keep it,” Leon says, “until we see each other again.” 

“Huh—” 

He takes the receipt and gently pushes it into the chest pocket of the jacket. “Get home safe.” 

“Leon—” He’s already left, retreating back into the bar with a little skip in his step. 

How rude of him to keep interrupting you. You wind your arms through the sleeves and are immensely, all-consumingly grateful. 

“Home,” Elsie says. 

“Geez, you’re so impatient.” 

When you get home, you tuck Elsie into your bed and lay out a blanket on the couch for yourself. It’s then that you take the receipt out from the pocket of Leon’s jacket. It’s all crumpled up, and from a few months ago—a purchase of ABBA vinyls. This makes you smile. 

On the other side, Leon’s scribbled his number, his name, and a Call me in cursive. Cursive. You’re obsessed. 

You fall asleep, clutching the receipt in your fist, “American Pie” echoing in your head. 

[janesaridoll]

Birthday princess 

pairing || woc!reader x mob!ari levinson

genera || fluff.

summary || how’s Ari dealing with someone trying to disrespect his girl.

wordcount || 2,4K

Donate to my ko-fi!

A vicious man who will go to any length to make his sweetheart smile.

Growing up, Ari enjoyed his mother's elaborate celebrations, where everything had to be extravagantly flawless—whether they were birthday parties, wedding anniversaries, or charity events. He thinks his mother did all that to compensate for her husband, his father’s harsh reality.

He especially gets excited whenever his birthday is nearing, he loved when he was ten and he loves it now, almost thirty seven years old.

Even though, it's different from when he was younger, he still enjoyed it. However, the idea of someone not celebrating their milestone were awful to him, So when he found out his precious girl never celebrated her birthday he was horrified.

He couldn’t fathom that someone not celebrating their birthday especially someone as sweet as his girl.

Your birthday was never acknowledged by your parents. Not even a happy birthday was said. Although, your siblings celebrated theirs, no one ever seemed to remember yours.

As you got older, you just forget about it. You knew you missed something, but there was nothing you could do to persuade your parents to celebrate your birthday because they always had some excuse not to.

At first, you resisted Ari's insistence on throwing you a birthday party. Therefore, Ari did not celebrate your first birthday together as he had intended while you two were together. But of course he did do something to celebrate.

He took you to an upscale restaurant, after both of you finished eating, he gave you your gift; an elegant pair of earrings. That was the first time anyone had ever given you anything. You were appreciative, till this day you never taken them off.

The following year, when your birthday approached, Ari broached the subject once more, you told him you didn't care and that what you both did last year was enough yet Ari didn't think so. He wants to give you the experience of celebrating your birthday properly.

After much persuasion, you agreed to the birthday party, Ari got his mother's party planner number in order for you to contact her to plan your birthday, he didn’t set a budget for it; just told you to do what your heart desired.

"I want everything to go as smoothly as possible, Steve, I don't want anything to go wrong," Ari says as he sips from his brownish liquor.

"Of course, I'll tell Peter to oversee everything," you'd assume from the way they're both talking seriously in their black suits that it had to be about business. No, it's Ari's princess 24th birthday celebration. Which, if you think about it, is more important.

Ethan, your bodyguard and friend, is racing with with staff members making sure everything is perfect for your birthday, including the lights, decorations, DJ, food and drinks.

“She even got Ethan to do all the work” steve mumbled to Ari who let out a chuckle “I can’t believe he’s the toughest one of our men” He sips the rest of his drink before smiling to himself “wait for me in the werehouse” Steve only nodded.

He went upstairs to the guest bedroom where you had your makeup artist and hairstylist stay because Ari doesn't like it when people are in his room.

He stared at you from the doorway, completely captivated; the expression of happiness in your eyes brought happiness to him as well; he can't believe someone could be so cruel as to not love or spoil you in the way you deserve.

"Can you leave us for a minute?" As soon as he said it, the room quieted down, and your best friend, Nat, who you met through Ari's friends, spoke up, "sure, we will be outside," she patted your shoulder. She had already dressed in a black silk dress, done her makeup beautifully with smokey eyes and her signature red lipstick that matches her hair, she looks stunning.

"You look pretty," he began, staring at you from the mirror “you do, too," you said, turning around to face him.

He takes a step closer to you, as soon as he is within reach, you wrap your hand around his neck, drawing him closer to you, tilting your heads up to lock your gaze on him smiling lovingly.

"Ethan needs a day off tomorrow," when you noticed that the party planner were demanding you gave her Ethan's phone number so she could organize everything with him rather than you, you just told them what you want the theme of your party.

He initially objected, after all, he is the toughest man. But he agreed simply because he likes you and he wants you to have the nicest and most memorable birthday celebration ever.

"Sure, anything you want." Even Ari is taking a day off tomorrow, he wants to spend it with you while business is calm nowadays.

"You spoil me a lot," you said, kissing his jaw. He smiled “that's the least I could do for you. honey"

"Thank you, I love you too much." You kissed him again. "I love you too."

