#like it’s been set up so plainly

[the-lesbian-orpheus]

Can’t let your tags go away

What if I... hahahaha... but what if I hired you 🥺🥺 and you were my employee 📊📊 for years, and you discover you are a manager killer 🔪🔪🔪 by lineage and by birthright and you killed 😜😜 a bunch of high level people from other companies to protect ours 💼💼 .... so I promote you to bodyguard 🕴🏼🕴🏼and we end up fighting 💢💢 in my bedroom and you almost kill me, hahaha ... so I propose invite you on a business trip ✈️✈️ to my homeland 😳😳 and finally offer the promotion 😅😅 you've been waiting for by the end of it hahahha... but you stand me up 😡😡and go to London with one of my other coworker instead,😤😤... and by the time I come back you threaten to quit 🥺🥺 ... what if to stop you I make you my best man 👯👯 at the wedding I don't even have a bride for 👰🏽 lol.. and then turn my bride into a clone of your boyfriend💑 .... so you decide to betray me 😤😡🔪 by going to another company to become a half manager behind my back🤯🤯 ...and when I finally discover it I have to kill you😞😡😓 but end up meeting your mom💖💖 and forgiving you instead😤😓.... Then I give you the final push so you can get a full promotion🩸🩸, (and we can ✨be coworkers✨ even though I know you're not ready🙈🙈) ...and when you finally realize that you're not cutout for authority😭😭😭 I create a whole ritual so you can get demoted and kill the 🤢🤮🤢"""CEO"" 🤮🤢🤮 of the other company to make you happy🥰🥰.... what if we did that 😜😜... a hahahaha... 😂😂just kidding ... unless...👀👀👀??

[helaintoloki]

Hiii! First of all, I really like the way you write, hope you're doing so good.

Have you ever think about Bucky meeting reader and like, is the cliché thing of "he fell first and hard"? but reader was never aware of it. She never pursued anything. Not that she didn't find Bucky handsome, charming or anything but she thought he wouldn't want a relationship after everything he went through.

a/n: i am such a sucker for bucky pining over oblivious reader you have no idea anon. i hope you like how this came out!

warnings: pining, fluff, bucky is a bit insecure, subtle angst

summery: Bucky has loved you for as long as he’s known you, but he’s not willing to risk your friendship by telling you that. thankfully, you take matters into your own hands

Bucky Barnes could recall the exact moment he realized he had feelings for you.

You’d only been an Avenger for a month and had just completed your first mission. Beaten down and sore beyond relief, the team had gathered around the common room to indulge in cheap takeout and rehash the events of the assignment. You mostly remained quiet, blending into the background while avidly gathering wisdom from the veteran members and taking note of the pointers they gave each other.

Then Sam cracked such an absurdly stupid joke you found yourself laughing so hard water shot out of your nose and straight onto a horrified Tony. All eyes were suddenly on you, and while most would have cracked from the pressure of such an embarrassing moment so early on in your career, it only served to make you laugh harder. Soon the whole room was filled with laughter and aching smiles, and you found yourself settling comfortably amongst your new teammates.

Your unabashed confidence and the ability to make yourself right at home with the team caught his attention immediately, and he spent the rest of the night trying to catch another glimpse of your smile or hear you laugh at Sam’s terrible jokes. Though he wasn’t one to buy into the whole notion of “love at first sight,” Bucky knew he was smitten, and he knew there was no going back.

Of course, Bucky never dared to speak these thoughts aloud, and despite his very strong feelings for you he remained stoic and professional around you, or at least as professional as he could be given your playful and alluring nature. Despite initially trying to keep his distance in an attempt to extinguish his feelings, you never seemed to leave him alone. You clung to Bucky the most out of all your teammates, and after a while he eventually gave up trying to stay away. However, becoming your closest friend and confidant only made his feelings worse, and every day that passed by your side only made his feelings grow stronger.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed you were none the wiser to his feelings, and Bucky felt there was no chance you’d ever reciprocate them, so he kept quiet and convinced himself he was fine with just being your friend.

Even if being your friend involved late night slumber party activities the evening before a mission.

“Wouldn’t Natasha or Wanda have been better suited for this?” Bucky grumbles while you gently comb a brush through his hair, your legs dangling over the edge of your mattress and resting on his shoulders as he sits on your plush throw rug beneath you.

“Natasha spends the night before a mission alone to clear her head, and Wanda likes to meditate with Vision,” you state plainly before setting aside your brush so you can begin to section his hair.

“And how is this supposed to help you prepare?” Bucky questions skeptically, putting on an annoyed front despite the fact that he very much likes the feel of your fingers gently raking against his scalp. No matter how often he pretended to be inconvenienced by your shenanigans, he’d never say no to anything you asked him. You had the man wrapped around your finger, and the worst part was you didn’t even know it.

“It helps me take my mind off of things so I’m not so nervous going into it,” you explain with a sheepish shrug. “It relaxes me. And… it also makes me fight harder to make sure I come home alive.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky prompts more seriously now, tone devoid of his previous combativeness. Your hands falter for a moment, causing the braid you’d worked so meticulously on to slowly fall apart until his hair falls back against his shoulders, but you don’t seem to mind.

“I mean… I don’t want this to be the last time I braid your hair or make you watch my movie recommendations with me. You’re important to me, Bucky. You know that, right?”

Your confession shoots straight to his heart, and Bucky finds himself harshly swallowing down the butterflies that begin to flutter obnoxiously in his stomach. You’ll never how much your words mean to him or how badly he wants to profess that he would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe. You are everything to him, but he doesn’t dare tell you this.

Instead, Bucky gently gives your calf a squeeze and lets his flesh hand rest upon your ankle.

“I know.”

You smile faintly and resume braiding his hair. You know Bucky isn’t one to be mushy or overly affectionate, so you don’t push the conversation any longer. You’re happy to sit in the quiet of your room away from the others, to enjoy this moment of peace before being thrust into chaos, and you know he feels the same.

“After this, do you want to watch a movie? I think it’s time you finally experience Napoleon Dynamite.”

“If it’ll keep you from bugging me about it for the next few weeks then yes,” Bucky responds sarcastically despite the grin that desperately fights to play itself upon his lips.

He knows you both should be getting to bed early for a night of rest, but he can’t find it in himself to protest.

Whatever it takes to make you happy.

~~~

You throw yourself back against the side of an abandoned car and fumble through your pack for another round of ammunition while Bucky covers your flank. You have no idea where the rest of the team is, but you hope they’re fairing better than the two of you are right now.

You’d been sent to rescue a group of hostages from a human trafficking ring intending to supply unwilling test subjects to scientists for illegal human experimentation. Corrupt people around the world would pay a fortune for their own genetically engineered super hero, and you were here to stop that from happening. You and Bucky were assigned to assist in the evacuation efforts, transporting people to a secondary location where a rescue team would later arrive to deliver them to a hospital. Though you’d been able to clear the area, you’d been ambushed by a group of soldiers and forced to take cover.

“Would you kill me if I told you I grabbed the wrong bag?” You implore guiltily after coming up empty handed. Your pack was full of medical supplies and rations, but not a single ounce of ammo could be found.

“I think these guys would probably get to you first before I could anyway,” Bucky replies humorlessly while ducking down to reload his gun. He’s running out of clips and you both know it.

Groaning, you let your head fall back against the car and pinch your eyes shut as you try to think of a new plan.

“I might have something, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Anything is better than dying,” he grits through his teeth as a bullet pierces the tire next to him. He watches as you reach into your bag and produce a speciality made grenade. Bucky’s eyes widen in disbelief when he looks from the bomb then to you. “Where the hell did you get that?!”

“I might have swiped it from Tony’s work desk,” you offer with a sheepish shrug before cautiously handing it over to him. “I thought it looked cool, but I have no idea if it works. It could at least buy us some time to make an escape if it doesn’t manage to blow us up first.”

“We’ll just have to test our luck,” Bucky says before turning to you with a serious look on his face. His tone of voice is more stern now, signaling for you to fall in line and heed his every word without question. You sometimes forget he was once a Sargent, but you can see now why people had an easy time trusting him as a leader. You never doubted Bucky’s ability to keep you safe, and this time was no different. “I’m going to pull the pin, and I need you to get down on the ground as soon as possible. I’m going to throw it, and then I’m going to cover you. Do you understand?”

“But what if you-“

“Y/n,” Bucky says sternly, his tone leaving no room for argument. You nod in reluctance and follow his orders as he pulls the pin. Bucky uses all of his strength to launch it across the way at your attackers before immediately dropping down to the ground and draping his body over yours. Curled into a ball, you let him pull you against his chest and shield your head with his metal arm to prevent you from getting hit with any shrapnel.

You can feel the rapid beating of his heart against your cheek as the ground rumbles beneath you from the blast. Your eyes squeeze shut while your hand grips tightly onto his leather vest for support, and you can feel Bucky tighten his hold on you in response. A beat passes before your surroundings still, and you slowly pry your eyes open just as he pulls himself away to look down at you.

“You okay?” He murmurs breathlessly, still coming down from his adrenaline rush. His wide pupils starkly contrast the blue of his irises, and you find yourself getting caught up in his stare as you swallow down your nerves.

“Fine,” you manage to get out. He looks down at you with uncertainty as you slowly reach out and brush his hair back from his face. “You have a cut on your forehead.”

“That’s okay,” he assures you with a faint smile before reluctantly pulling himself off of you and sitting back on his knees. He misses the closeness, but he knows you can’t afford to waste any time right now. The gunfire has stopped and your window to escape will only be open for a short time before the gunmen recover. “Can you run?”

You offer him a single nod before quickly scrambling onto your feet and booking it into the cover of the woods towards the secondary location where the rescued civilians should be waiting for you both. To your luck, the grenade had managed to help you clear a path to escape without disintegrating you both in the process. You run until your legs ache and your lungs burn, until Bucky is sure they aren’t coming after you, and you finally let yourself collapse against a tree to catch your breath.

“I need to start stealing from Tony more often,” you joke despite being out of breath, getting a rare laugh out of Bucky.

“Yeah, thanks to your sticky fingers we’re alive.”

“Why did you do that?” You ask suddenly, eyes meeting Bucky’s with uncertainty as you rest your hands on your knees.

“Do what?”

“Make yourself a human shield for me. You could have been hurt worse than just a cut on the forehead.”

Bucky sighs, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to come up with an answer that doesn’t reveal his unwavering love for you. You look to him expectantly as he moves towards you and rests a firm hand on your shoulder.

“It’s like you said,” he explains with a faint smile, “I didn’t want that to be the last time I let you braid my hair or force me into watching a movie with you.”

You stare up at him in quiet surprise and watch as he begins to make his way towards the secondary location. You hadn’t been expecting that, not even sure he’d remember your conversation from the night before, but here you were being proven wrong. You feel your heart flutter in your chest with longing but quickly shake the feeling away. You and Bucky are friends, always have been, and there’s no way he felt anything but platonic admiration for you as a teammate and confidant. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have made a move already? Besides, for all you knew Bucky didn’t do relationships, and you knew better than to push that boundary.

The rest of the team arrives an hour later, battered and bruised from a grueling fight against the leaders of the trafficking ring. The mission was a success, and now all that was left to do was wait for the rescue team to arrive for the civilians now that the area was cleared as safe.

Bucky keeps to himself while the others rest and chat amongst themselves to pass the time. Leaned against a tree with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, he watches on warmly as you sit crouched a few fit away with a handful of children around you. Your smile is kind and your voice full of light as you keep them entertained while waiting for the medics to arrive, handing out the stickers you keep in your pack for moments like these. They don’t have parents or an adult to cling to for reassurance, so you’ve taken it upon yourself be that comfort for them. Natasha always says you tend to get too attached to civilians you’ll never see again, but you don’t seem to care in the slightest.

“You love her,” Sam’s voice sounds from beside Bucky, startling him out of his moment of peace. It takes him a moment to regain composure, but he’s still quick to put on a hard front for the Falcon.

“Of course I do,” he attempts to brush off, “she’s my teammate.”

“I’m your teammate and you never look at me like that,” Sam quips with a raised brow much to the soldier’s chagrin.

“Whatever you’re trying to say just say it,” Bucky huffs vexedly.

“You’ve been pining after that girl like a lost puppy ever since she joined the team and not once have you had the balls to do anything about it. Why do you insist on torturing yourself like this?”

“You really think someone like me deserves to be with someone like her?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief, clearly believing such a notion to be impossible and outlandish. “I’ve done terrible, awful things. I’ve destroyed relationships and families, so why should I get to have one of my own?”

“That’s not who you are anymore,” Sam attempts to assuage him in vein. “That wasn’t you in the first place. That was Hydra, and you’re not under their control anymore.”

“When I think about what I’ve done- the blood on my hands… how could I dare taint her with my touch? Y/n deserves a good man with his head screwed on right, and that’s not me.”

“You’re wrong,” Sam avows solemnly, “and the sooner you realize that the better.”

Bucky is left to stew with his inner turmoil when Sam departs to check on Natasha. He could never understand just how much Bucky loved you, how his chest ached with longing every time he was around you, how his feelings for you seemed to grow stronger every day without you noticing. He would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant keeping you safe from himself.

“Bucky!” Your voice calls cheerfully from across the way, a stark contrast to his brooding demeanor. You wave him over with glee, and how can he deny you when you smile at him like that?

“What do you need?” He asks while crouching down beside you, the children reacting to his presence with muffled giggles and shy smiles.

“The kids and I were trying to figure out where to put their new stickers, and we thought maybe they might look nice on your metal arm,” you inform him with a hopeful gleam in your eyes. A huff of amusement falls past his nostrils in response, but he gifts you a single nod before fully seating himself down on the ground.

“I think you’re right,” he agrees to the children’s delight. They immediately gather around the soldier as he extends his arm out and allows them access to their desired canvas. The activity should be able to tide them over until the medics arrive within the next half hour, and Bucky doesn’t mind being their entertainment.

You meet his eyes and mouth a quiet thank you to the man, and it makes it all the more worth it to see you smile at him.

