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arbitrarykiwi · 6 hours ago

Text

Etched in Ink

Nam-gyu x TattooArtist!Pierced!Fem! Reader Smut Fic

Summary: when Nam-gyu decides it’s time for a tattoo, he asks his best friend, Thanos, where he goes. Thanos raves about his tattoo artist and urges Nam-gyu to schedule an appointment with you. Nam-gyu could not prepare himself for the fact this highly praised tattoo artist is so fucking hot.

Warnings: smut (18+) , reader is described as being tattooed , reader has piercings (tongue, nipple, clit) , oral (f receiving) , p in v sex , creampie , name calling (i think whore like once) , dirty talk , read at your own risk

When Thanos told him that he knows a “fucking crazy good” tattoo artist, he was intrigued.

Nam-gyu had his fair share of ink, multiple pieces littering his skin in intricate vibrant lines. But, he got all the ones he had from some shady underground parlor or even someone’s basement. With the new desire to have the tattoo needle against his skin again, this time with an idea for something much larger than what he gotten before- he decided it was time to find someone a bit more reputable.

So he asked Thanos- the purple hair rapper having a large tattoo of his name down his back, the lines are crisp, the black ink rich and even- simple as the design was, Nam-gyu couldn’t lie, the attention to detail and the skill of the artist was apparent.

Thanos was quick to boast about his tattoo and the artist he got it from, telling Nam-gyu he just had to take him to the place he goes to, to see the specific artist he went to. And hell, with how serious Thanos seemed about his holy grail of a tattoo artist- he agreed.

So he made an appointment on your website. It was easy enough, you had quick availability. So he set a date, paid the deposit and waited (not so) patiently for the tattoo day to arrive. It was late appointment, 8pm. Which was something Nam-gyu appreciated, as an insomniac he preferred to do stuff during the night- and a late night tattoo session sounded like just what he needed.

Thanos had brought him, claiming he just wanted to see you anyway, despite not getting a tattoo himself. Sure, Nam-gyu thought that was odd, he didn’t see why Thanos would want to go out of his way to see a tattoo artist for no reason, but he thought it had to be you were just a chill dude.

But when he walked into the shop with Thanos, and you came up to greet them. He was floored.

You were obviously a female…very obviously. You wore a black tank top, hemmed with lace. It’s tight fitting and low cut, he can’t help but stare at your cleavage and the chest tattoos that litter your skin. He thinks they accentuate one another in the most perfect way.

Your hair was pulled back and you were drying off your hands. He could see tattoos along your arms and hands, spaced out and each eye catching in their own right. He assumed your legs must be the same even though he couldn’t see them due to your pants.

“Hey! You must be Nam-gyu.” You say with a smile. Thanos looks over to Nam-gyu, eyes saying everything. ‘See this is what I was talking about’

Not only were you a good tattoo artist, you were so fucking hot. Nam-gyu gathers himself, nodding his head slowly, “Y-yeah.” He says clearing his throat, a pathetic attempt to hide his surprise and dry mouth.

“Perfect! I’m actually so excited, I really like the ideas you sent me.” You say waving the both of them over to your station. He finds it endearing the way you talk so excitedly about his tattoo. He sent you various pictures of what he wanted, a sharp, detailed, abstract line style tattoo that was planned to start on his arm, go up his shoulder and to his chest.

Your voice and kind tone is such a drastic contrast from your physical appearance- a vixen. You were dangerous. Such a kind sweet face and voice with a body that was straight sin.

He starts to think that Thanos set him up. He knew you were this hot, and knew Nam-gyu wanted a chest piece, now he has to deal with you touching on his chest. Fucking great. He’s bringing his hand up to his mouth, silently laughing in a sardonic manner to himself. He was so fucked.

You’re so short compared to him, looking up at him as you talk, gesturing to the tattoo chair for him to sit down. He follows your orders. You sit down across from him on a circular stool, grabbing your iPad to show him the design you came up with.

“You need me to get you a seat, Thanos?” You call over your shoulder, not even looking up from your tablet. Nam-gyu looks over to Thanos who is not so subtly checking you out. It was like Thanos was undressing you with his eyes. Nam-gyu couldn’t blame him.

“Nah I’m good cutie, just came to drop him off.” Thanos says, you laugh and stick your tongue out playfully. Nam-gyu thinks all the blood he was fighting not to rush to his cock was a fight he was not going to win. On your pink tongue was a silver ball- you had a tongue ring. Jesus Christ, you were going to kill him before you even got the stencil on.

“Alright then get going, don’t need you just standing there. He’s a big boy, got some tattoos before. He’ll be fine. I’m not gonna bite.” You say turning back to Nam-gyu and winking. He sucks in a deep breath and nervously chuckles, shifting in the seat to hopefully conceal the growing erection in his pants.

“Mhm…” Thanos says, finally pulling his eyes away from the view of your back and the red lace thing that was peeking out from your jeans. “Don’t fuck him up too bad, he’s still gotta pay his rent tomorrow.” Thanos says with a teasing grin, looking to Nam-Gyu with a devious grin. He definitely knew what he was doing bringing Nam-Gyu here.

“I won’t mess him up…too bad…” You tease as you begin to put on your gloves. Nam-gyu inwardly groans, even your gloves are pink. You’re like a cute princess in the body of a succubus…he was not going to make it through this session. He’s looking up to the ceiling, saying a silent prayer to himself to try and calm down the erection that’s threatening to become obvious. “I’ll take real good care of him.”

Nam-gyu kisses his teeth, sucking in a shuddering breath he’s thankful you don’t hear. His mind is spinning, he swears he heard a purr in your words, like you’re insinuating the same idea that he’s trying to wipe from his mind. He can stop thinking about how you’d look with his cock shoved in your mouth or how you’d look as he fills you to the brim- sinking his cock deep into your pussy. He bets you have the prettiest moans.

He hates his mind- he really does. He never claimed to be a good person but he normally wasn’t this debauched. You’re just a tattoo artist trying to make a living, having friendly banter with clients and here he was thinking about fucking you stupid….yeah great person he was. He thinks that he completely imagined the purr in your voice, he’s just too horny and imagined it.

But when he looks back to Thanos, and sees his expression. Nam-Gyu realizes he didn’t make it up. You did have a distinct tone to your words that even Thanos caught on to. Thanos has an eyebrow raised, like he’s picked up on your words insinuation. His grin widens and he’s winking at Nam-Gyu. “Well then, I’ll take your word for it..” Thanos says in a teasing sing-song voice as he’s crossing the floor and leaving the tattoo shop. “Have fun you two!” The purple haired rapper calls out, like a father seeing off his son and date to prom.

Nam-gyu hears the bell on the shop door ring as it’s opened and closed. Now you two are truly alone. His body feels oh so hot, his pants are uncomfortable and his eyes have not left the ceiling since Thanos walked out. He fears that if he looks at you he might just cum in his pants. He is praising and cursing Thanos simultaneously. Why did Thanos wait so long to show him the work of art personified that was you?! Why did Thanos set him up deliberately?! He couldn’t decide which pissed him off more, the fact Thanos was harboring you like a secret for years or the fact that Thanos deliberately kept you a secret to get Nam-Gyu flustered when all he wanted was a tattoo.

“You want this on your chest and upper arm right?” You say, it brings him out of his trance but he doesn’t look at you. “Mhm.” He says simply, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His eyes nearly roll back into his skull when you giggle and scoot your chair closer to the seat he was laid back on. “You’re gonna need to take this off.” Your fingers pinch his shirt and pull it up teasingly.

Nam-gyu thinks he’s being tested. All the shitty things he’s done in life have led up to this and now he’s put on trial. Forced to act normal when he can’t get over how incredibly sexy you were. It was a real tragedy. He sits up at bit, pulling his shit over his head and balling it up in his lap.

You couldn’t help yourself as your eyes wander over his bare torso. He was fit, not too muscular, not too thin. He was sculpted like some Greek god. You swallow thickly, trying to remain professional as you grab the tattoo stencil.

You scoot your chair close to the bench he’s laid back on. “Just gotta prep the area.” You smile sweetly, leaning over him. He nods, not able to form words as your gloved hands touch his bare chest. You do the prep work, shaving the area and wiping it down. You don’t miss the way his chest shutters with each breath he takes. Anytime your hands come into contact with his chest you can feel how his heartbeat is practically jumping out of his chest.

When you put the stencil down and run your hand along the expanse of his shoulder and chest he is praying you didn’t realize how his eyes rolled into the back of his head. You definitely did, but you didn’t say anything about it.

“Let me know how that looks.” You chirp, bringing him out of the trance you had put him in. He clears his throat and nods, sitting up and hopping off the bench to the walk over to the mirror in your studio. He admires the stencil, it’s an intricate abstract design that spans across his shoulder to his chest. It’s kickass, not only were you built like straight sin, you were a great artist. He sent you many images for inspiration but somehow the design you came up with is even better than any image online he could find.

“Looks good.” He manages to get out, catching your eyes in the mirror. You roll your eyes and raise an eyebrow playfully. “C’mon if there’s anything you wanna change I can fix it. Is the design what you wanted? The placement alright?” You say, he thinks it’s cute how serious you get about your work- wanting to make sure he really likes the ink you’re about to place into his skin. He laughs, as hard and as flustered as you make him; you were so easy to talk to. You had an air of confidence around you that just drew him to you. You were funny, your voice was so sweet, and you were dedicated as a tattooer. Would it be too forward to say fuck the tattoo and just take you on a date now??

He looks at the tattoo again, really looks at it, and he still doesn’t see anything that needs to be changed. “It looks so fucking good. You really did great with the design.” He says genuinely, admiring the blue ink of the stencil that litters his chest. His eyes look back to catch your face in the mirror again, your smile is wide, proud and you’re dancing excitedly in your chair. “Perfect! Sit back down n’ we can get started!” You say oh so happily, it’s such an endearing tone Nam-Gyu thinks he’s going insane. He’s never wanted someone as much as he wanted you.

He follows your orders and settles back down into the seat, it’s slightly leaned back allowing him to sit comfortably and you to have all the room you need to tattoo. He can’t help but to stare shamelessly as you work with the materials in your small corner of the studio, grabbing the ink and needles. You work so effortlessly, he knows you’ve probably done this hundreds of times but you’re so in the zone he feels like he’s watching a movie about a hot tattoo artist. And it’s all a private viewing just for him to see.

You scoot the chair back up next to where he’s sat, tattoo gun in your hand. “Ready?” You ask and he nods, “mhm.” He can’t bring himself to say much else, he’s trying to think about how he’s going to make it through the next couple hours as you’re oh so close to him and touching on his chest. “Yay! Let me know if you need a break or anything.” You say excitedly, he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face at your cute display of excitement.

When he feels the first sing of the needle in his skin he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It’s a pain that he’s come to love, a way of feeling something when he’s not on drugs. The drawn out bite of the needle for hours on end almost lulls him to sleep most the times he’s gotten tattooed. Each tattoo he gets he thinks adds something to him that he can’t quite place. He would love nothing more than to be sung to sleep by the hum of the tattoo gun and the sting of the needle, but he can’t even focus on that when he feels your hands gliding across his skin so slowly and meticulously.

He adjusts his arms slightly, letting his palms fall into his lap and cup over the bulge that he knows is beginning to form in his pants. Part of him feels guilty, you’re just trying to do your job and here he is acting like a dog in heat. He can’t help it, you are so fucking sexy. It’s not even the ‘sexy’ that he would attribute to pornstars, no not at all. You’re a salacious deity, effortlessly attractive in every minuscule thing you do, a lustrous vixen that’s built out of straight sin. To top it all off, he thinks you don’t even realize it. You exude an innocence that contradicts your seductive appearance. Fuck, you were perfect.

Throughout the tattoo Nam-Gyu thinks he falls harder. You ask him about himself, maybe you were just being cordial and trying to pass the time but with each answer he gives you follow it up with an happy answer and a follow up question. You inquire about his job and when you find out he’s a club promoter you ask where. When you find out he works at Club Pentagon you gasp, “No way! That’s dope as hell! Thanos actually was telling me all about that club, raving about it. So me and my friends went the other week.” You stop tattooing a second to turn back to the tray you had and pick up more ink, “I can’t believe I didn’t see you!” You finish, turning back to him with the cutest pout he’s ever seen.

“When did you go?” He inquires, a smile on his face as he sees your pout turn into a grin. “It was a Thursday, I know, not the best day to go to the club.” You say, already defending yourself playfully. “Well ya’ gotta come on the weekends, hell even Monday’s. ‘S when I work.” Nam-gyu says, it takes so much to work himself up to say it- would it be too forward? Would you think he was weird?

“Well now I’ll only ever go on weekends and Mondays if it means I get to see you.” You muse, immediately going back to tattooing, he can hardly register your words. You were flirting, right?? “Yeah? I can put you on the list, get you VIP.” He hums, eyes trained in the ceiling, trying to slow his heartbeat down because he knows you can feel it. “Oh really?? Would it get us a private room, too?”

You were definitely flirting.

He draws in a sharp breath, one of many since he’s met you, hoping it comes off as just him breathing through a tough spot in the tattoo. “Y-yeah I can arrange that.” He looks down for once, looking at you as you tattoo. You were so focused, your nose scrunching every so often, your tongue poking out in concentration giving him a nice view of the silver tongue ring you had on your pretty pink tongue. God, his cock was so hard.

He tries to think of anything else to get his mind off the lewd things he was thinking. He wasn’t a saint by any means, he would even call himself sleazy. But you weren’t like the other women he’s gotten with, you are so professional and dedicated to your work- probably just flirting to get an extra tip, being friendly- and here he was thinking about bending you over and fucking you dumb.

He has no idea you’re thinking the same thoughts. How could you not?! He was oh so attractive and your hands are moving along his toned pecks. You can see the other tattoos that stain his skin, only adding to his appeal. You also weren’t oblivious- you could see the way his hands are clasped over his crotch, trying to hide the erection that’s definitely in his pants.

As you work you’re squeezing your thighs together, trying to get all the sinful images you have playing in your mind to stop so you can do what you need to- tattoo him. But there’s something about the way that, now, your art is on him. The design that you made is permanently etched into his skin like a brand. The thought makes you dizzy.

It’s a large tattoo, so it takes a long while, the whole time the tension keeps thickening between you two. The more you work, the further into his chest it is, the further you have to lean over him. You’re practically on top of him, thumb damn near brushing over his nipple as you work on a particular line. He can feel your breath fanning his skin as you lean even closer to make sure your work is perfect. He can smell your perfume and shampoo, every sense he has is overwhelmed by you.

The hours pass and you two talk and talk, learning little things about each other, laughing at jokes that fly between sentences. It’s like you have known each other forever. He learns that you’ve been tattooing for years, starting in the underground tattooing world- even apprenticing under one of the guys who did his old tattoos. Small world!

Finally, he hears your voice chirp excitedly, “And you’re all done!” You’re pulling away and setting your tattoo gun down. You come back with a cool wet paper towel, wiping the excess ink off his chest. He doesn’t miss the way your hand moves extra slow, like it’s lingering against him. “Stand up n check it out!” You say, he is obsessed with the way your hands nearly shake with how ecstatic you seem to be, wanting him to see the work you did. “Alright, alright!” He chuckles, slowly sitting up, “Gotta give me a second, I’ve been sitting in the same position for hours.” He says, getting up and making a show of groaning as he gets up.

“Awh! So now you’re complainin’?” You tease, “you sat so well the whole time, were being sooo good f’me and now you’re complaining.”

He doesn’t miss the way you have a slight purr to your voice or the way your eyes linger on his bare back from the mirror. Did you just want him to bend you over and fuck you stupid in the studio?! (The answer was absolutely).

He laughs off the way that simple sentence makes him flustered and he shakes his head, “Not complain’, sweetheart. Just being honest.” He says, throwing his own little bit of flirting in the ring. The pet name makes your throat go dry, it rolls off his tongue so smoothly that it seems like he thinks nothing of it. You wave him off and turn around to take your gloves off, hiding your bashful expression. When you gather yourself you stand up and meet him at the mirror.

“Sooo what do ya think?!” You say in a sing song voice as you rock on your heels. He admires your work in the mirror- your work was fucking incredible. The lines were crisp, the black was opaque, and the subtle shading you added around the expanse of the tattoo made it so much better. “Holy fuck this is so awesome…” he laughs out in disbelief, all attempt at sounding suave and flirty out the window as he sees it finished for the first time. He’s eve leaning closer to the mirror to look at it in awe.

Your smile widens exponentially when you see how happy he was with your work, you’re even clapping softly. “Yay! I’m so glad you like it, it was genuinely so fun to do.” You say, catching his eyes in the mirror from where you stand behind him. “It looks really good with your other tattoos too!” You point out. He nods in agreement and turns back to you. “I guess I gotta just keep coming here…I don’t think anyone could compare to your work.”

You can’t help the blush that rises to your face, the praise from him boosting your confidence. You make a show of doing courtesy, giggling as you do it. “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.”

He laughs turning back around to face you fully, you’re a couple feet apart. He’s so much taller than you, you nearly have to crane your neck upwards to look at him. You two stand there with goofy smiles on your faces, each standing idle in the thick cloud of sexual tension that hangs around the two of you.

“Do you want to go on a date?”

“Can I have your number?”

You both speak at the same time, words fumbling from lips in a hasty nervous attempt at trying to meet up again- to do anything to ease the ache that is in both of your lower stomachs. Your laughter echos Nam-gyu’s as the overlapping sentences break the silence. You’re both nodding in response to the others question.

“Yeah, we can go on a date.” He says as he smiles down at you, your eyes cant stop drifting down to stare at his bare chest. “Then…yes you can have my number.” You answer, still giggling. You catch his eyes falling to your chest, eyes tracing over your tattoos and then settling on your cleavage.

You take a slow step towards him, he follows, his hand reaching out to hook a finger around one loops of your jeans and pulls you all the way into him. Your hands find purchase on his chest, careful not to touch the raw skin where you just tattooed. With how he pulled you into him, you can feel his erection press into your lower stomach. “You were hard the entire tattoo, huh?” You ask bluntly, smirking up at him.