"I’m leaving for a bit; I've got a business to take care of, and I’ll be back before the party starts."

"Why?" You pout. Is he going to skip your birthday? You know it was stupid. You shouldn’t have agreed. Maybe your parents is right; it is a waste of time.

"They need me there; it won’t take too long, maybe an hour max," he told you while curdling your face between his large hands and kissing your lips softly.

“You promise?” You smiled softly at him.

"Absolutely,I wouldn’t miss it for the world” he replied, you kissed him again.

“I’ll leave you now to finish, honey."

“Okay be careful”

“Always”

He left, and the girls returned to do their tasks. Wanda followed Nat into the room; it appears that your friends are already showing up, so you should finish quickly.

“Hey! Nat told me you invited Ema?” Wanda said as soon as she’s stepped beside you, “hello to you too” you turned to her smiling.

“Im sorry babe” she kissed your cheek before continuing “is it true?”

“Yes, i thought it would be rude to invite all of our friend group except her!”

Nat spoke looking at Wanda “told you”

“Yep, she’s tooooo nice” Wanda replied.

“I don’t know, Ari is inviting his friends and business partners, his mom and sisters are coming as well as their friends, so I think it would be crowded and she won’t be a bother!”

“I hope so” Nat said before looking at Wanda who was fixing her red dress, adjusting her breasts “what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna go see Ethan, wish me luck” Wanda and Ethan has been flirting a lot lately, you know they would end up together it was just a matter of time.

Everyone has arrived an hour and a half later, including your friends, Ari's friends, and family. Nat helped you dressing up in your pink gown, you wore your jewelry as well. Wanda is working as your personal photographer; she took many photos of you before you had to go downstairs so the party could begin.

When the DJ announced your entrance, everyone's eyes turned to you, yelling and clapping, while your eyes scanned the the place looking for Ari.

As soon as your gaze latched on him, you smiled brightly, relaxing for a while before getting down and everyone began to approach you, wishing you a happy birthday.

You were quite apprehensive because it was the first time you had ever been the center of attention at any form of event.

Nat gave you a microphone so you could thank everyone who came to celebrate with you, and you specifically thanked Ari, none of this would happened if it weren’t for him. You wished them a good evening.

After you handed the DJ the microphone, you felt like you were being crushed in a hug by someone, and when you looked down, you discovered it was Ari's younger sister, Amara.

“Happy Birthday!!!!!” She said screaming a bit. You laughed before hugging her back.

“Stop squeezing my girl to death” Ari teased his sister before greeting his mom and his older sister Sadie.

When Amara separated from you Sadie hugged you, as well as his mother.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart; i loved the party theme!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Levinson," you respectfully said. The elder woman scoffs at you, "sweetheart, we've been through this a lot! Please call me Freya; you make me feel old."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll start calling you Freya," you said hesitantly, knowing she had told you that several times but you always forgot. Your mother taught you to never address someone by their first name; instead, use Mr. or Mrs.

Sadie looked around “are we finally going to meet your family?”

Your communication with your family has diminished since you left for college; you text and call, but they don't reach out to you as frequently as you would want. It's what they've wanted ever since you were born. To forget all about you.

You gave them an invitation to your party, but they did not respond. And when you called they didn’t pick up, No surprise.

You didn’t tell Ari that, you didn’t want him to feel sorry for you. But he can see it in your face when his sister mentioned your family.

“Oh they’re busy, they couldn’t make it!” You hoped your excuse was believed and by the look they gave you they did.

After a small talk they left to join other people for dance and chatting.

Ari left you alone for a minute to talk with his friends while you drank and danced with your friends.

Hours later, it was time to cut the cake, two servants brought the cake to a table in front of you. Ari hand wrapped around your waist while your hand was on top of his, him and everyone else singing happy birthday for you.

"Make a wish!" Nat called for you, and everyone else joined her, you giggled before closing your eyes and making a wish.

After opening your eyes and blowing on the candle, everyone clapped and whistled for you.

"I want to show you something," Ari whispered in your ear. You turned around, looking into his eyes. "What?"

"Come with me," he said, taking your hand a bit further and directing you to the double massive doors, which opened immediately.

A Rolls-Royce Ghost in Champagne Rose pulled in, you could hear the stunned screams of the people surrounding you; you were as surprised as they were.

“Oh my god!!, you didn’t!!!” You looked between Ari and the car, Ethan stepped out of the car, passing the keys to Ari, who handed them to you.

“All yours baby” you jumped on him, hugging him firmly, thanking him constantly “I love you i love you i love you!!”

Nat and Wanda came close to you both “girl you have to take us for a ride!!”

“I can’t wait to show off my first car ever!!” You smiled big and jumped up and down while clapping.

Wanda smiled “let me take pictures of you with the car!” She took her phone out and you got beside the car posing while she took a couple of pictures of you.

You grabbed Ari hand wanting him in the pictures. He smiled before letting you posing him in whatever way you wanted.

If he could, he would have given you the entire world without asking, but for the time being, he will give you anything your heart desire.