~~~

Bucky lays in bed with his hands folded neatly on his stomach and his eyes focused on the ceiling as he decompresses from the grueling mission. His sore muscles remain tense despite being back at the tower, and a dull ache persists from the gash on his forehead. He wants nothing more than to fall into a dreamless sleep, but rest evades him. Today’s mission had hit particularly close to home for him, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the faces of the people he’d saved.

They had almost ended up like him.

A knock on the door saves him from the suffocation of his mental turmoil. He gets out of bed with a groan and pads over to his door only to find you waiting on the other side once it’s opened.

Equipped with a blanket in one hand and a pillow in the other, you look up at the man innocently and ask, “Can I crash here tonight?”

“What’s wrong with your own room?” Bucky asks with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

“It’s too quiet in there.”

Nodding in understanding, Bucky opens the door wider and allows you to take refuge in his room. You immediately make yourself comfortable in his bed, choosing to set your things up on the side closest to the wall while still leaving enough room for the super soldier. Once you’re still, he climbs back into bed and lies stiffly beside you, ensuring all of his limbs are kept to himself.

“I can’t stop thinking about those kids,” you voice your thoughts aloud, shifting onto your side to face him.

“We did our job,” Bucky reminds you gently. “We got them out before they could be sold off for human experimentation, and now they have a chance at freedom.”

“I know, I know,” you relent with a quiet sigh. “It’s just… we never get to know what happens to them after. I know we’re supposed to detach and not get too close to civilians during missions like these, but I can’t sleep not knowing if they were returned to their families or if they even had a family to go back to. I can’t deal with the not knowing.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with caring,” he assures you with a careful smile. “You’re the most empathetic person I know, and it’s one of the things I adore about you, but you have to trust that those kids are going to be okay. If anything, you probably helped them smile for the first time since they were captured. That’s a win.”

You smile faintly and offer him a quiet nod in agreement. He has a point, and it alleviates some of the guilt you’ve been carrying since getting on the quinjet and leaving them behind in the care of the rescue team.

“Do you ever think about having any?” You prompt suddenly, clearly taking Bucky off guard.

“Any what?”

“Kids,” you state plainly. The question causes him to shift uncomfortably beside you, and it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts before he can find his answer.

“During the war, I’d see the other soldiers get letters from their wives or hear them share stories about the babies waiting for them at home, and I wanted that,” Bucky admits quietly while absently fidgeting with his fingers. “I told myself once it ended I’d finally try to settle down and start a family of my own.”

The thought brings up unpleasant memories of a distant past and a longing ache for what could have been if things had turned out differently for him. He tries not to let this show, but you know him well enough to see the turmoil brewing within his troubled blue eyes.

“What about now?” you press quietly, almost afraid to rupture the stillness of the room by raising your voice any higher.

“It’s not completely out of the question,” he professes truthfully in spite of his obvious discomfort at speaking so vulnerably. “I don’t know if I’d be a good dad, or if I could even be a good partner after everything I’ve been through, but for the right person I would try.”

He wants to tell you that the right person is you, that he’d get down on one knee and give you a hundred kids if you asked him, but he holds his tongue and instead keeps his gaze firmly planted to the ceiling. It would be too much too soon, and he didn’t want to risk scaring away the only woman he’d ever truly loved. The dream of family and stability would always be out of reach so long as you remained platonic in your feelings towards him, but he was okay with that. He’d rather have you as a friend than not have you at all, even if it meant you might someday fall in love with someone else.

“Do… you ever think about it?” Bucky asks to break the silence and shift some of the focus off of himself.

“All the time,” you whisper with a dreamy smile. “I know our line of work isn’t the most conducive for family planning or stability, but one day I’d like to follow in Clint’s footsteps and retire so I can live a life of my own. Maybe get a cottage somewhere quiet and grow old with the perfect partner if I ever find one.”

“Seems like that’s always the missing piece,” Bucky huffs humorlessly, heartstrings tugging at the wistful look clear in your eyes when you shift your gaze back towards him.

“Yeah, perfect partners are scarce for people like us,” you hum dolefully. “But I came to close to it once."

“What?” He breathes out tensely, heart immediately dropping to his stomach at your proclamation. A sense of dread overcomes him despite his best efforts to push the feeling down, and it takes all of his efforts to keep his reaction neutral in spite of the anguish he feels at hearing you confess your heart is set on another.

“I found a man I thought I could build a future with, but I don’t think he’s the relationship type. He never gave me any signs that he was interested, and after a while I realized it wasn’t going to happen.”

“Who was it?” Bucky asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

“Someone you know,” you answer vaguely, now avoiding his scrutinizing gaze. The pit of dread in his stomach only grows, and he isn’t sure he can handle knowing who the mystery person is.

An awful thought dawns upon him then, and he blurts it out before he can stop himself. “Is it Steve?”

A pregnant pause hovers over you both as Bucky’s words sink in, your silence unnerving him to no end. However, the quiet is immediately broken when you burst into laughter that you unsuccessfully try to muffle with your hand.

“Steve?” You retort incredulously. A deep frown settles across Bucky’s features and he’s immediately defensive.

“What’s so funny?” He prompts. It isn’t so ridiculous to believe your heart could belong to Captain America of all people, and he’s not sure why you’re not taking it seriously.

“You think Steve is the guy? The same Steve that watches I Love Lucy reruns with me and puts extra vegetables on my plate at dinner?”

“Well if not Steve then who?”

“You, Bucky,” you finally blurt with a nervous laugh. His defenses immediately go down while his brain goes into overdrive to process your confession, and your features slowly lose the humor in them as they become more serious. With a sheepish smile, you turn away and reaffirm, “you’re the guy.”

“I’m- you mean me?” He repeats again like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and he doesn’t. Surely he must have misheard you, or maybe you misspoke.

“Yes, you,” you reiterate in exasperation, clearly embarrassed at having revealed your feelings for your closest friend. “I thought it was obvious. Why else do you think I come into your room like this or spend all of my free time hanging out with you?”

“I thought it was because you saw me as a friend the way you do everyone else.”

“Oh, boy,” you breathe out before sitting yourself up from the bed. “Clearly I shouldn’t have said anything so I’m just going to go back to my own room now-“

“No, wait,” Bucky protests, quickly sitting up and resting a hand on your shoulder to keep you in place. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… it’s kind of hard to believe the woman I’ve been in love with for ages actually feels the same.”

“Wait… you love me?” You repeat softly, hand coming to cover your mouth in quiet shock as you look to him for any sign of insincerity. Instead, you find his blue eyes looking down at you with tender adoration while his lips curl into a careful smile.

“Always have,” he replies gently.

“But you never seemed like the relationship type of guy. You’re always so broody and closed off I figured you like being alone.”

“I’d be any type of guy for you,” Bucky avows while lovingly brushing his metal fingers across your cheek. “You’re everything to me, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life with you if you gave me the chance.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you coo gently, eyes beginning to well with tears as you happily throw your arms around him in a bone crushing embrace. “I can’t believe you, why didn’t you ever tell me?! I love you!”

Bucky wraps his flesh arm around your waist while his metal hand tenderly cradles your head. He laughs off your scolding and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, heart nearly leaping out of his chest from the euphoria he feels at finally being able to tell you the truth. He never once thought this could be possible for him, but having you here in his arms just felt right, like this was the way things were always supposed to be.

“I love you, y/n,” Bucky professes gently, prompting you to pull yourself from the hug to meet his loving gaze. Impulsively, you smash your lips onto his own in a searing kiss, and Bucky is quick to match your pace by pulling you fully into his lap as he melts into your touch. All inhibitions are thrown out the window, and in that moment the only thing Bucky cares to think about is the feel of your lips on his own while your fingers curl into his hair. If he knew it would be like this, he would have confessed a lot sooner.

But you have forever to make up for lost time, and Bucky is okay with that if it means spending the rest of his life being your perfect partner.

[bluelockmaniac]

you say we're just friends, but friends don't...

synopsis. in which your so-called friends do things that make you wonder if they're really just your friends after all.

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, michael kaiser, seishiro nagi. 1.8k wc.

content warning. gn!reader- however, reader wears lip gloss in nagi's fic.

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

you had practically dragged sae into helping you bake rin’s birthday cake, countering his reluctance with incessant nagging until he finally gave in (only after you pointed out that rin was his beloved younger brother). 

currently, you were working your arm muscles as you mixed the cake batter by hand like your life depended on it. across from you, sae leaned lazily against the counter, whipping the cream with an electric mixer, which you thought was unfair, considering he was a professional athlete.

his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, and his auburn hair was slightly messy.

“how’s it going?” you asked between pants, nodding toward the bowl of fluffy whipped cream he was cradling easily in one arm.

sae set the bowl down on the counter before turning to the sink and washing his hands. 

“it’s done, you just need to check the taste.” he said plainly, wiping his hands with the ridiculously floral apron tied around his waist.

you hummed, abandoning your whisk to step beside him, scanning the counter for a spoon, or a spatula, or anything you could taste-test with.

before you could reach for one, sae nonchalantly dipped a clean finger into the whipped cream and held it out toward your lips with a blank expression on his face.

“here. taste it.”

your eyebrows shot up in surprise, hesitating for a split second. but he seemed so normal, bored, about it that you felt ashamed for assuming he meant anything more with his action.

you scolded yourself internally for reading too much into it, and leaned forward, taking his finger into your mouth and licking the sweet cream off with a drag of your tongue.

it was delicious– airy and light. “this is perfect, sae.” you pulled back with a satisfied hum, smiling. your tongue darted out to lick the lingering frosting off your lips.

you could clearly see his adam’s apple bob slightly as he tried to keep his collected demeanor in check. you were just about to tease him, but he did not give you the chance.

without breaking eye contact, he brought that same finger to his own lips and licked it clean, his tongue flicking lightly against the tip of his finger, where your mouth had been moments before.

you swore your soul left your body. once you saw his poorly concealed smirk, you realized that that was one-hundred percent intentional, he absolutely did that on purpose to fluster you.

“mmm, sweet.” he mused casually, rinsing his hands again. “rin’ll like this. thanks.”

you could only stand there, cheeks burning hot as you gripped onto the edge of the countertop. 

“if you like me, just say it, you idiot…” you muttered under your breath, so low you were sure that he couldn’t have heard it.

but of course, he did. 

he shot you a sly glance over his shoulder, a rare smile on his mouth. 

“my birthday’s in a month.”

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

you were mid-rant, waving your hands animatedly as you walked alongside rin through the park, venting about the gossip and rumours circulating around you both in school.

he responded in his usual way, with occasional hums, slight nods, and an unreadable expression that made you question if he was even listening. he did not seem to be as bothered as you had expected. 

the wind was very strong today. it whipped your hair across your face every few seconds, and with your hands full, you were left awkwardly huffing and puffing it out of the way while talking.

“like, can you– huffff– believe it?” you complained, blowing sharply at a particularly stubborn strand. “hufff– people actually think we’re hufff– secretly dating or something.” 

you were too caught up in your rambling to notice the faint smile tugging at the corner of rin’s lips. he found it cute, the way your cheeks puffed and your lips puckered every time you tried (and failed) to blow your hair away.

you went on, oblivious, “seriously, just because– hufff– we’re together a lot, does not mean that we’re—”

your body went rigid before you could even finish your sentence. rin had reached over, without hesitation, and swept the strands aside with gentle fingers, tucking them carefully behind your ear.

his knuckles lingered against your cheek for a second longer than it should have, as if savoring the contact, before pulling away and resumed his impassive demeanor.

“there, perfect.” he murmured, and you could only hope he couldn’t hear your heart’s pounding. “you can continue where you left off.”

you gawked at him, hastily glancing around to make sure nobody was there to witness the… platonic gesture. you half-expected to see your whole class hiding behind a tree. you two would never beat the allegations then.

“rin, what the hell–!” you blurted. “be careful next time! what if somebody saw that??”

rin merely stared at you, as if he was admiring art, then tore his gaze away and looked off into the distance like the clouds were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

you barely had time to process his look before his voice cut through yet again.

“are you implying you want a ‘next time’?” he asked smoothly, throwing you a side-glance. your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. you could only curse under your breath, feeling your face burn hotter by the second. this man was dangerously quick with his words.

“that’s not what I meant– you know what i meant…the rumours…” you mumbled, focusing intently on your feet. as you walked, your fingers lightly brushed against his. you told yourself it was accidental, you told yourself not to look at him or you’d regret it. but you looked up anyway.

“rumours, huh.” rin let out a soft scoff. he shifted closer, deliberately matching your pace so that your hands would keep touching ‘accidentally’. his teal eyes locked onto yours as he spoke softly.

“i’m trying to make it so they’re not rumours anymore.”

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

the couch was too wide for his excuse to make any sense.

you stood there awkwardly, clutching your popcorn bowl, eyeing the spacious couch that was not completely taken over by your so-called friend. kaiser lounged across it like the self-proclaimed emperor he was, his legs outstretched arrogantly and his arms folded behind his head on the armrest.

and naturally, he had the audacity to pat his thigh with that infuriatingly cocky grin of his.

“there’s nowhere to sit,” he said with faux innocence.

you sighed, setting the bowl down on the coffee table and giving him an unimpressed stare. “maybe because you’re taking up the whole couch?”

still, you found yourself settling down onto his lap with an exaggerated huff. though your heart was already racing. truth was, this situation– which shouldn’t really occur between friends– had already happened before, and you’d invited him over tonight hoping it would happen again. and judging by his grin, you had a feeling he was well aware.

a startled gasp was drawn from your lips as kaiser’s arms snaked around your waist like it was normal. you met his not-very-innocent smile with wide eyes. 

“michael—!” you scolded, cheeks burning, but you made no effort to remove his arms.

“what?” he smirked, pinching your cheek gently. “feeling comfortable? i know this seat’s the best in the house.”

you grumbled softly before shifting to lie fully across him, and you felt his arms tighten around you with satisfaction. leaning up, you brought your lips close to his ears, and let your voice drop to a whisper.

“... you’re being ridiculous,” you murmured, your voice tickling his ear and sending a shiver down his spine. “don’t get used to this.”

with a little smirk of your own, you tucked yourself back onto him, pressing your heated against his chest as you turned your attention to the tv.

kaiser chuckled lowly, running a hand through his bi-coloured hair. his gaze flicked towards you, then back to the tv, where a steamy kiss scene was now playing out.

