#just because she never wants to forget the people she cares about

[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

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© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[randombush3]

ojalá te amara

alexia putellas x reader

prologue, que te quiero, busco lo de antes, te hacemos falta

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 2664 (short and sharp i would say)

content warnings: just me feeling bad for what i'm presenting you with

notes: it's being set up for a resolution te lo juro

“You’re watching me.” 

Eyes, that’s what you catch a glimpse of. And it’s obviously Alexia, because who else would be here? 

You feel her look away, but that does nothing to veil the tension she carries around with her, the charge she puts between you whenever you are remotely close. The guitar in your hands feels like it is fizzing – or maybe that is your skin, your fingers familiar, familiar for once, and itching to play it. 

“You haven’t touched it in years,” she replies after careful consideration. “Reminds you of your father.” 

“He never played for me–” 

“You played for him,” she cuts in. You forget that you are not a stranger to her. She does this a lot, finishing sentences and stories and phrases as though she carries an encyclopedia around that details your life. Or as though she loves you, but that is more difficult to come to terms with. “Still, you didn’t want to remember anything about it.” 

“I should be more careful about what I wish for,” you joke. She winces, unashamed of it. 

A command rests on her lips, tickling the tip of her tongue. It’s an unloaded bullet. You shoot yourself. 

“Sit,” you say.

She sits, her movements deliberate, slow enough that you can’t help but track every inch of her as she does. The bedroom suddenly feels smaller, tighter, as if the four walls have leaned in to listen. 

“You’re going to play it.” It isn’t a question. She maps out your actions like they are inevitable, like she is omniscient, like she is your god. 

“Didn’t say that,” you counter, though your voice lacks conviction. Her presence always seems to do this – pulls what little certainty you have left out by the roots leaving you exposed and flustered. It has worsened in the past few days. 

You look down at the guitar, your fingers grazing the strings, and they hum under your touch. Here we are, they say to you. You’re not surprised that you hadn’t wanted to play it before now. You can only remember his favourite songs, the slow slump of his mask, slipping off his face until he resembled a happier man. A man he used to be. 

It’s painful to not remember his death. Being told about it is not the same. 

“Didn’t need to,” she says, leaning back on her palms, posture as composed as her words. But her eyes – God, her eyes – betray her. They dart from your hands to your face, they linger too long on your mouth, dark with something you can’t ignore. Something you haven’t been able to stop seeing ever since you caught it. 

You swallow hard. “You’re good at making people do things they don’t want to do.” 

“Am I making you do anything?” Her voice drops, almost a whisper, but there is a challenge threaded through it. She tilts her head, a lock of hair slipping loose from behind her ear. You watch it fall, noticing its dampness, noticing the faint sheen of her skin that tells you she has just gotten out of the shower. 

She must have come back from training early, yet she looks anything but tired. 

“Always,” you say, finally meeting her gaze. She doesn’t flinch, seemingly unfazed. If anything, her lips curve upwards, not quite a smile, not quite definable, but enough to leave your chest tight. 

“You’re too dramatic,” she murmurs. The charge between you snaps, crackling like static. You realise too late that she has closed the space between you until you can feel her knee brushing against yours. It’s light, accidental maybe, but it sets off a pulse through your entire body. 

“Alexia.” Her name leaves your mouth like a warning, but its direction is unclear. Is it to her, or to yourself? Is it a reminder that this isn’t something she has readily available to her anymore? Or do you simply want to tell her what she is getting herself into? 

Her knee remains against yours, a bridge that is not prepared to cross this river. She doesn’t move, doesn’t pull back, and you are not convinced she will. Not unless you tell her to, and even then, she doesn’t seem like she’d listen.

Alexia is putting a stop to something. Or starting something else. 

“You should stop,” you say, words hollow and frail. 

“Should I?’ Her voice is velvet, teasing at the edges. She shifts slightly, just enough for her knee to press more firmly into yours. It’s deliberate. She’s deliberate. Every move she makes is calculated, intentional, and that knowledge burns through, bright and undeniable.

“You think you’re clever,” you murmur, hand tightening around the neck of the guitar, fingers moulding into the fretboard. The strings groan quietly under the pressure, but you barely notice. 

And she says, “no.” She believes her answer. “But you are afraid.” 

That hits like a blow. You blink, grip faltering, but she doesn’t look away. Her gaze is steady, sharp, cutting through the distance that you have maintained. 

“I’m not afraid.” It’s defensive, said too quickly, and you both know it. The ghost of a smirk crosses her lips, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. 

“Then what is it?” she asks, leaning forwards. The proximity is unbearable, intoxicating. Her scent – clean like soap, but faintly metallic, the lingering smell of exertion – wraps around you, making it impossible to think. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Your resort to such a childish retort is an opening. An opportunity. 

“No,” she says, tone measured, blunt. “What I’d like to know is why you won’t fuck me like I am still yours.” 

This is a battle you will not lose, you decide, inhaling sharply. 

“‘Like’?” 

She is searing, and her fire is contagious. You force your eyes to meet. You’re not going to yield. 

“I’m still yours,” she breathes. 

… 

“So you fucked?” Mapi is out of breath, running alongside Alexia as she keeps a furious pace during their laps, motivated only by her yearn for gossip. Strong legs certainly help, but it is not those that spur Alexia on. 

��Nope,” she grits out, speeding up as they turn the final corner, well ahead of the pack behind them. “And I haven’t had an orgasm since September,” she continues, Mapi trailing after her like an old dog who still wants to play, throat dry and chest heaving. 

“How are you sprinting?!” she shouts between gasps as her legs drive her forwards somehow until almost collapsing to a stop. 

Alexia hands her a water bottle, and Mapi takes it with her to the ground. 

“I haven’t had an orgasm for months,” Alexia repeats with a shrug. 

Mapi stares up at Alexia like she’s trying to decipher a code. Her brain, still foggy from the run, tries to plough on, mouth opening and closing a few times, but it takes a few attempts to get the words out. “That explains a lot.” 

Alexia raises an eyebrow, amused despite herself. “Explains what?” 

“Why you’re insufferable lately!” Mapi exclaims, throwing her arms out dramatically. The rest of the team are beginning to fill up their watering hole, but Alexia doesn’t seem to care. Mapi will probably let this slip to Patri anyway, and that will hardly allow her to keep this private. 

“Oh, definitely. And not the fact that my fiancée was in a life-threatening accident and remembers neither me nor our daughter.” Your daughter? Alexia doesn’t feel like correcting herself. 

“No, because she’s alive – you should be relieved.” Mapi bites her lip, “instead you’ve been left to stew in your horniness.” 

“I don’t think she wants to have sex with me!” Alexia whines, outburst still somehow reserved but her grasp on herself slipping just enough for Mapi to truly want to help her out. 

Mapi props herself up on her elbows, sweat dripping down her temple as she processes the conversation. “So you’re telling me she look at you like she wants to eat you alive–” 

Alexia cuts her off with a sharp glare. “Keep it clean, Mapi.” 

“I am keeping it clean! I’m just saying, she looks at you like that, and you still haven’t done anything?” 

Alexia exhales harshly, squeezing her empty water bottle so tightly that it screeches out a burst of air. She remembers yesterday, how you’d seemed intrigued, how she’d pushed. She remembers how it had been working; she had you convinced, had you reassured. She remembers how she’d fucked it up, how she should hae waited for you to kiss her. “It’s not that simple,” she replies. An understatement, really. 

“Isn’t it though?” Mapi stands, brushing grass off her legs. “She’s clearly into you, Ale. You’ve seen it, felt it. So what’s stopping you?” 

“She has to want it,” Alexia says, her voice low but firm. 

“She does,” Mapi insists. “You just said–” 

“No, Mapi,” Alexia interrupts, her tone sharper now. “She has to know she wants it. Has to feel. It can’t just be some reaction she doesn’t understand. It can’t be because she feels drawn to me, or because her body reminds something her mind doesn’t. It has to be her choice. She has to choose me. Otherwise…” Her voice trails off; she is not going to speak these fears aloud.

“And so you’ve told her you could have sex with her, and she’s looked enticed, but you’re not going to do it unless she, what? Jumps you in the middle of your kitchen? What’s your eleven-year-old going to think of that?” Alexia swats her friend’s arm, Mapi instantly regretting her little joke after the reminder of how strong her captain is. “Ow! That’ll bruise, you know.” 