Life has its own way of repaying you. While you spent the previous twenty-three years begging someone to spare you a glance, right now you could ask for anything and it wouldn’t be trouble to give.

From behind, an irritating loud noise was heard. "I told you that he is her sugar daddy!!" Everyone fell silent, wondering who it was.

Your smile faded slightly; you weren't a particularly confrontational person to begin with. People would walk all over you while you excused them. You were too kind and too afraid to ever react to anyone.

“Who said that?" Ari stated calmly yet furiously, everyone got quiet surprised at the person who is brave enough to insult Ari’s girl

Wanda and Nat exchanged knowing glances. Finally, Ema made a fool of herself in front of Ari.

They know Ari doesn't accept disrespect, especially to those who don't deserve it, and to disrespect his girl? Oh, she just dug up her grave.

“Ema did," Nat answered, unconcerned about your glares.

Ari doesn't want to ruin your first birthday celebration, but he can't let this individual get away with it.

When he observed a girl who appeared shaking with fear, everyone's gaze was drawn to her, he knew it was her, and he approached her moved in front of her eye sight, almost nothing can stand between them.

"There are two reasons for saying this; one is that you are jealous because no one has ever loved you enough to provide you with something you desired, or YOU don't deserve to be loved or cared for like i do with my girl, I believe the latter it is," he said as calm as he can be

He could hear Wanda and Nat laughing mockingly at her. Finally, someone standing up to this bitch.

“Get the fuck out of my house and don't ever think of disrespecting my girl; or the next time you won't have a tongue to talk with; are we clear?" She nodded so quickly

“Good," he said, motioning for two of his guards to accompany her out; Bucky pointed out for the DJ to play some music to keep the party going.

Wanda yelled “ oh my god i love this song”

Her and Nat went dancing on the dance floor, while everyone else seemed to have forgotten what had happened and continued to have fun.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" Ari spoke to you in hushed tones.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, smiling back. "Do you know this is the first time I've seen you in your mob mode?"

“Really??” Ari was taken aback, saying, "I hope I didn't scare you."

"You did not, thank you for standing up for me; I really thought inviting her to my party would make her nice to me," you said, "I didn't want to divide our group into two sides."

"Sometimes, honey, being nice to someone so low is not the solution; if they don't respect you, they have to go; it's either they do or they don't." His huge hands comforted you by moving circles behind your back.

You thought for a moment about what he said "Yeah, you're right"

You got closer to him, your lips almost touching, "do you want to take my new car for a ride?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

[sophaeros]

julian casablancas for creem magazine, december 2024 (x)

Feeling The Voidz

How to avoid a stroke? Interview Julian Casablancas. By Taran Dugal

It is a horrifically humid September afternoon in Manhattan, the kind where the leaves falling from the trees seem more like suicide jumpers than a physical manifestation of the changing seasons. I find myself seated at a wooden table in the back corner of Lucien, an upscale French restaurant in the East Village that happens to be a frequent haunt of certain high-profile individuals including Bella Hadid, A$AP Rocky, and Julia Fox. The table is laid with a white silk tablecloth, upon which sits a small candle, its flame flickering desperately. Across from me, fidgeting with his coffee cup, is Julian Casablancas, frontman of the Strokes, a New York City band that was heralded as the saviors of rock ’n’ roll in the early aughts and widely credited with jump-starting a number of decade-defining cultural movements, among them the “post-punk revival” and the “indie sleaze aesthetic,” the latter of which centers on leather jackets, cigarettes, and skinny jeans, and which oh-so-many socialites would lead you to believe is experiencing a resurgence in certain low-lit corners of downtown Manhattan.

But we are not here to talk about downtown Manhattan, or cigarettes, or skinny jeans, or postpunk, or even the Strokes. Instead, our minds are on the Voidz—a band Julian formed in 2013 as a kind of Batman to his other project’s Bruce Wayne, one whose music has been described as “dystopian rock,” “Middle Eastern Cyber Prison Jazz,” and, perhaps most eloquently, “battery acid." In three days, the Voidz are set to release their third LP, Like All Before You. I am here to talk about the album with Julian, and I am on edge because precisely 39 minutes before we were scheduled to meet, I received a call from his publicist, who told me that he’d most definitely be in a bad mood. “A bit gruff” was how she put it. According to her, Julian had been subjected to an “awful interview” earlier that day, meaning that he’d fielded questions that only dealt with “the Strokes, the Strokes, the Strokes,” rather than the Voidz, or the new album, and he’d apparently hung up on the interviewer. “If he’s mean to you,” the publicist said, “try not to think too much of it—just roll with the punches.”