“were you trying to seduce me just now?” he asked casually.

you said nothing, stubbornly pretending to be absorbed in the movie, but your silence gave you away. kaiser’s grin only grew.

he didn’t need an answer.

after all, with your heartbeat drumming so wildly against his chest, you might as well have been shouting it.

𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈

you sipped leisurely on the caramel latte you’d just bought, settling into an empty table while waiting for nagi to pick up his order. just as you leaned down for another sip, you were startled by a sudden presence at your back. 

without asking, nagi leaned down over your shoulder and stole a sip from your straw, his half-lidded eyes locking onto yours as he did.

“s-seishiro!” you yelped, snatching your cup away from his mouth. warmth bloomed across the apples of your cheeks as you stared embarrassedly at the straw where nagi’s lips had lingered a few seconds ago. 

does he not realize you two had just indirectly kissed?!

“mm,” he hummed lowily, licking his lips. “tastes like strawberry.”

you blinked at him in confusion. as he slumped iinto the seat across from yours, you furrowed your brows and held your drink protectively. “i…  don’t know what you’re talking about. it’s caramel-flavoured.”

“huh…?” nagi tilted his head, propping his chin on his palm, gazing at you as if you weren’t the one making sense. “i wasn’t talking about the drink. i meant you taste like strawberry.”

oh. 

your brain short-circuited. it hit you belatedly– you had applied strawberry-scented lip gloss before coming here. and now you could see the faint sheen left on his lips from the gloss residue on the straw. 

before you could recover, you noticed nagi wasn’t looking at you directly, but at your lips. your heart was betraying you, thumping in a pace that wouldn’t be normal for someone supposedly just sharing a drink with a friend. 

why was he looking at your lips?? no, worse, why were you looking at his??

you thought you caught the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but you didn’t stick around to confirm it. you stood abruptly from your seat.

“i’m going to quickly grab a new straw, i’ll be right ba–” before you could escape, nagi’s hand firmly caught your wrist, preventing you from leaving.

“don’t,” he said simply, shrugging like it was no big deal. “line’s too long.” 

that was a half-assed excuse and he knows it– you could easily ask for a straw at the counter.

“besides,” he added with a lazy blink, “it’s not that big of a deal.”

you hesitated before sinking back into your seat. “...okay… i guess.” your gaze drifted to the top of the straw, glossy with a shine you hadn’t cared about a minute ago, but now couldn’t stop noticing.

indirect kiss, indirect kiss, indirect kiss.

nagi leaned back in his chair, a little smile on his lips as he watched you bring the straw back into your mouth.

and despite your brain screaming otherwise, you took another sip.

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform.

[tojisteddy]

Sweet Ride | smut, 18+ MDNI, 1.2k words, softdom!Toji x sweetheart!reader

You’d been 3 months into your relationship when Toji Fushiguro finally realized that you, for some odd reason, loved letting idiots fuck you.

It must’ve been where that very minuscule masochism kink came from. Had to be.

He’d noticed the way you’d get shocked when he went to pay for— well- everything. Didn’t matter if he lost a shit ton from gambling and losing that day, didn’t matter if you went over your own set budget, didn’t matter that you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to look money hungry or if you quickly pulled out your card and paid. He’s sending $300 to you to make up for it. The man. Was going. To pay.

Toji also noticed the way you’d shy away when you realized he was actually listening to the words that came out of your mouth. Informing you that he hated that coworker of Sherl just a little bit more than you did. Plainly telling you ‘no’, he didn’t just want to see just your hair bone straight- he wanted to see your curly hair that framed your face (when you wanted to of course) and that he thought you would look good with any hair color not just the jet black. Or when you only went to make food that he liked,

“But this is what my ex-“

“—Mama, what do you really wanna eat? Tell me or we’ll both starve tonight.”

Truthfully, it irritated the fuck out of the man.

He didn’t get it, how someone so precious got treated like shit on multiple occasions. He kept reminding himself that you weren’t the problem, those fucking dick wads were.

But the irritation jumped back out when you rode him. He knew after that first time (just a week ago) that those fucking idiots didn’t know what the fuck to do with you. He’d cock his eyebrow up at you because he simply couldn’t hide the vexation of it all.

“You don’t like it Toj?” Your voice was hoarse, curls falling over your face, a pout forming.

It was clear the way you moved your hips back and forth, held yourself and didn’t use him for leverage, you rode your ex’s to get them off and nothing more.

More sins against God.

There had to be a scripture about it somewhere, “Never let thou spouse ride-ith you in cowgirl without her cumming.” Or something— the man didn’t know. He knew for a fact, only a bitch would never let a woman cum while she’s riding him.

“Toji? ‘M sorry, it must not be good.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax, not be too touchy. “ ‘S just harder cause you’re so… so big. ‘Nd I- fuck- mmm- don’t think I’ve ever had time to relax like this. I must be takin too long.”

Shit, you frowned, big brown puppy eyes looking down at the green eyed monster and his heart ached. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his poor pretty baby. Sweet doll, don’t you worry your little head. Your Toji would fix this little problem tonight.

And when you two were done, he’d beat the fucking breaks out of each and every single one your exes.

It would cleanse the soul.

“ ‘S okay baby, yer doin good. Need you to relax f’me. Want you to take a little bit more though, hm? You can take it, right? You’re a good girl.”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

Such a good girl. Toji’s sweet ‘nd good girl.

Tojis hands pulled you closer. “How do I get ya to relax then? Can you tell me?” You felt your cheeks heat up, shaking your head and attempting to hide yourself in his neck. But Toji kept you still, playfully bumping your foreheads together with a chuckle.

“Let’s find out then,” His hands wandered, up and down your sides, then one staying at the small of your back, the other making its way to your pretty tit in his hand. Slowly massaging it in his palm. “Maybe you like it here?”

You whimpered in his mouth and Tojis scar moved upward in amusement, green eyes low. He left a trail of kiss from your cute cheeks, down to your jaw. “Or here?” Down to your neck, taking a few nibblies here and there. “Or here?”

You let out a soft moan, finally nodding your head.

“Words, mama.” He was stern but you felt the grin against your neck.

“T-there feels— feels so nice Toj.” The man hummed at your words, being sure to praise you with an array of kisses and hickeys for the world to see tomorrow on your neck.

“I-I can move now?” You asked. You felt so full with what he was giving you, but you felt so good with every little kiss the aching tip and veins of his member gave to your walls.

“Course doll.” He enterwinted your fingers, “Gotta take it nice ‘nd slow baby, don’t gotta go fast.”

You gulped, gradually lifting yourself up and down and rocking your hips back and forth, then repeating the motion. Your hands left his large ones, starting to use his shoulders as leverage, “There you go ma, there you fuckin go.”

He hissed, you were a god damn waterfall down there. Toji didn’t even know how the fuck you were still managing to keep him insider everytime you’d move up so just the tip was in, and slamming back down. When you tried to go faster a large calloused hand came down to your ass.

“B-but Tojiii,” you whined, slowly swiveling your hips one time to get a curse out of him. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“ ‘Nd I ‘ppreciate Doll, I do. You feel so fuckin good too ma, but it’s not about me tonight, ‘s about you. Need you to really feel it deep in your pretty pussy.” He gave you a few thrusts, matching your rhythm creating the most beautiful smack smack smack your bedroom has ever heard.

“Take what you need babygirl.”

Toji had a way with words, he’d gotten a pornographic moan from it alone. Your nails dug into his shoulders, the meat of your thighs jiggling every time you came down. Slick drenching Toji’s cock, your thighs were burning but you kept moving. Chasing your high with every bounce on his fat fuck.

“Goooood girl, now you got it doll.”

“I can— I can take more Toji.” You stammered out.

“I’d loooove that sweetheart— shit ma- but not tonight. Ngh— This is just enough.”

“But—“

“-Aht,” he grumbled, helping you move your hips as you got just a tad too slow for his liking, “don’t bite more than you can chew. Come on, you can make yourself and your boyfriend cum, can’t you?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you were grinding and slamming yourself down what you could take as hard as ever getting a loud from Toji. You were such a good and fast leaner, the man would have to keep you. Train you to do other things, soon enough you’d be able to take all of him. You were fucking pulsing like a over worked heartbeat around him as a wave of emotions smacked you over the head, a string of fuck fuck fuck and Toji Toji Toji leaving your mouth.

The man growled, giving your ass a few harsh smacks as he rapidly thrust into you. You never knew when you were cumming so you never vocalized it.

You’d work on that too.

Quickly pulling out, spurts of his cum hit your stomach. You both were panting messes, Toji’s pink lips meeting your temple, then your soft full lips.

“Good fuckin job, mama.”

a/n: ride the dragon by fka twigs

most recent masterlist

[mywritersmind]

JUST FRIENDS - LN4

summary : just friends…? in which lando and his best friend have a night out like any other, until a spicy song starts and lando can’t take it any more.

or: they make out to the song sports car

listen up : kissing! talk abt sex! tate mcraes new song sports car was on repeat so enjoy.

words : 1507

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I pull down the visor, the mirror greeting me as I swipe on my lipstick. I’ve gotten oddly good at doing my lipstick in fast cars, specifically, my best friend's fast car.

Lando shifts gears as I finish my last touch up and slap the visor shut, “Red’s a little bold, no?” He glances at me, his eyes hot against my skin as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

“When have I been anything but bold?” I blink, shutting my lipstick and handing it to him. I don’t miss the slight smirk at our routine.

He pockets it, shaking his head as we pull up to the club. Lando gets out first as I check out my nails, knowing damn well he’ll be at my door in seconds.

He opens it, looking at the people staring with a blank look. Then he looks at me, my skirt short and my heels high. I walk past him and straight into the club.

He follows me, his head down, probably an excuse to look at my ass. He slips his hand in mine as the crowd gets tighter, people screaming and saying hi to us left and right.

Our group is easy to find, all cheering as we arrive and immediately pushing drinks into us. The club is small and pretty private, but loud as fuck and filled with the smell of smoke, alcohol, and lust.

The dance floor is packed, the Dj raised along with little glowing stands which bottle girls and randos dance on.

I tug on Lando’s shirt, a white button up that’s already halfway undone, and offer him a drink. “Who’s gonna drive you home if i’m fucked?” He says plainly.

“Oh you’re driving me home, now? I thought you’d piss off with your new supermodel of the week.” I raise a brow and such on a lime.

His eyes flick to my lips, “I could say the same for you, love.”

“I am the supermodel, darling.” I wink, getting dragged away by my friend who’s laughing at the interaction and landing myself on the dance floor.

I’m two drinks down when I see him again, a girl flushed in his lap and his hat backwards on his head.

He’s talking and she looks absolutely fucking absolved in his words, probably drooling over his accent or his lips. Yet as he rattles off, probably talking about his new car or training, his eyes are set on me.

They practically burn my already hot skin, my arms going up as I dance with the music. It’s funny, really.

My best friend is Lando Norris. We get looks everywhere we go, yet the one look I can’t get over is how his eyes track me.

He’s got a girl in his lap and I've got a guy grinding behind me, yet I can’t seem to shake him. I watch his tongue sweep against his teeth, his eyes moving to my legs smoothly.

The girl puts her hand on the back of his neck, getting him to look at her. She’s not smart, if she were, she’d bother with a guy who’s actually looking at her.

He’s looking at me again, his gaze now flicking back and forth between me and the man behind me. I have a slight smirk on my face as I turn around to look at him.

He’s hot. Dark skin and eyes to match, I bite my lip before moving my hands to his shoulders and bring him in. He’s sweaty but the kiss is hot, I just hate that it’s so hot because my best friend is watching all of it.

Once the guy goes in for another kiss, I dodge it and make my way over to the bar, leaning up against the cold surface and wiggling my fingers at the bartender.

Lando is at my side seconds after I take my first sip of the icy drink. I pretend to not see him. “Lemme try.” He goes to take a drink but I swiftly pull my hand away, shaking my head.

“No way, Mr. Sober.” I grin as he leans against the bar, his head tilted slightly back and making his hair look godly. “Who’s gonna drive me home?”

“So you’re coming with me?” He stands up a bit straighter, “Not gonna find that guy?”

‘That guy’ in question is probably already fucking a girl in the bathroom. I laugh, “No. My best friend has separation anxiety, so.” I shrug as he grins and pushes off the bar.

“Dance with me.”

“Not a chance, Norris.”

His teeth catch his lips, making me look down at them. Fuck him and his fuck boy tactics.

“You’re Lando Norris!” a guy stumbles up to us, clearly pissed and far too excited to see Lan.

He mumbles about getting a picture and just as I walk away I hear Lando say, “Yeah, mate…”

I hand my drink off to someone, my hands in my hair as I groan and shake the feeling of Lando teasing me.

A few girls scream near me and I don’t realize it’s because of the song change until I hear the lyrics.

Hey, cute jeans

Take mine off of me

I laugh as someone pushes into me, not everyone knows the song, but almost everyone knows her voice. I find my friend, her hand tightening on mine as she pulls me to the center of the dance floor.

Before I know it, I'm screaming the lyrics that Tate leaked to me on top of the raised glass. My friend is messing with her hair and shaking ass as she sings along.

In the alley in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don’t make me choose

I laugh, throwing my head back and swinging my hips. I barely realize my friend is gone until her figure is replaced by Lando in front of me.

“You like this song?”

I raise a brow, “Yes?” I keep dancing, pretending that every part of me is aware of how close he stands.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna, uh

I sing along still, until it gets to the next lyric, my mouth shutting as Lando watches me.

Oh, but you got a sports car

A grin takes over his face, cocky and completely evil. “I like it too.”

“Oh? You like Tate now?”

“I fuck with fucking and I fuck with cars… seems like enough to me.” His hand finds itself on my waist, pulling me tighter.

This is dangerously close to crossing our lines.

We could go again like three, four times

“Am I your type, Y/n?” He’s speaking into my ear now as butterflies hit my stomach, “Want me to fuck you in my sports car?”

I hold his arm in an attempt to not fall off this fucking stand. He looks way too good, his hat gone and his hair messy.

“Don’t get cocky now, Lan.”

“Oh, like you’ve been in other sports cars?” The quirk of his brow makes my heart beat faster.