“Don’t mention Amaia,” Alexia warns, not because Mapi is being rude, but rather bringing up her name in a conversation about difficulties fucking her mother seems morally wrong. “We’re trying to become a family again.” 

“And I take it you haven’t informed your fiancée about–” Alexia shuts the conversation off with the decision to end the team’s break and shoo them into the gym where the trainers are expecting them. 

…

You’re bored. Massively so. 

A decade ago, you were up to your ears in essays and books to read, searching for jobs, exploiting your connections as much as you could. You were in a productive state. You were fighting to win, prepared to do whatever it took. 

Now, you’ve been told to relax. You get sick pay. Your associates send you cards, your clients send you hampers. 

You are fucking sick of opening hampers and pretending to care about various artisanal jams. 

It’s nice for them to do that, although you assume it is more to uphold appearances then give you their deepest sympathies, but it is just another mundane task that everyone has conspired to give you in order to keep you distracted from the harsh reality of your situation. You can tell from your home office that you enjoyed your job. There are two desks, one is presumably Alexia’s, but yours, unlike her neutral backdrop for online interviews and video calls, is made for reading, for curling up in your leather desk chair and paging through bundles until every single detail of your case is known. It’s littered with reminders, scrawled on yellow post-its, about possible points and contacts and dates. When you look at it, you are jealous of the life you have built yourself. 

You don’t need to work, as Alexia has told you, trying to be comforting. She makes more than enough and you have your inheritance and savings to ensure financial independence if worst comes to worst. You don’t need to do much of anything, it seems, with staff to help and Eli to care for Amaia (who had been employed as her nanny before you and Alexia had even met). But it’s agitating. Humiliating. 

You don’t want to be a trophy… whatever label your relationship with Alexia deserves. 

“You’re not a trophy wife,” Alexia agrees, her fork prodding at the risotto you’ve made (not from memory), bemused by the conversation topic but not entirely surprised. Amaia is sleeping at a friend's house, playing a match tomorrow that requires her team to be en route earlier than necessary. The girl’s mother, Lucía, seemed conspiratorial when she insisted you allow yourself to rest and that the game will not be anything exceptional, what with them playing a weaker team from a rural town outside the city. With no child to worry or censor for, tonight feels like a very domestic date. 

“I’m not even your wife,” you can’t help but say, gently, humorously, but truthfully. 

Alexia frowns, but it is subtle and not meant to be seen. “Do you want to know about how we got engaged?” she asks, steering the conversation in a far more constructive direction. You can hear your therapist’s approval ringing in your ears. 

You think about it for a moment. The engagement ring was ruined in the accident and you haven’t been presented with its replacement. You’re not even sure what you’d want, though the delicate band on your finger (as seen in pictures) was a choice aligned with your taste. 

“Who did it?” Being eager seems sickening. You’re trying to play it cool, especially after quite possibly being defeated by the incident. 

“You,” she says without missing a beat, clearly still immersed in the moment, still engrossed in the timeline of it. You’re shocked, but maybe that is because in your brain, the last person you remember sleeping with was a man. The idea of women and how to date them has mentally not crossed your mind yet, though you have a family with one. “Rather abruptly, I must say. I really wasn’t expecting it.” You raise your eyebrows, scraping the last of your risotto from your plate. “See, I had planned to propose to you – I had a ring and everything. We’d had a Champions League away game, so it was longer and farther than usual. And you’d be in London for meetings the week before I’d left. We’d barely seen each other.” 

“We weren’t in paradise the entire time?” Your sarcasm is ignored. 

“The distance was making things a bit tense between us,” she continues, “and so I made sure to get a nice restaurant booked, one whose menu wouldn’t be too mature for Amaia.” You’re impressed she planned for Amaia to be there, but you try not to let that show on your face. Instead, you choose a mask of neutrality. “Anyway, we’d just arrived at the airport and I was expecting to get a taxi back home since it was late and, God, that law firm worked you like a dog. But you were there, in Arrivals. You and Amaia. And I just remember being so grateful, so thankful for my family, so relieved to see you guys.” 

You want to comment, but you don’t. Her eyes are shining and you, off all medication now that most of your physical injuries have healed, top up the two glasses of white set in front of you both on the table. 

“You asked me in the car, Amaia asleep in the backseat. I hit my head on the window, I was so shocked. And you’d said it so casually, a simple: let’s get married. Only you would be able to do that!” You laugh. She laughs too. “It was an easy thing to agree to. I still proposed formally at that restaurant, but you insisted you got all the credit.”

She watches as you take a sip of your wine, noticing the lipstick you’re wearing and how it smudges onto the glass. She notices most things about you. She can’t help herself. 

“Alexia,” you sigh, the cool wine doing nothing to ease the tightness of your throat, “I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know how to make this work.” You take a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I can keep pretending that this is what I want.” 

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (part 8)

sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x Fem!reader

A/N: Apologies for the two months radio silence, I had to go for a little grippy sock vacation. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the angst, the comfort and FINALLY…. Nah, I can’t spoil you. You’ll have to read it. Enjoy, and don’t forget to reblog if you do! <3

After Larissa’s admission, the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, like the air itself might crack under the weight of it. You hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, though the ticking clock told you it had only been minutes. Larissa sat beside you, her posture impeccable as always, but her fingers betrayed her composure—they fidgeted ever so slightly, twisting the hem of her sleeve in a way you’d never seen before.

You were still clutching the blanket she’d given you, your knuckles white around the edges. The warmth it provided didn’t quite reach your chest, where a strange hollowness had taken root.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your voice quieter than you intended. The words felt insufficient, but they were all you had.

Larissa turned her head toward you, her silver hair catching the dim light. There was something guarded in her eyes, something she wasn’t ready to say. “You don’t need to thank me,” she replied softly. “I just… needed to be here.”

The honesty in her words startled you. She’d been nothing but composed since the moment you met her, a fortress of calm and control. But tonight, cracks were starting to show. The revelation of her secret had thrown you both into uncharted territory, and you weren’t sure either of you knew the way forward.

“I still can’t believe it,” you admitted, shaking your head as if that might somehow make it all make sense. “The shifting, the man—you—”

“Me,” Larissa said, her lips quirking into a wry, almost self-deprecating smile. “All of it, I’m afraid.”

Your chest tightened at the sound of her voice, that same warm lilt you’d come to recognize, but now layered with vulnerability. It was like hearing a familiar song played in a minor key—comforting and disarming all at once.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Larissa hesitated. Her gaze dropped to her hands, now folded neatly in her lap. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” she said, her voice steady but low. “I didn’t want to risk…” She trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between you like a fog.

“Risk what?”

“Risk losing whatever fragile connection we’d managed to build. I wasn’t supposed to get so attached. We weren’t supposed, remember?” she said remembering your initial agreement, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent so long hiding who I am—what I am—that the idea of showing you felt… impossible.”

Her confession hit you like a wave, the weight of it sinking into your skin. For all her strength, all her poise, Larissa carried a fear you recognized all too well: the fear of being truly seen and rejected for it.

“I don’t think of you any differently,” you said before you could stop yourself. The words spilled out, shaky but honest.

Larissa looked up, her blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t?”

You shook your head. “I mean, it’s a lot to process, obviously. But you’re still… you. And you saved me, Larissa. Twice, now. I can’t ignore that.”

Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly, and you saw a glimmer of relief in her expression. “I’ve had to make difficult choices to keep my secret,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand all of it, but I want you to know—I’ve only ever tried to protect the people I care about.”

“Is that what I am?” you asked before you could think better of it.

Larissa blinked, caught off guard by the question. Her lips parted, and for a moment, you thought she might deflect. But then she nodded, a small, deliberate motion. “Yes,” she said simply. “You are.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy. It was the first time in a long time that someone had claimed you as theirs, even in such a quiet way. You weren’t sure what to do with it.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Larissa replied. “Just… stay.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you saw the weight she carried—not just the secret of her ability, but the responsibility she felt for everyone around her. It was etched into the lines of her face, the faint tension in her jaw, the way her hands never quite stilled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, and the words felt truer than anything you’d said in a long time.

Larissa’s expression softened, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The air in the room felt lighter, less charged, as though some unspoken barrier had finally been breached.

“Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The quiet that followed was different now—less heavy, more companionable. The silence between you felt alive, not oppressive as it had moments before. Larissa's gaze lingered on you, and you found yourself unable to look away. It was disarming, the way her eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies of emotions—uncertainty, hope, and something warmer, more tender, that you couldn’t quite name.