I do my best to keep this sublime advice in mind as we settle in. Julian is dressed sharply, if not eclectically—blue jeans, a black leather belt, and a navy button-down, all topped by a beige blazer with a bright orange handkerchief jutting out of its breast pocket. The button-down is emblazoned with a psychedelic pattern that resembles a series of interconnected, misshapen gingerbread men. Somehow, it actually looks cool, although Julian himself seems tired. He’s just made the drive down from Connecticut, where he now spends a significant amount of time. It is not a fun drive, and I can see his weariness dissolve as the steam from his coffee unfurls and makes its way toward his nostrils. He lifts the mug up to his face, blows on it a little, takes a big sip, and lets out a deep exhale. It strikes me that, other than me, Julian, and his manager, there are no other patrons inside the restaurant. It is quiet, save for the clattering of dishware and Edith Piaf’s searing soprano, which is lilting out of the loudspeaker just above us. The song is “La Vie en Rose.” Julian leans in toward me, and, recalling the publicist’s warning, I brace myself for a jab. Instead, a smile creeps across his face. “So what are you looking for?” he quips. “A relationship? Or just hookups?”

The joke sets me at ease. Despite the publicist’s fussing, it seems clear that Julian isn’t pissed off. That said, he isn’t exactly a Chatty Cathy, either. As we ease into things, his cards stay close to his chest. He is intensely self-aware, and the intensity of that scrutiny gives our conversation a distinct rhythm. Julian counters most of my questions with considered pauses, and when he does start to speak, his answers begin at a slow, halting cadence. Eventually, the engine warms up, and these musings turn into fast-paced, expansive rambles that go on for minutes at a time. When they do lose steam, it’s abrupt and decisive. Oftentimes, I find that I’ve forgotten what I asked him in the first place. This isn’t to say that Julian is a bad conversationalist. In fact, as things progress, it turns out that he’s a great chat—his long-winded answers contain everything from self-deprecating barbs to shrewd insights, and for good measure, he throws in a decent amount of obscure cultural references (from Nabokov’s Inuitation to a Beheading to Demolition Man, a mostly forgotten 1993 sci-fi film starring Sylvester Stallone).

I start by asking him about the band’s intentions for the new album. On Like All Before You, the Voidz (consisting of Casablancas, guitarists Jeramy “Beardo” Critter and Amir Yaghmai, bassist Jake Bercovici, drummer Alex Carapetis, and keyboardist Jeff Kite) cover a tremendous amount of ground in 10 tracks and 43 minutes. The album’s opening tune, “Overture,” features a gothic organ that flutters between nostalgia and despondence, and its follow-up, “Square Wave,” is a new-wave number whose chorus foregrounds an ocean of synths that drown Casablancas’ melancholic croon. Other standouts include “Spectral Analysis,” a shimmering composition that sounds like it was recorded in an alternate universe where Bill Evans had never been introduced to heroin and cocaine, and instead set his sights on avant-garde rock—Kite’s keyboard-playing here floats like the mist at the base of a waterfall. The album’s most radio-friendly song is “Flexorcist,” which contains lyrics straight out of a Kerouacian fever dream. The chorus, with its jaunty, headbanging guitars and Casablancas’ vaulting vocals, makes the track sound like it was unearthed from a time vault housing the soundtrack for 2075’s biggest summer blockbuster.

It’s evident that the album was decidedly not made to appeal to contemporary pop sensibilities. Most of the tracks are home to moments that deviate from typical musical norms, like the disjointed, cyclical riffs in “All the Same” and the sinister, pitched-down vocals in “When Will the Time of These Bastards End." Julian is well aware of this. In fact, that was a conscious decision. “I think, before this record, we were still kind of in that phase where we were trying to afford the tour.” This checks out. Virtue, the Voidz’s second album, is far from a conventional rock record, but it is certainly more straightforward than Like All Before You. “There was a moment where I think we all got on the same page,” Julian says of the new album. “We knew we could do something kind of traditional, and if that became popular, then cool, great, whatever. But if we did something alienfuture-weird, some kind of next-level unknown, and that became big, it would be so much more amazing on every level. We were all like, yes, let’s do that.”

It is an ambitious goal, but an unsurprising one nonetheless. After all, this is a band fronted by a man who, at the age of 22, asked the producer of his debut album to make his vocals sound “like your favorite blue jeans.” And yet, despite what the sonics of Like All Before You might lead you to believe, Julian maintains that he isn’t entirely pop-averse. “There’s an alternate universe of popular music,” he tells me. “I hate pop, but the pop on TikTok and Instagram or whatever can be cool. It’s kind of gothy, and there’s funk, and sometimes I don’t mind it. We mixed the chorus of ‘Square Wave’ on a phone to hear how it might sound if it came up on a video of cats, or some glorious soccer goal.” I tell Julian that he’s just provided CREEM and its readers some brilliant insight into his feed. “Yeah,” he smirks. “Cats and soccer.”

After a certain point, I decide to dig a little deeper. There is a certain chord progression used on the album that I’ve noticed in a few different Voidz songs. For those of you who (like me) have not bothered to spend anything more than a harrowing 15 minutes nose-deep in music theory, fret not: I’m talking about the soul-centering, melancholic sequence that takes center stage on tracks like “Human Sadness,” the first single from Tyranny, the Voidz’s debut LP. It’s a herculean, gut-wrenching song, one that spans 11 minutes and several emotional lifetimes. You might also recognize the progression from his work with the Strokes.