I think you know what this is

I think you want a ride

I shake my head, “We’re just friends.”

“Friends who kiss other people in front of each other for fun?” He pulls me closer, staring down at me, “Try again, Y/n.”

While you drive it real far

“So what are we, Norris.” I stand him up, still not taller but my confidence building, “I dare you to tell me.”

He swallows, his adam's apple bobbing as his face leans closer, “How ‘bout I show you?” At this moment, I know i’m completely fucked.

Oh my guy-uy

You don’t wanna waste my time-ime

His hands are gripping me tighter as his head dips and his lips crash against mine.

Let’s go ride-ide

Let’s go ride-ide-ide

Oh, my guy-uh

My arms snake around his neck as his tongue parts my lips and slips into my mouth. It’s too hot, especially for the public to witness but I'm too kiss drunk to care.

He kisses me harder, his hands at my hips and dipping below my waist band so his fingers press against my bare skin. I bite his lip a bit and pull him in tighter against me.

Lando bites me right back. I whisper it against his lips, not holding myself back from the lyrics, “I think you wanna, wanna.” He kisses me again, his hand at my ass and his breath hot against me, “But you got a sports car.”

I feel his lips morph into a smile against mine, his kiss deepening as if he’s hungry for me. I move my hands to his hair, his groan vibrating against me.

“Let’s go.” He says over the sound of the music and people below us.

“Where?” I ask, still breathless and too close to him to pay attention to anything else.

That damn smirk is back as he tugs at my hand, “My sports car.”

[bartonomy]

RESTLESS SILENCE!

PAIRING Barty Crouch Jr. x quiet!fem!Ravenclaw!Reader

SYNOPSIS Barty Crouch Jr. hated silence. You thrived in it. Being paired together for a Potions project in the library should have been simple—but Barty refuses to let the quiet win.

CONTENT WARNING obsessive! barty, possessive! james, angst, fluff, the boys not asking yn abt her feelings LMFAO lmk if i missed something!

WORD COUNT 5k words

library.

Barty Crouch Jr. prided himself on many things—his sharp mind, his quick reflexes, his ability to get under people’s skin ( much to Regulus’ and Evans dismay) when he wanted to. But patience? That had never been one of them.

And yet, patience was exactly what was required when he found himself sitting across from you in the library, parchment spread between you, potions textbook propped open, the air between you thick with silence.

It wasn’t just any silence. It was a suffocating, calculated quiet, the kind that settled around the you like a second skin. You liked it. Humming in contentment as you flipped through the book to gather enough information for your assignment.

It drove him mental.

You had been partnered up in Slughorn’s class earlier that day, much to Barty’s irritation. You were everything he wasn’t—controlled, meticulous, the sort of person who took diligent notes and never spoke unless you had something of actual substance to say. The worst part? You were no outcast. Despite your quiet nature, you were as well-liked, hovering at the edges of the Marauders’ usual chaos, laughing softly at Pandora Lovegood’s dreamy theories, and using your smart mouth (Gideon insists) to get the Prewett brothers out of trouble from Mcgonnagall. You were… respected.

Barty was tolerated, at best.

Now, in the dim glow of the library’s enchanted lanterns, you sat across from him, quill in hand, completely ignoring him. Well, unintentionally, he had been fussing in his place since you both arrived an hour ago, trying to get you to do merlin knows with him.

Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, slumping back in his chair. “You could at least pretend to be interested in conversation,” he muttered.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t find unnecessary conversations stimulating.”

He scoffed. “How very Ravenclaw of you.”

You merely hummed in acknowledgment but said nothing more, flipping to another page in his (you lended yours to Peter after he accidentally got soaked by the bucket of water from the black lake intended for Snape) textbook.

Barty’s fingers drummed against the table. He could handle a lot of things—detentions, duels, even his father’s unrelenting scrutiny, but this? This was insufferable.

So, naturally, he decided to make it his mission to ruin the silence.

It started small.

A flick of his wand, and your inkwell slid ever-so-slightly across the table. You caught it before it could spill, shot him a glance, and continued writing.

Next, he nudged your parchment just out of reach. You didn’t even blink, simply shifted your chair forward and carried on.

Fine. If you were going to be stubborn, he’d up the stakes.

With another subtle movement of his wand, your beloved muggle book „The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie“ the one you had tucked beside your Potions text, began to quiver. Slowly at first, then more violently, the pages ruffling as though caught in a windstorm.

you sighed, set your quill down rather roughly, and calmly muttered, “Finite Incantatem.”

The book stilled.

Barty whistled. “Impressive.”

You finally looked up at him, expression unreadable. “It‘s a First Year spell. Are you always this restless?”

He grinned. “Are you always this boring?”

There was no offense in your gaze, only quiet scrutiny. “No. But I also don’t feel the need to fill the silence just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

Barty opened his mouth, then shut it again.

No one had ever called him out so plainly before. Most people either avoided him, tolerated him, or challenged him outright. But you… you understood him in a way that unsettled him.

And worse, he had no idea what to do with that.

The pranks escalated.

By the end of the week, Barty had:

• Transfigured your quill into a small snake (you turned it back with no regard of his presence, only Trelwaney who shrieked in horror).

• Enchanted your book to read aloud in a dramatic voice (you merely bookmarked your page and waited for him to get bored).

• Jinxed your notes to rearrange themselves whenever you tried to read them (you rewrote them without complaint).

Each time, you met his antics with infuriating patience. No anger. No exasperation. Just quiet indifference, as if you knew exactly why he was doing it.

It wasn’t until he charmed your beloved novel to hover just out of reach that you finally had enough.

With a soft Expelliarmus, the book yanked itself free from his spell and slammed down onto the table between you. you met his gaze, eyes burning with guarded anger.

“Why?” you asked, voice level but firm.

Barty leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Why what?”

You exhaled, slow and measured. Merlin, was he testing your already low patience “Why go to such lengths just to get a reaction?”

Barty opened his mouth to fire back something witty, but the words caught. He couldn’t answer.

Because the truth was something he didn’t want to admit. Because silence had never been kind to him. Because silence meant expectation, the weight of his father’s disapproval, the loneliness of never being enough. Because he didn’t know how to exist in a world that didn’t constantly react to him.

You watched as something shifted in his expression—something raw, something unguarded. And for the first time since you had been paired together, you didn’t seem like you were trying to solve him.

You just saw him.

The silence stretched between you once more. But this time, it didn’t feel suffocating. This time, it felt like something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

The library had become a battlefield.

Barty didn’t lose. Not at duels, not at arguments, and certainly not at mind games. But after a week of relentless pestering, pranks, and jinxed books, but all he was met with was radio silence.

And Barty hated being ignored.

Tonight was no different.

You were back in your usual spot in the potions section near the back, candlelight flickering over parchment, and you were sure you could hear people snogging in the aisle next to you. Barty wasn’t writing. He was watching, and it pissed you off.

“Fascinating,” he drawled, chin resting on his palm.

You sighed, not even bothered to look up. “What is?”

“You,” he said simply.

At last, you glanced at him, one brow slightly raised. Not surprised, not flattered, only curious and slightly amused. As if he was some interesting tale from Trelawney‘s weekly horoscopes

Barty leaned forward, smirking. “You’re too patient for someone who spends time with the Marauders. They’re reckless. Loud. Gits.”

Your lips twitched in almost a smile. “And yet, I don’t find them insufferable.”

“Lucky them,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You don’t actually hate them, do you?”

Barty scoffed, leaning back. “Tell them that, and I’ll hex you.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “You could have joined them, you know. You’re clever enough. Quick-witted. You keep up with them in class.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I wanted to associate myself with obnoxious Griffins? I have a reputation to uphold ”

You only raised your eyebrow at that. “Oh yes, because being a maniacal, havoc wrecking wizard is soooooo important”

He roared into laughter, clutching his stomach like you have given him the funniest joke in Salazars sake. Tears were dripping out the corner of his eyes with his ropes falling messily over his shoulder.

After his sudden burst of emotions, there was silence, well, as much as you could say from Barty‘s loud wheezing trying to calm himself down and a group of second year Hufflepuffs discussing the use of Mandrakes, the space between you two was peaceful

Then, you shrugged, rolling your shoulders back to ease the growing pain (or the growing tension that is about to engulf you two) “or maybe, its because you’re lonely.”

Barty went still instantly.

For a moment, the pleasant quietness became oppressive, thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then,he laughed again. Though, now, it was short, sharp, utterly devoid of humor. “You think you know me?”

“I think,” you started, carefully trying to puck out the right words, “that you spend too much time trying to get people to notice you, y‘know?.”

His smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And yet, you’re the one paying attention.”

This time, you didn’t look away.

Checkmate.

Barty wasn’t sure when it started.

When you became the first person he looked for in a room. When silence with you stopped feeling suffocating and started feeling… different.

It was a slow, creeping thing, like poison slipping into his bloodstream.

You weren’t like the Marauders. You didn’t fill space with noise or demand attention. You simply were, an observer, someone who noticed things most people didn’t.

And Barty hated being noticed.

The Slytherin common room was quiet this late at night, with most students crammed at the Hufflepuff quidditch After-party after they had won against Ravenclaw earlier that day. Except for Barty and Regulus.

The younger Black sat in one of the loveseats by the fireplace, posture perfect as always with his messenger bag on his side while across from him, Barty sprawled lazily on the couch, legs stretched out, looking more reckless (or crazy according to Evan) than usual.

Regulus had been watching him for the past ten minutes. The tension in his shoulders, the way he ran a hand through his Black-Green hair in agitation or the way his knee bounched when he thought no one was looking.

Finally, as if this thought gave him immense pain, he sighed. „You’re obsessed.“

Barty stilled. „What?“

„With her.“ Regulus arched an eyebrow knowingly

Junior scoffed, throwing his head back against the couch dramatically, flailing his arms „Oh, not you too!

Regulus ignored him. “It’s pathetic.” Barty turned his head, smirking. “Funny. Sirius said the same thing about you once.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched. “Sirius is an idiot.”

“And yet, here you are, acting just like him—concerned about my well-being, giving me the I know best speech.” Barty sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. “It’s sweet, really.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care what you do.” Barty grinned. “Liar.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. “What is this, Barty?”

Barty hummed, considering. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Reggie”

Regulus frowned. “You’re distracting me by talking about my idiotic brother. So spill, what are you afraid of? ”

Barty’s smirk faltered. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Just stared into the flickering fire, expression unreadable. Then, with a slow breath out “Everything.”

Regulus didn’t press. Didn’t have to. He understood better than anyone what Barty really meant. The weight of expectations. The suffocating presence of a father who saw only duty.

Regulus studied him for a moment. “You don’t get attached to people. Especially not to someone like L/N. " Barty’s smirk returned, but it was weaker this time. “Maybe she’s just different.”

Regulus leaned back, unimpressed. “Or maybe you just don’t like that you can’t control her.” Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “And yet, I keep coming back.”

Regulus tilted his head. “That’s called liking someone, Barty.”

Barty scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. I don’t like people.”

“Then why does James Potter look like he wants to murder you?”

His expression darkened. “Because he knows.” the curly haired boy hummed thoughtfully. “Knows what?”

Barty looked him dead in the eyes.

“That she’s mine.”

Regulus sighed, standing up. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”

But as he walked away, Barty didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, watching the fire, thinking about you.

It was , like Regulus said, James who noticed first.

Barty had expected it, really. The four eyed boy was too perceptive for his own good, especially when it came to people who operated in the gray spaces between morality.

One evening in the Gryffindor common room, James leaned against the couch where you were reading, arms crossed. “So,” he mused, “are you finally going to tell us why Crouch won’t leave you alone?”

You barely glanced up. “Because we’re Potions partners.”

Sirius, sprawled across an armchair, snorted. “Right. And I’m Minister for Magic.”

Remus, ever the voice of reason, tilted his head. “You do spend an awful lot of time with him.”

Peter nodded, mouth stuffed with fizzing whizzbees. “It’s weird.”

you sighed, closing your book without marking your spot first, which you internally curse. “He’s… frustrating.”

Sirius smirked. “But?”

You hesitated. Just for a moment. “But he’s not as easy to hate as people think.” That was all they needed to hear.

Sirius groaned dramatically. “Merlin help us, she’s sympathizing with the enemy.”

Remus grinned knowingly. “This is going to be fun.”

James Potter knew you better than anyone.

He had known you since you two were small—before Hogwarts, before the Marauders, before any of this. You had been his first real friend, little pigtails following him around, who always listened when he rambled about Quidditch, often times playing the referee and giving yellow cards to his imaginary opponents and someone who was there when he needed you.

And now? Now you were spending too much time with Barty bloody Crouch Junior.

James didn’t like it. Not one bit.

At first, he thought nothing of it. A Potions partnership was just that—a school assignment. But then he started noticing things.

The way you lingered in the library after hours.

The way Barty watched you fondly when he thought no one was looking.

The way you didn’t seem nearly as irritated with him as you should have been.

And that was unacceptable.

James wasn’t stupid. He knew who Barty Crouch Jr. was. The arrogant, sharp-tongued Slytherin who played by his own rules, who didn’t care about anyone but himself and his best friend‘s brother. And yet, somehow, he had wormed his way into your schedule, your attention—things James had always had without question.

He didn’t realize just how much it bothered him until he saw you two together.

It was a late evening in the library, and James had come to find you. Instead, he found your little pest stuck to your side.

Barty was leaning back in his chair, smirking, while you sat across from him, rolling your eyes but not actually telling him to leave you alone. There was something different in the air between them—an ease James didn’t like.

Not one bit.

“Oi.”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. “James?”

Barty groaned. “Oh, fantastic.”

James ignored him, focusing on her. “We were supposed to go over Transfiguration notes, remember? Minnie was bugging me to take lessons with you”

You frowned. “That’s not until—”

“Now,” James said firmly. Barty snorted. “Territorial, aren’t we, Potter?”

James’ jaw clenched. “Just making sure my best friend isn’t wasting her time.” He just grinned, all teeth. “Oh, trust me, she’s not.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples to ease the incoming headache. Is it from Barty‘s constant yapping, the oh so frustrating instructions of the Felix Felicis, or James bickering? Who knows. “James, we’re just working on Potions.”