You set the blanket aside, letting the warmth of the moment pull you forward, closer to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice steady, though you noticed the faintest tremor in her hand as she smoothed her skirt.

“Why did you stay here tonight?” you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. “Was it really just to check on me?”

Her lips parted as though to answer immediately, but she hesitated. For the first time, she didn’t seem to know the right thing to say. “I… I needed to make sure you were safe,” she said carefully, but her gaze betrayed her. There was more.

“And?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.

“And,” she continued, her words catching slightly, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone after what happened. I knew you’d push me away if I asked to stay, so I didn’t ask. I just… stayed.”

Your chest ached at the raw vulnerability in her voice. Larissa, the ever-composed, ever-controlled woman you thought you knew, was letting you see her without the walls she usually kept so firmly in place.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, though a part of you was grateful she had.

“I did,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I care about you, more than I can explain. And after last night…” She shook her head, as if trying to push the memory of it away. “I needed to make sure you knew that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and electric, as if the entire room was waiting for you to respond. But no words came. Instead, you leaned forward, the impulse almost unconscious, and placed a hand over hers.

“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt so small compared to everything she’d done.

Her hand trembled beneath yours, but she didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked down to where your fingers rested over hers, then back to your face. The way she looked at you was almost unbearable—like she was afraid this moment might shatter if she breathed too deeply.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Then don’t say anything,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was you, or maybe it was her. But suddenly, the space between you was gone. Her lips brushed against yours, tentative and feather-light, as though testing the waters.

The kiss was brief, but it sent a jolt through your entire body. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, wide and unsure.

“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in again, pressing your lips to hers with more certainty this time. She responded immediately, her hand moving to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Her other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathing heavily. Her fingers lingered on your face, tracing soft patterns against your skin as though committing the moment to memory.

“I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit,” Larissa said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“So have I,” you admitted, your cheeks warming under her gaze.

The vulnerability between you now was almost overwhelming, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like something to fear. It felt like a bridge—a connection neither of you had expected but both of you desperately needed.

Larissa pulled you into her arms, holding you close, her chin resting lightly on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace. The steady rise and fall of her breathing was a balm to your racing thoughts, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I don’t want to rush you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If this is too much, too soon—”

“It’s not,” you interrupted, pulling back just enough to look at her. “It’s not too much. I just… I need to figure out what this means.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she nodded. “We’ll figure it out together,” she said, her voice steady but warm.

You believed her.

————————————————————————

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[iconicname]

Yeah

Always think about that scene where lucifers mother tells him that instead of being sent to hell, God wanted to kill him.

And while she clearly had her own motivations for telling him this (to get lucifer angry enough to get revenge)

So whether or not she was straight up lying for bending the truth, what gets me is how fast lucifer believes her. That belief doesn't come out of nowhere. Which never gets addressed ever again???

Though you could argue that that belief came from sending lucifer to hell indefinitely (which is just if not more cruel because c'mon) Netflix lucifer has a lot of canonical self hatred and implied suicidal ideation (plus his "devil form" which supposed to be a reflection of how he subconsciously see himself)

Coupled with the fact that we've never been given any indication whatsoever of the actual events that led to lucifer being sent to hell other than a vague "rebellion" and a something about Michael manipulating lucifer (which feels like a cop out but whatever)

uppermost with how in the show (bcs comic lucifer is a completely different dude) lucifer is extremely pacified, sure he makes scary faces and will get violent every now and then but nothing about him screams "diety who committed a sin so grave and horrific and showed no sign of stopping that the only option was to banish him to a place so dreadful that the goddess (a being who should effectively be God's equal) feared going back" painting a picture that lucifers punishment was not necessary or just.

And speaking of the goddess or Charlotte ig, she was also sent into hell. And I get the reasoning that it's because she kept causing mass death to humanity, which might seem justified from a human perspective, but to her, God, and her children this is the equivalent to sending her son to Diyarbakır Prison because he said "no" to you or challenged your authority some way. And then later, sending your wife to the same place because she knocked over your ant farm that you were investing more time than into your family.

Because both Lucifer and Charlotte have shown to be good people. Sure they're a little fucked up and have a tendency to use underhanded methods to get what they want but they're motivations while sometimes misguided are rarely malicious.

Charlotte was introduced a big scary figure (let's not forget how wary and downright scared of her he was initially) but she's really a hurt (rightfully so) ex spouse who wanted to get back at God for what he did to her (and lucifer bcs that scene in hell with dead uriel proves that she does love her kids she probably has trouble expressing affection in a straightforward way a trait that was either worsen or caused because of stay in hell) her method of revenge was likely the only thing that could save her herself too because lets be real, everytime both lucifer and her were on earth they both had angels coming down to bring them back to hell through extremely violent means. (I don't care if they were apparently "misguided" every angel that came after them wholeheartedly believed that what they were doing was justified and were pretty damn sadistic about it, too. that belief didn't come from nowhere)

From episode fucking one, it's unsaid, but we establish lucifer as a character who has already had his redemption (and this is through the assumption that he was more "evil" before the show starts) the whole plot with Delilah, someone who made a deal with lucifer to become a star but ended up a addict and involved with shady people. She was at her lowest when she asked she owed lucifer (I think about this a lot bcs I believed she assumed that whatever lucifer would ask of would either be something she couldn't give or something she wouldn't want to) lucifer said to "get her life together" as payment, thus giving Delilah a second chance at life.

Again this is episode fucking one, one of the things I hate about the show and fandom is it portrays Chloe and Lucifers relationship as "the awful misguided evil who is tamed, saved, guided by the second coming incarnate" everytime lucifer has growth as a person the credit is given to Chloe like she did something or just being around her gives you heaven points instead of the reality "lucifer holding Chloe in such high esteem because he's falling in love with her that he bends himself backwards to make himself into someone she would approve of"

because that would acknowledge that God was wrong, that lucifer didn't grow because of his interference, not in fact he did all the work himself (reconciling with a sibling who was hostile for a long time, forgiving his mother for being a bystander, even going to therapy like srsly bro is stronger than me).

And this is why they have God coming in acting like some goofy harmless guy because the narrative established that lucifer doing good thing = Chloe doing "miracles" and since Chloe was directly made by God thus put in lucifers path, it means Lucifer's "redemption" and happiness is on account of god.

That's why everyone is so easy with him. Lucifer is hurt and mad and God is like "but a gave you Chloe ☝️😊 aren't so much happier now?" And "lucifers like damn ur right, all is forgiven!" Chloe's the same way.

And since he's literally God the same goes for every other character for whatever reason or another he's essentially bribed every character to like him and has been playing a long term honeymoon phase (cycle of abuse) with lucifer. lucifer has essentially lost his support system which makes me grind my teeth.

OP you're especially right about Linda because Lucifer specifically made himself vulnerable to her about his traumas, self-esteem, self hatred and so much more to her and for her to say that to him must be gut punching, because she essentially invalidated everything he expressed to her 🫠

Honestly, to me, Lucifer Netflix as a whole has a lot of trouble validating lucifer as someone who was hurt. They love to hammer on his flaws (which makes sense since it started as a series about growth) but when it comes to his trauma, self-hatred and or when he's hurt by another character it gets brushed aside or mentioned once and never again.

Take for example the early seasons with Chloe and Lucifer first developing their partnership it it always delves into a series of misunderstandings, Chloe being a no-nonsense person and lucifer doing everything out of the box. What usually happens is that lucifer steps out of line Chloe will lash out (verbally) and lucifer goes "I don't understand your point I will go to Linda about it" wakiness ensues and by the end of the episode Lucifer has learned some kind of life lesson.

But the thing is that Lucifer is a character who's so genuine with his actions and is worldview is vastly different from hers in so many ways, he always means well so when Chloe says hurtful things (I'm not berating her for this it's completely understandable from her perspective) it's never acknowledged later, no "Hey I was wrong" or "sorry for calling you that" or maybe a "I should have taken you seriously"

It's such a miniscule aspect but it's brushed aside. Same thing with the whole poison situation there's little remorse and Chloe gets to handle the consequences on her terms.