“Yeah,” says Julian, “it’s on a lot. ‘The Adults Are Talking’ and ‘Life Is Simple in the Moonlight.’ Even if you go back to, like, ‘Hard to Explain.”’ He pauses. “I don’t know if you know any of these songs.” The thought is laughable, if not humble—no self-respecting rocker hasn’t listened to Is This It at least a dozen times—but I decide not to mention this, and he continues. “It’s everywhere, like on Harry Styles’ ‘As It Was,’ and that one Dua Lipa song.” I ask Julian if he means “Levitating” (admittedly, the only Dua Lipa song that I know), and he asks if I can sing it. I swallow my pride and follow through. “Nah, not that one,” he says. “It’s more like—” and he sings out a phrase in his rich baritone. Here’s some advice: If you ever want to feel ashamed about your own vocal abilities, try going bar for bar with Julian Casablancas.

“I think it’s called ‘Cocaine’ or something,” he says. It’s not—turns out the song is called “We’re Good"—but to his credit, some of Dua’s lyrics are about cocaine. Julian takes the moment to offer a pithy Casablancas-ism: “Getting a boyfriend—bad career move for her. ” He chuckles and then takes it back. “That’s fucked up.” Finally, refocusing on my original question, he issues a decree: “We’re not going to do that progression anymore." Then, a pause. “Well, actually, that’s not true, because I’m working on this new thing.... But all I know is, going forward, that chord progression won’t be there. So enjoy it. Suckle on its sweet juice. Farewell.”

As if to bid the notion goodbye, he takes a swig of his coffee, and I use the moment to flip through the pocket-size notebook I’d brought with me to the restaurant, which is full of scribbled, mostly illegible questions that I haven’t yet considered asking. A woman from Lucien’s waitstaff notices a break in the action and comes up to our table, smile beaming and eyes sparkling. “So good to see you again!” she exclaims to Julian. He turns and responds with a mildly convincing “Yeah, you too.” It’s hard to tell if he actually recognizes her, but he puts in the requisite amount of effort to make it seem like he just might.

As we start talking again, I notice that Julian’s reticence, which so dominated the first half hour of our conversation, has slowly given way to free-flowing dialogue, first about the meaning behind the title of the new record. “I guess it was a lot of things,” he says. “The problems that society is facing, the things we’re feeling...it’s been the same story for at least 10,000 years, probably more. But originally, it came from a conversation I had with Jake, who’s a great speaker and mind and word engineer, and the voice of a lot of the Voidz stuff that comes out. I'll ask him questions as a joke. I think I asked, ‘How would you define everything in one word?’ and he said something like, ‘Soon we will be crusted and dusted like all before us.’ And I thought, ‘Whoa, Like All Before Us—that sounds like a book I want to read.’ So that’s where it was born. It was meant as a kind of all-encompassing, universally defining statement."

This gets us talking about politics, and it becomes eminently clear that Julian has a lot to get off his chest. We end up in a philosophical sparring session, during which he diagnoses the crux of modern society’s ills and the mechanism through which they persist (“Deception is the tool, and money is the weapon—or maybe it’s the other way around”) and ends up talking about the deep political divide in America. I ask him how he thinks we might overcome it, and a cloud of solemnity crosses his face. “That’s the question at the cutting edge of today’s creative mind. That’s our job.” I don’t bother to mention that, in all likelihood, there are thousands of creative minds for whom such a question is—amidst notions of marketability, virality, and data-driven content creation—probably the very last consideration.

Casablancas has garnered criticism for being a conspiracy theorist, and it’s clear that he doesn’t try to contain his enthusiasm for taboo political discourse. That said, I didn’t find his opinions to be all that farfetched. He mentions that “there were half a million children starving in Iraq, and you can trace that to The New York Times convincing everyone that Iraq was going to conquer the world, or whatever.” This is defensible—one only has to turn a keen eye toward the headlines of some major publications to realize the extent to which editorial biases justify violence against the feeble and helpless. Political opinions aside, I find Julian’s sentiment (“That’s our job”) to be genuinely moving. Here is an individual who has, in many ways, conquered his industry. He’s written seminal, groundbreaking records, enjoys a massive, loyalist fan base, and can comfortably sell out venues across the world. And yet, rather than resting on his laurels, he has instead decided to embark on an earnest quest for meaningful change.

Eventually, the afternoon grows old, and the candle on our table drowns in its wax. Julian’s manager comes over and informs him that it’s time to go, but not before we exchange numbers. The next day, he sends me an invite to the new album’s release party, in the basement of a dive bar just south of Tompkins Square Park. I show up late, and the night passes quickly. Just after 12, I find myself in a narrow smoking area, deep in conversation with the owner of a gourmet restaurant a few blocks away. Behind him, the loudmouthed daughter of a billionaire is chatting with a sleazy nightlife photographer. A friend grabs my shoulder and pulls me inside, where dozens of scenesters, artists, and groupies are throwing shapes on the dance floor—but Julian is nowhere to be found. Then, as the hour wanes, his tall frame emerges like an apparition, skulking just outside a private room at the back of the bar. A beat passes, maybe two, and the opening verse of “All the Same” starts to play through the loudspeaker: “Oh, I was wrong, I was wrong. Now I’m a lonely boy. I’m gonna disappear into thin air.” And he does.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Snake Eyes 4

Warnings: noncon, coercion, manipulation. Proceed with caution.