“Right,” James muttered. “Because that explains why he won’t stop staring at you.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You jealous, Potter?” James hated how his stomach twisted at that. “Of you?” He scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Good,” Barty said smoothly, “because she’s free to spend time with whoever she wants.” The Gryffindor bristled. “And you’re free to bugger off.”

“James.” your voice was sharp now, cutting through the tension. you stood, gathering your books. “I’ll meet you in your common room later, okay?”

James hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “Fine.” But his glare at Barty said this isn’t over.

As he left, Barty chuckled under his breath. “Protective, isn’t he?”

“You love making things worse, don’t you?” you simply glared at him. Barty grinned. “Admit it. You’d be bored otherwise.”

You only shook your head at that, exasperated. But this time, you didn’t argue.

And Barty? He liked that just a little too much.

James Potter wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what he told himself. But this—this infuriating, undeniable thing happening between his best friend and Barty bloody Crouch Jr.—was driving him mad.

It wasn’t just about Barty. It was about you.

You were his best friend. The one person who had always been there before Sirius, before Remus, before Peter. You had an unspoken understanding, a rhythm that no one else could touch.

And yet, somehow, you were slipping out of reach.

Because of that foul git.

Because wherever you were, Barty was not far behind.

Pandora Lovegood was an odd one. Everyone knew it.

She spoke in riddles, saw connections where others didn’t, and had a habit of appearing exactly where she was needed.

So James should have known better than to groan when she plopped down next to him on the bench in the transfiguration courtyard, humming thoughtfully.

“You’re sulking,” she observed. “I don’t sulk,” James muttered.

She smiled, entirely unconvinced. “It’s about her and him, isn’t it?” He scowled, borderline pouted. “There is no her and him.”

Pandora tilted her head. “Not yet.” at that, James sat up straighter. “Yet?”

Pandora just hummed again, her dreamy expression betraying nothing. “I think you’re afraid.”

“Of what? Crouch?” He snorted. “Please.”

“No,” Pandora mused. “Not him. You’re afraid because for the first time, she’s paying attention to someone else.” James didn’t respond. Because that would mean admitting she was right. The Rosier smiled knowingly. “You can’t stop it, you know.”

“Stop what?”

She simply shrugged, standing as if that answered everything. “The inevitable.”

James groaned. “Merlin, you’re worse than Moony.”

But as she walked away, her words lingered. And James hated that more than anything.

James found Barty alone that evening, leaning against the cobble stone wall just outside the Charms Classroom. He didn’t hesitate.

“Stay away from her.”

Barty turned, raising an eyebrow. “Potter,” he drawled, lips curling into a smirk. “This is getting predictable.” James stepped closer, jaw tight. “I’m serious.”

“Sirius is the loud one,” Barty quipped. “You’re the one with the tragic hero complex.” James hated that he had a point. “Whatever game you’re playing,” he said sharply, “she’s not a part of it.”

Barty’s smirk faltered. Just for a second. “Who says it’s a game?”

James scoffed. “Oh, please. You don’t care about her. You just like getting a rise out of people. And I won’t let you use her to do it.” Barty’s expression darkened.

“Use her?” he repeated, voice low, dangerous. “Funny, coming from you.”

James stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”

Barty leaned in slightly, voice smooth as silk. “It means you don’t like that she’s spending time with me—not because you think I’ll hurt her, but because you can’t stand the idea of not being the most important person in her life.” James clenched his fists. Barty’s smirk was sharp, knowing. “Hits a nerve, doesn’t it?” James took a slow breath. He would not hex him.Not yet, at least.

“She’s my best friend,” James said coldly. “And I trust her. But I don’t trust you.” Barty’s gaze flickered—just for a moment. Then, with an infuriating grin, he stepped back.

“Well then, Potter.” His voice was almost mocking. “Let’s see who she trusts more.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

James stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily, hands clenched at his sides. Because for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure who would win.

You were avoided him.

Not subtly. Not carefully. Just completely ignoring his existence

It started the week following the small… confrontation in library. Barty walked into Potions, expecting you to be at their usual table at the back, books already open,quill tapping absently against parchment, asking about his usual trouble with filch and a soft smile gracing your lips. Instead, your lips never opened and gaze never left your paper.

No glance in his direction. No acknowledgment at all.

Barty stared. His fingers curled into fists beneath the desk.

Fine.

But then it kept happening. In the corridors, you veered away when you saw him approaching. In the library, you sat with James, Sirius, even Remus—anyone but him. When he did catch youe eye across the Great Hall, you looked away so quickly it felt like a slap.

It wasn’t anger. It was erasure, like he wasn’t even there.

Barty Crouch Jr. had never been ignored in his life. People watched him. They feared him. They respected him, hated him, wanted to be him. But you—you were acting as though he was nothing.

And he couldn’t stand it.

At first, he played it off. Shrugged, smirked, pretended not to care. But then a week passed. Then another. And with every second of silence, something inside him frayed. He found himself watching you too closely. Waiting for you to look at him. Wanting your attention, even if it was anger, frustration, anything but this emptiness.

And when James Potter threw an arm around your shoulders at the Slytherin party, whispering something that made you laugh—

Something in Barty snapped.

You didn’t know how it had come to this.

One moment, you had been talking with Evan about absolute nonsense, nursing a cup of firewhiskey mixed with something you didn’t want to know, trying to focus on anything other than the tension between James and Barty, the way they seemed to be circling each other like wolves.

And now…

Now you were backed against the cold stone wall of an abandoned corridor, heart pounding as Barty loomed in front of you, eyes blazing with something wild, something dangerous.

“You’re avoiding me.” His voice was low, accusing.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You flinched. Not because you were afraid of him, Merlin, no—Barty is lunatic at best—but because there was something desperate in his voice, something fraying at the edges.

“I just needed space,” you said carefully. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Space? From me?”

His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might actually grab you, hold you there like he could force you to listen. “You belong with me.”

The words sent a chill down you spine. Not because of their meaning—but because of how much he believed them. “Barty,” you whispered, voice betrying you slightly, much to your annoyance “you don’t own me.”

His jaw clenched. “I never said I did.”

“But you act like it,” you shot back. “Like I’m something for you to win. Like James and I can’t be close, like I don’t have a choice in who I spend time with.”

Barty exhaled sharply, stepping closer, invading her space. “You do have a choice.” His voice was low now, almost a plea. “So why do you keep running from this?”

This. Whatever this was.

You felt your breath hitch, your pulse racing as he stared at you, expression laced with something desperate.

“This isn’t normal,” you whispered. Barty tilted his head, studying you. “Since when have I ever been normal?”

Your heart ached at that. Because he wasn’t. He was sharp edges and chaos, wildfire wrapped in silk. And you were intrigued.

“Tell me to leave,” Barty murmured, voice softer now, more dangerous. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I will.”

You opened your mouth, words mingling in your head, yet none of them escaped your lips.

Barty’s smirk returned, but it wasn’t triumphant. It was something else—something satisfied yet frustrated, as if he hated how much he needed you to not push him away.

The next day, you felt off-balance. Everything was the same, yet nothing was.

The Great Hall was as loud as ever, filled with students laughing, chattering, passing notes between bites of dinner. James sat beside you, talking animatedly with Sirius about the shenanigans they pulled at last night‘s party. Remus was reading. Pandora was off in her own world, stirring her tea with the wrong end of her spoon.

It was normal.

But you weren’t . Because he was there. Across the room, at the Slytherin table. And he wasn’t acting normal at all.

Barty Crouch Jr. was watching you. His elbow was propped on the table, chin resting against his knuckles, eyes fixed on you with that sharp, playful intensity. Like he was waiting for something. Like he could still feel last night as much as you could—the heat of his breath, the weight of his words, the way he had opened your eyes.

Your stomach twisted but not in the usual dread

You quickly looked down at her plate, poking at the food with the fork, suddenly very aware of every movement, every breath.

It was fine.

You could pretend it hadn’t happened. You could move on, act normal, be the person she had always been. You could-

“You okay?”

James’ voice cut through your thoughts.

You startled, nearly knocking over your pumpkin juice. James frowned, eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses.

“You’re jumpy,” he observed. “Weird day?”

Yes. Extremely weird.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just tired.”

James didn’t look convinced.

Barty was still watching. You could feel it. Your pulse quickened. You needed to get out of here.

With a forced smile, you pushed back from the table. “I just remembered-I have to grab something from the library before class.” James raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

You turned before he could question you further, walking briskly out of the Great Hall, heart pounding.

You should have known he would find you.

It had been inevitable. Barty Crouch Jr. wasn’t the kind of person who let things go. He didn’t believe in backing down, in walking away—especially not from you.

And so, a day after the Slytherin party, after you had spent the night pretending you weren’t looking over your shoulder for him, he found you.

The Astronomy Tower was, to your luck, empty. The moment you stepped onto the stone balcony, the cold air biting at your skin, you felt him before you saw him in your peripheral vision.

He was leaning against the railing, staring out over the darkened grounds, sleeves rolled up, hands tense against the stone. He looked different in the moonlight. Less sharp, less manic, less like the Barty Crouch Jr. the world expected him to be.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I hate my father.”

His voice was quiet. Hollow. You stiffened, startled by his sudden honesty, by the rawness in his tone.

Still, you didn’t leave. Didn’t move.

Barty exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmured. “To be expected to be perfect. To be a reflection of someone else, someone you loathe.”

Your chest ached at the exhaustion in his voice.

You stayed silent, waiting.

Barty let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. “He thinks he can mold me into whatever he wants. A loyal son. A future politician. A Crouch through and through.” He scoffed. “But I’m not. I never was.”

He turned to look at you then, and for the first time, there was no smirk, no amusement—just something raw and vulnerable, something you had never seen before.

“I think,” he said slowly, voice quieter now, “that’s why I wanted you so much.”

Your breath caught unexpectedly.

Barty’s eyes flickered over your face, unreadable. “You don’t try to make me be something.” His lips twisted. “Even when you hate me, at least it’s real.”

Something heavy settled between you, thick and undeniable.

“And”, he started, face twisting into something uncomfortable, trying to find the right words. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you—like he was fighting a battle you couldn’t see.

Then-

“I hate him too.”

The words were sharp, bitter, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your breath hitched. “Barty—”

“No.” He turned to face you fully, eyes burning. “I hate the way he hovers around you like he owns you. I hate the way he looks at me like I’m something filthy. I hate that no matter what I do, he’s always there.”

Your chest ached at the frustration in his voice, the way his fists clenched like he was barely keeping himself together.

“He’s my best friend,” you said softly. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No. He’s waiting.”

You frowned at that. “Waiting for what?”

“For you to wake up,” Barty muttered. “For you to realize that he’s the safer choice. The one who won’t make your life complicated. The one who fits neatly into your perfect little world.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You think this is about James?”

Barty scoffed. “It’s always about him.”

Frustration flared in your chest. “Barty, I chose to stay away.”

He stilled.

“I chose to keep my distance,” you continued, voice surprisingly steady despite the inner hurricane you felt. “Not because of James. Not because of anyone else. But because you—”a sharp exhale left your mouth. “You scare me.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s not what I meant.”

Because this, the fire between them, the way he looked at you like he was drowning and you were the only air left—

It was too much. Barty was too much. And you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to handle it.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, slowly, Barty stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel his warmth, enough that your breath caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he murmured.

Your pulse raced. “Then stop—” “Stop what?” His voice was rough now, almost desperate. “Wanting you? Needing you?”

“Barty—”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to stop.”

And maybe that was the real problem. Because Barty Crouch Jr. had never been good at letting things go.

And neither had you.

So when he reached for you, fingers brushing against your wrist like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, you didn’t pull away.

And when he kissed you, desperate and reckless and full of something sharp and aching,

you kissed him back.

[stopaskingme]

The curious case of Adeyemi's (missing) watch in Conclave (2024)

the longer watch friend and I think on it, the more it blows our minds how intentional the costumers were wrt to the friggin watches in this movie. If you're interested in watch meta for Lawrence, Benitez, Bellini, Tremblay and Tedesco, I have linked the previous posts :D

This post is about Adeyemi's watch and what it means.

The Different Shorthands the Watches have throughout the movie

Despite like 100 close-ups of hands in Conclave, only six characters are depicted with watches. Only the serious contenders for the papacy.

Before the conclave starts, Watches are windows to a Character

they are quick snapshots of who a character is, or their current state of mind.

Tremblay and Tedesco: Watches with black dials, signalling their roles as antagonists; Bellini and Lawrence: White dials. more on Bellini later. Benitez: Digital watch face, neutral unknown

Two characters stand out because of how plainly the camera shows us their watches

– and then how completely those watches disappear once the conclave begins.

Benitez's Casio in his first full-profile shot, and Lawrence's Orient in the emotionally vulnerable bathroom scene

Which leads into the second role the watches play.

Once the conclave begins, Watches are Signals of Ambition

BENITEZ & LAWRENCE Their watches are gone. Even in settings which you'd expect to see them, like the bedroom. Because they lack any desire to be pope.

What's the point? Well, Adeyemi's Watch.

We see glimpses of it when he was still in the running for the papacy. But that's all we get. Glimpses. His watch cannot be identified.

It can't be accidental, since the movie has been so deliberate about who wears the watches. Rather, the camera refuses details on Adeyemi's watch because there's nothing more about him we needed to know.

ADEYEMI He didn't need to prove himself. He was the 'natural' successor. He led the votes in the first three ballots. He's the closest thing to a shoo-in candidate. That changes, however, when Lawrence comes to confront him. When he pleads with Lawrence to give him a chance, this unidentified watch peeks in and out from under his right wrist (left screenshot). By the following ballot scene, however, that watch has been stripped from him (right screenshot).

To hammer the point home, the camera shows us the individual candidates following the results of the next ballot.

Adeyemi sits with his hands tucked under the table. Tremblay has a watch, but as the new frontrunner, the watch is mostly hidden.

Bellini and Tedesco's watches are full-faced, out in the open. They are still actively chasing the papacy. Lawrence, on the other hand, genuinely doesn't want it, so his hands are firmly under the table.

The One Time Bellini loses his Watch

When Tremblay is outed for simony, his watch goes through the same treatment as Adeyemi's. More interesting to note is that Bellini loses his watch when he was prepared to support a Tremblay papacy.