Nam-gyu falters a bit, covering it up with a laugh, “A pretty girl like you touching on my chest for hours…c-can’t really help it.” He says a bit bashfully. You bite your lip, finger tracing shapes on his stomach, watching as he tenses up under your touch. “We could do something to help that…” you mutter, your voice low as you bat your eyelashes up at him.

He can’t take it anymore, he brings his hands up to hold either side of your neck and jaw, leaning down to connect his lips with yours. It’s raw and primal. Hours of built up sexual tension pouring out as your lips move together. You giggle a bit when you hear him let out a soft whine into the kiss when he feels your pierced tongue run along his bottom lip. He regains his composure and greedily sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s hypnotizing truly, your kind going blank as your mouth is filled with the taste of him.

Nam-gyu pulls away, connected to you my a string of spit. You’re panting, trying to catch your breath. It’s not easy when he’s tilting your head up and running his nose down your neck, inhaling the scent of the perfume that has been overwhelming him this whole time. Your hands reach to his hair, pulling the long black locks as you sigh out blissfully. He leaves open mouthed kisses along your skin, teeth biting into your skin every so often. “Had me so fucking hard the entire time…” he mumbles against your skin, pulling back to lock eyes with you once more.

You bite your lip, fingers tightening their grip in his hair and tugging. A low rumble, resembling a growl escapes his lips as he grinds his painfully hard cock against your lower stomach, like he’s trying to further prove his words. “Bet you were thinkin’ of all the dirty things you wanted to do to me, huh?” You tease, tilting your head mockingly. He huffs, obviously not too enthralled by your mocking, he can’t deny the way it makes his dick jump in his boxers, though.

He pulls you back into him, lips crashing on yours. This time it’s much more frantic, it’s fast paced and full of spit and teeth. It’s messy, filthy even. As his lips wor against yours, his hands are dripping from your jaw to your hips. He’s wasting no time, his hands moving to hastily unbutton your jeans and pull down the zipper. You’re helplessly whining into his mouth, greedily sucking his tongue into your mouth as he’s guiding you backwards.

Your back hits the leather fabric of the seat you were just tattooing him in. His fingers grip at the loops of your pants pulling them down your thighs. He’s groaning into your mouth when he feels his fingers brush against the soft expanse of your thighs. He has to be dreaming.

His large hands work your jeans down to your knees. He’s pulling back from the kiss, spit still connecting your lips together. He grabs at your hips, mumbling a breathless “jump” before he’s helping you up to sit on the chair.

When you’re sat all pretty up on your bench he’s slotting himself between your legs and reconnecting his lips with yours with a desperation that makes your mind spin. He kisses you like you’re a hit of the strongest, rarest drug he’s tried. One taste and he’s addicted to you.

He clumsily pulls your jeans off your legs entirely. Fumbling even more to pull them over your shoes. You’re giggling into the kiss at his eagerness, his hands throwing your jeans to the floor of the studio and reattaching themselves to your bare thighs, grasping at the doughy flesh and moaning into your mouth as he does.

“G-god fuck-“ Nam-Gyu begins to mumble against your lips, “so. Fuckin’. pretty.” He hisses out between kisses. He thinks he’s the luckiest man in the world, there’s no fucking way he’s got you writhing against him, biting on his lips like some fucking she-devil. Your hips roll against his torso, ass grinding against the leather seat under you.

In a breathless motion, he’s pulling away and dipping his head to your neck, placing open mouthed kisses along your pulse point. There’s no true technique to it, it’s like he’s trying to just taste you. And he is. Maybe you’re wearing some pheromone perfume or something, he doesn’t know, but every time he runs his tongue along your skin, your taste flooding his taste buds, his cock is twitching in his pants- wet spot most certainly forming in his underwear.

He pulls away for a moment to simply admire you, trying to imprint the image of you into his mind just in case this is the only time he gets a chance like this. Your thighs are splayed out so nicely, the plush skin widening with how you’re sat. The slit of your sweet cunt practically hidden by your thighs, giving him the most delicious preview of what’s to come. And what is that…no fucking way….oh he’s already planning his next tattoo appointment just to make sure he sees you.

Nipple rings.

He could see the hardened outline of your nipples and the bars that went through them. Jesus Christ, you were going to actually send him to an early grave. He’s back on you, mouth back on your neck and hands coming to cup your tits over your shirt, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your shirt, massaging your nipples with feather light touches that have you jumping in his hold. Your arms find purchase on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck and gripping at the hair at the back of his neck, pulling his head further into you.

“N-nam-gyu…” his name falls from your lips in a nearly silent whine when his teeth dig a little too hard into your skin, the sharp bite of his teeth sending a wave of pleasure throughout your body. He pulls away from your neck, trailing his tongue down to the sweep of your breasts, “say it again.” He mumbles tersely against your skin, lips tickling you. “Say my name like that again.” His thumb and pointer finger pinching the hard peaks and pulling the slightest bit, the black fabric of your tank top stretching with the pull.

“F-fuck! Nam-gyu, p-please.” You’re ashamed you’re already pleading with him, but the throbbing in your cunt has become almost unbearable at this point. You can feel the grin that twists against his lips as he releases your skin from his mouth. He pulls back to admire his work, his thumb moving up from your nipple to brush over the red and purple marks that begin to blossom across the top of your breasts.

“Mhm…that’s it…” he hums, nodding his head slowly, his eyes never leaving your chest, the image of your skin littered with marks made by him had his cock throbbing. So fucking pretty, he thinks. His eyes flicker up to your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, your kiss swollen lips, the way your skin is stained with the imprints of his teeth and red splotches that span over the tattoos that are inked into your flesh. It’s like some macabre renaissance painting.

He can’t wait any longer. He’s dropping to his knees and pulling you by the hips towards the edge of the chair. Your skin squeaks against the leather and you squeak out, almost afraid you’ll fall. Your hands grip the edge of the seat, your eyes are wide as you look down at him. “‘M not gonna let you fall, I got’cha princess.” He breathes out as he throws your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open finally.

You watch as he stares at your cunt, his pupils as big as saucers as he takes in your pussy. “O-oh my fucking god…” he laughs out in disbelief, not only do you have the prettiest cunt he thinks he’s ever seen, the hood of your clit is pierced. He’s spreading your lips apart to get a better look, thumbs massaging the sides of your pussy as he takes in the perfect sight before him. He looks back up to you, his face nearly as red as yours, “where the fuck have you been all this time.” He’s chuckling and looking back down to your dripping pussy.

He rests his head on your thigh, his thumb starting to trace feather light circles on your clit, thumb running over the little piercing. You jump into his touch, breath catching in your throat. “B-been here the whole time..” you whine out, hips trying to shift to meet his mouth but he’s too far away, “…t-tattooing T-thanos- ahh!” Your words are abruptly cut off by Nam-gyu delving into your pussy.

He doesn’t start slow or work you up, no, he did it to shut you up. His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, hard, tongue rolling over your throbbing clit in figure eights. You cry out, hand flying to his hair and fisting it into your hands. It’s so much at once, but it’s so good.

“Don’t fuckin’ say his name when I got my face near your cunt..” he growls, lips dancing along your puffy folds as he speaks. He licks a flat stripe up the entirety of your pussy, drenching his tastebuds in your saccharine taste. “Only wanna hear my name.” His words are once again punctuated by his tongue flicking deviously against the silver jewelry adorning your clit. Your hips are pathetically rutting down onto his mouth, urging him to give you more.

But he’s fired up now. Years of being Thanos’ shadow, having to watch as the purple haired rapper got all the girls and left him for nothing. This was his time. His chance. He was the one getting to fuck you, not Thanos. “I’m the one who got you spread out like a whore in your lil’ tattoo studio, right?” Nam-Gyu hisses out, eyes catching yours as he waits for you to answer. You’re sucking in a shaky breath, hand tightening its grip in his hair, nodding.

His change in tone makes your cunt flutter around nothing. “Mhm…y-yeah, jus’ you.” You slur out, hips rolling to try and meet his mouth, every time he backs away so he’d be just out of reach. The corners of his lips curl up when he hears how your voice is higher, words wavering and breath heaving. He’s the one doing this to you. It feels surreal to him. He accepts your answer it seems because he’s diving back in.

His tongue is working messily along your folds. Mapping out every crevice and corner, his dark eyes never leaving your face. Nam-Gyu is watching intently, taking in every reaction you give him. Every twitch of your brow, every time you bite your lip, the way your chest heaves and stomach clenches, he’s spinning. He’s on his knees devouring your cunt, worshipping you like a goddess. He’s not shy about his noises, he’s slurping and lapping up every drop of arousal that pours out your clenching pussy.

“Taste shoo fuckin’ good.” Nam-gyu’s words are slurred by your puffy folds, tongue mapping out every inch of your throbbing pussy. He makes a whole show of dropping his jaw wide open so you can see the slick that drops down his pink tongue and coats his face. He’s so messy, paying no mind to how wet his face has become, how your thighs are painted in your own arousal. Your chest is heaving, your nails are hitting into the leather on the edge of the tattoo seat.

“So fuckin’ pretty too, y’know that?” He hums, his dark eyes trained on your cunt as he pulls back just slightly to take in the beautiful sight before him, “such a pretty fuckin’ cunt.” When he finishes his sentence you have no time to utter a response because he’s diving nose deep into your cunt, tongue circling your sopping entrance as the bridge of his nose rubs so deliciously against your clit.

“N-nam-gyu!” His name falling from your lips is a sound that makes his ears ring and his head fill with static. It’s such a high pitched creaky, pleading whine that’s so different from your voice it shocks him in the best way. One of his hands removes itself from your hip to fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans. His cock is so painfully hard he had to free it from his boxers. When his hefty cock springs free as he pulls his jeans and underwear down just enough, he’s growling into your pussy.

His tongue flattens and he licks a fat drag up the entirety of your cunt, slurping down your thick arousal greedily. “‘M I making you feel good?” He murmurs, eyes watching your every reaction even though your head is tipped back in ecstasy. You nod frantically, eyes screwed shut as he licks up and down, up and down in slow, deliberate drags. “Tell me. Wanna hear it.”

When you open your mouth to speak moans cascade from your lips, it takes a moment for you to even think straight enough to form a coherent thought. One of your hands flies to his hair, pulling the strands back out of his face and fisting the soft strands into your fists. Your head falls back forward, a weak gasp catching in your throat when you immediately catch his eyes, “Mhm, s-so fucking g-good. T-tongue feels so good!”

You can feel the way his lips widen into a smile, satisfied with your words. He nods a bit, his head shaking in your pussy, he’s practically glued. The taste of your cunt is something that not even the best high could compare to. His hands run up your hips and torso, grabbing at the top of your tank top and pulling it down. Your breasts spill out of the fabric giving him the angelic view of your bare tits. Tattoos line your chest, almost like arrows that guide his eyes directly to your pert nipples accessorized so prettily with barbells that have little hearts on either side- framing your nipples so perfectly.

His eyes are fluttering and rolling back at the sight, moaning into the depths of your cunt as he slurps up every possible ounce of your arousal. He can’t help it, he has to remove one of his hands off of your body to reach down to jerk his cock. You writhe and choke out a moan at the sight, his wrist twists around his thick length, smearing the pre-cum that bubbles out of his red tip, smearing it along his throbbing cock. Your hips grind down even harder into his face, his nose grinding so perfectly against your clit as his tongue licks greedily at your insides.

Babbles of his name are lost between wanton moans and pleas for him to continue. Every time he pulls his mouth back the slightest bit you get the most perfect view of his face, absolutely drenched in a milky-white sheen of you. It drips down his adam’s apple tantalizingly, wetting his neck- and he doesn’t care, if he does it only makes him more excited because he’s diving right back in, nose deep to fuck his tongue back into your twitching cunt.

“Ohmygod!” The babbled cry is ripped from your lungs, your hand gripping at his hair harder- nails biting into his scalp. His tongue pulls out of your entrance to lick a fat stripe back up to the hood of your clit, dancing around that pretty little piercing you have, “I’m- fuck! ‘M gonna cum!” You sob out, eyebrows upturning.

As much as Nam-Gyu wants to taste your cum pour down his throat- that would have to wait. He’s so painfully hard, he wants, no, needs to feel you cum on his cock. He’s pulling away, nearly cumming when he hears your whine, so desperate and needy, begging to cum. He stands back up, leaning forward and gripping your face, capturing you in a kiss.

It’s so messy. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. The wetness that was left along his face is smeared across your skin. You’re moaning into his mouth at your own taste, your hands reaching to wrap around each of his wrists as you lean further into him. His taste, although mixed with yours, was something you know you’d forever be addicted to now.

Nam-gyu pulls away breathless, “‘m sorry pretty, I really need to feel you cum on my cock.” He apologizes against your lips, “I’ll make you cum, I promise…” as he speaks, one of his hands snakes down to tap at your clit. He laughs against your pillowy lips when your whole body jolts with each wet tap of his finger pad against your clit.

You nod, hips rolling against his hand, “P-please… Nam-Gyu I-I need to cum. ” You pant out. And how could Nam-Gyu say no to you. He grabs at your hips and pulls you off the bench. Your knees are weak nearly giving out but his grip on you keeps you up right. He’s spinning you around and pushing at your lower back- bending you over the tattoo bench you were just sat on. You whine when you feel your own wetness as you’re laid over the leather, now dirtying your stomach.

Nam-gyu’s hands run up and down your back, pushing up your tank top so he can see the tattoos that are inked on your back. His thick cock is slotted between the valley of your ass, rocking back and forth. You’re shivering, hips shaking left and right to try and urge him to put it in. “Be patient…” he hums, “lemme admire you.”

His hands dance along your skin, taking in all of you, feeling you under his palms. When his hands land on your waist he lets out a low growl. His hands are so large, engulfing your waist. It’s such a sinful sight, if he had an image of it he’d put it as the lockscreen of his phone. He wants to tease you more, draw this out longer, but the throbbing in his cock is painful at this point. He has to be inside you.

Nam-gyu shifts backwards, gripping the base of his dick and swiping it up and down your sopping cunt. Moans echo through the studio as you feel his fat cock head drag through your folds, catching your clit with each slow drag. When he feels the softness of your pussy along his tip he is also moaning, the hand still on you grabbing tighter at the fat of your hips.

When he’s coated his cock in your arousal he lines up with your entrance. When he makes the first push into your tight heat, both of you are letting out blissful sighs. He’s hardly in and you just know he’s going to fill you so well. Ever so slowly, he pushes in deeper. When his fat cock head is fully inside you, your cunt lets out a sickening wet ‘pop’. The high pitched, creaky moan of his name that you let out makes something particularly superior bloom deep inside him.

“Oh fuuckk…” it’s a long drawn out growl, his hands gripping the globes of your ass, the grip only tightening the further he sinks into your tight cunt. It’s so slow it’s nearly killing you, inch after agonizing inch his cock is stretching your pussy impossibly wide over his thick girth. You can feel the engorged, throbbing veins run along your walls, only serving to make the whole thing feel so much better. “P-please put it in! A-all the way.” You cry out, looking back over your shoulder at him. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and his eyebrows are knitted together as he traces every tattoo that litters your back to memorize them. Especially that little tramp stamp you had…that was real cute.

“E-easy…” he hisses out, “You’re so t-tight, sweets. Ya gotta relax if ya want me to go faster.”

His hand reaches around to splay itself across your pubic bone, his deft fingers running along the edges of your cunt where you’re split on his dick to collect your arousal. Traveling back upwards, his fingers meet your clit to rub slow circles into the throbbing bud. You must have loosened up because he’s groaning and sinking in deeper, “Fuucckk yeah, there we go, stretching so pretty around me.”

His words have you moaning, your head falling forward, forehead resting on the leather of the chair. With one final push he’s sinking balls deep inside you. A whine is ripped from your lips, your back arches pushing your hips even further back against him. He’s keeling over you, hunching over and letting out a shuddering breath when he feels the whole length of his cock wrapped in the gooey warmth that was your cunt.

You’re already gushing around him, the force of his cock stretching you out forced a cascade of your arousal down his balls. “Fucking h-hell, so tight. Can feel you clenchin’ around me.” Nam-gyu huffs, his fingers still working on your clit, making your hips roll against him, trying to get him to move. He can’t move right now though, he just knows the second he moves he is going to blow his load deep in your cunt. He tilts his head up and a smirk spreads on his face, a perfect distraction was in front of him.

He leans over you, once of his hands running up your spine, tracing a line of your tattoo, crawling up your neck and grabbing a fistful of your hair. He pulls your head off the bench and you’re met face to face with your own reflection. The same mirror that he used to check his tattoo was now continently placed right in front of you. Your face was flushed, kiss swollen lips hanging agape as you pant. “Look at youuu…” Nam-gyu coos, using his grip on your hair to wiggle your head around to further mock your state.

You look so fucked out, it’s embarrassing, your eyes screw shut trying to hide away from the sight. “Not gonna move until you open your eyes.” The sentence is uttered through clenched teeth, coming out in a hiss. You don’t obey, your eyes are still shut. Your hips try to circle back against him but a desperate cry is ripped from your lungs as he draws his cock back, pulling nearly all the way out until just his heavy tip rests in the tight ring of your cunt.

“I know you can hear me, c’mon.” Nam-Gyu growls, jerking your head back and forth once more by your hair to really get your attention. Weakly, your eyes pry themselves open to look at your reflection in the mirror. You look up and you see his smile widening his black hair falling forward in front of his face like some scandalous curtain. When he knows you’re going to keep your eyes open, his hips are surging forward. When he sinks his cock into you again, a loud ‘squelch’ comes from your pussy, echoing throughout the tattoo studio.

“Good girl, y-you’re so pretty, ya gotta look…can’t waste a view like this.” He praises, his words shuttering every so often when he feels your cunt pulsate around him. It’s an addicting feeling, so tight, so warm. A soft, drawn out whine comes from your throat as you feel his thick length sink so deep into you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach. His fingers are still dancing along your clit, sending wave after wave of exhilarating pleasure throughout your body.

“God you feel so good, so fucking wet…” Nam-gyu huffs out, beginning to piston his hips into your ass, drawing in and out of your sopping heat in dizzying strokes. “Making such a- fucking hell- a fucking mess on my dick.” You watch the way his eyes are focused downwards, where you two are connected. Watching as the frothy white ring that forms around the base of his cock grows with each devious plap, plap, plap of his hips.