Note: thanks all for reading and I hope you’re excited for this one. All feedback is more than welcome and loved and appreciated. Reblogs are most helpful.

Part of The Club AU

“You’re disgusting,” you say and step away from the shelves, “it’s not worth–”

He catches your arm as you try to skirt around him. You spin to face him and tug on his grip. It’s firm and unrelenting. He smirks as his other hand comes up behind your neck and he forces you close.

“That’s too bad, you could’ve walked out with a good take,” he pinches the muscle along your neck, “as it were, I’m not in the habit of paying for it.”

“Get off of me–”

“Shh, it’s easier if you just go along. Don’t work too hard,” he slithers.

You lash out with your other hand, barely missing his cheek with your nails as he tilts away from your reach. You grunt and throw your fist against his shoulder but the impact is lessened as he squeezes your neck harder. An electric pain zips down your back and you cry out.

“Darling, you think a bit higher of yourself than you should,” he snickers as he turns and walks you backwards, “the number of women I’ve had through these doors, they know when to shut up and take it. They’re wise enough at least to be flattered–”

“You’re gross, get off me–” you whimper as his nails dig into the tendons of your neck. His other hand is on his belt, the buckle clinking loudly.

“Mm, maybe, but I’ve enough money to make up for that,” he winks and you sneer in revulsion. 

He leans in, close. His green eyes sparkle as they fall to the grimace that curls your lips. His tongue pokes out as heat radiates across your cheeks and chest, a storm of mortification and rage. He keeps his hand on his belt. What the fuck is he doing?

“Well, you’ve made your choice, you may walk out empty-handed,” his lips almost brush yours as he speaks, “oh, you will regret that you did not take any benefit from this.”

“I won’t regret shit,” you snarl as you feel his grip loosen and shove him away, “I quit. I’m done with this nest of scum.”

He lets you go and takes a step back. You shove him again, harder and turn on your heel. You clutch your hands into fists and march away, shaking with the surge of adrenaline. The weight of his touch remains heavy along your neck.

Another job gone. You bluster out of the backroom without looking back, his rolling chuckle following you out. Your vision pinpoints and you sense a shadow along the edge but you don’t look over. You’re humiliated enough, you don’t need to see the witnesses.

You pass by the bar as the lights of the bar glare down at you and music pumps, echoing the anger pounding behind your temples. You can’t believe this shit. He’s not the first creep you’ve encountered in the business but dammit if it isn’t exhausting.

“Hey, where–” Thor calls after you.

“I quit,” you bark over your shoulder, “you can thank your brother.”

You don’t hesitate, you don’t look back. Good riddance. You worked at dives less shady than this painted up cesspool.

🐍

Sleep is fleeting. Even after two shots of rum, you can muster more than a morsel here and there, drifting off only to wake in a fit of anxiety. You hate the job search. It’s torture. Putting on a smile when all that should matter is that you know how to mix a goddamn drink.

You relent and wake up. A strong coffee to start your day of defeat. Scrolling the postings is like dredging a swamp for gold. As much as you longed for time off, this wasn’t what you had in mind.

You apply to several of the franchises. Your time at Applebee’s wasn’t awful but the tips were shit. A few upscale places you could never manage an interview at. And out of desperation, a private posting for an event. It wouldn’t be for the long-run but it would get some cash in hand while you wait for something more stable.

You log off before noon. You should try to sleep. You lay down, a bit calmer now that you’ve done a bit of footwork. You pull a pillow over your head. You brush your neck with your fingertips and shudder. Tender bruises dabble across your skin and tinge as you touch them. Asshole.

You wake up around six. Your phone is filled with useless notifications. Not even a call from work. Well, you don’t want to hear from them unless it’s about your final check. Amid the automatic notifications about your applications, there is a single response. Oddly fast but you won’t complain.

It’s from the event host. Seeing as the occasion is only a week on the horizon, you guess it’s not unforeseen. The message is straight to the point.

‘Hello,

Thank you for your application. Upon review of your credentials, we would be interested in discussing this position further with you. Please let us know the best time to arrange an interview.

Best Regards, Sif’

You mull on the offer. It is a bit sudden, not entirely transparent. You’ve been to some strange job interviews. You remember that boat you worked on for a whole two hours and snuck off before it disembarked. 

There is only the description of the event. ‘A private event for wealthy investors’. Corporate, those always go over well and companies do tend to dole out a healthy bonus. What the hell? Beggars, chooser, all that shit.

[ultramarine-spirit]

I don't wanna sound overly dramatic over this subject, and I'm probably preaching to the choir, but once again, please don't repost my, @lithi's, or anyone else's pictures.