True, he was in a nightgown when Lawrence shares the incriminating report with him. Most people don't wear watches with their nightgowns. At the same time, Bellini had also given up on his own candidacy.

After Tremblay is out of the running, look who's wearing a watch again!

Lawrence

Most telling of all is Lawrence's watch. The only time it appears after the conclave begins is – you guessed it – WHEN HE VOTES FOR HIMSELF.

And Benitez?

His Casio is hidden even during his game-changing monologue. It only appears in the final voting scene after he's lectured the curia.

Benitez might not have dreamt of becoming pope. Rather he'd grasped the situation at hand and knew what direction he'd steer the Mother Church given the opportunity. And that was enough.

His watch is symbolic proof of his conviction and visual proof of his character.

In short, the watches show up when the candidates need to prove themselves worthy of being the next pope.

They lose their watches when they are no longer eligible.

Going back to ADEYEMI when he realises he's lost his chance, Lawrence places his hand over Adeyemi's right wrist when praying for him, covering where his watch would be. Adeyemi's watch makes its last appearance when Tremblay is outed; his hope rearing its head. But he also realises he doesn't stand a viable chance because the watch is gone when he's clapping for Benitez.

After BENITEZ has been elected Tremblay's hands are beneath the table. The camera lingers only on the crack in his glasses. Bellini's Seiko Dolce is there in its full tank face glory. He was never 'disqualified' from the race. Should there be another conclave in his lifetime, he might run again. Tedesco's Oris out and in even fuller, naked display. He hadn't been 'disqualified' either. He could and would run if he's alive for the next conclave.

And after the conclave?

In the Room of Tears, Benitez holds Lawrence's hands. Benitez wears no watch. There's nothing more we need to know.

We already understand who he is and why he deserves to be Pope.

🐢 Conclave watches part 1 / part 2 / part 3

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, yandere

fem reader

The way Gojo Senpai is so obnoxious, he doesn’t understand his flirting is making you uncomfortable…

He seriously thinks he’s making you fall head over heels in love with him even when you give him nothing in return to make him think that. He just thinks you’re embarrassed and nervous, flustered by his attention, and that’s the reason you divert your gaze and bite your lip when he has you against the lockers, leaning on his hand with his shades gliding low on his nose—telling you that you have no shot becoming a sorcerer, but that you look too cute in the uniform not to give it your best try. 

“Don’t worry, just say my name, and I’ll come save you,” he’ll say. “You can be my personal assistant supervisor instead.” 

His game isn’t anything to brag about. It's more in line with bullying than flirting, but you pick up on the suggestiveness. That heated saccharine look within his blue eyes can only mean one thing if the way he plays with your hair isn’t enough of a hint already.

But his words are nothing short of derogatory, and all in all, he simply makes you feel gross—a sentiment you thought you put across, but it seems that having six eyes only makes you blind.

It takes Shoko telling him to leave the poor Kohai alone for him to finally understand that you don’t like him. And then he’s just confused and embarrassed.

And a tinge bit irritated.

Gojo knows for a fact he could make any girl want him. Even those who seem to hate him would melt if he gave them the same attention he’s been giving you. Any girl. He could have any girl, but he chose you. And you reject him?

No. He can’t accept that.

“Most girls would be grateful for my attention,” He states plainly after having tracked you down.

Your head snapped, jolting. “Gojo Senpai—” You dropped the mop in your hands with a clatter, having been deep in your own thoughts on classroom cleaning duty. You sighed as the scare settled, giving a breathy laugh, “You scared me—”

“Is that it?” he interrupted. “I scare you?”

You quirked a brow with a tilt of your head. “What?”

“Do I scare you?” he repeated, louder, posted on the threshold in a stance you’d never seen him in—stiff and squared, not his usual lazy laidbackness.

Confused, your eyes looked around as if searching for clues but came up emptyhanded, “Uhm, I don’t understand—”

“It’s a simple question,” he said, cutting you off again, this time with a step into the classroom. He talked slowly, cradling the next words, “Are you scared of me?”

Where it all came from, you hadn’t a clue. But then again, Gojo Senpai has always been rather strange. 

Were you scared of him? It’s not really something you’ve ever thought about. Sure, if you were to go one versus one with him, you’d probably piss yourself. But in a regular setting, you just found him to be as grating as the next person.

“I don’t think so?” you end up answering.

“Good. So what is it then?” His shades were low enough for his stare to skim over. Brighter than clear skies, and yet, somehow, so dark. “Why don’t you like me.”

Oh, so he’s figured it out on his own then. It’s about time. And thank fuck for it—saves you the trouble of breaking it to him yourself. Though you were still left with the unfair task of telling him why.

“Honestly, Gojo Senpai, I’m not, or well… you’re just not my type.”

Stick to the basics, is what you told yourself. There’s no need to drag this out.

“Yeah, I figured. I’m asking why,” he countered, in complete disagreement with your thought.

Still, you wanted to fight for it. “Does it really matter?”

“Yes.”

This conversation was the last thing you wanted, but it seemed the white-haired prodigy wouldn’t leave without having it.

“Well…” you started, still pondering. Maybe he’d appreciate the honesty? He’s a rather straightforward guy himself. “I mean, there’s no way you don’t already know this, but—” You picked up the broom again mid-sentence. “You’re really obnoxious.”

He took a small second before he scoffed, “So? No one else cares.”

It reminded you of arguing with someone half your age—the petty anger in an ill-thought-through comment slung at you as if it carried all the weight in the world. But what everyone else thought of him hadn’t anything to do with you—and even so, out of the people on campus, you’re certain you’re not the only one who finds his attitude unpleasant—they just don’t tell it to his face. 

You had half the mind to tell him to go get a grip, but he was still your Senpai.

“Good for you, I guess?” You weren’t really looking to fight with him, after all. “So you can flirt with literally anyone else then,” you dismiss him and go back to finish cleaning the classroom—glad to have put it all behind you. You were starting to fear he’d never leave you alone.

There’s a woosh, then the hard thunk of your back hitting the wall. Both your upper arms are gripped tight, pinned. When you open your eyes again after adjusting to the impact, you look straight up into the full view of two crisp comet blues.

“You’re mighty rude for a Kohai. You know that?”

Your head stings. You blink crookedly.

“Senpai—”

“Maybe I’ve misjudged you. D’you have anythin’ for show to back that attitude up?” It’s eerie how he says it in the same flirty fashion he would otherwise—even the look in his eyes are the same. But his grip tightens.

“I don’t want to fight—”

“No?” he cuts you off with a pout. “I could've sworn you were asking for it—all but begging for it a second ago.”

You whimper, cowering at the sudden bite in his voice.

“What’s the matter, huh? I thought you said you weren’t scared?”

Your voice comes out weak, “Please, Gojo Senpai, I—”

“Please?” he questions brightly, eyes stark and burning like a stovetop. “Yeah, that’s got a nicer ring to it—suits you better.” The smile that splits across his face is nothing short of unhinged. “But it’s not enough for me to let your disrespect slide.” He licks his lips, and a chill runs up your spine, feeling like caught prey. “Lucky you, I know exactly what price to put on it.”

His mouth devour yours the same way—pouncing like a beast would, with teeth more than lips, then a tongue. You whine as you twist—it’s more instinctive than deliberate when your knee shoots up into the unprotected space between his legs—right into that thing that was rubbing and rutting against you.

You make a run for it as he staggers back with a hiss, but you don’t make it farther than three measly steps before you’re bent over the closest desk.

His fist wrangles your hair, using it to shove you face-down against the wood—the weight of his body on top of your back with his voice raspy against your ear. “We could’ve left this with a kiss, but I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy now.”

Tears spill hotly in a panic, but no matter how much strength you put into lifting yourself up, you remain down. Sobbing, “Let go—help—”

He snickers with a hand under your skirt, spidering delicately up your thigh. “Who’re you callin’ for help, hm? I’m already here.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[noonecareslol]

࣪˖ ִ ೀ 𝐀 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Hwang In-ho x Fem! Reader

Summary: When the games aren’t in session, and In-ho is lonely, he finds himself in the first row at the ballet. Watching you. Suddenly he's falling in love.

TW: Channeling my love for older men. Injury. Reader lowkey gets sad for a sec. Age gap (reader is 25 In-ho is 49). Just FLUFF! In-ho learning how to love someone again. Quite literally head over heels for you. Allusions to masturbation. Size kink if you squint.

WC! 5k Part 2! -> here!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It is quite obvious that In-ho is an old soul.

He enjoys old films, old clothing, old theatre, and old music. The little jazz set that plays, “Fly Me To The Moon” is a cherished possession of his, along with his vintage whiskey decanter.

He wears a musky cologne he’d been gifted by his late wife, and his closet is lined with leather dress shoes and perfectly pressed slacks. His dimly lit room on the island is vastly similar to the one in his Seoul apartment, everything perfectly neat and clean.

Yes, In-ho is an old soul.

And in between the games, when he would return to Seoul, he’d find himself bored. Especially during the night. He’d miss his wife, the whispered hope of a promised future.

Often he would distract himself by putting his whiskey decanter to good use, pouring the aged whiskey into his glass over and over again. He would linger by his shelf full of movies he’d seen hundreds of times, tracing his fingers along the cases until he landed on a title. A small smile would play on his lips before popping it into the DVD player and taking a seat next to his beloved cat.

He would find himself mumbling the lines as the actors spoke them on screen, his hand absentmindedly petting his cat. When the movie is over, and the quiet resumes, he’d move to his bedroom.

He’d ensure his cat followed before changing into his expensive pajamas and climbing into the king-sized bed. His cat would join him and he would drift to sleep, dreaming of, well, nothing.

He would close his eyes and wake up without any dream having occupied his mind.

This routine became comfortable. Each night he would get home from whatever he’d been doing before, drink, watch a movie, play with his cat, and sleep without any dreams.

But this night, this night was different.

It was a cold night. And all In-ho wanted to do was drown in glasses of whiskey and watch “Dial ‘M’ For Murder” with his cat.

But as he walked past a line of people waiting to enter a theatre, a poster caught his attention. He blinked once, twice, before walking toward the lit-up frame.

A strikingly beautiful ballerina caught his attention first. She held her arms elegantly above her head, her leg pointed behind her, her other leg resting on pointe as she looked to the side. She was breathtaking.

The Seoul Ballet Company Presents: Swan Lake

Opening Night November 1st

Suddenly the thought of whiskey and Alfred Hitchcock left his mind as he joined the line. I mean, who would miss out on opening night?

Especially when the lead was so pretty.

“We have one ticket left in the front row.” The woman behind the ticket booth clicked her pen unenthusiastically as she watched In-ho pull his leather vintage wallet out of his coat pocket.

A grin rested plainly on his lips as he fiddled with his cash, “That’s perfect. How much?”

The woman slowly turned and punched a few numbers into her register before turning back to him, “80,000 won.” She clicked her pen again.

“Do you have change for 100,000?” He held the two 50,000 won in front of him, watching as she stared at him blankly.

She blinked once before snatching the bills from his hands, “Nope!” In-ho sighed. For someone so slow she took those bills awfully fast.

In-ho drew his lips into a thin line before taking the ticket and placing it in his wallet, “Thanks.”

“Yeah enjoy the show or, like, whatever.” The woman took out her phone and began to text as he walked away, obviously not giving a shit about her job.

But as In-ho walked through the double doors, his breath caught in his throat. The theatre certainly did not disappoint his love for old architecture.

The large barrel vaulted ceilings were beautifully ornamented and adorned with intricately painted designs. Gorgeous crown molding edged the ceiling and stretched to the floor. And a large crystal chandelier rested as the centerpiece, warmly lit and inviting.

In-ho took his seat, a smile evident on his lips as he sighed contently. However, he hoped his cat wasn’t too worried about his whereabouts. Maybe she could come along next time? She is a very sophisticated cat, after all.

As the chandelier and house lights began to dim, the crowd became quiet with anticipation and excitement. And it would be dishonest to say that In-ho wasn’t a little excited as well.

He looked to his left at the woman sitting next to him. She was a small elderly lady with a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were filled with excitement as she scanned through the pamphlet, a wide smile plastered on her face.

She wore a vintage necklace around her neck, layered with pearls. In-ho smiled, it was nice to see someone who also had a knack for old taste.

The soft notes of Swan Lake began to play, and In-ho watched as the curtains opened, revealing the beautifully decorated stage. Large trees with hanging vines arched over the set, greenery and flowers blending into the painted backdrop.

A foggy mist flooded the stage as dancers began to move elegantly across. But the lead had yet to make an appearance.

In-ho watched rather impatiently, and failed to notice the woman next to him lean in, “Right now, the prince is going hunting with his crossbow. But he will find that the white swan has turned into a beautiful woman, and has fallen under a curse.” The old woman pointed slightly to the prince, her voice whispering just loud enough for him to hear.

His eyes trained on the prince as he danced with his crossbow, “Thank you. I must look confused.”

The old lady gave a small laugh, “I used to dance for this company, i’ll never miss an opportunity to explain the ballet.”

In-ho watches as she subtly mimics the prince's moves, her hands moving elegantly in front of her. Her eyes were closed, the sound of the music bringing emotion to her face.

Her eyes flick open as the music changes softly, “Look.” Her eyes lighting up as she nods slightly to the stage.

In-ho watches as you finally take the stage, fluttering your feet as you move elegantly toward the prince. Your hands held high above your head, moving gracefully as you bourrée.

He watched as your back muscles contracted, moving as if you had wings. His eyes trained down to your legs and to your pointe shoes, watching as you danced with ease.

Your white feathered skirt moved along with you, the bodice elegantly framing you perfectly. The feathered piece in your hair catches In-ho’s attention, causing him to study your face.

That poster was nothing compared to your beauty.

You held a soft look, but In-ho didn’t fail to notice the focus that caused your eyebrows to furrow slightly. Your movements were soft and graceful, your demeanor innocent and melancholic.

You were perfect as the white swan.

You were perfect.

He wondered if you were just as innocent as you portray yourself to be, “God, she’s beautiful.”

The elderly woman hummed in agreement as she watched In-ho’s gaze remain sharp on the white swan, an all-knowing smile spread across her lips.