Its like that with every situation really, any character (but mainly chloe) gets to stomp all over him and he's never allowed to fight back or they get "proven right" .

the most annoying part of lucifer on netflix is that he was literally right the whole time. i don't give a shit if the literal actual god was "just trying his best." lucifer was 100% right to be angry at god and in fact, i think everyone should've been downright pissed when they met him. ESPECIALLY linda. fuck her for real for telling him that his conflict with god was partially his fault. lucifer described an abusive father to her countless times and the second she met him she started fawning over him? fuck that. chloe should've punched god in the face

[witchofawoman]

LATE NIGHTS ⋆｡°✩

1. Blooming ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

featuring : jj maybank x kook!reader

summary : growing up in kildare seems like a dream, especially as a kook and even more if they were you, everyone woukd kill to be you : you were rich, everyone loved your family and most of all you were going out with him : Rafe. But behind closed doors, everything was different...

words count : 1.5k

warnings : drug and alcohol usage, explicit content, angst, violence, smut, addiction, cheating, unprotected sex.

a/n : I'm sorry if this is baddly written, this is my first book and I will try to do my best

You were always partying. No one truly cared about you; they only cared about whether you’d attend their party. Your presence was a symbol of status. You had everything that could elevate someone socially: connections, image, and wealth. But for you, parties weren’t about social standing. They were an escape. You drank, smoked, and did drugs, not for fun, but to numb yourself. What started as an indulgence became an addiction.

Everyone wanted to be your friend, but no one truly cared about you. On the surface, they treated you as their friend, but it was one-sided. They never asked how you were, even as you spiraled at their events. You would take whatever was available : pills, weed, alcohol. Just to escape and forget your problems.

Behind closed doors, the "kook princess" title meant nothing. Your parents didn’t care about you. They gave you everything you wanted but never noticed when you began self-harming. They were too absorbed in their own lives, often away in another part of the country. Yet, they demanded perfection to protect their image. Any scandal involving you would bring their wrath.

Your boyfriend was no different. Like your parents, he only cared about appearances. He stayed with you because you were the ideal trophy: calm, compliant, and perfect. He controlled you, loved having that power, and dismissed your feelings. Even when you learned about his multiple affairs, you didn’t react. He saw you as a submissive little doll.

To the world, you were perfect. People thought you were a ray of sunshine : effortlessly beautiful, always saying the right things. But at parties, you let your mask slip. You attended every parties in Figure eight, always showing up even when your soul screamed to be elsewhere.

One summer evening, you went to the annual bonfire, but this this time it was in The Cut. You arrived with Rafe, but he quickly disappeared with a touron. Left alone, you filled a cup with a random drink. Sarah was there too, but she soon left to be with her boyfriend. You danced for a while, but the urge to smoke overwhelmed you. Seeking solitude, you wandered to the water’s edge, sat on the sand with your toes in the surf, and lit a joint.

As you stared at the waves, lost in thought, someone approached. You didn’t turn to look until he spoke.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you replied coldly.

“That’s not very polite. As a kook, you should know what respect is,” he teased, pulling out his own joint. He asked for a lighter, and you handed it to him, briefly locking eyes. That’s when you recognized him: JJ Maybank. You didn’t care for him, mostly because of his constant run-ins with Rafe. You thought he was reckless, but beyond that, you knew little about him, except that he was a Pogue and had a troubled upbringing.

When he handed the lighter back, he smirked. “What’s Y/N Y/L/N doing in The Cut?”

You sighed, not wanting to answer. After taking one last hit from your joint, you stood to leave, but he grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer. The touch unsettled you, not in a bad way, but in a way you didn’t expect.

“What are you doing here, huh? And why aren’t you with your sweet little boyfriend?”

You yanked your hand away. “It’s none of your business, Maybank.”

His smirk widened. His piercing blue eyes held yours, making it impossible to look away. “Let me guess, he ditched you for another girl.”

His words didn’t sting. You were relieved whenever Rafe wasn’t around. He was toxic, manipulative, and full of himself. You sighed again, which JJ took as confirmation.

“Oh, I see. It doesn’t bother you, does it? Is it because he’s a trainwreck, or…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper near your ear. “Is it because he can’t fuck you right?”

He wasn’t wrong. Rafe was selfish, in and out of bed. He never cared about your needs, only his own gratification. You remained silent, but JJ saw through you. His smirk grew, and his gaze deepened as he looked into your eyes, devoid of any spark.

Then, without warning, he kissed you. You should have pushed him away, but you didn’t. Instead, you kissed him back. His touch made you feel weak in a way you hadn’t felt before. The longing in your eyes didn’t escape him, and soon, the two of you found yourselves at the Chateau, lost in each other.

Piece by piece, your clothes fell away, each barrier removed with deliberate care. He didn’t rush or treat you as an object to conquer. For the first time, you felt truly seen—not as an image or a facade, but as a person stripped of all pretense.

His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of soft kisses and tender marks across your skin. When he paused in front of your most sensitive spot, his eyes locked with yours, silently asking for permission. A simple, desperate “Please” escaped your lips, and that was all he needed.

He began with his tongue, moving in rhythmic circles over your clit, making you gasp with pleasure. When he slid a finger inside, your body arched instinctively, and soon, he added another, intensifying the sensation. You became a trembling, moaning mess, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. With every movement, he seemed to unravel you further, taking you to places you’d never been before.

Your hands gripped his blonde hair tightly as the tension within you grew unbearable. “I’m gonna—c-cum, JJ,” you managed to stammer, your voice quivering as your body reached its peak. He responded by quickening his pace, pushing you over the edge. Your vision blurred as you cried out his name, your release overwhelming you completely.

He moved back up to face you, placing gentle kisses on your lips as if to ground you. The intimacy between you felt electric, but you wanted more. He seemed to sense it, turning you over so your back pressed into the soft pillows. As he teased your entrance, you couldn’t help but let out a string of curses under your breath.

Despite the passion, guilt crept into your mind, you were cheating on your boyfriend, and with his nemesis, no less. But those thoughts vanished the moment he entered you fully. A gasp escaped your lips as he started slow, allowing your body to adjust. “You’re so tight, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice laced with pleasure. Soon, his movements quickened, and the two of you were lost in each other, the world outside forgotten.

Every thrust hit the right spot, sending waves of pleasure through your body. The tension built again, and you felt yourself nearing another climax. “JJ, I—” you tried to speak, but your words dissolved into incoherent moans as your body convulsed around him.

He didn’t stop, driving you further into overstimulation as he chased his own release. When he finally found it, he stilled, his warmth filling you completely. You lay together in the aftermath, your bodies tangled and hearts racing. You kissed him deeply, savoring the connection you’d shared.

But as the euphoria faded, reality crept back in. You had a boyfriend. This moment, as incredible as it was, could never happen again. And yet, lying there in his bed, you couldn’t help but wish it could.

a/n : I'm sorry, I know it's not really great, but tell me if you want a Part 2 or smth 🙏🙏

[jujumin-translates]

★ A3! 8th Anniversary | MANKAI Company’s Second Special Performance - “The Blessing of Le Cadeau”

They were given two endings—eternity or momentary pain.

Summary

In the great sea lays a small island, protected by four great countries and a sacred island. Because many writers have lived there since ancient times and countless works have been produced there, the island has come to be known as "the island where stories are born." It is there that stories are created constantly.

In order to preserve and pass on the stories, an academy was founded to train librarians—Le Cadeau Academy.

This year, twelve new students will arrive at this traditional and prestigious academy. With one unfinished book given to them as proof of admission and their own aspirations, they take the first step toward becoming librarians.

However, there is a "secret" hidden within the school. A secret that gives them choices and determines the ending of the story. Now, is the ending it spells out a happy one? Or...

Cast

Aubrey played by Sakuma Sakuya / Tenma Sumeragi

"Come on, let's go! To stories yet to be seen—."

The youngest. His origin is that his grandmother read picture books to him when he was a child. He's honest, charming, and people around him always want to take care of him in any way they can.

Kieran played by Tsumugi Tsukioka / Banri Settsu

"I plan to be a great hero by the time I graduate from here!"

A childhood friend of Jared. He's a young man brimming with curiosity. He's fascinated by the kinds of heroes you see in stories. He's come to confirm the rumor that "librarians never age."

Kenneth played by Tsuzuru Minagi / Kazunari Miyoshi

"I can't believe I've been spotted by royalty of all people. Haha, my school life is over, huh?"

The class president. He had the misfortune of being nominated as class president, even though he had planned to graduate unnoticed. He's diligent to his core and tries his best to do the work that is asked of him properly.