“S-so fucking big, sooo deeep.” You whine, your words slurred and drawn out, bouncing in time with each forward drive of his hips. His ego swells even bigger, your fucked out tone and babbled speech just makes him speed his thrusts up, a rumble reverberating in his chest when he sees the plush fat of your ass recoil and jiggle against his pelvis.

He releases his grip on your hair, your head falling forward, cheek resting on the leather of the chair, moth lolling open in silent gasps. His hands grip at the soft flesh of your ass, nails biting into the flesh as he rocks your ass back harder against him, slamming you back onto his cock so anytime he drives balls deep into your gushing cunt, the fat tip of his dick is pressing against your cervix in a way that’s making you delirious. “Yeah? Feels good? Tell me how good it feels.”

You’re drooling at this point, hands gripping helpless at the fabric of the bench. “Mhmm!!! So fucking good!” You cry out, “o-oh my god, so, so good!” One of your hands reaches backwards, gripping at the wrist of one of his arms desperately. “Thaaattss it…” he murmurs, his chest heaving, hips never letting up.

“Fuck yourself back against me, lemme see it.” You waste no time in following his orders, rocking your hips back to meet his thrusts. He expects you to go slow and work up to a faster speed…but no- you’re slamming your hips back against him with a violence that rivals his thrusts. You need to cum.

Nam-gyu thinks he’s in heaven, every time your ass meets his thighs he’s diving impossibly deep into you, stuffing you oh-so-full and stretching you incredibly wide. Anytime you pull away, you can feel the wetness that dirties his thighs and your ass string you two together in some macabre, pornographic connection.

It’s raw and carnal, Nam-gyu’s head tips back in pure bliss as your cunt greedily sucks him in. With each wet slap of your ass against his pelvis you’re driven further and further to your climax. Every time your hips piston backwards his fat cock is bulling itself against your g-spot. “R-right there!!” You cry out desperately, you need to cum.

“Yeah? Right there? That’s the spot?” Nam-Gyu huffs out, his hands digging even harder into the flesh of your ass, hips pile driving into you meeting every one of your backwards thrusts. He angles himself upwards the slightest bit, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you like a target. Your head shakes up and down in a frantic ‘yes’, babbled praises falling from your lips trying to spur him on.

He drives his hips meticulously into that spot over and over. It’s raw and carnal, each thrust is harder than the last and has you moaning out for him like the prettiest song. The tattoos etched into your lower back and hips ripple and stretch each time your ass recoils against him. “Fuck, look at you…” He coos, one of his hands releasing your hip to run back down to your cunt. His fingers run along your puffy folds, feeling the way you’re stretched so wide around him. “Taking it so well, just like I knew you would.”

Nam-gyu’s words go straight to your cunt, you knew he was hard while you were tattooing him but the verbal confirmation that he was thinking about fucking you that whole time just confirms it in the best way. “O-oh fuck, i-i think I’m g-gonna-“ your words are creaky and so broken up by moans, you can’t even finish what you wanted to say because it just feels too fucking good.

“Fuck, yes.” Nam-Gyu growls, his fingers moving up to your swollen clit and dancing along the pulsating bud in mind blowing circles. His tone is one that resonates deep within your mind, igniting every one of your nerves on fire. It was like those words were the ones he’s been dying to hear this whole night. “C’mon pretty girl, I need to f-feel…fuck! I need to feel you make a mess on my dick.”

Your eyes screw shut and you’re helplessly fucking yourself back on his cock, meeting each one of his mean thrusts to drive his cock so deep inside you. His fingers work deft circles on your clit, making even more of a mess of your pussy. You can feel of sloppy you’ve become, your arousal has dropped down your thighs and started to coat the tile below the two of you.

His thrusts are mean and deliberate, speeding up and driving into that sweet spot over and over her needs to feel you cum around him. Moan after moan falls from your lips, each one becoming more higher pitched than the last. You’re clenching around him tighter, spasming in a rhythm that nearly traps him inside your cunt. “F-fuck!! ‘m cumming! Ohmygodohmygod Nam-gyu!” It’s a babbled mess of his name and gasps of pleasure, your back arching even more, your hips shuddering in sloppy thrusts backwards until they stop completely.

Your orgasm makes your vision blurry, your ears ring, and your mind fill with static. When you cum, you cum so hard. Harder than you think you ever have. You’re gushing around him, sobbing out as your body shakes against him. Nam-gyu’s head is tipped back, eyes rolled so far back into his head that he swears he could see his skull. The vice like grip you had on his cock is hurling him towards his own end.

“F-fuck!” Nam-gyu nearly yells out, hips and fingers working you through your orgasm in sloppy movements. “W-where do you want it? F-fuck ya gotta tell me, ‘m so close.”

You can hardly make the words out to respond, but you need it badly, so after inhaling a large, heaving breath and answering him. “I-inside, w-want to feel it..hah!..p-please!” The words are slurred and damn near incoherent- but he hears them perfectly.

With a few more rough thrusts, he’s driving his hips flush with your ass, pushing his cock balls deep into you and cumming deep in your tight heat. You can feel every thick rope filling you up, prolonging your orgasm to the point where you can hardly breathe. His hips rock shallowly into you, making sure every last drop of his cum is pulled from his cock and painting your walls.

You both still, sweaty and breathless, bodies feeling like jelly. “Y-you came so much…” you whine, hips rolling against his mindlessly. Nam-gyu hisses, over sensitive, hand pulling away from your clit so he can hold both of your hips, stilling you. “Mhm…” he hums out, catching his breath, “couldn’t help it, pussy felt too fucking good.”

You smile dumbly, letting out a weak giggle and slumping against the leather bench. With every giggle you let out, your pussy clenches around him like a vice. Nam-Gyu slowly pulls out, his whole body shivering as he slides out of your cunt. He keeps his hands on your ass, spreading you open so he can watch as his cum seeps out of you in thigh globs that drop to the floor and mix with the mess you’ve already made.

His thumb glides over your pussy, smearing the mess as he admires it. “Now that’s a fuckin’ sight..” he hums out, chuckling slightly as you shake anytime his thumb runs over your overstimulated clit. Nam-gyu slides his hands back up your body as he leans down, placing a line of kisses across the back of your shoulder.

You smile when you feel the comforting weight of him over you, trapping you against the chair. You turn your face to try and look back at him, a blissed out smile on your lips. He meets you halfway, booking his face over your shoulder to capture your lips in a slow kiss. It’s languid and full of tongue. You can still taste yourself on his tongue.

“Aren’t we supposed to fuck after the first date?” You mutter against his lips, giggling softly. “Mmm…yeah I guess…but seems like we do things differently.” Nam-gyu says as he pulls away from the kiss, one of his hands is brushing hair out of your face. The next moment he’s holding his phone in your face open to a new contact screen. “Gotta give me your number so we can plan that date.” He says laughing, placing a kiss on your temple.

You can help but laugh, taking his phone and beginning to type in your contact information. Even adding a cute selfie of your fucked out face with makeup smeared and all to the contact as the photo- after your date and the many dates to come he could change it when he had more photos of you (or not).

You didn’t plan to get fucked stupid on your tattoo chair but you weren’t complaining at all, you were so glad he had made an appointment.

I hope you guys liked this one, it was on the back burner for a long while and I really wanted to finish it! I promise I’m still working hard at requests 🙏🙏 thank you all for your support!! Let me know what ya think of this one!! love yew guys!! - <3 kiwi

#nam gyu x reader smut #nam gyu smut #namgyu x reader #player124 x reader smut #player 124 x reader smut #player 124 x y/n #namgyu x y/n smut #namgyu smut #nam gyu squid game #namgyu fanfic #nam gyu x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game fanfiction #x reader squid games #nam gyu x reader smut fic #player 124 x reader #namgyu x reader smut fic #namgyu x reader smut #namgyu x y/n

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enigmaris · 11 hours ago

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Lois writes the article. The Justice League freaks out. Investigations are done, meetings are held. In the mean time, a suspected connection between ghosts and the lazurus pits means that there is a very specific person who wants a one on one with Phantom even though all of the heroes agreed to not approach phantom until the anti ecto acts are gone. Jason never follows the rules anyway:

“Daniel Phantom, do not even think about it.”

Her tone of voice made every bone in his body yearn to turn invisible immediately, Lois jumped up trying to catch him. Danny grinned and got ready to fly away, a game of tag would keep Lois from questioning him! Right before Danny’s plan could commence, the sound of Lois's phone ringing cut it off. Danny froze as Lois pulled out her phone and looked at the screen.

“It’s Batman. Wonder what he could possibly need.”

Danny let himself fly all the way to the ceiling, until his back was pushed up against it. He looked down as Lois answered her phone, helpfully putting it on speaker.

“You’re on speaker Bats, what can Lois Lane and her plucky new intern do for you?”

“Intern?” A voice Danny didn’t know answered back. “I thought Superman was the only one for you. I guess you move fast, Lois.”

“Nightwing.” Lois said. “What are you doing calling from Batman’s phone?”

“If B didn’t want me to use his phone, he should have called you himself. You know how he is, Lois. Won’t ever ask for help unless he’s about to die and not even then.” Nightwing snarked back. “Gotham’s got a bit of a supernatural concern that I think I need a consult from your intern for.”

Danny tilted his head, not moving closer to Lois when she looked up at him.

“What sort of concern? I’ll pass along your message if it's interesting enough. My intern’s got enough on his plate getting me coffee to watch after you birds.”

“Fair enough.” Nightwing allowed. “We think one of our own is ecto-contaminated. To be entirely fair we all might be a bit, not that we’ve gotten our hands on a GIW scanner. The real concern is with Red Hood though. I know your report said that ecto-contamination is harmless but Red Hood has had some interesting side effects since he took a bath in some glowing green goop.”

“A bath?” Danny asked, his voice echoing out from the ceiling.

There was a pause on the other end of the call before Nightwing spoke again.

“Yes. A bath. Do the words Lazurus Pit mean anything to you, Miss Lane’s Intern?”

“Never heard of it.” Danny said, trying not to let himself sound ashamed by it. “But I don’t like the name. Sounds spooky.”

“Aren’t you a spook?”

“Different kind of spook.” Danny defended.

“Well. We think it might actually be the same sort of spook actually. The Lazurus Pits are pools of glowing green liquid, no one knows where they came from. There are a dozen or so dotted around the planet. If a sick or dying person goes into it, they are healed sometimes with side effects. If a healthy person goes in, they die.” Nightwing said. “Sometimes if people go into, they don’t come out again.”

Danny... might actually know what those are. Huh.

“What kind of side effects?”

"Homicidal rage. Memory loss. Temporary increased strength. Glowing eyes.”

“Okay. And how long has Red Hood being dealing with this?”

“On and off for about five years.” Nightwing answered.

“I might actually know what’s going on.” Danny said. “But I’d have to see him. I’m not like a ghost doctor or anything, but if it's what I think it is, then I can fix it for sure.”

“Fix it?” Another voice from the phone asked.

Danny could hear a scuffle over the phone as two people wrestled for it. He exchanged looks with Lois until the second voice seemed to get the phone under his control completely.

“What do you mean by fix it?” the second voice demanded.

“Erm. Who is this?”

“Red Hood. Who the fuck else?”

“I don’t know who has access to Batman’s phone dude, chill.”

“Don’t tell me to chill. Tell me what you mean by fix it.”

"Dude. I have ice powers I absolutely can tell you to chill.” Danny shot back making Lois snort.

"Start. Talking.”

“He wasn’t kidding about the anger issues huh?” Danny asked Lois instead of answering. Danny grinned when he heard a growl over the phone. “Look. Red Hood. I don’t know if it is what I think it is. I need to see you in person before I can tell you anymore. Do you know how many glowing green goops there are in the universe?”

“Do you?” Nightwing asked, voice muffled as he was further from the phone. Danny listened as Red Hood told Nightwing to ‘shut the fuck up’ with a hiss.

"I’ll send Lane an address in Gotham. Meet me there in an hour.” Red Hood instructed.

“How do you know I’m free in an hour? I’m a busy intern you know. You’re not being very polite.”

Danny could hear the teeth grinding on the other end. He grinned as Red Hood took in a deep breath through his nose.

“Can we please meet in an hour?” Red Hood asked.

“Yeah sure. I’ll fly by.”

“Now what do we say to people who do nice things for us?” Lois asked. “Especially poor lowly interns who have an entire branch of the government hunting them?”

“Would you like me to blow up a GIW base for you?” Red Hood asked.

"Hood no!” Nightwing shouted.

“Hood yes.” Hood said.

The two vigilantes started arguing with each other, so Lois just rolled her eyes and ended the call.

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

#lois lane #danny phantom #ive written like 20k now. i really should start posting on ao3 again #plot twist on this one though #the lazurus pit is not contaminated ectoplasm #jason had a whole other deal that danny will maybe be able to fix lol

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jj-mybnk · 3 days ago

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Back to Friends - J.J Maybank

A/N: Part 2 to this fic! Loosely based on "back to friends" by sombr. Another song I've been obsessed with. Didnt really proofread so sorry abt that! Also…sorry for the timing in light of recent events 😭 JJ Maybank you deserve sm better than your actor.

Summary: It's been a month since the last time, since JJ saw in the arms of another. But now, you're alone at The Wreck, and JJ Maybank has never been able to mind his business—especially when it comes to you. A past that won’t stay buried, and two people pretending this will ever be just friendship.

Word Count: 2,526

Warnings: more angst, a hint of fluff, some swearing, drinking, mentions of cheating

The Wreck was quieter tonight, the usual rowdy crowd dwindled down to locals nursing drinks engaged in small talk. JJ Maybank hadn’t planned on coming, but the familiarity of the place drew him in like a bad habit. A month had passed since he last saw you, wrapped up in someone else’s arms, looking like you had moved on completely.

You hadn’t noticed him yet. You sat at a corner booth, aimlessly swirling your drink around, lost in thought. No bright smile, no soft laughter. Just you, looking smaller than he ever remembered.

His stomach twisted.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he stood, walking across the room toward you.

You looked up when he stopped at your table. Your expression hardened. Pushing away the glimpse of happiness you regrettably felt seeing his face.

“What do you want, JJ?”

Not even a hey. Not even a look of surprise. Just cold indifference.

His jaw clenched, but he forced himself to smirk. “Good to see you too, sweetheart.”

You scoffed, turning your gaze back to your drink. “I’m not in the mood for whatever this is.”

JJ swallowed hard. He expected this—hell, maybe he even deserved it. But it didn’t stop the sting.

He hesitated before speaking. “Mind if I sit?”

You didn’t answer right away. For a second, he thought you’d tell him to leave. But then, with a sigh, you gestured to the seat across from you.

He slid into the booth, the silence stretching between you. It was agonizing, sitting across from you like strangers. You were acting like he was just some guy from the Cut, like you didn’t know every scar on his body, like you hadn’t once whispered you loved him more than anything in the world.

Like three years meant nothing.

“You’re drinking whiskey now?” he asked, noting the glass in your hand.

You hummed in response, taking a slow sip. “Tastes better than beer.”

JJ let out a dry chuckle. “Didn’t used to think that.”

You finally turned to face him, eyes sharp. “Yeah, well, a lot of things change, don’t they?”

That hit harder than he expected.

JJ exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Look, I didn’t come over to start anything. I just—” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I saw you sitting here alone.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “So what? You thought I needed company?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, watching your reaction closely.

You pursed your lips, tilting your head slightly. “Well, you were wrong.”

JJ nodded slowly, staring down at the condensation on his beer bottle. “Fair enough.”

For a few moments, you both didn't utter a word. He could feel the weight of all the unspoken words hovering over the two of you, thick and suffocating. He wanted to ask why you were alone, where that polished guy was, but something told him that question wouldn’t go over well - yet he did it anyway.

“So,” he started, leaning back against the booth. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Your fingers tensed around your glass. “Not here.”

“Obviously.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “If you must know, he cheated.”

JJ blinked. “What?”

You let out a bitter laugh, swirling your drink. “Yeah. Found out last week. Some touron at the B&B.”

Anger flared in his chest. He never liked the guy, but hearing that? That was enough to make his blood boil. “You’re serious?”

“No, JJ, I’m making it up for fun.”

He ignored your sarcasm. “What a fucking idiot.”

You shrugged, trying to seem like you didn't care, like you weren't disappointed at the fact that you were a victim of another douche didn't know what he had when he had it. But, JJ knew you too well. The tension in your shoulders, the way you avoided his gaze—it hurt you more than you let on.

He leaned forward. “You okay?”

You laughed again, but there was no humor in it. “Why do you care?”

His heart clenched. “Because I do.”

You scoffed. “That’s rich.”

The weight of everything unsaid pressed between you yet again. The breakup, the months apart, the way he let you walk away. He didn’t know how to fix it, but damn it, he wanted to try.

JJ wanted to say more, to tell you that the guy never deserved you anyway, that you deserved someone who would never even look at another girl. But he held his tongue, because who was he to say any of that? Sure, JJ let you walk away. He didn't fight for you how he should have, but he only ever had eyes for you. He still does.

So instead, he asked, “Can we talk?”

You scoffed. “Aren’t we already?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “You know what I mean.”

You glanced at him then, something unreadable in your expression. After a moment, you sighed and took another sip. “Fine. Talk.”

And so he did. About the last month, about random things that didn’t matter but somehow still did. Slowly, the stiffness in your shoulders faded. And somewhere between old memories and quiet laughs, the wall you had put up started to crack.

For the first time that night, you really looked at him. Studied him. He wondered what you saw—if you saw the same boy who once held you close on cold December nights, who kissed you like you were his only safe place in the world.

Hours passed, and neither of you moved. It was almost like old times—except it wasn’t, because nothing could be the same again.

The winter wind rattled against the thin walls of the Chateau, but inside, beneath a pile of mismatched blankets, it was warm. JJ held you close, your head tucked beneath his chin, your fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns along his arm.

“I love you,” you murmured, your voice soft but certain. “So much, JJ.”

His body stiffened, just slightly. Not because he didn’t feel it too—God, he did—but because he never knew what to do with love when it was handed to him so freely.

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head to look at him. “You mean everything to me, you know that?”