If you ask me for permission to repost my posts (as people have done before) I'll most likely say yes. Just please ask. If it's a matter of not knowing how to purchase the manhwa, I would love to help in that regard too. This is important to me because I wanna make sure to support Spoon; she deserves to be compensated for her work, and the manhwa costs literally pennies.

But when it comes to reposting lithi's stuff, I find it really egregious. She has truly been the backbone of this fandom for many years now, even more than the time I've been around, posting pictures, information, translating the manhwa and quotes from the novel. And yet, time and time again, people repost her stuff without asking, even when she has made it clear that she doesn't allow it. Please respect all the work and love she puts into making content for this fandom.

Also, for the love of god, stop running the pictures through those awful AI image upscalers. They look bad.

[devildom-moss]

Happy 1 year anniversary to your blog! ❤️

Can I request gn! reader on their first date with Meph in nightbringer

hope you have a great day/night ^^

Thank you for the request. I had so much fun with it that I might have taken longer on it and made it a little longer than I should have. Oh well!

1 year anniversary flash request event - SFW

(Mephistopheles x gn!MC)

Prompt 9 - First date

How did this even happen? Mephisto wondered as he opened his car door for you, taking the opportunity to inconspicuously ogle at you as you got in.

You had taken the initiative and invited him out for a drink. His flustered, wide-eyed face confused you as the words tumbled from his mouth: “A-are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah, that was my intention,” you shrugged.

“Why, I never –! A human of all the –!” Mephisto mumbled to himself.

“What? I think you’re cute.” You furrowed your brows. “Have you never been asked on a date before?”

“I’ve been asked out before; I just never accepted. I’ve never had any interest before.”

“Before? So, you have interest now?”

“I didn’t say that, you impudent human!” Mephisto crossed his arms defensively, heat rising in his cheeks.

“Well, I suppose you might not be an ideal date anyway – due to the lack of experience and what not,” you teased.

“How dare you! I’m a gentleman. I would make an astounding escort –”

“Who said anything about an escort?”

“Escort on a date! Not a – forget it.” Mephisto mumbled. “I’ll pick you up at Cocytus Hall at 7pm tomorrow night. Wear something nice but comfortable!”

With that, he stormed off – just in time to hide the smile that cracked through his indignant façade.

He brought you to a nice restaurant – not quite as upscale as Ristorante Six, but you knew he had called ahead and leveraged his name (perhaps even slipped some money towards the establishment) to get this reservation. Now that you were sitting across from him, with his handsome face and his dignified suit that somehow outshined his god-awful taste in neckwear, you were starting to feel nervous. He picked up on that.

“Relax. You’re the one who asked me out, after all,” Mephisto sounded annoyed, but he stared at you with a reassuring smile. “You look lovely tonight. Just act like your usual, barely-tolerable self, and you’ll be fine. I’m here with you. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you for agreeing to go out with me.” You smiled and let out a sigh of relief. Mephisto cleared his throat to distract from the sudden warmth that flooded his face.

Not too surprisingly, Mephisto was an excellent conversationalist. You were delighted when you actually managed to make him laugh so much that he looked surprised as he tried to quiet his laughter – as if he hadn’t expected you to be so funny, or maybe he hadn’t expected to enjoy your company so much.

After dinner, you expected him to promptly take you home, but instead, he offered you his arm and took you for a walk down the street. You didn’t mind, but you asked him nonetheless, “Where are we going?”

“That’s a surprise. You wouldn’t want to ruin a surprise, now, would you?”

A short but rather relaxing stroll later, Mephisto stopped at a small, almost shady-looking shop. After a wonderful dinner, you decided you owed Mephisto the benefit of the doubt and walked into the shop when he held the door open for you. The shop was filled with (shockingly clean and organized) shelves, each one stacked with intriguing knick-knacks and magical items. You could feel the magic just by walking through the doorway.

Somehow, in response to almost anything that piqued your interest, Mephisto had some kind of insight or background knowledge. And you thought Satan and Solomon were the nerds.

“You’re so knowledgeable,” you admired him. “But what made you think to bring me here?”

“You’re studying under Solomon, aren’t you? I figured the wise sorcerer’s apprentice might appreciate something like this. And I’m not that knowledgeable; I did a write up on this place a few weeks ago. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t have the chance to read it.”

You stifled a laugh at his slight pout. “Still, it looks like you retained a lot of that information. That’s pretty cool.”

Mephisto smiled at your praise. “If something in particular catches your eye, let me know before we leave. I’ll get it for you – and no, it’s not any trouble. I’m happy to provide you with a memento of our date. Consider it a reward for being surprisingly good company.”

“You didn’t have to say ‘surprisingly.’”

Mephisto looked around quickly before leaning in and stealing a quick kiss in the middle of the shop. “Consider that one a reward for the adorably stupid faces you make when you’re annoyed at me.”

“You’re awful,” you lied.

“I know.” Mephisto smirked and stole another kiss from you. This time, he lingered on your lips. “Thank you for asking me out.”

A/N: requests are still open for the rest of today if anyone else wants to enter. (rules here) I probably won't get to all of the SFW requests, but I may be able to finish them up tomorrow or the day after.