As the ballet continued it seemed that the rest of the audience had disappeared. In-ho felt as if you were only dancing for him. No one else.

He swore you looked at him a few times, him being the focus point of your graceful turns.

And when you transitioned into the black swan, all thoughts in In-ho’s head became dark.

Oh, how he liked this side of you.

Your movements were sharp, determined, and seductive. And he found himself adjusting in his seat as his slacks became increasingly tight. You were so close to him. Just a few feet from his touch as you danced on stage. He could take you right now. He could fuck you, make you feel things you’ve never felt before.

And as you leaped on the stage, the white swan jumping to her death, In-ho felt a tear slip from his eye. You were magnificent.

The audience filed out of the theatre, fanning themselves with their pamphlets and discussing the ballet. You had received a standing ovation, and In-ho took pride in being the first one to stand and clap.

He had finally caught your attention. And when you locked eyes with him as you bowed, you felt your brain turn to mush.

He was handsome. Like, extremely handsome.

His face was perfectly chiseled. His eyes crinkled as he flashed a perfect smile, his hair slightly falling in front of his face and covering his dark eyes.

You didn’t blink once as you remained under his gaze, and it wasn’t until another dancer pulled you up that you realized you were bowing for far too long.

You avoided his eye contact as you walked off, embarrassed he had made you turn into putty just by his stare.

And as In-ho exited the theatre, he took his time lingering by the lamp post. He’d secretly hoped to see you leave.

He doesn’t know what he would say if he did see you. Maybe he would compliment you, or ask you a meaningless question. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d push you against the lamppost, and let his desire consume you.

He’d just wait a little bit longer.

10 minutes.

15 minutes.

30 minutes.

The woman from behind the ticket booth locked the door as she brought down the metal gate, “Excuse me, did the woman who danced as the white swan leave yet?”

She turned around smacking her gum, “Yeah. Why?” She sized him up, placing a hand on her hip as she cocked an eyebrow.

In-ho felt his face flush, “I was just going to compliment her.” He put his cold hands in the pockets of his coat, shifting his weight onto his other foot.

“Yeah well,” The woman smacks her gum as she walks up towards In-ho, handing him a flier, “They have open practice every Friday. Tickets are only 10,000 won.”

He took the flier from her hand, folding it and sliding it into his pocket, “Thanks.” She nodded her head and walked past him, slipping into her jacket.

In-ho turned and started his walk to his apartment only a block away. When he arrived, he heard the familiar sound of meowing by his front door.

And as he opened the door, he came face to face with his cat waiting on the couch, “I’m sorry Elisabeth, but I’m too tired for a movie tonight.”

She gave an annoyed meow before reluctantly following him into his room, hopping onto the pillow beside his. In-ho got dressed in his pajamas, ready for another dreamless night as he slipped into the sheets next to Elisabeth.

But this time, it wasn't dreamless.

In fact, he had dreamed a very vivid dream.

He had dreamt of you.

And as In-ho woke up the next morning, his hand immediately went to his nightstand, picking up the flier.

It seems that the pretty ballerina has stolen his heart.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Plié! Ron de jambe, retiré! Good!" You held your arms in front of you, your right leg coming up at a bend, "Pas de chat, écarté! Don't rush it, Fiona!"

Your ballet teacher weaved between you and the other students, her tight bun sitting perfectly on her pointed head, "Développé, demi-pointe! No! Not pointe, demi pointe!"

Her thick French accent bellowed throughout the theatre, "Good y/n! Très bien!" A wide smile painted your lips as you continued your dance, your friend Fiona rolling her eyes at your praise. You giggled as you went into second, your arms outstretched to the side.

"Well done! Take a water break and stretch, we'll take five." You brought your hands to your knees, leaning over slightly as you caught your breath.

Fiona dramatically flopped on her back, a hand coming to her forehead as she breathed heavily, "I've died, she's killed me." You tossed her water bottle into her hand with a laugh as you sat next to her, your eyes scanning the theatre.

Familiar faces met your eyes. Elderly couples, former dancers, and little kids with their moms. Oh! And the man who you haven't stopped thinking about.

Wait.

You hit Fiona's shoulder hard, not taking your eyes off him, "Fiona. Fiona, look." She sat up, holding her shoulder as her eyes trailed to where you were subtly pointing.

"Oh, it's the hot dilf." Fiona took a drink from her bottle, watching as In-ho looked around while taking in the architecture.

You slapped her shoulder again, "Shut up! What if he hears you?" You get up from the ground, pulling Fiona up with you and tossing your water bottle back into your bag.

She followed suit, taking one last drink before tossing it in her own, "First off, stop hitting me. It's abuse." You rolled your eyes as you both took your spot by the barre, "Second, he's in the back corner of the theatre, he's not hearing shit. Except for our teacher's constant yelling."

You didn't respond, instead, you continued looking at him. His black turtle neck sweater hugged his biceps perfectly, and you didn't fail to notice his empty finger where a ring would sit.

"Okay! Lets continue! Tendu, plié! Ron de jambe, plié!"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It had been two months since In-ho first started spending his Fridays pining over you.

Each Friday, he would come home, change into an outfit he had dry-cleaned and pressed, feed Elisabeth, and head to the Theatre. He would take his spot in the far left corner, and watch as you danced and laughed with your friends.

He found himself looking forward to Fridays. Which is strange, because he's never looked forward to anything before. Well, besides the games. But he had been so focused on you, that he had fallen behind on his work. Something he'd never done before.

You plagued his mind.

He dreams of you. When he's asleep and awake. He'd find himself walking by the Theatre on other days when you were practicing, hoping to see a glimpse of you.

He found himself listening to Etta James and Nat King Cole more often than not. 'A Sunday Kind Of Love' and 'Unforgettable' filing his apartment as he cooked his dinners. 'My Fair Lady' and 'Gone With The Wind' replacing his classic mystery movies.

He even found himself stopping by flower boutiques, smelling the tulips and Orchids. He wonders what your favorite flower is. Perhaps it is Lilies, the flower that represents innocence and purity.

He wondered a lot if you were a virgin. Often imagining the feeling of your body under his large one late at night when he can't sleep, and when his hand finds itself under his pants.

You had him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you didn't even know it.

Vice Versa, you found yourself looking forward to Fridays as well.

It was the only day you could see the stranger who you had been thinking about constantly.

You liked his style, the way he carried himself with a confidence that intimidated you. His large frame towered over everyone, and he stood out from the crowd. He was perfect. It was as if god himself sculpted him with his own hands.

And oh my god.

You were down bad.

Fiona constantly teased you about it. Making fun of how you stopped wearing your loose cover-up, "Im just hot, that's all Fiona. It's warm in here." You lied. And Fiona was obviously aware of that.

You started offering to stay late with your teacher and help clean up, hoping to catch the stranger before he left. But your teacher always insisted you should go home and rest, and who were you to disobey her.

You've always been perfect. At school, at dance, at everything. When auditions came for Swan Lake, there was no question in anyone's mind about who would get the lead.

But since opening night, things have been slightly different. You often got distracted during practice, your eyes always finding the man in the back corner. You started falling out of your turns, forgetting to bring your pointe shoes, and, worse of all, you had been forgetting to point your toes.

And here you were. Walking to the center of the stage, ready to run through your variation in front of everyone. It was an easy variation, but the end was complicated. You had to do several pirouettes, which you have always been good at. But today you decided to test yourself.

You knew your teacher was becoming increasingly disappointed in you, it plagued your every thought. So, as you spun perfectly, you decided to see how many pirouettes you could perform.

17, 18, 19, 20.

Your leg is wobbling, but you choose to ignore it.

21, 22, 23-

You hear Fiona call your name as your foot slips out of pointe, twisting as you fall on top of it, "Oh my god!" The sickening sound of your ankle cracking causes your heart to drop. The stinging feeling of tears replaced by the overwhelming pain that was now shooting up your leg.

Everyone huddles around you as the teacher runs to call an ambulance, but Fiona kneels at your side, "I know this isn't the right time but, the dilf is running over here right now."

You close your eyes, trying to control your rapid breathing. You wished the stage would open around you and swallow you whole, just put you out of your misery.

In-ho jumps with ease onto the stage, his sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbow, "Move." He pushes past the dancers huddling over you and grabs your face.

Your eyes flick open at the feeling of warm hands pressed against your cheeks. Oh my god, he was holding your face. Your heart fluttered but you didn't notice, you were too worried about the fact that your ankle was bent the wrong way.

In-ho's hand softly brushes over your ankle, causing you to wince. At first, he's skeptical about touching you. Was it too fast? Too sudden? Too bold?

But he didn't have time to think it over as he put his strong arms under you, lifting you gently as he stood. Fiona watched with a smirk on her face as she saw shock fill your eyes, his biceps flexing as he pulled you close to his chest.

Without a word, In-ho steps down from the stage and carries you through the exit, "I have an ambulance coming!" Your teacher ran after him yelling, her typically neat bun somewhat loose and frizzy now.

In-ho motions to his pocket and Fiona responds, grabbing his car key and unlocking his Mercedez-benz, "It will take too long. I'll drive her."

For a split second, you catch his eye, and you could've sworn to god your pain disappeared for a moment. And if it were a different circumstance, In-ho would kiss you. He would kiss you right here with you in his arms.

But the shared look was short-lived as he very carefully sets you in the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt gently. Your ballet teacher leans down to the window, "Don't worry! Fiona can dance for you!"

Your heart shattered.

And tears began to flood. You ignored In-ho's words of reassurance as he took off, speeding to the hospital. The drive was quiet except for your soft cries. And In-ho wanted nothing more than to cradle you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

"Im sorry im getting your car dirty." You looked at the tear-stained headrest you laid against, wiping your sore eyes with the back of your hand.

In-ho cuts a car off as he turns, ignoring the beeps from the angry driver, "It's okay. I have another one." The subtle money brag wasn't missed by you. In-ho just wanted to impress you.

"What are you? Like a CEO or something?" You turned to face him, giving a pitiful sniffle as he gave another sharp turn.

He chuckled, and you felt your heart beat faster. Was it because of the adrenaline? Or was it because the man whom you've become obsessed with is quite literally acting like your night in shining armor, "Im... Im a game show host."

You nodded, an impressive smile growing on your face, "That's cool. Im y/n by the way."

He flashes a smile, the same smile from the night you first saw him, and a blush creeps up on your tear-stained cheeks, "You're sitting there, with a fucked up ankle, and you're making small talk?"

You suddenly feel embarrassed. He's just some random guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time, nothing more. "Sorry. Just trying to distract myself."

In-ho frowns. Did he say the wrong thing? His grip tightens on the steering wheel, "No! Don't be sorry. If I'm being honest, I've been dying to know your name."

His eyes flick to you before looking back in front of him, "Im Hwang In-ho." A small smile creeps onto his lips as he pulls to a stop in front of the ER.

"Well, Mr. Hwang, it's nice to meet you."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Well, it looks like you have a fracture." You give a long exasperated sigh as the Doctor holds up the X-rays, "The fibula is fractured below the level of the syndesmosis, which is the joint between the tibia and fibula."

You look at In-ho, who, for some reason, seems more stressed than you do, "What's the healing process like? Will she need surgery?" Your head snapped to the doctor at the mention of surgery. Surgery for dancers is like a death sentence.

No. More. Dancing.

"Fractures like these are considered stable, meaning that they are unlikely to worsen with correct treatment and management. You'll just need to wear a boot for a while." The doctor noticed how your concerned look didn't falter, and gave a sigh before placing a hand on your shoulder, "You can still dance."

The breath you were holding escapes your lips as you feel a heavy weight fall off your shoulders, "Thank you so much." The doctor rubs your shoulder before leaving, instructing the nurse to fit you for a boot.

In-ho watches as you close your eyes, a smile resting on your face. He cocked his head, how could you be so beautiful in a moment like this? His eyes take a minute to trail down your body, taking you in, something he's grown fond of doing.

Your hair is a mess, your cheeks are red and tear-stained, your ankle looks like a snapped twig, and you're picking at your cuticles. But god.

You are perfect.

Just as beautiful now as you were months ago.

An unfamiliar feeling has taken over his chest ever since he saw you. A tightening, warm feeling that he hasn't felt in years. At first, he ignored it. Maybe it was just heartburn? But as it progressed, he got worried. The next thing you know a doctor is laughing in his face.

Calling it 'love'.

In-ho immediately left after he heard that, making sure to write a very passive-aggressive review on Yelp. What doctor diagnosed a patient with 'being in love'?

In-ho was not in love.

...

...

Right?

It wasn't until he watched 'Funny Face' that he realized the estranged doctor was correct. The moment Fred Astaire saw Aubrey Hepburn and was immediately captivated by her beauty, he knew it was true.

He didn't care that he was more than twenty years older than you, or that he had bigger things to worry about, all he cared about was you.

And that made him so confused.

You had managed to captivate his heart, soul, and body. And he felt like a teenager with his first crush all over again. So as he saw you look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, he couldn't help what happened next.

He stood from his chair, taking large steps towards your frame. You furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him stand between your legs, careful not to hit your ankle.

His big hands reach down and grab your face, slamming your lips into his own. Your eyes grow wide, confusion flashing across your face before slowly giving in, pulling his head down lower.

His touch was gentle, the opposite of his kiss. His hands softly caressed your red cheeks, while his lips hungrily chased after your own.

You tugged at the baby hairs that rested on the back of his neck, desire and hunger feeding off you as he slipped his tongue into your pretty mouth. A low growl escaped his swollen lips, and you felt arousal begin to pool between your thighs.

You whine as he removes his hand from your face and steps back, crossing his arms. His gaze has always been intimidating. But now that he's seen you fall on your ass, cry, and melt under his touch all in one day, it is much more intimidating.

You've been vulnerable in front of him. Something you could never do before. But you didn't care if he saw your flaws, you were perfect to him.

He saw a future when he looked at you. He saw a family, something he had longed for many years ago. He saw hope, love, and promise.

He saw you.

Beautiful, perfect, irresistible you.

And as he looked at you, only one question entered his mind.