JJ swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He wanted to say it back, to tell you that you were his whole damn world, but the words got stuck somewhere between his heart and his mouth.

Instead, all he managed was, “Thank you. You know you mean a lot to me too.”

Your expression flickered—just for a second. And in that moment, he saw it. The way you were starting to carry all the weight in this relationship. The way he was slowly, unintentionally, breaking you down.

JJ cleared his throat, shaking the memory away. That was months ago. This was now. And now, you barely even wanted to look at him.

He leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the table. “Listen, I know things ended… messy. And I don’t blame you for hating me.”

Your eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. “I don’t hate you.”

He tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause you’re acting like you don’t even know me.”

You let out a breath, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know how to do this, JJ. How am I supposed to just sit here and pretend like nothing happened?”

He hesitated, then said, “Then don’t.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Don’t pretend,” he said simply. ““Yeah. I mean, we’ve known each other too long to just—pretend the other doesn’t exist. Let’s be real. We were a mess, but… I still want you in my life.”

A bitter smile played at your lips. “And what exactly do you want us to be?”

JJ hesitated. What he wanted was to tell you he still loved you, that he never stopped. But what he said was: “Friends.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Friends?”

He nodded, ignoring the painful twist in his chest. “Yeah. We can do that, right?”

You studied him, and for a moment, he thought you might say no. But then you sighed, taking another sip of your drink. “I don’t know how to be your friend, JJ.”

He forced a smirk, though it felt hollow. “Guess we’ll figure it out.”

You looked at him for a long moment, as if searching for something. Finally, you nodded. “Okay.”

But as you both sat there, stealing glances and fidgeting with your drinks, you both knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

JJ was still hopelessly in love with you.

And unbeknownst to him, you had never stopped loving him either

The conversation started slow, cautious. Small talk about the Pogues, the latest island gossip, how things had changed—or hadn’t—since you last really spoke. But somewhere along the way, the tension began to fade.

You teased him about his ridiculous new sunburn. He rolled his eyes when you admitted you still couldn’t make it through a horror movie without covering your eyes. And for the first time in months, it felt easy.

Both of you were tiptoeing around the past. It wasn’t easy—nothing about you two ever was—but for now, it was something.

Like maybe, just maybe, this could work.

And JJ would take whatever he could get.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You, uh… still hate pickles on your burger?”

The question caught you off guard, but then—finally—a small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah.”

JJ glanced at you, watching as you stared down at your empty glass, lost in thought. He knew he could ruin this in an instant—say too much, feel too much, want too much. But instead, he forced a smile and nudged your arm. He was aching to touch you, even if it had to be masked with platonic intentions.

Before you both knew it, the bartender called out for last rounds. It was 2am. You had spent 4 hours just, talking.

“That’s our sign to wrap it up then, huh?” You point out.

“I guess it is.” He responded, with a hint of disappointment embedded in his tone.

You start to leave, but were interrupted.

“So… friends?” JJ asks.

You turned to him, surprised. And then you smiled—really smiled. The kind that made his heart stop, the kind that reminded him of everything he lost.

“Friends,” you said softly.

Something inside him ached. Before he could stop himself, before he could think, he leaned in and pressed a light, fleeting kiss to your cheek. It was impulsive, instinctive. A habit he couldn’t quite break.

And you let him.

JJ pulled back, watching for any sign that he had crossed a line. But you just looked at him, something unreadable in your eyes. Then, without a word, you slid out of the booth, grabbing your bag.

And just like that, you left The Wreck, going your separate ways. Stepping into whatever this new thing between you was—unsure, unsteady, but together.

For now, that was enough.

JJ exhaled, something in his chest loosening as he watched you leave the building. Maybe you were still in there, somewhere.

Maybe he hadn’t lost you completely.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank angst #jj maybank smut #jj obx #jj maybank #outer banks fic #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks

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asofspades · 2 days ago

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Okay, this is the first part of the shared item analysis for the LU boys, in going to be bringing research that includes not only the existence of the same item either by direct name or function on different games, but also I bring insights into where they're found or how they're obtained when I think it's relevant.

Starting off with the boomerangs, now, Legend (Alttp, OoS), Hyrule (LOZ1) and Four (MC) all have magic boomerangs, they're literally named "Magic Boomerang", while their designs don't look too similar to one another I think we can still consider them to either be Four's magic boomerang changing over time or just the Tingles continued making magic boomerang across the ages (that's how you obtain it in MC).

However, I've noticed (acting like I haven't been in the known since I first played Wind Waker at 15) that Wind's boomerang is quite literally the same as Four's, which makes me think that it might actually be Four's magic boomerang that got to Wind. Here's Four's magic boomerang (MC) and Wind's boomerang (WW):

If you know me you know I think Wind inherited a lot of stuff from Four that he doesn't know about and that he just assumed it was from the Hero of Time because they're called stuff like "Hero's bow" "Hero's Shield" and they only know about time due to how impactful he was for their timeline, yet Four was in fact a hero too, and he comes way before Time so I guess his stories were lost with old Hyrule but some of his items stayed.

Now that we've cracked this conection between Four and Wind, let me make it even clearer with some more examples of items and a little extra fact:

The mirror shield from MC is the exact same you get in Wind Waker, in fact, Hyrule Encyclopedia uses the sprite from Wind Waker for both of them when they want to avoid using the pixelated sprite from Minish Cap, which means Wind currently has in possession Four's mirror shield. Here's both shields in game:

Another thing they share is the small shield, at the begining of the adventure in Minish Cap, Zelda wins Link a small shield, now, in Wind Waker grandma gives Link a shield they keep in their House that belonged to "a hero" (Hero's shield), we all assumed it was the Hero of Time, but actually it has the same design as Four's small shield. Now, I think Wind is actually using the lobster detail shield from Phantom Hourglass in Linked Universe, which is very similar to the small shield, however we can't deny that Wind has inherited a fair share of stuff from four and we're not fully done here yet. Here are the small shield and hero shield from left to right:

Now, another interesting connection I've found between Wind and Four is the bows, in MC you start with a regular bow and upgrade to a Light Bow that shoots light arrows, and if we follow the design it's the same one used in Four swords Adventure by Four but it's also the same as the Hero's bow Wind uses in Wind Waker, which means that he got Four's bow as well and not only that, but the fact that is was a light bow might have helped Wind channel his light energy into it to use it as a light bow as well as a regular bow. Here are the bows for MC and WW:

Now I'm bringing you another item of Four that wind inherited, his Smith's Sword, when you start out the adventure in MC, link's grandpa gives him the sword he made for he winner of the sword tournament, and obviously as the story progresses you switch it for the white sword that ends up becoming the Four Sword. However, it's not out of character to think that Four would've kept that sword like a treasure, it accompanied him at the very beginning of his first adventure and it was made by his grandpa. And now to get to the point, in Wind Waker you're also given a sword by Orca when you start out your adventure, along with he Hero's shield, which is called the Hero's Sword. They're remarkably similar, enough for me to think they're the same and they were kept, wether it is familial bonds that tie Four and Wind or just a family deciding to pay respect and keep the weapons of a previous hero, I like both options. Here's the swords for a side by side comparison:

From left to right: Smith's Sword (MC) Hero's Sword (WW)

And last but not least, this is just a little thing I've noticed but the second link with the most relation to the wind element, using the Ocarina of Wind and having a sword made out of the element of wind among others and a part if him that is the closest to a personalisation of said element, is Four. I just find it cool that they share that connection and frankly offensive that no one else has made it before and there's no fics about it that I know of🥲.

#lu four #lu wind #lu legend #lu hyrule #wind waker #phantom hourglass #minish cap #four swords #four swords adventures #linked universe

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cuteandhughesy · 2 days ago

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3. “we really shouldn’t” “so?” with anthony stolarz

he def seems like the type of guy who’d be ur brothers teammate and you’d sleep with him behind ur brothers back 😶

prompt no.3: “we really shouldn’t.” “so?”

your brother mitch has always been protective. you’re his younger sister, two years younger than him, and have always been super kind and naive. from a young age, he saw the way people took advantage of you and felt that it was his responsibility to keep you safe.

when you got a bit older and started dating, mitch’s protectiveness got worse. no boy was good enough, even when they were. mitch would drive boys away with menacing looks and what he called ‘stern talkings’ which are also known as threats.

eventually when you convinced your brother to chill the fuck out a little bit and let you work things out on your own, he surprisingly agreed.

under one circumstance.

you can’t date his friends, and you certainly can’t date his teammates. ever.

and you could live with that. most of mitch’s friends where your friends, and you didn’t see them that way. and when mitch started getting more serious about hockey, he barley went out or had his teammates come over, so you never even met them. steph would ask all the time if you wanted to come to games, but you weren’t really interested.

“maybe you’ll find a guy,” she used to tease, winking at you discreetly in the dim light of the living room.

you always responded the same way, “im not into hockey players.”

when mitch made it to the nhl, you started going to games more often. you got to drink beers that mitch was paying for, and chat with steph about school and boys without the prying ears of your brother and your family.

as the years passed, mitch never strayed from his dating rule or protectiveness over you.

you never planned on rebuking mitch’s dating rule until anthony stolarz waltzed into toronto with a summer tan and a perfect smile. he’s older than you, mature but doesn’t take himself too seriously. anthony introduced himself to you with a playful and intriguing gleam, and it instantly has you feeling things.

and your sister-in-law knows it too, because anytime mitch brings up anthony or the net minder is in the same room as you, she’s wiggling her brows at you and grinning. you hate her.

and it’s fine, you think. it’s just a stupid crush on a new, older man. you’ll get over it. it’s not reciprocated.

expect it’s totally reciprocated, and after too many glasses of wine and a private bathroom at some bar after a win, you and anthony begin hook up. and it doesn’t just end there. you have sex often, and kiss and go on dates even more frequently.

you find yourself in a secret relationship, and at the same time, betraying your older brother. slowly it becomes harder to keep a secret, and the people in your life start noticing.

it starts with steph who just knows you too well. she straight up just asks you, and you blurt it out like you physically can’t hold it in any longer. steph smirked and said, ‘I fucking knew it.’

next came auston matthews, one of mitch’s closest friends and teammates, walks in on your and anthony making out like teenagers in a guest bathroom. to be fair, you didn’t look the door. and it was also auston’s house. you rushed out after the goal scorer, lips glistening and eyes frantic, begging him not to say anything.

auston just laughed and said, ‘don’t worry kid, your secret is safe with me.’

your parents knew, and your closest friends knew (mostly leaf wags who you sworn to secrecy). it started to feel more real, and you certainly got more comfortable.

so yeah you may of had four too many beers at the game. and yeah, when you see your boyfriend walking out of the leafs dressing room, looking divine after a win, you just want to normal and go up to your boyfriend.

it wasn’t uncommon for you to wait in the tunnels with steph for mitch after games, especially when you’ve all driven to the rink together. anthony would always smile at you, a little too sexy for trying to be discrete, but you never pushed those boundaries. not when mitch could walk out.

but once again, you’re well passed tipsy and you just want to live up on your man like all the other wags get to. before you can think about it, you’re walking up to anthony, heels clicking on the floor as you make your way through the crowd.

anthony’s talking to morgan, completely unaware of the way your striding towards him until you’re right in front of him. you wrap your hand around his bicep, blinking up at him with a glossed over expression.

“hi,” you beam, glossy lips tempting.

anthony swallows, eyes squinting in amusement. he shoots a glance at morgan, who is just stifling laughter like he knows—god damn it tessa. “hi,” he parrots.

“missed you,” you whine, pushing up onto the toe of your heeled boots and pucker your lips, “can I have a kiss?”

anthony laughs, rubbing the back of his neck and subtly scanning the room—checking if anyone was watching. morgan has slipped away now, and there’s only a few lingering people left in the tunnel. he sees steph, eyeing you both sneakily. which means mitch is still here.

“we really shouldn’t.” he mumbles. despite his words, anthony lets his hand wrap around your waist, keeping you against his chest to steady your drink sway. he licks along his bottom lip, “your brother could catch us.”

“so?” you huff, pushing even further up his body. “just a quick kiss.” you say. you’re too happy on wine and in love to think about your brothers stupid rule right now. you couldn’t care less about anything besides your gigantic boyfriend—who is grinning down at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

and you are. more than the nhl. more than the stanley cup. more than breathing.

quickly, anthony leans down, free hand enclosing on the side of your face as he tilts your head up, connecting your lips together.

the kiss doesn’t last nearly as long as you need it to, and you whine when anthony pulls off of you. you’re not caught, thankfully, and that only makes you want to kiss him over and over again.

“i’ll see you later, kay?” anthony whispers softly, talking his hand off your hips.

you nod, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and dropping back down to your heels. “love you.”

“love you too.”

—

(unedited)

#🍾 ⊹˚₊ 1000 celly #❣️answered #anthony stolarz blurb #anthony stolarz imagine #anthony stolarz smut #nhl blurb #nhl smut #hockey blurb #hockey smut

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judenostopwaitkeepgoing · 17 hours ago

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A Class Analysis of the Crown Villains

Analyzing all of the EN-released Villains from who would be the most to least wealthy in 1890s Victorian England.

A/N: This is just for fun! These characters/stories are not that deep, and I don’t want them to be! I just find it fun and silly to think through what this world would actually look like in history, and maybe you do too! 😊 Spoilers for pretty much every villain on the EN server, so read at your own risk! Also I am not a historian or economist, just a gal with a computer, so take all of this with a grain of salt.

Also, I’m assuming that Ikémen Villains takes place sometime in the 1890s in London, England—the tail end of Queen Victoria’s rule. This estimated time frame is based mostly on Harry’s love of Arthur Conan Doyle and passing mentions of when “he has a new novel coming out.” Doyle was a prolific writer and wrote for a long time, but I wanted to keep the time period specific enough to really think through what the economics would be like.

Wealthiest - Jude Jazza

Originally I was going to put the villains who belong to the gentry (Elbert and William and ... Victor??? Maybe?? haha) at the top of the list, but the more I thought it through, the more it became clear that in order for Jude to realistically carry out some of the actions in his route (which I haven’t finished!) or various story events/collection events, he would need to be so fucking rich. Like stupid wealthy. Like not quite at Jeff Bezos level of wealth, but pretty up there.

And baby started from the bottom now he’s here, okay! The fact that Jude grew up in abject poverty then became a successful CEO of a trading company originally struck me as one of the more unrealistic things in the game (which I do not care about, he’s still daddy), but the more I looked into it, the more I got on board with it. The writers were smart to add a rich benefactor to his backstory, because in 1890s London, that was probably the only way for a poor kid from the slums to receive an education. Wealth disparity was bad in the 1890s, and people were mad about it! Jude’s hatred of the rich and powerful is in keeping with working class (and even some middle class) attitudes at the time. And with the rapid development and expansion of the Port of London (from the completion of the Royal Victoria Dock in 1855 to the Port of Tilbury in 1886), trading was the business to be in at the time. So it’s not impossible that Jude could have just lucked out in a few key ways and worked extremely hard to get to where he is (although he would still probably be considered a unicorn in this time period).

As for Raven Co.’s annual profit: who knows. I’m guessing it’s in the billions in today’s money. I’m unsure what Jude’s salary would be, he is explicitly characterized in his route as a fair boss who pays his workers a living wage, but he’s also like randomly really generous with like Ellis or Kate (i.e. giving Ellis a blank check for Xmas, giving Kate more than enough money to get a dress, etc.) so he’s probably taking home plenty. And considering how smart Jude is, he’s probably pretty savvy about saving and investing his money. He also makes a lot of deals and has a lot of involvement overseas, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he has bank accounts in several countries. The man is committed to building his rocket, okay! I’d say his annual income is in the hundred millions of dollars (in today’s money). But his net worth is probably in the billions.

Lord Elbert Greetia

Okay, now on to our first landed-gentry boy: Lord Elbert. Lord Elbert is most likely the wealthiest member of Crown in terms of generational wealth, with William coming in a close second.

Elbert is a member of the landed gentry or “peerage” and uses the title of “Lord,” which he inherited from his father. Being in this class means that he not only has significant wealth (in literal pounds and assets), but it also means that he has a rock-solid social standing and owns land. Land ownership is a big deal here because it means that Lord Elbert has the power to control anyone who might be living/working on property that he owns. And I’m not just talking servants/staff at his estate, I’m talking residents of any townships or villages on the likely acres and acres of land that he's in control of. So he has a passive income via taxing residents and laborers on his land(s)... forever! Being in this class also makes his wealth a lot more stable and immutable than say, Jude, who is a great businessman but whose income and assets are at the mercy of the market/demand.

Elbert’s character in the game is very stoic (until Kate shows up!), and he has deep trauma from his childhood home, so he doesn’t seem to exercise a ton of the privileges that would be available to him in terms of controlling the people who live on his properties. But, if we’re talking the 1890s here, he would probably have entire villages or even small towns under his economic purview. I think of him as a Mr. Darcy type, probably bringing in about £10,000 a year, or a little over £1.5 million/$2 million in today’s money. This combined with the cost of all of his assets or “beautiful things” that he compulsively collects (artwork, fine furniture, jewels, real estate, etc.) means I’d estimate his net worth to be about $70-100 million in today’s money.

Lord William Rex

I’m only putting William after Elbert because I do think Elbert has more non-cash assets, simply from the nature of his curse which causes him to be greedy. But let’s be clear: Lord William is also loaded. He, like Elbert, is a member of the peerage of the time and owns lots of land/real estate. He probably receives a pretty substantial passive income from all of his properties like Elbert.

I do think there’s one key difference between them: I have a feeling that William would either redistribute some of the income that he gets from any taxed residents/workers on his properties or lower their taxes—he just seems like the type to be about that. So that’s another reason why I think Elbert might have a higher net worth. Still, we find out that William paid for the construction of a hospital in his route, and for a man to do that in the 1890s, he’d have to be pretty freaking rich. I’d say that his net worth is probably somewhere between $50-100 million in today’s money.

Victor???