Amalia played by Yuki Rurikawa / Azuma Yukishiro

"There's a book I'm looking for. Ever since before I even stepped foot in this place. All I remember is it's binding."

A woman with a thoughtful personality who always takes a step back and surveys her surroundings. She'll never forget a book she once came across in a small bookstore that she went to when she was little. She was going to save up to buy it, but the book becomes no longer available when the bookstore closes. She's been looking for that book ever since.

Leroy played by Muku Sakisaka / Citron

"I started writing stories... because I wanted a chance to get to know my older brother."

Gordon's gentle younger brother who's a friend to everyone. He feels more than a little indebted to his older brother, and as a result, he has the personality of someone who is more concerned about his surroundings. He is often attentive and keeps his balance in the moment. He began writing stories in the hope that they would help him restore his relationship with his brother, but he has yet to show him any of his works.

Gordon played by Kumon Hyodo / Omi Fushimi

"...Do you enjoy sharing with others? It's so strange, I've never had a conversation like this with someone before."

Leroy's older brother. Once Leroy was born, their parents stopped caring about him, and he used books to fill his loneliness. Because of that, he's somewhat introverted and not very talkative. At best, he's a hassle-free boy. He's puzzled inside, not understanding why his younger brother, who has so many friends, came to the academy with him. (He isn't aware of it, but he's worried that Leroy will take the story away from him, just as he took their parents away from him.)

Joachim played by Juza Hyodo / Sakyo Furuichi

"I've memorized all of your faces. Prepare yourselves for the year ahead."

Royalty. The third prince of the Kingdom of Le Cadeau, which oversees the academy. He enrolls to fulfill his royal duties in other ways, as he will not inherit the throne due to where he stands in the hierarchy. He was hit somewhat hard by Kenneth, who thought that since Joachim had the highest status among the students at the academy, he'd naturally be the one chosen as the class president.

Henrick played by Taichi Nanao / Guy

"All people need is a single story."

There is just one story he'll never forget. He has an aspiration to have as many people as possible encounter books such as he did. He's somewhat narrow-minded and self-righteous. He hopes to encounter only one book in his lifetime that will change his life. He and Meredith tend to clash with one another due to their different values.

Meredith played by Masumi Usui / Chikage Utsuki

"I just love each and every story that's been born into this world."

He loves all stories. The same holds true for how he feels about people. For that reason, Henrick thinks of him as being shallow, and they clash about everything.

Jared played by Azami Izumida / Homare Arisugawa

"It's too ominous to have a black cat pass right in front of you just as you're about to enter school... This must be a warning. This better not unravel some kind of mystery..."

A childhood friend of Kieran's. A gloomy young man. He enrolls after Kieran gets involved. Because he's afraid of librarians not aging, he doesn't want to get involved with them. He tends to think negatively.

Vance played by Tasuku Takato / Misumi Ikaruga

"You wanted to see me? Sure thing. This is gonna be a fun school year."

The student council vice president. He loves mischief and loves having fun. Thinks being vice president sounds fun, so he agrees to do it without any real consideration. He saw a librarian using magic when he was a kid and thought that life would be more fun if he could learn to do it, so he enrolled at the academy.

Abel played by Hisoka Mikage / Itaru Chigasaki

"I don't like being left behind."

He enrolled for one purpose. He gets good grades and is sociable. He behaves as a problem-free student and is trusted by both students and teachers.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Behind the Mask

Oscar Piastri finds himself drawn to a dancer trapped in a life she never chose. Can he uncover her secrets before it’s too late?

whoo it’s been ages since I wrote something that wasn’t a request welcome to behind the mask, please note that this work has some triggering content please be aware that the reader works with men who don’t nearly care about women. let me know if I should dwell further into this. as always comments are appreciated

Oscar Piastri had never felt so alive. The adrenaline of his first Formula 1 win still coursed through his veins, his heart still thundering with the aftershock of the victory. The celebration had been wild, loud, and overflowing with champagne, but now, the roar of the crowd had died down, replaced with the much quieter hum of a small, nondescript bar. He could still feel the weight of the race in his chest, but he needed a place to relax a place to breathe without the cameras and the pressure.

Lando Norris had led the charge to this dimly lit dive. It was tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place that didn’t show up in any glossy magazines or trendy guides, but it had an air of familiarity—like a hideout for people who wanted to escape their own lives for just a moment. Oscar wasn’t looking for anything more than a break from the world, but what he didn’t expect was to be drawn into the world of someone else.

The bar had a dingy charm to it. The walls were painted in fading shades of burgundy, the leather booths cracked and weathered. The scent of stale alcohol lingered in the air, and the low hum of electronic music thudded from the speakers. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was real—a place where you came to forget, if only for a night.

Oscar leaned against the worn wooden bar, talking to Lando and the rest of the team as they celebrated, but something on the stage caught his eye. A dancer. She moved gracefully, but the fluidity of her motions didn’t match the unease he saw in her eyes. She was beautiful there was no denying that but something about the performance felt off. Oscar couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but it was clear she wasn’t there because she wanted to be.

She was there because she had no choice.

Oscar’s gaze stayed locked on her, his mind racing. Every step she took, every spin she executed, was perfect in form, but there was an underlying stiffness, a tension that tainted her every movement. It wasn’t the normal control that came with performance. This was the kind of stiffness that came from fear, from the weight of being trapped. She was performing for an audience, but there was nothing alive in her movements. There was nothing free about her.

She smiled,her lips stretched wide but her eyes her eyes told a different story. Oscar could see it clearly now. The smile was practiced, rehearsed a mask to hide the deep discomfort beneath. She wasn’t performing for the love of dancing. She was performing because it was expected of her. Because she had no other choice. The smile she wore, no matter how perfect, didn’t reach her eyes. It never did.

Their eyes locked for a split second, and in that moment, Oscar felt something strange stir inside him a sudden, intense recognition. She was trapped. It was more than just the rigidness of her body, more than just the exhaustion written across her face. It was the way she held herself, the way she looked at him, like she was begging for someone to see through the facade.

Her eyes flicked away almost immediately, but that brief moment was enough. Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t just a dancer. She was a person one who was being suffocated by something much larger than herself.

The bar owner caught his eye from across the room, his cold, predatory gaze sweeping over the dancer. Oscar could feel the man’s disdain even from this distance. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that looked permanently etched in anger, as if life had dealt him a raw hand that he wasn’t willing to take with grace. His eyes flicked back to the dancer, then to the rest of the room. Oscar’s stomach tightened when he saw the bar owner move toward the stage, his step purposeful, like a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.

The woman didn’t see him coming at first. She was adjusting her outfit, the final moments of her routine drawing to a close, but Oscar could see her visibly tense the moment he laid eyes on her. She stiffened like a deer in the headlights.

Oscar’s heart dropped into his stomach as the man reached her, his hand grabbing her wrist with a force that was almost bruising. The way he jerked her toward him was unmistakable. The woman barely flinched at his roughness, as if she had become accustomed to this treatment, like a puppet whose strings were pulled at the whims of the bar owner. He barked orders at her, words Oscar couldn’t hear but could imagine from the way the woman’s posture wilted, her head lowered in submission.

She didn’t speak back. She didn’t try to fight him. She simply let him move her, like she was just another object to be used.

Oscar could see it in the way her shoulders slumped as she walked to the back of the bar. The mask had slipped, and in that brief moment of interaction, Oscar saw her as she truly was: worn down, defeated, invisible. He didn’t know what was worse—the way she moved under the bar owner’s grip or the fact that she had learned to accept it.

The constant hum of the bar, the clinking of glasses, the loud chatter—none of it ever drowned out the noise in her head. It was a noise that she couldn’t escape, a constant reminder that she was stuck in this miserable routine, trapped in a life she had never wanted.

She had never dreamed of becoming a bar dancer. When she was a little girl, her passion had been ballet. The elegant flow of her movements, the perfect pirouettes, the thrill of performing on a stage that made her feel alive. But life had other plans.

She had been forced to leave ballet when funding dried up, leaving her with nothing but mounting debts to keep her awake at night. The dream she had held onto so tightly slipped through her fingers, just like the grip of the reality she now faced. So, when she had found herself desperate, clinging to the edges of survival, this grimy bar had been the only place willing to offer her a paycheck. And it was the kind of paycheck that was just enough to keep the bill collectors at bay, to keep her from losing the dingy apartment she called home.