[qwerty-between-the-lines]

In a sense, Nico hated visiting Elysium. It reminded him a little too much of an upscale gated community.

The houses were all like manors with perfectly manicured green lawns and all kinds of outdoor decor.

He didn't even know where Luke lived, and that was assuming Luke hadn't chosen to be reborn. He figured he'd narrow it down by looking for houses that indicated a son of Hermes might live there.

He and Will spent about half a day by his reckoning, walking the streets of Elysium, and only one house had caught his eye.

He was looking at it. A two-story red brick house with a statue of Hermes on the front lawn.

As he approached, he saw that the front door had a caduceus knocker. He knocked and hoped that this was Luke's place.

The door opened and there he was. Luke glanced at Nico curiously, before his gaze shifted to Will.

"Ah, hello Solace," Luke greeted.

"Luke," Will acknowledged in a reserved tone of voice.

"Guess I deserve that," Luke remarked in response to Will's attitude. "...and you're Nico, right?"

"Good of you to remember," Nico said. "I'll get straight to it. Your dad sent me. He wants me to get you out of the underworld."

Luke's eyes widened in surprise.

"Can you actually do that?"

"I'm a son of Hades," Nico explained. "I can get you out IF my dad doesn't notice what I'm doing. If you want to come, it had better be quickly. The furies haven't noticed my presence YET."

Luke looked a little reluctant.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "On one hand, I'd hate jeopardize what I have here if I go back upstairs and mess up. On the other hand, I'd love to see everyone again and start over."

"You need to decide quickly," Nico urged. "I'll get in big trouble if anyone suspects what I'm doing here. I'll just say that I'm sure Annabeth would be happy to see you."

"Aw geez," Luke sighed. "You had to mention Annabeth. Well, how could I say no?"

"You really do care about her," Will observed.

"Of course, I care about her. She and Thalia are the only ones I cared about after joining Kronos. Annabeth gave me the courage to make the sacrifice."

"As nice as that is and all," Nico said impatiently, "...we really need to get out of here."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Luke decided. "Lead the way, son of Hades."

Nico nodded and walked over to Luke's fireplace. He muttered some strange, unrecognized words and flung out his hand.

He did this a few times until something must have happened.

"This way," Nico said, getting down on his hands and knees. "I can't take you the usual ways, so I made a doorway. It'll take a lot of my power to maintain, so the faster we can get out, the better."

Will would never suggest that Nico shadow travel, and Luke didn't suggest it.

Nico couldn't have if he'd wanted to. His dad or the furies might notice if someone shadow traveled in their realm.

"Oh," Nico said suddenly. "That reminds me. You've eaten the food of the underworld."

Nico pushed a couple of pomegranate seeds into Luke's hand.

"One now," Nico instructed. "One tomorrow. After that, we'll see."

Luke nodded and crushed one of the seeds between his teeth. They crawled onward for what might have been an hour, or several hours.

Luke felt his knees starting to protest. His legs were cramping. He hoped this wouldn't take much longer.

After what might have been an hour, they reached a dead end. Nico pushed at the wall, and it swung inwards as easily as a door.

Luke looked around at the bedroom they'd come out in. His eyes widened with conflicted agony.

"Oh no," Luke choked on a sob. "Not here. I can't face her. Please. Somewhere else."

"It can't be somewhere else," Nico said. "This is where the doorway ends. Probably because you have a strong emotional connection to this place."

Luke's heart fell as he heard shuffling downstairs. He sighed, knowing he'd have to face her sooner or later.

-To be continued?-

[brilliant-minds]

What I love about Brilliant Minds can really be summed up in the opening scene of the pilot. It’s really important for the first 10 pages/minutes of a script to interest the audience, show who your characters are and their motivations, and establish the tone and direction of the story.

Spoilers for Season 1, Episode 1 of Brilliant Minds below

The pilot opens with Oliver sneaking into a hospital and busting out one of his patients with Alzheimer’s — but not before getting him dressed in black-tie. They escape on a motorcycle and arrive at an upscale venue, focusing briefly on a young bride before being interrupted by two blurry-faced figures (the parents / his patient’s daughter & son-in-law). Before they can kick him out for fear of upsetting their daughter on her big day, Oliver guides his patient (Harold) to the piano and coaxes him into singing a love song he knows. It’s beautiful, the band joins in on Oliver’s cue, and everyone watches in awe as Harold belts it out while masterfully playing the piano.

The scene ends with Harold walking over to his granddaughter and, recognizing her as his granddaughter (Sophie), she looks at Oliver in amazement. He explains that music helps Harold regain lucidity and be back in the present for moments like these. Oliver takes a step back and watches as Harold and Sophie dance and enjoy each other’s company.

What we learn in the opening alone:

- Oliver cares deeply about his patients and sees them as people first who deserve humanity

- He will do anything for his patients, including things that are against hospital policy that may get him in trouble

- He has some kind of issue (later revealed as face-blindness) that makes social interactions challenging

- Oliver is creative and thinks of out-of-the-box solutions for his patients’ ailments