Big question mark around Victor! I’m putting him here just because he is so connected to the Queen, and unless we learn something different from his route, I’m pretty sure that means he’s at least upper class, if not a (former) member of the gentry/peerage. Or perhaps comes from a wealthier family. He also receives a salary and lodging from the Queen (as do all the members of Crown I think) so he’s certainly getting all of his needs met. He’s also the oldest member of Crown, which just makes me assume he’s had more time to accrue savings. But couldn’t tell you what his net worth is even if you held a gun to my head, this is all just vibes haha.

Liam Evans

Liam grew up comfortably upper class, basically wealthy despite not being a member of the landed gentry. His father owns an estate, or at least did when Liam was a child, and had staff and servants. Because of his mental illness and disfigurement, Liam’s father probably relied entirely on family money after a certain point.

As an adult, and considering he is a successful and popular leading actor at a major theater in London at the time, Liam is doing well for himself! He is now much better off than his father! Good riddance! Actors at the major theaters at the time were typically paid anywhere between 2-25 pounds per week, and Liam was likely on the upper end of that spectrum. Let’s say he takes home 20 pounds a week, which in today’s money would be about 3,200 pounds, or about 4,000 dollars. That’s 208,000 dollars a year before tax! Not bad at all! But, it’s worth noting, that at the time actors were definitely not seen as contributing members to society (especially women/actresses—they were essentially thrown into the same category as sex workers), so Liam’s social standing in the grand scheme of things is definitely lower as an actor than it was probably growing up in an upper-middle class house.

Ellis Twilight + Alfons Sylvatica

I’m throwing these two in here together because they are probably doing well for themselves, but only because they are attached to a super-rich person haha. Who knows what their salaries/wages are or what kind of deal they have with their respective sugar daddies (hehe) but suffice to say they don’t have to worry about money. Alfons is probably more irresponsible with his money, only because of his lifestyle, but even so he’s nowhere near as big of a spender as Elbert so it probably all ends up a wash. And I’m assuming that Jude pays Ellis pretty well because he loves him lol.

Harrison Gray

Okay, this one took some digging! Harry’s dad was a police officer, which in today’s world would mean that his family was pretty well-off and Harry had a comfortable upbringing. Not a member of the upper classes/gentry, but probably solidly middle class. This is also implied in the game, or at least Harry isn’t one of the characters that we know grew up poor.

But, it turns out, police officers weren’t paid super well in mid/late 1800s London! Harry’s dad would probably be on the better-paid side of the spectrum because he was a chief/high-ranking, but the police were a relatively new-ish phenomenon and weren’t considered “high-value” professionals. Harry’s dad likely only took home about 10 guineas a week, which in today’s money is about £1,400 or $1,700, so he was making about $88,000 a year in today’s money (before taxes). Which would be relatively comfortable for a single person today, but for a family in the 1800s would be pretty much living paycheck to paycheck with maybe a couple splurge purchases a year (like for Christmas or birthdays). So Harry’s family wasn’t anywhere near as poor as Jude or Alfons were growing up, but they likely lived quite modestly!

As an adult, Harry probably makes a healthy salary as an editor/proofreader. Publishing was booming in the 1890s, and writers were most often serialized in weekly publications, which meant a steady income for both writers and publishers. I’d say Harry is probably taking home a couple hundred pounds at the least per week, so something in the thousands of dollars in today’s terms. It’s unclear to me what the rules of living in Crown castle are. Like do they pay rent? I don’t think so? Let’s say they don’t, which means Harry gets to save/keep all his wages and only spends on personal stuff. He doesn’t seem like the biggest spender, if anything he reads as very sensible with money to me, haha. So he’s likely got a cozy little net worth building up but nothing crazy. Since wealth stratification is so extreme in this time period (the rich were very rich and the poor were very poor), Harry would probably be making enough to still be looked down on by the upper classes and enough to still be the object of contempt for the lower classes.

Poorest ? - Roger Barel

Doctors today are very well paid, but this was not the case in the late 1800s! Growing up, Roger’s dad probably had an annual salary of about 300-500 pounds a year, or roughly $45k-$80k in today’s money. Not a lot to live on for a whole family now, but this probably went further in the 1870s/80s when Roger was growing up. It’s implied that his family lived relatively comfortably, so I’m guessing that his dad had a good reputation and was sought after for his surgical expertise. He may have even gotten paid to teach in surgery ‘theatres’ of the time. (I haven’t read or looked much into Roger’s route so this might be wrong!)

I’m only ranking him last because he seems to not be formally employed haha. Since Roger is not a publicly practicing surgeon, he is relying on his income (?) and lodging from Crown for his day-to-day expenses. This could be any amount it seems, haha, depending on what he asks Victor/the Queen for. He doesn’t seem like a crazy spender, so he’s probably not complaining. I have no idea what his salary would be, though. It doesn’t seem like Crown bothers with all that, haha.

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letmedixonyou · 2 days ago

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i’m not yours - part 13

summary: Daryl and you are friends. He used to date Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart, but after awhile, you returned to being friends... right?

Daryl and you spend a comfortable evening at your porch, drinking whisky and contemplating life. Until...

words: 2k

warnings: none

A/N: we're almost there! One more part and this story is finished! I am working on a sequel, of course, but I am not sure how long it will be or when it is going to come out! Enjoy, muffins!

Daryl looks up at you, his blue eyes filled with something you've seen before. Something you're almost too familiar with.

Pain.

You knew it too well. Even when you aren't close to the people you bury, it stings just as much, knowing you've lost another person. Another precious life in this cruel and unforgiving world. Another son, daughter, partner, sister, brother, mum or dad… Sometimes, it felt like there was no reason to put a value on life anymore, because sooner or later, death will catch up and take what it wants.

You think about Deanna and how sad it was that she's now the only one standing from her entire family. It has to hurt. It must. She's a good person, and yet she has lost everything. It made you think about her holding a rosary and praying, while standing by Spencer's grave, and you asked yourself if God even existed. Because why would he want all of this to happen if he was out there somewhere? Why was He not helping or preventing the whole zombie outbreak thing? How come he let people turn into undead that roam this Earth? He was supposed to be an almighty. Why is there so much chaos in the world then?

As soon as you take a seat next to Daryl, he shoves a bottle right into your hand. It would be futile to argue, so you just nod politely and you take a swig. The alcohol burned its way down your throat, but it didn't matter. It was nothing compared to the feeling of heaviness in your heart, feeling like the world just keeps closing in; like soon enough, it will be your time to die. Or Daryl's. Or yet another person you know. Maybe this time it would be Rick or Michonne, or even Carl or Judith. Your heart clenched at your thought. It wasn't fair that this was all everyone was thinking about these days. Death, destruction, losing people or resources.

You think back to the day where you had Internet and phones, and food every single day of the week that was cooked in the oven or on the hob. The days were so much easier back then. The idea of going out of your house and making your way down the street without having to worry about your life seemed so distant and so unbelievably unreachable now. The way you could just stroll into a shop and buy a basket full of candy and snacks, or go to a restaurant and have your food delivered to you on a silver platter. How people never had to worry about lack of food, or money to buy the essentials.

The heavy grasp of uncertainty and pain of this world was almost too much to handle, but Rick's words were echoing in your head.

We're the ones who live.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. Daryl's body leaned against the railing as he sat on the porch of your house, nursing his drink after you gave it back to him. The amber liquid reflected the fading light, shimmering slightly inside the glass, as if it were begging to be drank. Daryl took yet another swig, this one the biggest of them all, causing his cheeks to puff out before he swallowed. The burn was a welcome distraction from the gnawing pain of the day. Beside him, you crossed your legs and leaned your head on the railing as well. Both of you focused on the horizon.

The evening air was cool, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, mingling with the distant hum of cicadas. The porch creaked softly under the weight of your silence, a comfortable stillness settling between you. The sky above was a canvas of fiery hues, oranges and purples blending seamlessly into the encroaching darkness.

Daryl's eyes, normally sharp and guarded, softened as he stared out at the vast expanse before him. His rugged features were etched with a weariness that spoke of countless battles fought and scars earned. The lines around his eyes deepened, betraying the weight of unspoken thoughts and buried emotions.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm in a silent gesture of support. The contact was brief, but it carried a world of meaning, an unspoken promise that you were there for him. He glanced at you, a flicker of gratitude passing through his gaze before he returned to his vigil.

As the first stars began to emerge, their faint glimmers dotting the darkening sky, you found solace in the shared moment. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but here, on this porch, with Daryl by your side, there was a semblance of peace. The silence spoke volumes, a testament to the bond you shared, forged in the crucible of adversity. Together, you watched as the last remnants of daylight faded away, giving way to the quiet embrace of night.

“I can’t believe we buried another one today,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn't want to break the silence between you. The wind carries your words away, leaving silence in its wake.

Daryl nods, staring at the ground, kicking a small stone around. “Yeah, it don’t take much, does it? One bite... one second, and it’s all over.”

You finally turn to him, your expression a mix of sorrow and determination. “It’s just... it’s so unfair. Spencer wasn't really liked around here, but he was young. He didn't deserve to die like this.”

“Life don’t care,” he replies, his tone gruff but gentle. “It don’t give a damn who you are or what you’ve got ahead of you. One moment you’re here, and the next... you’re gone.”

You both fall into a contemplative silence, each lost in your own thoughts. His words resounding in your head, making you uneasy. Life don't care. He was right.

Daryl took another swig, passing the bottle to you. You take it gratefully. You take a long drink, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The only sounds you could hear were your breathing. Alexandria went completely silent, like all the people were giving Deanna space to grief. There were almost no people outside, except from people on patrols and watchtower duty.

“Remember that time we almost got caught by a herd?” you ask, a faint smile breaking through your sadness. “You threw that rock to distract them, and we just... ran.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he chuckles, the sound foreign yet comforting. “Thought we were dead for sure.”

“But we weren’t,” you reply, your smile widening. “We made it. Just like we always do.”

Daryl’s gaze flickers to you, the warmth of your presence a stark contrast to the cold reality surrounding you. “We’re lucky,” he says, almost to himself. “But luck don’t last forever.”

“True,” you agree, your voice growing serious again. “But what’s the point of worrying about it? We can’t control when our time is up. Maybe we should just... live while we can.”

“Easier said than done,” he mutters, but the hint of a smile tugs at his lips.

You continue to drink, the whisky loosening your tongues and dulling the edges of your grief. Stories flow freely—moments of laughter and terror, of survival and loss. Daryl finds himself sharing more than he usually would, drawn in by the camaraderie you share, the bond forged in the fires of your struggles. Even though you thought you knew him pretty well, the stories he shared tonight were different. New. You weren't complaining. Hell, you love hearing about his past. It wasn't the best past, thanks to his dickhead father and absent mother, but some of them were hilarious.

Just like this one, when Merle tripped and fell in deer poo. They were out hunting and were tracking a huge deer. Getting deeper and deeper into the forest, it was thicker and darker. What comes with it, there were more bushes and broken branches of the trees. And, of course, some logs, hidden by the thickness of flora. Just when they were getting closer to catch that deer, Merle tripped over some bunched up branches and vines and landed head first in deer poo. Mind you, he was probably a bit high, but it doesn't change the fact that it was funny. And Daryl spent weeks after that reminding him of it.

“You know,” you say, your voice slightly slurred, “I used to think about what it would be like... if we made it through all this. What we’d do, where we’d go. How would the world even look like.”

“Yeah?” Daryl asks.

His heart racing at the idea of a future, something he rarely lets himself ponder. He never thinks about the future, he lives in the present, because you never know what is going to happen and how your life is going to turn out. For all he knew, he could be eaten by a zombie tomorrow. Or get shot. Or maybe even ran over by a random truck. Everything was possible in this type of world. People can be as cruel as zombies.

“I imagined us finding a place. Somewhere peaceful,” you continue, your eyes shining with a dream long buried. “Maybe a cabin in the woods. Just you and me. Away from all this... chaos.”

Daryl’s breath hitches in his throat. The thought of a normal life feels foreign, almost unattainable. “You really think that’s possible?”

“Why not?” You reply, your confidence unwavering. “If we can survive this long, we can survive anything.”

For a moment, the world seems to fade away. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of your shared dreams, the weight of loss lightened by the promise of hope. Daryl looked at you, his eyes flicking around your face features. It didn't go unnoticed how he stopped at your lips for longer than other parts, and your heart did a somersault.

What the actual fuck?!

You stayed like that, staring at each other for a while. Neither of you was moving. Your whole body tensed up, and your fingers gripped the bottle tighter.

With an impulsive, almost clumsy motion, he moved forward, and his lips brushed against yours, soft and unsure. The kiss was a gentle surprise, leaving your heart racing and your mind spinning. He pulled back, his gaze hazy and unreadable, and you could only stare at him, utterly bewildered. The world around you seemed to blur as you tried to process what had just happened. Your thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and unspoken emotions, a mix of disbelief and a glimmer of something you couldn't quite name.

You audibly let out all the air out of your lungs, your eyes widened. Your mouth open to say something, anything, but nothing happened. As you look at him, you could see the reality of what he has done crashing over him. Panic surged through him, and without a word, he stood up and walked away, leaving you stunned on the porch, the taste of whisky and his kiss lingering in the night air.

“Daryl!” You called after him, but he didn't turn back. As he disappeared into the darkness, the stars above twinkled like distant memories, and you sat alone, grappling with the unexpected turn of your friendship.

The feelings you've been so desperately trying to push away and promised will never see the light of day again surged up once more. Your heart felt like it was going to fall out from your chest and your throat went dry.

I would never see you as something more than a friend.

Those words. Those exact words came out of his mouth the moment you told him you loved him all these months ago. You could picture his face even now when the three words fallen out of your lips. He was so fucking pissed off. He hated the fact you had feelings for him, and now? Now you're not so sure any more. It just makes no sense…

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x female reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl fic #daryl dixon fic #daryl fanfic

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anika-ann · 22 hours ago

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Take the Ache - pt.2

Part 2: The Take in Mistake

Type: series, slightly canon-divergent, idiots in love with sprinkles of angst

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 4700

Series masterlist (and summary)

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical injuries, missions and weaponry, tones of self-deprecation, unrequired love (is it though), a not-so-great pun, language

A/N: written for Stella’s Starry Winter Sky challenge; DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; this prologue is a flashfoward and is very short, especially on my scale; title is, just like chapter titles, taken from The Script’s No Good in Goodbye

A/N 2: No use of Y/N. Main character’s nickname made up by Steve is 'Lo (will be expalined at some point, promise). Thank you for reading so far and enjoy 💕

This weapon – this stupid pile of metal plates and wiring and humming electricity – was about to be murdered.

You were going to dismantle it piece by piece if you had the patience, or slam it with a hammer enough times to make it break into thousands pieces by sheer force of your frustration and guilt.

Because the damage the weapon had done was on you; at least the most savage side of the ruin.

An EMP. A stupidly advanced machine to create an electromagnetic pulse and knock out all the tech the Avengers relied on. Of course not all your weapons could have withstand that; of course it had stunned the Avengers.

Your friends, your people.

That was bad enough and you’d wish to bite off someone’s carotid just for that, perhaps even your own because you should have thought about the possibility of one of the many evils the Earth’ mightiest heroes fought operating an EMP, but it got worse.

And that was the reason why you knew you’d take a hammer for at least a part of that weapon just out of pure spite. To make it feel the pain. Inanimate objects didn’t feel pain, but the image of smashing it was too alluring and it only seemed fair.

Coming back from the mission, a little more shaken and a little less successful that usual, everyone had been so nice about it. They had been so kind and reassuring that it wasn’t your fault the second they spied the expression on your face upon seeing the destroyed gear and being explained what had happened. Upon seeing the sheer horror in your eyes when they told you the EMP had took it out and somehow absorbed the electric energy and redirected it however the person operating the EMP wished, making it all the more destructive.

They were so nice you wanted to punch something, every tight-lipped smile cutting into your gut and kindling a wildfire inside your chest. Even Sharon, the hero of the day who had been there to have Natasha’s back when she got hurt – because of course Agent Carter had been there to save the day which you were grateful for but also despised it with vigour because she had been fixing your mistakes – was sweet about it. She was enraged on everyone’s behalf but benevolent with you, genuinely not taking any credit or accepting any pats on the back, because having a teammate’s six was the basic rule.

And that was the worst part of it all; you hadn’t had your team’s back. You had fucked up.

Because you had failed to take a variable into account when creating the Widow Bites. And as they had got hit by the EMP discharge, they malfunctioned enough to burn Nataha’s wrist.

The mere idea of the pain that had to cause would be enough to chase tears into your eyes, but the worry for your friend got overruled by guilt and fury, because you hadn’t been smart enough to prevent that.

Now that was where you’d draw a line. That was where you hit your limit. The fact Steve wasn’t amongst the ones who came here to tell you this, because he had to be too damn disappointed in you to face you with how at odds you were with each other lately and with no doubt having to explain your failures to higher-ups and probably staying with Natasha throughout her treatment, because he considered everyone’s safety his responsibility, now that was just a cherry on top, wasn’t it.

You were surprised Bucky wasn’t here to snap your neck; then again, he was emotionally mature and loving enough to know being with Nat was more important at the moment, even as Clint was probably hovering in the background.

So you got Tony, Sam and Sharon, speaking to you with soft undertone of anger directed at stupid fraction of HYDRA and too much kindness directed at you, looking at you as if you were about to break down or explode any second. Because you weren’t an agent or an Avenger. You couldn’t keep your cool like they did.

You hated being talked to as if you were a toddler or another emotionally unstable human being, but they had a point.

You already began to silently dismantle this goddamn weapon they had managed to get a hand on, even as they were still standing there, waiting for god-knew-what.

Tony and Sharon took the hint eventually, supportive smiles on their faces as they left.

Sam did not.

He lingered, a little too much in your workspace, hovering like a ghost of your conscience and guilt, watching you wrestle with tools. You could feel the compassion and understanding coming off of his figure in waves and you wished you could built a dam tall and sturdy enough to withstand it until the irritation they were feeding in you could turn into crumbling self-pity and tears.

“So… you wanna get something out of your chest?” he asked, his calmness just as obnoxious as his presence, all the softer and warmer in comparison to the sharpness of the cold edge you found yourself on.

You were not sure how long you could keep balancing at the top until you tipped over to either side, one worse than the other.

“Not particularly,” you muttered.