The apartment wasn’t much. It was small, cramped, and constantly smelled of mildew. The building had seen better days—leaking pipes, cracked windows, thin walls that allowed the sounds of the street to bleed through. It wasn’t safe. She had learned the hard way that the people who lived there were as desperate as she was. Creeps loitered in the hallways, knocking on her door at all hours of the night, offering money in exchange for favors.

Some nights, she didn’t even feel safe in her own bed.

But here, in this bar, the situation was no different. The patrons leered, their eyes stripping her down in ways she couldn’t escape. She had learned to ignore them, to pretend they weren’t there, but she could feel the weight of their stares, could hear their whispers when they thought she wasn’t listening. She was nothing more than a commodity to them—a distraction. Something to look at while they sipped their overpriced drinks.

And the bar owner? He was the worst of them all. He wasn’t a man who saw her as a person. He didn’t care about her safety, her well-being, or her happiness. She was a tool to him. An object for his gain.

The way he treated her, the way he grabbed her arm without care, pulling her around like she was a piece of furniture—she had learned to accept it. She had learned to swallow the bile that rose in her throat whenever he touched her, to ignore the sick feeling that came when he ordered her around. She had to, because if she didn’t, he’d make it worse.

And sometimes, in the quiet moments when she was alone in the back room, she wondered if she’d ever make it out. If she’d ever find a way to escape this life.

But it wasn’t as simple as walking away. Not when the rent was due. Not when the debts kept piling up. And not when she had nowhere else to go.

Oscar watched in disgust as the bar owner jerked the woman toward the back, his fingers digging into her wrist with a force that could bruise bone. His stomach churned with fury, the sight of the woman’s limp compliance making him want to lunge forward and stop it, to confront the man who dared treat her like this.

It was too much.

He clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white, the anger rising in his chest like a tidal wave. No one should treat another person like this. Oscar had seen his fair share of arrogance, greed, and power plays, but this—this was different. This was cruel. She was not a toy for someone to throw around.

Lando and the others were too busy making crude jokes about the situation to notice the gravity of it. “Look at Piastri, mate. Finally found something more interesting than the podium,” one of them snickered.

“Oi, you reckon she’s got any tricks in her?” another joked, nudging Oscar as if it were all some game.

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “She’s not just a stripper,” he spat back, his voice low and sharp, filled with a sudden fury that startled even him. He glared at them, disgust crawling across his face. “You don’t get it.”

But they didn’t stop.

“Mate, she’s nothing special. Just another one of those girls.”

Oscar watched her disappear into the back of the bar, his jaw clenched, as the crude laughter of his teammates echoed around him.

They didn’t understand, but he would.

He would come back, figure out who she really was, and he wouldn’t rest until he did.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 125 (Flowers, But Everyone's On Edge!)

Conrad landed at the San Myshuno Airport just before dark, where he signed for the bodies of George and June Brindleton. After sending them off in a truck to the morgue in Brindleton Bay, he drove around the city looking for a flower shop.

Really, he was hoping one flower shop in particular was open, and he smiled as he approached The Blooming Room with its lights on.

When the bell dinged to signal his entry, a woman turned around with a smile. "How can I help you?" Her face fell. "Lieutenant Gordon. Are you looking for some flowers?"

He nodded. "Something yellow. Buttercups, if you have them."

"We don't usually put buttercups in our floral arrangements. They're a skin irritant."

He frowned. "Forget the buttercups. Just...yellow."

Melissa Ramsay looked around nervously. "Is that it?"

"You changed your hair."

"Ximena's not the only one who likes to express herself with a bottle of hair dye, I guess. I went back to my natural colour because I'm done hiding."

"I found Rafa," he said. "He's in Sulani."

"Why are you telling me this, Lieutenant? I don't care."

"I don't believe that."

"Do you still care what happens to Ximena?"

"Of course I do. But I hope Ximena ends up behind bars for as long as possible, and I think you still care about Rafa."

She laughed. "I think you don't know me."

"So if I told you how to get in touch with him, you wouldn't even want to check in?"

"Lieutenant Gordon, please!" she begged. "If I check in with him, I'll never want to let him go."

"I don't know if there's anyone else in the world who could bring Ximena down faster than her brother, but he needs to be convinced. I told him I'd try to get him a lawyer and a judge who might offer him a good deal in exchange for turning her in, but he needs a real good reason to do it. I think he still cares about you, too."

She perked up somewhat. "How good a deal?"

"A few years, maybe. If he can help us pin Ximena for the murder of Jimmy Stefano, her price will go up and his sentence could come down. But the judge would need to see he'd be a productive member of society outside the system, and strong relationships with good people can go a long way."

"I don't want you, or anyone else, to get my hopes up, Lieutenant. Or Rafa's."

"I don't want that, either," he insisted. "But the only way we can do this is if we work together to change his mind."

For the first time, Melissa seemed hopeful, and as she sold him a bouquet of carnations and daffodils, Conrad thought he'd changed her mind. But as she wrapped cellophane around the stems, she frowned. "Fifteen simoleons, Lieutenant. Happy Love Day."

He sighed, pulling the notepad and a pen from his pocket to scribble down some information while he paid. "He's not using a phone, but if you call Leila Illes and Oliana Ngata at that number, they'll rent you a villa. Their son, Tane, will be able to show you where Rafa's hiding out. Bring good shoes."

By the time he made it back to Brindleton Bay, Love Day was already over. Heather was distracted, worried over Ash's conversation with Ben, but she accepted the flowers with a smile. "I'm glad you're okay. These are beautiful."

"I'll make it up to you for missing Love Day soon, but Sulani was...an adventure. The chief called an emergency meeting to discuss the Brindletons' murder investigation. We've got to try to plan for what might crack in this town now that he's gone. I need to change and turn around again...but I found Rafa."

Heather's eyes grew wide as she threw on a sweater and he changed clothes. "You found him? Did you bring him in, too? Is that the trouble you ran into?"

"He knocked me out before he realized it was me, but he stayed with me until I came to and apologized. I tried to convince him to come back and help us get a confession out of his sister, but he turned me down."

"So you just left him there? He's a wanted criminal. Does your boss know?"

"Rafa's almost like a little brother to me. He was so young, and Ximena worked all the time."

Heather frowned. "Conrad, you're lying for him."

"I need him to trust me, Heather. I think he's the only person who can bring Ximena down. I'm trying to help him for all our sakes."

"If anyone at the station finds out you're helping him, you could lose your job."

He nodded. "I know that. But I'd risk my job a thousand times for you and the kids, too. And your family."

Heather was annoyed, and she chose this moment to announce she'd booked her long talked-about vacation with Spencer. "Spence and I are going to Selvadorada the first week of spring. She's got a dig booked right after you and Ash finish the treehouse project in Henford, and we thought since Ash will be in the city with the Landgraabs until Easter's over, the timing was sort of perfect for once."

Conrad wavered. "Do you really think going to Selvadorada's the best idea right now? If they're upset we've got one of their own behind bars, I don't want you going to their jungle."

"You don't want me going?" She eyed him incredulously. "Since when are you in charge of me?"

"I don't mean it like that, Heather. It's just the cartel..."

"You said yourself you thought they'd dropped her."

"No, I hope they've dropped her. We haven't brought them in because we don't want them to think we're sniffing around at all."

"Conrad, I'm going. You have your camping trip with Ash and I need a vacation, too. Spencer's practically an expert in Selvadoradian culture and traditions and spends more time down there than you ever have," she argued. "We spent years promising each other Ximena wouldn't control our lives from wherever she was hiding, and she's not about to start now that we know exactly where she is!"

He backed off. Heather rarely got upset and he knew he'd touched a nerve. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just being paranoid, and I know you and Spencer can take care of yourselves down there. I've got to get to the station, but I love you."

She accepted a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, too. And wait:" She took a deep breath. "I know you just got back, there's a lot on your plate at work, and the treehouse project's just around the corner, but I'm on edge because Ash said he saw Ben and his dog after school yesterday. I don't think he believes they're ghosts, either."

Conrad flinched. "What do you mean, he saw them?" ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: There's no snow in the flower shop exterior shot because Conrad was in Ciudad Enamorada. He had just randomized in Media Naranja Park to pick up a suspect (unrelated technically, they were innocent of the in-game case so it didn't help his career points and wasn't a story canon pick-up). I haven't explored Ciudad Enamorada enough but I saw the flower shop and thought it was adorable. Suddenly, he needed to get flowers for Heather. And since he needs Melissa's help and she doesn't live in Ciudad Enamorada, voila the flower shop is in San Myshuno (which gets less snow than Brindleton Bay, anyway, and it's almost spring!)

NOTE 2: If Melissa is unrecognizable, that's because I lost the original (the game deleted her before I could save her after she appeared among the potential suspects for a crime Conrad was solving for gameplay that I turned into storyline). I tried to recreate her but it was hard so I played up how she's changed her appearance a bit since last seen. If this was a TV soap, there'd be a random voiceover when she appeared on camera: "The role of Melissa Ramsay will now be played by so-and-so."

WCIF Flower Shop: Since the flower shop in Media Naranja is a rabbit hole, I found this room on the Sims 4 Gallery by plumlala3 called Betty's Flower Shop. I thought the interior was really cute, stuffed with flowers, and felt small enough to somewhat represent the inside of the small shop in the park!

[lolita-ily]

You wanted a civilised dressed girl?

TW!!: traumadump, mommy/daddy issues, implied grooming, child on child SA, hypersexuality, abandonment, bullying, self shame and disgust and pretty heavy subject. I think that’s all so buckle your belt and join my wild world

⚠️‼️: None of that is romanticised, cute or whatever. This is serious trauma, so proceed with caution and respect. If you are here to criticize any of thoses situations, please do kindly leave. Thoses situations are very much real across the world, if you relate to any of that, my DMs are always open if you need to talk🫶🏼💕

“Civilised? Hah! Let me laugh, they’re all animals”

(Dont mind me, it’ll be mostly traumadump, abit of a vent oc for this au I guess? Also a response to ppl saying that OG kikita is sexualised while she isn’t at all, she’s just free. The “civilised” Kikita is the most hurt one, but they share same heart and soul. Dont blame her, shes just another child victim of society.)

So, in this AU, Kikita is “civilised”. She lived with her grandmother and 2 little brothers since her mom abandoned her. She was sent to a boarding school accross the world and she took the unlucky plane that crashed in.

PRE-ISLAND:

Her story is messy, tied with discoveries of her dad not being her biological dad, abandonment, mommy/daddy issues. She had to mature quickly to take care of her two little brothers but it only attracted miseries. She got groomed and lived child on child SA that lead her to hypersexuality and bad life choices. Nobody knows about that since she isn’t willing to tell anyone and is TERRIFIED of her grandmother finding out. She tried her best to be a regular teen and somehow success. She was good at school and had a wonderful social life beside the fact she was often sexualised because of her appearance even if she was young. For her education, her kind grandma sent her to a boarding school in another country. Sadly, she hoped on the wrong plane.

ON-ISLAND:

In a pretty dress and Mary Jane shoes, alone with a bunch of british boys and some girls(if ocs included), at first she’s relieved to be freed from the terrifying adults and allow herself to live her life but reality settles in harshly and she realizes that it will not be so simple. She immediately take the littluns under her wing, as she did for her brothers, maternal instinct kicking in. She sticks by Ralph, finding comfort in the democracy he showcase, her duty is fruit picking and looking after the littluns. Beside that, she REFUSES to bend down to gender norms, that’s how she earned a slap from Roger when she defied Jack. Noticing girls are left behind and forced to stupid roles, she does her hardest to not do the same. She quickly creates herself a social life, adapting to any persons around. She’s quickly labelled as “Allumeuse” and proundly showcase the title no she don’t, it hurts, is only my body pretty? Please love me. Beside the littluns, Piggy and Simon, she flirts with anyone and even got affections that way its the only way, the only one. Stuck in the same old cycle, she thinks people only love her for her body and grow extremely insecure inside but nobody sees it so she dedicates herself to fruitpicking and the littluns, hoping that the self-shame and disgust will go away. Simon was the only one she spoke to, so his death was devastating and she refused to speak for a few days. Eventually, SOMEONE* manipulates her into joining Jack Merridew, seeing that more than half of the littluns are here, she joins them. Her new job is war paint and still looking after littluns(even when Roger asked for a new paint with Piggy’s blood). When Ralph is chased, she stayed behind with the littluns and was rescued like everyone else.

POST-ISLAND:

She went back to her grandma and little brothers. Beside the Island trauma, Her life went back as usual with no much changes and she was eventually sent again to that boarding school. She will never forget what happened. Nothing else is known for now.

Some facts!!:

-She loves coca cola -She loves fashion -I’m thinking of giving her an Island crush where she would be desperate and would do almost anything to get his attention(that would be why she flirts around and also the person who convinced her to join the Merridingles. I also want to do an unrequired love thing and that the guy she likes is a actually a lil bitch)* -Anger issues goes brrrr -She imposed herself and managed to get some rules done. -She despises her mother and herself(physically, they are the same) -She can lie and manipulate unintentionally(bc mom) and then feel terrible about it. -Beside the “bad” parts, she’s just like og Kikita a sweet child at heart and very kind and like anyone else she just need a hug -Naive at love -Philophobiac(fear of love) -Afraid of Night and will never admit it -Was bullied(its the 50s and she’s coloured) at 6.

-When she was on her period, she left the camp for a few days and hid in the forest and came back only when she was “clean” again -Terrified of boys and adults(but hide it) -Playgirl -Airhead, energitic, chaotic -𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 -somehow had her lipgloss on her, its her signature object

A LINE THAT WOULD DESCRIBE HER?

“I put cocaine in my lipgloss, so when he kisses me he thinks im God” -someone

dont come after me pls

please dont be mean to any of that, its very much real and I beg for some acceptance and respect, pls dont hurt me? Haha

byebyeeeeee

[tacitusk1llwhore]

It just has always seemed weird to me that even Arthur, a man who has killed for money and valuables, can’t even really fathom killing someone over $10. To me, personally, it has always felt like that’s not the full story. I can’t really tell you why. It’s not like Isaac and Eliza were prime targets for a robbery. They obviously didn’t have much in the way of monetary value.

A lot of people tend to forget that POC were killed for just existing back then, and not only that but interracial relationships were illegal. Like men and women, black or white, were executed for being in interracial relationships, and biracial children were a whole other story (I’m biracial, and the racism towards them in both POC and non-POC groups is still rampant). If you were caught or found out you were in danger, you were in danger. I have no doubt in my mind that if it wasn’t Dutch entirely that someone saw Arthur leaving that house, a white man, saw Eliza (who I see as a black woman or woman of color), then saw that little mixed baby and knew exactly what was going on. I don’t think they were killed for money at all—I think the money was a bonus for them, sure, but they aren’t prime robbery targets for a big take.

To add to this, Arthur understands racism; he knows it exists but personally cannot understand the mindset of being racist himself. He’s confused why someone would think he’s racist because in his mind he never could be, so when rationalizing a tragedy, I don’t think he would at first assume they were killed for the color of their skin because that’s just not a mindset he has—he can, however, understand robbing or killing for money, but even then, as I said, he is baffled over killing someone for that small of an amount.

I love, love, love your point about Mary vs. Eliza in Dutch’s eyes. To him, the less personal relationships Arthur has, the better. That divides his loyalty and gives him a window into outside life. (I so badly want to make a post about the cult-like confines and rules Dutch uses in the gang because at the end of the day, they are very cult-like—he has more than a handful of men willing to die for him. That’s not normal.) Having a child? A woman outside of the gang (even if Eliza isn’t a WOC) is the greatest motivator for Arthur to leave if he found the willpower to do it. We’ve seen with John and Abigail that Dutch is threatened by these interpersonal relationships because he knows that when his members form genuine connections with someone, it’s easier to be pulled farther and farther away from him. Abigail is living with them, so that’s more tolerable, but even then, in the end, he doesn’t care if she lives or dies. But Isaac and Eliza living outside of the gang, taking Arthur away from jobs and the confines of it all?? Yeah, absolutely not going to slide.

I love discussions like this and love that people have been reacting so well to this little theory/hc!

Would y’all hate me if I said that I think that Eliza was Black? Would y’all think I’m crazy if I say that because of that reason I don’t think she was killed over $10 like he believes but rather for a far more sinister and obvious reason (Black woman with a biracial child)? I don’t have any evidence of this, like at all— other than the fact that like the only working girl Arthur goes along with in the game is a Black woman, and the fact that not even he can fathom someone killing someone else over $10 and like history and stuff…I think that his lack of understanding the ability people possess to be racist to that extent and this would and could (and has) heavily skew his ideas on why Eliza and Isaac were killed (among other things) as he looked for reasons that make sense in his brain (killing POC for existing is not one of them, killing for money is).