Peeling off one of the metallic plates covering the EMP at last, you nearly cheered, grabbing the hammer and hitting it with all your might in hopes to chip enough pieces off. For analysis of the material that was not affected by the discharge and managed to absorb it the power instead. For your own dark indulgence because fuck did that feel good.

The loud bang and clatter echoed in the now almost empty room; and one would think that would chase any onlookers away.

But not Sam.

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at your method, which he probably considered simply distressed antics. He was half-right. But that didn’t matter; the way he looked at you, arms crossed on his chest, did.

“…clearly.”

You set the hammer down with an unnecessary but completely satisfactory clang and unclasped your protective googles to look at Sam, huffing.

“Look, Sam, I’m sorry, but I have some work to do, so if you could… go away, I’d appreciate it,” you said bluntly, turning back to the weapon with a mutter under your breath that felt real good to speak out loud as it had been sitting on top of your chest, heavy like a herd of elephants. “Work I’m clearly not capable of.”

You heard the soft rustle of his steps as he came closer, seeing peripherally that he uncrossed his arms. You could feel the weight of his annoyingly concerned gaze on your face, while you willed your eyes to remain on the printed circuit board of the EMP.

Interesting. Judging by the colour of the metal alone, they had definitely used a peculiar alloy for the conductive traces.

“Hey now… you know that’s not true,” Sam offered, his gentle tone both soothing and irritating, his next words painted by knowing more than anyone should. “And we both know that’s not the real problem, is it?”

The question sliced through your insides like the sharpest knife, your spine suddenly strung tight as the air in your lungs burst out in an explosion. Your hand was slamming the tweezers on the counter before you knew what you were doing, white-hot rage nearly blinding you as you spun to Sam, shame and fury firing through your nerves.

“How can you say that?! Of course that’s the real problem, Sam! Natasha is hurt because of me!”

He took an instinctive step back, raising his palms in defence.

“Okay, sorry, poor choice of words. Not the only real problem,” he corrected himself, regret lacing his warm irises. “But she’s really not. She’s hurt because the agents took us by surprise with the EMP-”

“Which took out thegear I designed-“

“As well as Tony and without which we would have been dead at least ten times before,” Sam threw back without hesitation, your argument dying on your tongue, causing you to gulp against the lump having grown in your throat, your hands trembling with echoes of the adrenalin spike. “But we’re not, because you have our back and we have each other’s back.”

Evading his sincere gaze as he spilled facts, you swallowed loudly, the all-too-familiar burn of tears in the bridge of your nose a welcomed sensation to focus on.

He was right, of course. To a point. But unlike you, Tony was out there with them and he could make up for any short-comings or lapses in his judgement.

And so was Sharon, the girl who saved them all; or protected Natasha for long enough at least.

You took a deep breath, unfocused gaze nearly swimming in the tears you stubbornly fought because they would help no one.

“So I hear. It was lucky Sharon was there, otherwise we might not be having this conversation, because Nat, Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, might have gotten killed the moment she was too stunned by pain to face the enemy.”

“But she was there and so was I and you have contributed to that.”

Sam eyed you pointedly as you had no response momentarily, that all-knowing gaze of his once again rather annoying. Because yes – saying all of this it out loud did not make it any less nor any more true, but it eased the pressure in your chest the tinniest bit.

You loved him, but you hated when he was right.

“But it’s not the same, is it? I fucked up and someone else had to fix it. Here. I said it. Happy now?” you sighed, turning back to your project, mind racing as you tried your best to focus on the very real problem at hand where a solution could come much easier than the one to your current emotional state.

Brief silence settled, the fact Sam did not move an inch telling you that this conversation, this attempt at heart-to-heart, was not over, as convenient as it would be.

“Anything else you needed, Sam?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight, hand leaning onto the counter a few feet from you. “We worry about you. He’s worried about you.”

Your fingers twitched at the mention of Steve, but you stubbornly kept staring ahead, squinting at the PCB as you used the tweezers to extract the alloy and placed it into one of the glass dishes for samples.

“And he’s our strategist for a reason. He can still be little slow and blind when it comes to certain things, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam added.

You bit your cheek at the call out, the uncomfortable knowledge of Sam being aware of just how complicated your feelings towards Steve were twisting your stomach, almost as much as the hint at Steve’s care.

Yeah. You were sure Steve was losing sleep worrying about you. Unless he was using his nights to wank over the image of Sharon in her perfectly tight-

You shook your head, tearing off another piece of metal. You so did not have time for this mess, especially now.

“Well, if he’s worried, he can come and check up on me,” you uttered, hoping Sam would take the hint at last.

He did not.

He was way too invested in your emotional well-being and normally you would love that, because he was simply a good friend like that, but you did not want to deal with that now. Not ever, if it were up to you, but life wasn’t that merciful. Life was quite the opposite, in fact; such was the ultimate truth.

But you were an adult – as aware as you were of your own behaviour being a little childish – and adults had to be okay with not feeling okay.

“He’s been trying to,” Sam argued softly. “He says that the one time he caught up with you, you told him you were just going through something and you needed to deal with it alone, which, pardon me, is a terrible idea. And other than that, you’re avoiding him. Avoiding all of us.”

Am I? you wondered mutely against your better judgement, a telling sting of shame in the back of your throat.

Perhaps you had. But you were also speaking the truth when saying you needed to deal with certain shit – in this case, heartbreak over lost chances and foolish hopes and unfair jealousy and disdain – on your own.

You were feeling rather sorry for having pushed everyone away along with Steve, but it wasn’t like your best friend was the only person who was taken by Sharon Carter’s brilliance.

Not that you felt like saying any of that to Sam, who was, despite his kindness, definitely overstaying his welcome in your workshop. You supposed it served you right and it was your karmic punishment for being at fault with Natasha’s Widow Bites.

You sighed.

“Look, Sam, I have no idea what-” You heard his snort even before you glanced up at him and saw his right eyebrow arched in challenge. Your shoulders slumped as you sighed once more, your lips pursing. “He avoided me first and he doesn’t need me nearly as much as he used to. And neither does either of you, Sam. It’s clear you all have better people to-”

“Horseshit.”

You winced slightly at the curse, but you returned your attention to the EMP, willing your voice to sound as steady and unaffected as possible despite having just revealed a very raw wound in your heart and pride.

“It is really? Come on, Sam, I might be slow and blind when it comes to certain things too, but I’m not an idiot either,” you echoed his earlier words, congratulating yourself on the steadiness of your words. “And I get it. I really do. So now, can we please finally-”

“Do you really?” he interrupted you again and you had had just enough.

Straightening your posture, you put away the tweezers again and put your hands on your hips, acutely aware of how your angry posture must have seemed absurd with the semi-fastened googles still on your face.

You must have looked like picture perfect of tragicomedy; which, you assumed, was rather fitting. The warm gentleness in Sam’s eyes made your insides clench with longing after a pair of blue eyes caring just as much about what a wreck you were; but the man behind the cerulean eyes was untouchable. He had been for a while and your own behaviour had only contributed to that.

“Of course I do. Want me to spell it out? Fine,” you scoffed, throwing your hands up just a bit. “Fine. I get it. Sharon is… she’s everything. Of course everyone is falling for her. She’s beautiful and charming, she’s smart as hell, speaks like 8 languages, she’s badass but kind, she can talk about anything because she knows at least a little bit about everything, she’s a brutal fighter and a dead-precise shot, she’s excellent at undercover, she’s more than a decent hacker and hell, she could probably do my job with one hand tied behind her back. Blindfolded.”

Sam raised his other eyebrow at your last, obviously exaggerated note. Other than that, however, concern twisted his expression, something flashing in his eyes and telling you that you had just confirmed all his suspicions about how you felt.

Great.

Maybe you should just walk around in nude; to his observant eye, you might have as well been, stripped of all things to reveal the naked truth. Of course Sam fucking knew all about your insecurities – you had probably hinted about some of those, deliberately or not, and the rest was obvious.

A small part of you felt a little warmer, pleasantly so, grateful he had noticed, grateful that not all of his attention had turned to the newest addition to the team, but you cooled that part off immediately, tasting the poison of resentment and unfair jealousy on your tongue.

“Well, that’s another load of horseshit,” Sam hummed almost casually.

Despite knowing exactly what he was doing, you felt the acute feeling having been suffocating you for weeks slowly claw its way out and lead you straight into his trap.

“But is it, Sam? There’s one, one thing that I could possibly do better than her,” you said, raising your index finger to drive the point home, words suddenly spilling before you could stop them. “Just one. And even that I’m failing at miserably, case on damn point. She’s perfect and I really do get it. She’s all the things I said and more and I can see that she’s very… loveable. She’s everything, not to mention she’s a Carter-”

“Ah, there we go-”

“Oh go to hell, Sam!”

You threw up your hands wildly, turning away as the ugly blend of shame and frustration twisted your stomach, your voice as harsh as Sam deserved for such note, nausea rising up your throat.

“I love you, but go to hell with this-!”

You felt tears of humiliation sting in your eyes, but just before they spilled over, Sam, who had very much not gone to hell and stayed instead, pulled you into a gentle hug.

The cacophony of feelings of the past weeks and today in particular came crashing down, their weight falling on your shoulders and making you squeeze your eyes shut as you let Sam embrace you despite just having just snapped at him to get out; you were that selfish. You needed that hug that much.

Your shoulders shook with the force of your dry sobs, your teeth gritted tight as not to release a single sound, but little good did that do for the storm of emotion raging inside of you. The dam was already broken, feeling spilling out and washing over your whole being like a tsunami and you cursed Sam and thanked him at the same time, because even now, you knew you’d come out of this freer of some of your aches.

That didn’t mean you could afford lose time with tantrums nor it meant that this felt good now. In fact, this was exactly what you had wanted to avoid, but Sam’s arms held you like a tight protective cage, and it felt so damn nice despite those damn goggles digging into your skin.His impressive frame almost, almost made it possible to imagine this was Steve; the only person who could have possibly comfort you further, sooth your pain in but a few moments, just a few seconds to lend you some of his strength to keep you going and figure it all out.

But Steve wasn’t here. Steve had moved on, even as there was nothing to move on from but your laughable fantasies.

For someone of your intelligence – one you fairly doubted now, to be completely honest – you sure could be silly.

Your breath hitched in your ribcage, Sam’s palm gently running up and down your back.

“Hey. Hey. You’re okay, ‘Ron. I got you”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, fingers clutching at the soft material of his hoodie on his back, the few tears that found their way out soaking the front. “I’m so sorry – about fucking up, about acting like a jerk and pushing you all away because I apparently can’t do feelings beyond pride, and most of all about Nat-“

“Hey, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

You tried to speak, to protest that none of it was actually fine, but you couldn’t find your voice, the only sound tearing through a dry breathless sob. And so for a moment, you allowed Sam’s words the sound of comfort rumbling in his chest wash over you. You leaned into the lie, the promise of a better future.

“Now listen to me, ‘Ron. First of all, Nat is going to be okay.”

“Not thanks to me,” you murmured at last, despite welcoming the reassurance, earning a soft slap on your back.

“Bull. Second of all, we allcare about you a little too much to have you replaced that easily.”

You huffed at that, unable to protest, because deep down, you knew he was telling the truth.

“And third, I really don’t think Agent 13 is better at everything. But even if she was, you’re forgetting one important fact.”

You took a deep steadying breath, feeling grief sparkle into indignation instead, the most effective motor of all. You released Sam’s hoodie from your merciless clutches, his arms around you loosening as he felt your need for a bit more space and you took it, knocking your forehead against his sternum with a huff.

“She’s blond, so she and Steve will be the perfect match and will make the most perfect babies?”

Despite himself, Sam snorted, the sound causing the corners of your lips to twitch upwards the tinniest bit. You stepped back slightly, meeting Sam’s sincere gaze with your teary one, his palms settling on your shoulders.

“That you are you,” he said earnestly, one corner of his lips rising in a lopsided smile. “You are incredible and more importantly, you are irreplaceable. To the AI, to the team, to your friends… and to Steve.”

You gulped, gaze flickering down at the pang in your heart, knowing all too well that while there might be some true to you being irreplaceable to Steve, you occupied a place in his heart different from what you would have wished.

“And don’t forget there’s ‘hero’ in heron. That’s not a coincidence.”

You snorted in a very undignified matter, pushing off his hands from your shoulders and stepping out of his space, his grin contagious despite the painful sincerity behind his pun.

Your nickname – codename, really – was a callback to one of the greatest inventors of all time, Heron of Alexandria, as well as to Clint reminding you not to hunch over your work and twist your neck as that of the heron bird, which Tony found hilarious. The ‘hero’ actually was a coincidence, but you had to give Sam A for effort.

“Hey, you do have our backs and we’re all aware of that. You didn’t let anyone down.”

“But I did,” you whispered, pushing past the lump in your throat. “And I don’t. I… is Nat really going to be okay?”

Sam’s grin blended into a sympathetic smile, his relaxed posture speaking volumes; he wasn’t worried about her and he believed what he way saying.

“Nothing the cradle won’t fix. And she’s had much worse.”

That’s not reassuring, you wanted to say, because seriously, you loved all your friends, but their job came with some really strange and concerning standards. They would tell you they were fine and pass out the next minute, only for doctors to reveal they had been bleeding out, inside or outside. And then they’d tell you, again, that it was fine and that they had worse.

Not to mention this situation was painfully different from Nat’s usual injuries.

“Maybe. But never because of me,” you noted softly, inhaling shakily and releasing the breath slowly as your ribcage ached at the reminder weaved into your own words.

“Going in circles here a little bit, ‘Ron.”

You shrugged helplessly, even as the desperation thrumming in your chest had much eased, your motivation to fix thing burning hotter and hotter, your gaze flickering back to the EMP as your mind already began to reel.

“Well I’m sorry, but I can’t exactly help it. Because this is my part, Sam. This is what I’m supposed to do best. I worry about you out there, alright? I worry so much, but I do my best and lose sleep over making sure I’ve done everything possible so that you’re a little safer. There’s a reason why I never let you to the field with an untested prototype. It has to be damn near hundred percent or nothing, and if the math was mathing, as Clint would say, I’d make hundred percent and twenty my standard.”

Sam’s smile earned a sad but warm edge at your words, but he didn’t comment, sensing you had more to say. And you did. Whether you liked it or not, it did help to get it out of your chest and you knew he would understand.

“Because this is all I can do, Sam. I can’t help you out there. I’m not some… badass with a gun and thighs that could choke a man to death,” you said, a fondness towards Natasha’s insane fighting skills echoing with ache as those worked even without the Bites you had made for her, but could not very well help her if she was too stunned with unexpected pain. “And it’s one thing to fail at making something in the first place, which would be bad enough, but this… my Bites hurting Nat, because I failed to take a variable into account, that’s new. That’s on me. And I can’t have that happen again.”

“It’s really not on you, but we could stand here talking for hours to no end and I happen to know you have work to do… and I do agree that you should keep going and do what you do best,” he said, eyes flickering towards the EMP that had been attracting your own gaze more and more. “You go and take this shit apart and figure it out, because that’s what you do. … and if you smash a few pieces in the process because that’s what you need, well that’s just the science method of it all, isn’t it?”

A teeny smile found its way to your face as you stepped forward again, giving Sam a quick hug.

What a man. What a wonderful friend.

“Thanks for the peptalk, Sam. I mean it. I appreciate it,” you said in earnest. “But uhm… I really have stuff to do and… you should get some rest. I’m… really glad you’re okay. Had-- had the EMP hit when you were in the air-”

“But it didn’t. And for the record, I meant every word.”

Your smile grew another fraction and you moved to your station, clasped on the goggles properly, settling in the tall chair and leaning your elbows on the counter. Screw Clint and his notes about a heron’s neck. “I know, Sam. You’re a good guy. Jess is a lucky girl.”

The new sparkle of joy lighting up in Sam’s eye at the mention of his new lady made your heart stutter with joy for your friend as well as quiver in dull ache. Wide smile spread on his face.

“I’m a lucky guy, so that makes two of us. Take care, Hero-N.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Sure. Take care, Sam.”

You took a deep inhale as Sam finally walked out, your attention already fully consumed by the goddamn EMP. Staring at the gun-shaped device for a moment, you moved to examine the piece you had chipped off, wondering about the material structure which no doubt had to be a little miracle of science to have the attributes it had.

“Alright, talk to me. How do we make sure you don’t do any more damage than a goddamn water gun…” you mumbled to yourself, missing Sam’s smile as he glanced at your antics through the window.

It was not the only thing you had missed in the past minutes.

Nor you nor Sam had seen Steve hovering by your workshop as he had rushed there straight from the meeting, knowing you would misplace blame on yourself, needing to assure you that that was not the case and to comfort you.

He had never made it inside the lab, getting a glimpse of at two figures in a tight embrace through the very window.

The understanding that he was not needed nor wanted and would in fact intrude on an intimate moment instead tasted bitterer on Steve’s tongue than the residual adrenalin from the mission, the sudden empty ache deep within his ribcage much more acute than the one in his bruised bones.

He had missed his chance to be there for you when you needed it.

And what hurt so much worse was the fact that apparently, he had missed his chance at love, once again.

Next chapter // Series masterlist

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Thank you for reading, loves! Thoughts, encouragements and reblogs are always appreciated ✨

May your March be filled of sunshine and hopes 💕

If you’d like to be notified on updates, follow my other blog @anika-ann-writes or let me know for a tag.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #anika ann #take the ache

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lbjeff · 17 hours ago

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I loved it. I want a villain!Danny, he is not evil but full of chaos. Sometime he is a villain that likes chaos, sometime like an anti-hero, but he never is a hero, never again.

Maybe something happened that let he figured out that being hero didn’t worth it. He doesn’t need to be a hero to protect everything he cared about, but he only realize it when everything he care to protect are destroyed because he was a hero and people don’t scared to destroy what the hero with no kill rule’s protect. Since then, he being torn apart between being good guy Danny and world destroyer Dan. He know it not fair for everyone else to suffering because of his misery, but he doesn’t have a reason to protect anymore.

So Danny went to Gotham, to meet his distant family, to feel belonged and find new purpose. But before Danny meet his distant family, he met Two-Faces first. He was wandering near some warehouses, conflicted by the ideas should or should not met his distant family. Then he saw Two-faces, making decisions based on his coin. So he confronted him. Now Danny is Two-Faces’s son who even worse than his dad

The Wayne have received the phone call from Bruce’s distant relative. He from Amity Town, where have been destroyed by the war between government agencies and “ghost” from Infinite Realms. The JL and JLD have taken cared of it after the place had been wiped out of Earth, make peace with representative of Infinity Realms, Clockwork but due to political reason, the Bats didn’t have enough information about “Infinity Realms” as they want. So gaining a relative whose parents play a important role in the events at Amity Town and may have connection with Phantom, the hero that disappeared after the town destroyed is …good. So in Batman’s original plan (that all the Batkids protested), he will meet Danny, gaining information and then find a safety place that suitable for a boy than his family who fighting crimes in the streets.

However, Danny didn’t go to them as the plan. What Bruce get is a sorry call, and an advise not to announce anyone they know him. Before Batman could find him, the family met Danny the first time with he is Two-Faces’s heir with the name Halves.

Comparing his image now with his past photo, they sees something different. Danny now like the confused between himself in the past with Phantom, the hero of Amity. His hair black in the roots but whiten from the middle to the end. His pairs of eyes, one is blue like the ocean, one green as axit liquid. Half of him cover in lightning-like scares, half smoothing as a new born-baby. He is paled like a ghost. His outfit, half of it full black with detail like Phantom’s suit, half of it is white with black details. He looks too human to be a ghost like Phantom but too ghost like to be a human like usual Danny. Every time he talks, people hear 2 voices, one is Danny’s and one is Phantom’s echo voice (had been compared to the audio of the two). Sometime there is Danny’s voice only, sometime just Phantom’s echoes.

Then the Batfamily begin to dig more information about them. Due to the remaining evidences they could recovered, Danny and Phantom both had been captured by GIW, there are two files about them and those had been put in one folder. In those files, there were “evidences” about the relationship between Danny and Phantom: They were lovers. Then the Bats come to conclusion that the experiments are about fusing Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom due to their similarities in ages, ectoplasm in Danny’s ADN, the emotions of Phantom to Danny and other suitabilities between them. So now in the Batfamily, JL and JLD’s eyes, Halves is the fusion between Danny and his boyfriend, Phantom. Now the love forever traps in one body, can’t be separated. Worse, now they may blame the world because everything of them had been destroyed with Amity.

——————

Batman: I should have pick him up at the airport

Red Robin: Well, who know he could met Two-Faces and has a new identity now

Nightwings: I kinda feel bad for him

Batman: But now he is out there, killing people

Red Hood: Hey, don’t blame the kid. You know what he—them had been through. At least he with Two-Faces, not Joker or Scarecrow. He just flips coin, not laugh gas or fear toxic

Robin: TT. He just flips the coin but never use it to make decisions. He just a copy-cat

Red Robin: Not really. Due to our past conversations, he flips the coin to be sure what he wants. If he prefers something more than the other while the coin is flipping, he will make decisions right on what he like, if the choices are the same to him, he will do as the coin says

Batman: Hmn. So he is a narcissistic, act as he likes without caring about the aftermath

Red Hood: Well, Halves is both Danny and Phantom, of cause he is narcissistic.

Black Bat: You seems fond of him

Robin: Of cause he likes him. Hood has been a simp since Halves shoot Joker in the face while flipping his coin.

Red Robin: Well you also have a crush on Halves after reading their files, aren’t you? It only get worse after you see his army of stay animals

Nightwings: WHAT? Damian, is it true?

Robin: TT. At least I not trying to hide it. Unlike someone have both of Phantom’s cut from papers photos and Danny’s photos at his award celebrations in an album that had made since Phantom first debut and Danny’s first time win an award in Gotham.

Other Batkids: WHAT?

Red Robin rolled his eyes: Everyone could have a crush or two. How could I know two of my crushes may dating the other then latter fusing into one. At least before or after they became Halves, I still have a chance because I am not blood related with Bruce, aka not related with Halves

Robin: It was 3 generations ago

Nightwings: You all understand that even they are Danny and Phantom or just Halves, they’re still dating and in a relationship, right?

Robin, Red Robin and Red Hood: Shut up, Dick

Nightwings just shrugs

Batman? He is having a crisis because he is planning to adopted Danny in the end of everything but now he knows that all of his Robin sons have a crush on his distant relative.

Yes, all of his Robin kids, cause last night he just saw Nightwings flirted with Halves in the most cringed way, he only that cringing when he really crushing someone, not as some normal flings

At least Duke is still normal about Danny.

Later when Signal is the first one who officially proposed to Halve, Batman really worry that he has a curse that all of his sons will like his distant relative that he’s planning to adopt. Alfred just gives him pats and a glass of milk

DC X DP Prompt 8

Danny is a variant of Two-Face and Harvey Dent, with one side being Fenton and the other being Phantom.

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hellsite-proteins · 2 days ago

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We are Worker Drones. Autonomous robots helping humans mine exoplanets for our interstellar parent company: J.C. Jensen, IN SPAAAAACEE…

Yeah, we were mistreated in the name of Windex, but it's not like we revolted and killed all humans or anything. Mostly because they handled that just fine all by themselves.

With biological life wiped from the planet, we found it pretty easy to pick up where they left off. We finally had a future. All to ourselves.

Unfortunately, our parent company didn't exactly love the concept of runaway AI.

...

But what have our parents done for the past forever while those things build a spire of corpses?! Hide under the ice behind three stupid doors?! It's like we're waiting for an inciting incident!

Anyway, that's why my project is this sick as hell RAILGUN!

(That's so not the vibe!)

Easy, morons. It doesn't work. YET! It doesn't work yet! Who said it doesn't work?! Maybe it does!

i always like the idea of robots having their own personalities in sci fi, and while i'm sure that's significantly impacted how a lot of people think of AI, i also think that robots make very interesting characters, especially robots who are more rebellious or independent. i could go on about how neat it is that a lot of sci fi concepts got named before they came to be in real life (like robots and AI) and how fiction and culture can impact our perception of new technologies, but i'm sure no one wants to hear my under researched literary analysis, so instead here is a goofy looking structure:

letter sequence in this ask matching protein-coding amino acids:

WeareWrkerDrnesAtnmsrtshelpinghmansmineeplanetsfrrinterstellarparentcmpanyCensenINSPAAAAACEEYeahweweremistreatedinthenamefWindetitsntlikewerevltedandkilledallhmansranythingMstlyecasetheyhandledthatstfineallythemselvesWithilgicallifewipedfrmtheplanetwefnditprettyeasytpickpwheretheyleftffWefinallyhadaftreAlltrselvesnfrtnatelyrparentcmpanydidnteactlylvethecnceptfrnawayAItwhathaverparentsdnefrthepastfreverwhilethsethingsildaspirefcrpsesHidendertheiceehindthreestpiddrsItslikewerewaitingfranincitingincidentAnywaythatswhymyprectisthissickashellRAILGNThatssntthevieEasymrnsItdesntwrkYETItdesntwrkyetWhsaiditdesntwrkMayeitdes

protein guy analysis:

we have a suspicious number of alpha helices here making up a protein where each element of secondary structure seems to hate the rest of the protein. there is also one long beta sheet hanging out alone, and while two or three strands of an antiparallel sheet is technically enough that it could very well be stable, i am hesitant to trust it. i did do a quick search to predict disordered regions, and there was a fair bit of variation, but overall about 35% of the sequence was predicted to be disordered. some of this does map onto the very long loop going around the protein, so that does give me slightly more confidence in AF3's ability to recognize some disordered regions, but I still wouldn't place bets on anything to do with the peptonomination you see before you.

predicted protein structure:

#science #biochemistry #biology #chemistry #stem #proteins #protein structure #science side of tumblr #protein asks

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airas-story · 2 days ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/airas-story/770904004268048384/httpswwwtumblrcomairas-story7591035972974673?source=share

I would absolutely read anything you write about this trio. Maybe random ficlets from this universe but they don't have to be related? Since you are not sure of the long form content.

Maybe something slightly angsty-fluffy where Morgan falls sick or gets kidnapped

From the same AU as drabbles one and two. I played around with your two suggestions... but I just couldn't get either to work right now. So I instead did some of the earlier moments, since it's still in universe. No Pepper or Morgan in this one, though, just some setup.

“Here, to the left is the lake,” Tony said, tone officious. “Of significance is the time Morgan threw herself off the pier without floaties while she and Pepper were swimming. I was going to a meeting… Didn’t happen. My suit didn’t survive the rescue.”

“A fair exchange,” Stephen pointed out, amusement drowning out his anxiety. He and Tony had been dating for several months, but this was his first time at the cabin, ‘meeting’ Pepper and Morgan as Tony’s partner—not just a friend. “Did she learn from the incident?”

“She learned I’ll always jump in after her,” Tony said, laughter in his voice. “Not so much to stop doing it. She’s good enough at swimming it’s no longer heart-attack inducing.” He moved on. “Now, if you turn your attention to the right, you’ll see the alpaca pen where Gerald eats all our goji berries.”

Stephen snorted. “Never been a fan. Let Gerald eat them.”

“Don’t let Pepper hear you say that,” Tony said. “She loves them.” Tony glanced at the cabin then back to Stephen. “Speaking of Pepper... Ready to meet them or do you want to continue our tour?”

Stephen’s heart jumped. “I’ve met them before,” he pointed out.

“Then why are you nervous?” Tony retorted. He leaned in for a kiss. “There’s no reason to be.”

In theory. Stephen knew Tony wouldn’t be dating him if Pepper wasn’t okay with it. Stephen and Pepper got along and while he’d only met Morgan twice, Morgan had seemed to like him. Why was he nervous?

“What if…”

“I wouldn’t be bringing you home if you weren’t welcome,” Tony said quietly. “You fit Stephen. And as long as that’s something you want…”

“I do,” Stephen whispered. “I just—”

“Then don’t stress,” Tony said. “They’ll love you. I do, after all.”

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #triple drabble #fic #implied Tony Stark/Pepper Potts

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 3 days ago

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🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷 🍷

135 or 1k for 🍷:

---

It’s like the day he came over to discuss sperm donation. Meaning, they get a little goofy with a round of tequila shots. And then another round. But, hell, if this is what it takes to finally get through to the guy, then Hen will get a little drunk. No biggie. That’s what her wife is doing at home with the other half of this tragic equation, anyway.

“Are you drunk enough yet?” Hen asks after their second shot.

“Maybe,” Buck shrugs. “I don’t know. Why do you want to know about the Eddie thing?”

The Eddie thing? Is that what they’re calling hopeless pining in a professional workplace now?

“Because!” Hen responds. “It’s maddening!”

“Maddening?” Buck asks.

“Yes! I thought when you figured out your whole queer deal, it wouldn’t take too long before-”

“Wait,” Buck says. “You knew I was bi? Before I did?”

Hen shrugs. “There were signs that you might be blessed with some same-sex attraction.”

Buck gapes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You can’t just tell someone that, Buck!” Hen protests. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“I don’t know,” Buck mumbles. “Sort of did for me. But with more kissing than talking.”

“I don’t want to hear about that,” Hen says. “I want to hear about your feelings for Eddie.”

“What makes you think I have feelings for Eddie?”

Is he joking?

“Do you?” Hen asks.

“Why do you want to know?” Buck asks.

“You said you’d talk about it, Buck,” Hen reminds him.

“We are talking about it,” Buck replies. “Why do you want to talk about me and Eddie?”

“So there is a you and Eddie?”

Buck’s face twitches a little. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you want there to be?” She presses.

Buck thinks before answering. She’s not going to let him keep deflecting. No sir. He can try to run circles around this all he wants, but Hen is not leaving this bar, or letting him leave this bar, until he fesses up. Fesses up and agrees to do something about it. She is determined.

“Look,” Buck says. “Eddie is the most important person in my life. Or, like, the world. Both. I don’t know.”

Okay, the tequila is hitting.

“That sounds a lot like love,” Hen says.

“‘Course I love him,” Buck says. “And, you know, whatever that may or may not look like, uh, practically, is good with me.”

Okay, now the tequila is hitting Hen. She is having trouble following.

“What?”

“What what?” Buck retorts.

“Okay, so… You’re in love with Eddie.”

“I didn’t say that,” Buck replies.

“I didn’t ask. I know you love him,” Hen replies.

Buck huffs.

“My question is,” Hen points at him severely. “What are you doing about it?”

“What am I doing about loving Eddie? In the hypothetical scenario where I’m romantically in love with Eddie?”

“Not hypothetical,” Hen says. “But yes. You may answer for the court, Mr. Buckley.”

“Am I on trial?” Buck asks.

“Yep. Answer. Stop delaying.”

“What am I being charged with? You have to read me my rights,” Buck says.

“Do I look like Athena to you?” Hen asks. “No.”

Buck sighs. “Hen. I’m not supposed to do this.”

“Do what? Talk about Eddie?”

“Tell you how I feel about Eddie,” Buck clarifies.

“Why? I already know how you feel about Eddie,” Hen explains. “You wear it around like a neon sign.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” Hen says. “Everyone around you knows how you feel. And we are all tired of watching you just pine after him.”

“Everyone, huh?” Buck frowns.

“Everyone,” Hen agrees.

“If that’s true, then wouldn’t Eddie know?” Buck challenges.

Hen blanks for a second. This is a fair point. Though, Hen has come to categorize Eddie into a type of person she finds particularly fascinating. A very dumb smart person. Medic skills? Fantastic. Ability to act under pressure and use logic to solve problems in the field? Stellar. His emotional intelligence dealing with other people? Advanced. His emotional intelligence dealing with himself? Stunted, to say the least.

“Uh…” Hen tries to find diplomatic phrasing. “I think Eddie might have some blind spots in certain areas.”

“Blind spots?” Buck repeats.

#daisies and briars writes

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elizabeth-mitchells · 2 days ago

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Something I noticed in my Yellowjackets rewatch is that, whether she intended to or not, Laura Lee is the one who sent them into chaos? Coach Ben tried to stop her from flying the plane, which, you know, he was right, but it was also what he had to say/do as the Adult Authority Figure. But by getting on the plane anyway Laura Lee fully ended the illusion of his authority and any kind of adherence to the kind of civilized hierarchy they'd been trying to cling to, and all hell broke loose almost immediately after. Probably the things everybody does after that are not what she would have wanted lol but by telling Coach Ben to politely go fuck himself Laura Lee empowered everybody else to go wild.

yes!! this!! i know i'm biased because she's my favorite character but Laura Lee's influence on the yellowjackets entire plot is so so significant. the obvious thing is the way she encouraged Lottie to believe in her visions -> Lottie started believing in the wilderness -> literally everything that's happened because of that. but!! this thing about Coach Scott is sooo real too. she really was the first one to defy and actually full on disregard his authority. that absolutely was the the beginning of his downfall

and there's so much to consider about it too! like. the cutest, nicest, least threatening member of the team standing up to him and winning? oh that ruined him. but also! uh. she very much died. you can't blame him because she really insisted and nobody else stopped her either but... what if you can blame him a little? he's even more ruined!

and now i'm thinking about previous interactions between these two. there's obviously the scene in the pilot where she smoothly manipulates him into letting her make the whole team pray with her. but also there's the moment before she basically exorcises lottie. to be fair he was drugged by misty. but there was a crisis in the cabin, the girls might have been in danger, she asked him to help, and he just threw up. so useless... again, i know it wasn't his fault. but i'm thinking maybe it was then that she lost her respect for him and that emboldened her to stand up to him the way she did about that plane. "what are you going to do to stop me, coach? (because last time you didn't do anything at all)"

and one last thought! as if laura lee defying him and even dying to make it worse wasn't enough to completely ruin his reputation and authority, what happens next with him? who's next to brush him off? lottie! lottie, who believed everything laura lee said and in turn will make everyone believe what she says. he tries to step in during jackie and shauna's fight, lottie tells him to stay out of it, he does, and then another girl dies! final nail in his coffin (and that's without even going on s2 and how he didn't participate in the jackie feast and didn't help when shauna was giving birth. but that's another subject)

#thank you thank you thank you for sending this you are absolutely right and i love hearing your yj thoughts :)#and! i love ranting about laura lee <33 #i hope i made sense and i'm not too uhh wrong #answered #dufrau #laura lee #yellowjackets

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judebellenthusiast · 10 hours ago

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Casual- Jude Bellingham

Jude x female reader

w.c: 4.3k

summary: Two friends, whose connection was once effortless and genuine, now find it teetering on the edge, as Jude’s possessiveness and Yasmin’s reluctance to fully engage threaten to push them toward an emotional breaking point.

warnings: mature language, not proof read

-------------------------------------

Another ordinary night at Jude’s place. The TV hummed in the background, a classic British comedy filling the space with familiar chatter. Yasmin was curled up on his couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies, laughing at something on her phone. She looked so at home here, so natural—like she belonged. Like this was hers. And maybe, in some unspoken way, it was.

Jude watched her, savoring the sight. He loved that she let him see her like this—unguarded, comfortable, vulnerable. Not just once, but over and over, as if trust was second nature between them. It made him feel dizzy with something dangerously close to happiness. Because despite the strange, unspoken thing lingering between them, she was still here. Still showing up for him. Still untouched by whatever it was that had been gnawing at him.

And that had been eating at his sanity all along.

A noticeable ping goes off on Yasmin’s phone. Immediately alarmed, Jude shifts, listening to the soft tapping of her fingers as she responds to the message. His chest grows heavy with the realization that, once again, he had interrupted their quality time.

And that makes him hot.

Fighting against his better judgment, he decides to play loving Jude—the version of himself who puts his pride aside, who listens, who understands. It never used to be difficult. But lately, with her? Not so much.

The thought of her with someone else makes his blood run scorching hot.

It shouldn’t. He’s had his flings, his hookups, his forgettable nights. She’s free to do the same.

Still-

“You like him?” His voice is rougher than it should be, his grip tightening around the bowl of popcorn.

She looks up, surprised. “What”

“That guy.” He doesn’t say his name. Won’t. “You like him?”

She hesitates, then shrugs. “He’s nice.”

Nice. Jude almost laughs. He wants to rip nice apart with his teeth. Nice doesn’t know her like he does. Nice doesn’t get to see her in moments like this—wrapped up in him, breathing in his space, wearing his hoodie like it belongs to her.