Would y’all hate me even more if I said that if this is incorrect, my second theory is that Dutch was involved somehow in their deaths?? I mean, Arthur away all the time, sending money, spending time, traveling to get to them. His focus isn’t on the gang nor on him; his loyalties have split, and we all know how much Dutch doesn’t like it when loyalty to him is split. I don’t think Dutch himself killed them, but dropping a tip to some down-and-outs or sketchy men at the saloon about it, I don’t think, would be below him in one of his episodes. Do I have evidence of this? Other than the way he treated John and how careless he was when Abigail was facing death? No. Do I still see it as my second biggest theory? Yeah.

Could they have been killed for $10? Yeah. Am I reading too much into this? Probably! Do I care? No. I think there’s more to the story there. I do genuinely believe or hope rather that Eliza was a WOC. She is in my heart. I just know it.

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[dollypopup]

"Colin should have grovelled more!" "Penelope folded too easily"

I think statements like this typically come from people who like Penelope. . .but don't really understand her. And don't really understand just why she cares for Colin, and just why him groveling would not in any way bring her peace.

Penelope and Colin are kindred spirits in their loneliness, in season 3 more than any others. Penelope had lost her friendship with Eloise, and Colin didn't really have a close friend circle to begin with. Except with Pen. Pen was the person he could put the mask down for, could open up to, (in particular with their 'dreams' discussion) and that's why he couldn't even entertain the idea of giving up talking to her in Season 2. She is a vital part of his life, and holds so much significance and importance to him.

I imagine that's what made their silence over his travels especially painful for him. They spent such a long time talking after Season 1, and he even informs her that her letters were so encouraging, that it helped him heal something inside of himself. That if she could see him in a gentle way. . .so could he. (And he repays this, because he is honest to god out here acting and looking at her like she hung the moon in the sky). But without her presence in his life, he spiraled. Didn't feel confident in being who he is, and thus put on his persona more firmly. We know this because he wrote in his journal that "I want to be less needy, less insecure, while still maintaining the core of my vulnerability that makes me who I am". That he misses his family, that he misses home.

And we know, from the books, that Home? Home is Penelope. Penelope is his North Star, is his guiding force, and who I argue he feels he needs. In his very first scene, he looks toward her house, tries to find her in the window. When he does not, he returns to his family. In the outdoor gathering, he looks for her and finds her, eager to talk. He states aloud that he misses her, and I imagine he wrote it, too. Not hearing back from her over the course of his travels was surely something that hurt him, but he doesn't hold any ill will toward her for it, only wants to reconnect again. In fact, the one and only time he brings up how he misses her and that she didn't respond, she makes very clear the reason why: she heard what he said and it hurt her. And he's ashamed of it.

Colin hears her call him cruel, and instead of ruffling his feathers about it, instead of getting upset, instead of having a chip on his shoulder as I feel so many men would about it. . .he understands why she does so.

Penelope is a woman who has been largely treated poorly in her society. She feels unheard, she feels undesired, and in her circumstances, and I can't help but ask myself. . .has anyone ever truly apologized to Penelope for hurting her, before? Her mother? Her sisters? Eloise, likely, but. . .anyone else? And the way Colin did? Because of all the characters in the show, Colin? Colin knows how to apologize. He has a lot of practice in it. And very importantly: Colin, a man of privilege in his society, apologizes. . .predominately to women. To Marina, to his mother, and multiple times to Penelope.

Ultimately, Penelope wants to be heard, Penelope wants to be understood, Penelope wants to feel desired.

And Colin checks every single one of those boxes. He informs he is not who he was before, and then he proves it to her. He hears that he hurt her, and he comments on it directly. An entire night apart, and he comes back to her 'Because I embarrass you' with 'I am most certainly not ashamed of you', replies to her 'I am a laughingstock' with 'you are clever, and warm, and I am proud to call you my good friend'. He hears her proclaim her own insecurities, and empathizes so deeply with her. He listens. He understands. He makes clear that he cares for her, and that she *is* desired. 'You lift my spirits' 'I seek you out at every social assembly'. That she helps him see the world in ways he loves, that he sees HER and how much she has cared for HIM, that she makes him feel appreciated, that he appreciates her, in turn.

And then? Then? He shows her. He tells her, and he shows her. His actions all throughout Season 3 reinforce this apology. He continues looking for her in every corner of every ballroom, he continues complimenting her, he laughs at her jokes and respects her boundaries, he is ever so gentle with her, he listens to her with an attentiveness that no one else has ever given her. To Lady Whistledown? Sure. But to Penelope? Who else in the entirety of that ton has listened to Penelope the way Colin has?

Absolutely no one.

Penelope Featherington ghosts Colin Bridgerton for months with no explanation, and Colin comes back wanting to reach out to her, and she finally tells him why.

And he apologizes. Because he listens. Really, truly listens. And really truly cares.

I need you to understand how rare that is, even nowadays, but especially back then. That Colin is the kind of man who can put his hurt to the side and realize he made a mistake, that he said something callous, and he adores her, and he can't lose her, and he has to see her and make it right.

Because that's why Penelope fell for Colin. Not because he's beautiful, not for his charm, not for his family. But for his heart. Because he shows her kindness in a world that so often disregards her. Because he seeks her out and tries to understand her, truly hears what she has to say and compliments her, says he's sorry and looks at things from her perspective.

Because he saw her when she was invisible.

Penelope Featherington, who grew up in a house that made cruel jabs at her, has Colin Bridgerton come to her and say he regrets what he said, and that he was wrong, and that he understands why she's mad at him. Penelope Featherington who has so rarely had much of anyone tell her that they're sorry for what they said about her, sits before Colin Bridgerton as he professes how much she means to him. That he cannot even spend a full day away from her knowing they're on bad terms with each other without making it right. That he sees how she is hurting and he has to in any way he can amend it. She is lonely, with no one really in her corner at the start of season 3, and she feels like she lost it all, and Colin comes to her and says 'no, I'm here and I appreciate you and you are special to me, please let me in and let me prove it'. Is it any wonder why after she shakes his hand, she stands in the sun, and she feels the warmth of it, she can smile? That she can breathe, again? That she can be truly content for the first time in the season?

Because Penelope Featherington does not want Colin to beg. She knows him. She knows the tender, full heart he hides behind the new cavalier persona. She knows the soft underbelly of Colin Bridgerton.

He never had to grovel. All he had to do was love her. Assuredly. Fervently. Loudly. Unapologetically.

And he does.

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[orcelito]

I'm at the painful "confession" scene during the kage summit arc. It really is so emotional, but also... hm.

When I was younger, like 13 or so, I was a big Sakura and Naruto shipper. They were the first pairing I read fanfic for even. And in a way, I do still enjoy the two of them together... but it's moments like these that really drive home the fact that it Doesn't really work in canon. Not the way that it's set up.

As Sakura puts it, "Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke! That's all you think about!"

She's told that Naruto has feelings for her and decides to use it to convince him to stop going after Sasuke. She does love him, but not in the way she's trying to confess. The love they share is one of comradery, not necessarily romantic. The love of two people who have gone through such pain together, and who have leaned on each other throughout it all. And the fact that she's turning around and saying she loves him "simply like everyone else", now... it's trivializing. And the fact that she's trying to convince him of this, the fact that she thinks she Can convince him of this, is pretty hurtful. They've come a long way from when they were kids, Naruto the goofball vying for her attention while she yelled at him for being stupid. Sakura respects Naruto so much more than before, and Naruto respects her too. So the fact that she's still doing this... She's desperate, really. She thinks the promise he made to her to bring Sasuke home is what's driving him to let himself be hurt over and over and over again in the pursuit and protection of Sasuke.

But she's wrong.

That may be part of it, but it's only part. Naruto wants Sasuke back for himself, too. He let himself be beat up to avoid selling him out. He chases after him with single minded determination. Sasuke is his entire drive to get stronger, to catch up, to bring him home. Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke indeed.

As it is, Naruto knows she's lying to herself. And no matter what she says, he will keep going after Sasuke. Because that's just the person that Naruto is.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Still haven't messaged my mom back. And I don't think I'm going to.

[dirt-str1der]

Yaoi has poisoned all of your fucking brains !!