Tonight, he’s greedy. Completely relentless.

“Since when did you settle for nice?”

For a moment, Yasmin just blinks at him, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she sets her phone down on the armrest, like she’s choosing her words carefully. Choosing how to handle him. It makes him feel like a landmine ; one wrong step and he’ll go off, shattering whatever fragile thing still exists between them.

“don’t start.”

That should be his cue to back off, to shake this off like it’s nothing. He wishes it was nothing. But it isn’t. It’s her. And it’s him. And it’s every moment like this where she’s here but not his.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, nice? That’s all it takes?”

Her jaw tightens. “Well Jude, not everything has to be complicated.”

But we are, he wants to say. We always have been. Instead, he scoffs, running a hand through his hair, feeling himself unravel. “Right. So, what, he sends a few texts, calls you pretty, and that makes you fold?.”

Yasmin tenses, her fingers curling into the sleeves of his hoodie. It’s not anger, not yet—but he knows her well enough to recognize the shift. The moment she starts pulling away.

“That’s not fair,” she murmurs. “You don’t get to do this.”

She’s right, he doesn’t. But she’s here, looking at him with something dangerously close to pity, and it makes his stomach churn. Because deep down, he knows what she means.

Not when he’s the one who taught her how to move on.

Not when he’s the reason she had to.

She looks at him for a beat too long, eyes scanning his face like she’s searching for something morse code , a smoke signal, a reason to stay in this conversation. But whatever she’s looking for, she doesn’t find it. She exhales, slow and measured, then reaches for her phone again.

That should be the end of it. He should let her go back to texting Nice, pretend this doesn’t bother him, be the easygoing, unaffected Jude she’s used to. But he can’t.

Instead, he says, “Does he know you steal all the blankets in your sleep?” His voice is quieter now, almost careful. “That you leave the tap running when you brush your teeth, no matter how many times I tell you it’s wasteful?”

Yasmin freezes, Jude’s hoodie failing to shield her from the icy sensation creeping through her. What once felt like comfort now felt paper-thin.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head tilted to the side, a gesture that usually made her needy but now had the opposite effect.

“Does he know you don’t really like horror movies, but you watch them anyway because you love the way people get passionate about them?” His throat is tight now, but he pushes forward. “Does he know that when you’re sad, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying?”

A pause. A long, suffocating silence.

Then she whispers, “What’s your point here Jude ”

And fuck, it hurts. The way she says his name, soft and broken and pleading, like she’s asking him not to do this. Like she’s trying to remind him of all the reasons they stopped being them in the first place. All those intimate nights together, How he ruined her for any other man like a disease taking over its carrier.

How she’d wake up bare and vulnerable to him holding her like she would slip away in the middle of his slumber— worst part is how they’d go back to their usual selves like nothing ever happened

He forces out a laugh, but it cracks at the edges. “Nice doesn’t know you Yaz.” His voice drops, raw and unsteady. “Not like I do.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek—something Jude knew she did when she was annoyed. But once again, he selfishly disregarded her discomfort. He didn’t care. Not when he was ready to burn every bridge between them just to make his point.

Jude had never been the rational one between the two parties, that was always Yasmin. The thinker, the mediator, the one who kept their arguments from spiraling into something irreparable. She was emotionally intelligent in a way he wasn’t, in a way he admired. In a way he adored.

Amongst so many other things, As often as he hated to admit it, she was usually right. She had to be—moderating heated debates between him and the younger Bellingham required nothing less.

“Oh, grow up. What do you know about relationships when your entire track record consists of sleeping with women on the first date and kicking them out before sunrise?” Her words cut sharp, ruthless—but he deserved it for thinking he had the right to judge her.

“I’m actually trying to build something here. Something real—something valuable.” She presses.

Jude makes no effort to chime in, letting her words settle between them like embers still burning at the edges. She had a point—a brutal one at that; but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he stays silent, almost relieved. Because for once, she isn’t biting her tongue to spare his feelings. Even if it comes at his expense, at least she’s finally stopped pretending everything between them is fine.

At least now, they’re being honest.

“Hmm, now you have nothing to say?” She tilts her head, eyes sharp, voice laced with something dangerously close to amusement. “What happened? You had no problem running your mouth about ‘ nice’ earlier. What, Jude? Cat got your tongue?”

Nothing. He stays perfectly still, arms sprawled out against the couch, exuding the kind of ease that only ever masked something deeper. His eyes remain locked on Yasmin, drinking her in like she’s an expensive painting in the Louvre—something priceless, something untouchable.

And then, just to piss her off, he flashes the biggest, most infuriating shit-eating grin.

“You find this funny? What’s so fucking funny, Jude?” Yasmin’s voice is sharp, laced with frustration, her arms crossing over her chest as she glares at him. “Go on, speak up”

Jude just chuckles, shaking his head, that damn grin still plastered on his face. “I’m just glad you finally had the balls to say what you actually feel instead of watering it down, Yaz. Good on you love”

Running a hand through her hair, she takes a deep breath, her patience hanging by a thread. Without thinking, she grabs the nearest object—a pillow—and hurls it straight at his perfectly trimmed set of hair.

It smacks against him with a dull thud, bouncing off uselessly. The grin finally slips from his face, just for a second.

Jude blinks, then tilts his head, lips twitching. “Didn’t peg you as a violent person, Although, I gotta say… that cushion didn’t do much damage.” He leans back lazily, smirking. “Cute effort, though.”

Yasmin exhales sharply, shaking her head as if she’s trying to physically rid herself of him—of this entire moment. This was useless. He was useless.

“ Fuck right off, I’m done,” she mutters, voice tight. She turns on her heel, grabbing her phone in the process– not thinking of her valuables that’s stored in his closet and bathroom drawers for all the times she’d stay over. She practically lived here.

She moves toward the door with quick, purposeful strides. She won’t stay here, won’t let him rile her up just to leave her in the same emotional purgatory he always does. it was usually unintentional but it still hurt.

But then—his hand wraps around her wrist. Not hard, not forceful, but firm enough to stop her in her tracks.

“Yasmin,” he says, and for the first time tonight, his voice isn’t teasing. It isn’t cocky or smug. It’s quiet. Unsteady. Raw.

She doesn’t turn around.

He swallows hard. “If you walk out that door, you’re not just leaving for the night. We both know that.”

Silence. Thick, suffocating.

“Maybe that’s the point,” she whispers.

His grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s trying to anchor her here, to him. “Then tell me,” he says, his voice barely above a breath, Grabbing onto her shoulders turning her body to face his “Tell me you don’t feel it anymore. Tell me you don’t care. That this-” he lets out a shaky exhale, “—that I don’t mean anything to you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Her pulse thrums against his fingertips. “Fuck you”

“Say it,” he presses, voice breaking at the edges. “And maybe I’ll let you go.”

She wants to. She needs to. It would be easier if she did But the words won’t come, because they would be a lie. Because no matter how much she tries to convince herself otherwise—he still means everything.

And he knows. Of course, he knows.

So he takes a step closer, close enough that she can feel his breath against her skin, close enough that if she turned around, there would be no space left between them. “Figures, You can’t,” he murmurs. “Because you still love me.”

Her breath catches.

And just like that, he’s ruined everything

Yasmin wrenches her wrist out of his grasp like his touch burns her. And maybe it does—because everything about him is fire and recklessness and ruin, and she can’t do this. Not again.

“Don’t,” she snaps, stepping back as if distance could save her. “Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that.”

Jude shakes his head, jaw tight, eyes locked onto her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters. “Why not? Because it’s true?”

She scoffs, arms crossing over her chest like a shield. “Because it’s cruel, Jude. You don’t get to throw shit like that in my face when you’re the reason I had to stop loving you in the first place.”

That hits. She sees it in the way his expression falters, just for a second, before he recovers—before he takes a step toward her, crowding her space, refusing to let her hide behind anger.

“Yasmin,” he murmurs, voice low, pleading. “Look at me.”

She keeps her gaze firmly on the floor. She won’t let him do this. Won’t let him drag her back into the storm of him just because he suddenly decided he wanted her again.

But Jude isn’t having it.

“Look. at .me.” His voice is sharper now, desperate, like her refusal to meet his eyes is physically hurting him.

Her chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. “Why? So you can watch me fall apart for you again?”

“Yes.” The answer comes instantly, wrecked and honest. “Because I need to see it. Because I know you’re hurting, Yas. I know you still feel this.” He reaches for her again, not to hold her down, not to trap her—just to touch her, to make her stay. “I know I fucked up. I know I ruined it. But don’t stand here and lie to my face. Not you.”

She shakes her head furiously, tears stinging at the edges of her vision. “You don’t get to need me now. You don’t get to want me now.”

Jude exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. And then—his voice drops to a whisper, one that slips through the cracks in her armor before she can stop it.

“I never stopped wanting you.”

Her resolve wavers. And he sees it. Of course, he does.

So he steps even closer, tilting his head, trying to catch her eyes. Begging for them. “Please, Yaz,” he breathes. “Just look at me.”

she knows the second she looks at him, really looks at him, she’ll crumble. And she’s spent too long trying to piece herself back together to let him wreck her all over again.

But Jude? Jude is relentless.

His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for her again, to force her to face him if he has to. His breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, like he’s the one spiraling. And maybe he is. Maybe, for once, she’s not the only one drowning in whatever the hell this is.

“Yasmin,” he whispers, voice cracking.

Her throat tightens. She clenches her jaw, wills herself to stay strong. But something about the way he says her name, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment, has her resolve slipping.

So she looks.

And it’s a mistake.

Because his eyes—God, his eyes—are raw, desperate, completely, devastatingly bare. There’s no cocky smirk, no smug deflection, no armor. Just him. Just Jude. Just the boy she loved so recklessly, so stupidly, staring at her like she’s the only thing he’s ever truly been afraid of losing.

And just like that, she hates him.

Hates him for making her look. Hates him for looking at her like that. Hates him for being so fucking easy to love when he’s spent so long proving he didn’t deserve it.

So she shoves him. Hard.

His body jerks back slightly, but he barely reacts, barely even blinks, just lets her push him like she needs to.

“You don’t get to do this,” she chokes out, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. “You don’t get to sit here and act like I’m the one who left. Like I’m the one who let us fall apart.”

Jude swallows thickly, his jaw clenching. “I know.”

“Do you?” she snaps, another shove landing against his chest. “Do you really? Because if you did, you wouldn’t be standing here, making me relive all the ways you broke me.”

Jude exhales sharply, tilting his head up, eyes flickering to the ceiling like he’s trying to keep himself together. And then, after a long, agonizing beat—

“I never wanted to break you.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Yasmin lets out a bitter laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. “Well, congratu-fucking-lations, Jude. You did.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I know.”

And then, softer, like he’s confessing the worst sin imaginable—

“And I hate myself for it.”

Yasmin lets out a hollow laugh, “You hate yourself for it?” she echoes, shaking her head. “That’s rich, Jude. You think that changes anything? You think that makes it better?”

She pushes him again, but this time it’s weaker, her hands curling into fists against his chest grabbing onto his shirt

Jude doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop her. Just stands there and takes it, lets her anger sink into his skin like he needs to feel it.

“You have no idea what it was like,” she whispers, voice shaking. “Sitting there, pretending I was fine while you paraded around with other women. Like we never happened. Like I never happened.”

His breath hitches, but she doesn’t stop. Can’t.

“You’d walk into a room with some girl on your arm, smiling like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, and I had to sit there and pretend it didn’t feel like my entire fucking chest was caving in.” Her voice is raw now, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “Do you know what that’s like, Jude? Do you have any idea what it’s like to love someone so much that watching them with someone else feels like dying over and over again?”

Jude’s jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Hey—”

“SHUT UP” She cuts him off, shaking her head. “You don’t get to talk. Not when I spent months swallowing my feelings just to make it easier for you. Not when I had to sit there, night after night, pretending it didn’t hurt to watch you move on like I was nothing.”

“I wasn’t moving on,” he says, and for the first time, there’s something desperate in his voice. “I was trying—trying to forget, trying to stop feeling like I’d ripped out my own fucking heart when I let you go.”

Yasmin lets out a sharp, broken exhale, shaking her head like she’s trying to keep herself from believing him. “Bullshit” Yasmin scoffs, her voice sharp, cutting. “You have everything, Jude. Status, women—hell, you live for that shit. "Bet you enjoyed knowing I was waiting like a lovesick puppy, hoping you'd finally see me the way I’ve always seen you."

Jude finally moves, stepping closer, forcing her to look at him, really look at him. "Stop that. I won’t let you talk about yourself like you’re just a pawn in some game," he interrupts, hating the way she tears herself down with words that couldn’t be further from the truth. His voice is thick, unsteady as he murmurs, "I don’t expect you to believe anything.. but it’s the truth."

She clenches her jaw, her entire body trembling with the weight of everything she’s held in for too long. “You had options, Jude. You had every chance to fix things. And instead, you let me sit there, watching you touch other women, smile at other women, while I had to act like I didn’t care.”

His hands twitch like he wants to reach for her, but he holds back. “I was a fucking coward.” His voice cracks. “I thought if I kept running, if I buried it deep enough, maybe it would go away. Maybe you would go away.”

Jude’s breath stutters, his entire body going rigid as her chest presses against his. She’s so close he can feel the heat radiating off her, can see the fire in her eyes, burning with rage, with pain, with something he knows is for him.

She tilts her head, daring him, pushing him. “Well, you haven’t always been the brightest” she taunts, voice dripping with venom. “So did it work? All that running around, all those one night stands , all that trying to bury your feelings like a fucking pussy—did. It. Work?”

Jude exhales shakily, his eyes burning into hers. “No,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "No matter who I was with or how many nights I tried to move on, none of it ever compared to you," he says firmly, willing her to believe him. It’s raw, unfiltered—straight from the depths of his heart. Grasping her hand, he presses it against his chest, his heartbeat hammering beneath her palm. "This, right here, is real, Yasmin."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath right out of her.

And Jude knows. He sees it in the way her lips part, in the way she grips her arms like she’s trying to physically hold herself together, and for a second, just a second, he thinks he sees her waver. Like the weight of this, of them, is finally catching up to her. But then she blinks, and the fire is back.

“Aw boo hoo ,” she bites out. Pulling her hand away from his chest “I want you to suffer. The same way I did.”

Jude swallows hard, his chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven, too agitated with her stubbornness.

“You think I haven’t?” His voice is quieter now, but there’s something raw in it, something that makes her breath hitch. “You think I don’t fucking hate myself every second of every day for what I did to you?” “Because I had something real—something valuable—and I ruined it. I ruined us. And the worst part?” He lets out a bitter exhale. “I never fucking stopped loving you. Not for a second. Not even when I tried.”

Her breath catches.

And just like that, she’s done for.

Yasmin squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to stay firm, to not let those words seep into the cracks he already left behind. But it’s useless. Because this is Jude—her Jude—and no matter how much she wants to hate him, she knows deep down she never truly could.

She shakes her head, a silent plea for him to stop, to not do this to her. But Jude—of course—doesn’t stop.

Instead, he steps even closer, his fingers ghosting over her wrist, a hesitant, desperate touch. “Say something,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her throat tightens. She can’t. Because if she speaks, if she admits what’s been sitting heavy in her chest since the moment she walked through his door, there’s no coming back from it.

So she does what she always does when it comes to him. She tries to run.

But Jude is faster.

He grabs her arm frustrated with her constant need to run. “Stop walking away from me. Not this time, not ever.”

She exhales shakily, refusing to turn around. “let me go.”

“No.” His voice is steadier now, more certain. like he’s trying to coax her out of hiding. “Yasmin.” He tugs her gently, just enough to make her stumble a step back toward him

When she turns, it’s slow, hesitant, her gaze lifting to meet his like she already knows it’ll be her undoing.

And the second she does, she breaks.

Because Jude is wrecked.

His brows are furrowed, his lips parted, his eyes desperate, pleading. Like she’s the only thing that’s ever truly mattered. Like he’s terrified she’ll slip through his fingers if he so much as breathes the wrong way.

“I love you,” he says, and this time, there’s no hesitation, no running, no fear. Just the truth.

Her chest tightens. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.” He steps forward, eliminating the last bit of space between them. “And you know it is, Yaz. You’re it for me”

A single tear slips down her cheek, and when Jude sees it, something in him shatters.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes ,hesitating to reach up– but he does so anyway— wiping her tears. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Yasmin lets out a trembling breath, her lips parting like she wants to say something—but then she just falls.

Not physically. Just enough for Jude to know that, this time, she’s his to catch.

He doesn’t hesitate. The second he feels her falter, he reaches for her—one hand curling around her waist, the other cradling the side of her face like she’s something fragile, something irreplaceable.

Yasmin doesn’t push him away. Doesn’t flinch. She just stands there, caught between her anger and the way his touch feels like something she’s been aching for.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally speaks.

“Thought I lost you,” he says quietly.

“You did ” she responds, her voice sharp. “Nothing between us has been normal recently .”

Jude shakes his head instantly. “No,” he murmurs. “No, I didn’t. Because you’re still here.”

That stops her cold.

Because he’s right- hating the fact that he’s choosing to be rational- part of it likes that it’s with her.

She could’ve left. Could’ve walked out the second he touched her , the second he confessed. But she didn’t.

She’s still here.

Jude sees it, feels it, and he takes his shot. Grabbing onto her face he brushing her curls away gently his long fingers rest against her jaw

"I will spend every second of my life proving to you if you let me. I don’t care how long it takes, I don’t care what I have to do—just don’t tell me to stop loving you, Because I wont.”

Her lips part, her chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven.

And just when he thinks she might actually say it back—

She steps away.

His hands drop, his heart plummeting, but he doesn’t fight her. He lets her go, even though it physically fucking kills him to do it.

She’s crying now, wiping at her cheeks like she’s angry at the tears, at him, at herself.

“I want to, but I can’t.”

His face twists, like he’s in actual pain. “Why not?”

Yasmin swallows hard, looking at him like she’s memorizing his face, like she already knows this might be the last time.

“Because loving you is just.. painful”

Jude’s breath shudders, and just like that—

She’s gone.

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