"Do you want to meet my cat?"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

a/n: chat. its 2 am. but i am DETERMINED to post this. i just love you guys sm mwah mwah. also, wasn't in a smut mood. still getting used to writing smut LMAO.

also random disclaimer: i have never done ballet. so if any terms are wrong or if my spelling is trash PLS LMK!

@bohemiandelilah @menabuser16 @verouys @speedymagazinewhispers @metalbaby2 @nellabear @marymun @orihime188 @nanascupid @fnl9zer @chasinghxran @crystalizia @auspicious-lilana @machipyun @cdej6 @namelesslosers

[runa-falls]

what a mess~

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader cw: smut, established relationship, superhuman stamina, overstimulation, cum EVERYWHERE, 'use a condom, it's too messy X(', 'bitch stfu i'll show you messy'..., so many sheets, reader is a pushover (bc I WOULD BE TOO) wc: 1k + a/n: i um... just take this and I'll go to a corner of a room and think ab what I've done.

---

Having a superhero boyfriend is great – he gets you discounts at your favorite restaurant, he easily carries you home after a long night out at the bar, he saves you from getting kidnapped by his arch-nemesis for the fourth time this month (though isn’t that his fault in the first place?....) – but there are aspects of the relationship that you didn’t consider before. 

Apparently, with great power comes great… stamina. 

To put it plainly, Miguel’s (sex) drive is unheard of. You better clear out your schedule for the whole day because he can go for hours. And most nights, you can barely sit up after he fucks you.

You like that – or you did when you could afford to be sore every other day. You like how enthusiastic he is – how much he wants you. It makes you feel desired and beautiful. But it’s not just the intense workout you risk every time you steal a kiss that turns into more – it’s the number of times he can…finish. 

Every time you think he’s finished, he’s still hard and thrusting into you, overstimulating you until black stars start to fill your vision. 

It’s a mess in the end. 

You lay on top of him, filled to the brim, dripping all over his lower stomach and onto the sheets under you, breathing so hard you’re sure you’d rupture a lung. You feel like you’re barely conscious on the bed as your heart beats harshly against your chest from how hard you came. Hair sticks graciously against your forehead as your eyes struggle to stay open to see Miguel, who gently pulls out and watches his mess spill out of you. 

He whispers sweetly of how well you took him, how pretty you look all fucked out, how much he loves that he can turn you into a blabbering – mindless whore. Being the possessive man he is, he attempts to shove it back in, using two of his thick fingers to gather and push his essence back into you, hoping that, against all odds, it’ll take, despite the fact you take your birth control religiously. 

Of course, when he sees how your thighs shake and squeeze around his hand from the overstimulation of him fucking his fingers into you after you just came, he immediately gets hard again. 

He gazes down at you with apologetic red eyes as he bites his lip under a sharp fang, “I can’t help it when I see how wrecked your pussy is for me…”

It’s nice – it’s hot – but you end up having to change the sheets 5 times a week. He’s insatiable… well ok, you’re just as thirsty as your boyfriend, but the amount of maintenance you need for each session is ridiculous. You basically gave up washing your sheets after every fuck, and instead ordered several identical sets of bedding to make the process easier. 

Many sheets have been destroyed beyond recognition. Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but the amount of cum-stained sheets in your linen closet is insane. How are you supposed to hide this if you were to have guests over?!

After staring at the layers of folded-up and stained sheets that you’ve accumulated over the past few months, you decided you were going to do something about it. 

You can still have fun without the mess.

…right?

—

Miguel has you on your back at the end of the bed with your legs resting on the crook of his arms. You have on a cute little nightgown – white to symbolize purity (though what you were about to do was far from pure) – with nothing underneath. It was one you bought just to get a reaction out of him – and now you got it. 

He holds you open for him, regarding you like he would a special gift – though there’s nothing to really celebrate (unless you count his raging erection). He breathes harshly against your neck as he paints your skin with kisses and nips. You’re nearly folded in half with how closely he’s pushed against you, but you can barely recognize the mere tinge of soreness in your legs with how fluidly pleasure seems to travel from his lips down to the apex of your thighs. 

Miguel O’Hara, the strong, independent Spider-Man, is truly a mess in front of you. His once neatly ironed tie now hangs loosely around his neck, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, and his hair a tangle of unruly curls. His fingers, now caressing your body, are already dripping in your slick from when he forced a couple of orgasms out of you right when he got home. 

You find a sense of satisfaction in the disheveled state of his appearance, relishing how his once meticulously groomed demeanor has been disrupted – how his eyes transition from their usual chocolatey brown to a striking blood red, how his lips swell sweetly with lust. 

Miguel groans deeply as he grinds his clothed hardness against your wet center, “Mm…I want you so bad.” He unbuttons and unzips his pants, sighing as he releases himself from the tight fabric. No underwear? 

“Wait, Mig." he pauses his movements, waiting patiently – prepared to do whatever you want. “Get a condom.” …Except maybe…that. 

“Condom?” He could barely hold back his sneer, but you could faintly hear the growl vibrate from his chest. 

“Mhm, we’ve been too messy lately. We can’t just keep buying new sheets every week!”

“...We could…”

“Miguel!”

“I don’t see what the problem is… this is just how it is.”

“But it’s too messy.”

“I thought my baby likes to be filled up…”

“...I-I mean, I do sometimes, but –”

“Don’t you like it when I get you all messy?” He leans in close, distracting you from denying him. “Have you dripping with me for days?” He presses closer, and you can feel his hard cock slip against your wetness, dragging against your sensitive clit. 

“Miguel.” You whine.

It’s so hard to deny this man.

“How about we just try to be more careful, hm?” He presses against you gently, nearly entering you, but not quite. It feels so good, the tip of him barely stretching past your entrance. 

“Okay…j-just this once though…” You surrender with a whisper.

[joycrispy]

I wanna talk about The Angel Who Would Be Crowley.

Because I had a certain set of expectations, which got thoroughly trashed in the first five minutes of S2, and my genuine response is, "Oh, fuck, yup. You're right. That's WAY better."

Looking around at GO fandom, I'm not alone in this. So let's talk about it.

Basically, a lot of people (myself included) believed that he was a high-ranking angel, and therefore as chilly and remote as every other powerful angel we'd seen at that point. We pictured Crowley-To-Be as long-haired, regal and imposing --and the fanart at the time reflected this. I'd link some if Tumblr didn't hate links.

Something like this:

We were collectively drawing on a few things --mostly, Crawly's appearance and general bearing in the Biblical scenes of S1--

--But also scattered hints of his importance, backed up by conspicuous absences in Heaven and a few profound displays of power. That's all better covered elsewhere, so I won't reiterate the arguments here. All I'm saying is: I think our headcanons were justified.

But it turns out he was this:

!!!

With his curly little--!!

And his neat white--!!

IT TURNS OUT, he was an angel who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty. Furfur, who knew him before the Fall, says:

"You used to jump on me back, little monkey in a waistcoat..."

(The use of a diminutive there, 'little'...oh, that fascinates me.)

In a pretty huge subversion of expectations, we're given these glimpses of an angel who was sweet, and joyful, and heart-meltingly silly.

In sum...an innocent.

(Perhaps innocent to a troubling degree.

We see how he troubles Aziraphale, during their first conversation. He starts looking around and behind them, checking to make sure that no one can HEAR the blithe and reckless things coming out of this angel's mouth. This angel who talks like he's never been reprimanded in his life; like it's never occurred to him that anyone would want to hurt him.

Before the Beginning, Aziraphale understood Heaven better than he did. The danger is plainly occurring to Aziraphale.)

So now, we the viewers are in on a cruel joke that Aziraphale has known all along, which is that this --THIS-- is the angel who--

*checks notes*

--did a million lightyear freestyle dive into a boiling pool of sulphur. For asking questions.

...Imagine you are Aziraphale, and everything inside you wants to believe Heaven are the Good Guys, and God is Good and Everything She does is capital-R Right...and now try to reconcile that. Keep trying. I don't think he ever totally managed it in 6000 years.

All this gets further complicated when we learn that, despite all of the above, we were still right. That sweet excitable babby up there?

He WAS a powerful and high-ranking angel.

That much is explicitly confirmed, with significant evidence that he could have been among the mightiest of archangels...

...Who apparently accosted his fellow angels for piggyback rides. And was remembered millennia later by those (now fallen) angels as something 'little.'

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

Hell, Aziraphale has known to be wary of the archangels (and the judgements of Heaven in general) since before the Fall even happened. He chooses to believe they are Good; he can't fool himself into thinking they are Safe.

Yet he's absolutely certain that Crowley won't hurt Job's children. Enough to stand in a burning building and say to them, "I can't save you, but don't be afraid. I won't need to."

And what reason does he give?

("I know you."

"You do not know me."

"I know the angel you were.")

What does that tell us about who he was? Is?

("The angel you knew is not me."

But how is Aziraphale supposed to believe that, when he can see him all the time?)

tl;dr --yes, this is better. I love the tragedy of it.

'Innocence died screaming' and all that.

[chilling-seavey]

The Patriarchy (gr63)

↳ A/N So @sadiethekoala encouraged my curiosity of dabbling in writing/posting my 'darker' kink content so...here you go 🫣

↳ Summary: Of course George is a feminist; but who is he to deny you when sometimes you just want him to treat you like his property.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 3.5k

↳ Warnings: 18+, NSFW, light drinking, patriarchy kink (major fetishization of traditional gender roles), arguably free use kink, breeding kink, heavy degradation and dumbification and objectification (name calling like 'slut', 'whore', and 'bitch'), spanking, spitting, hair pulling, restraining, dirty talk, choking, rough unprotected sex, aftercare is NOT written in this fic but take it that it will be IMPLIED (aftercare is a MUST after intense and degrading scenes like this!!!).

George had been proud of you for as long as he had known you. You were a hardworking and determined woman and he loved seeing you pursue your career so strongly and passionately. It was honestly one of the things George admired you most for. You weren’t someone to take anyone’s shit and certainly not when it came at the expense of your beliefs, passions, or those you cared for the most.

In a man’s world, you pushed the boundaries of what a woman was capable of and George, of course, backed you every step of the way. Especially while so invested in a vastly male-dominate sport such as Formula 1, George only grew more and more aware of the prejudices and disparities that were hidden between the lines. And, in such, he always made himself publicly viable as someone who believed in equality without bounds.

Behind closed doors, that very same belief lingered. In your Monaco apartment, you equally divided up household chores and tasks, shared the responsibility of cooking, and came to mutually agreeable terms that made your life together that much more enjoyable and refreshing. A relationship built on trust and equality, it was the balance of give and take that left you both as strong as ever. 

What came with the ease of your relationship was open communication and, with that, a bit of a pre-disclosed agreement from months before that George had figured you had forgotten about. It was something said haphazardly one night when the two of you were wine drunk and cuddled up on the living room floor; a little secret you had been harbouring, whispering to him plainly about your deepest desires. Your smiling confession was something so unlike your natural persona that for a moment he had thought you were entirely joking. But you were serious, pleading with him that if he ever saw you donning that vintage blue gingham dress, that he had your unspoken consent to push the hazy boundaries into a roleplay vastly different from what you were familiar with sharing together. George agreed to your terms and thought it wouldn’t ever really come to fruition. 

It was a joke, he was sure of it. No fiercely independent woman such as yourself ever wanted to be treated under such taboo, out-dated, and almost cruel mid-century gender roles. Right? 

Until on Thursday night when George came home from media duties just about the time you had finished making dinner, finding you donning that sweet 1950s gingham dress and matching white kitten heels. It was the last thing he had expected to come home to, falling to a surprised stop as he entered the apartment to the smell of a delicious meal waiting for him. 

You smiled over at him in the foyer and hurried over to take his jacket off of him, “Welcome home, love.” 

“Hello.” George said slowly, letting his arms slip out of his collared jacket as you carefully pulled it from his shoulders. His suspicions were simmering as you leaned in to kiss him once before hanging up his jacket in the front closet. He asked a tentative, “What’s all this for?”

You tucked your hand in the crook of his arm and led him over to the table that was neatly made up with two place settings, “I figured you had a long day at work and wanted dinner as soon as you got home.”

“Yeah...that’s nice.” George said, testing the waters a little. 

He sat down and watched you walk over to the bar cart to pour him a drink, topping it with a few ice cubes before bringing it back over to him. You set the short glass in his hand and left a kiss to his cheek and headed into the kitchen again, your heels clicking over the hardwood floors. George watched you silently, sipping his drink and leaning back in his chair with his left hand drumming a slow quiet pattern on the mahogany table top as you bustled around the kitchen to finish up. 

“You look pretty today, love.” he tried. 

You smiled to yourself as you plated the food, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t far out of George’s mind that he wanted to marry you one day - although he always told himself that was for years in the future - but there was something about the stereotypical domesticity of it all that seemed to...enlist a change in him. At first hesitant about carrying through with your agreement, he suddenly felt a flutter of something curious deep within him, wanting to try this out for himself. And if you wanted it? Who was he to deny you that? 

“Was work alright?” you asked sweetly as you brought over two filled plates and set them on the table. 

“Yeah, it was hectic.” George set his half finished drink down on the table and pushed his chair back a little to lead you onto his lap. You obeyed, perching yourself on his thighs, staring at him quietly as he eyed you up. His blue eyed gaze traced the side of your dress up to the clothed curves of your breasts and then across your collarbones, your neck, and jaw, finishing at your rouge painted lips. He swiped the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip and pulled it down gently to watch it fall back into place, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” you replied, your voice a sweet drawling purr as your arm draped around his shoulders, manicured fingers toying with the seam of his Mercedes team shirt. 

Your soft words made a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth and he set his hand down on your thighs right at the hem of your dress, patting your lap gently before he gave a gentle squeeze to your flesh. 

He pressed you on with a cheeky, “How much?” 

“Way too much,” you answered, an angelic smile on your lips, knowing exactly what you were doing when you punctuated your reply with a, “sir.”

That word always snapped something in him, digging right down to his raw desire to just have you at that exact moment the three letters fell from your sweet lips. 

The sudden speed at which he moved made you gasp, forced off his lap as he stood. He pushed you right up against the edge of the table until the edge was pressing right against your pelvis and your hands fell flat against the wood surface. The filled plate rested, steaming, between the frame of your hands. 

“Is that so?”

He was right behind you, his body pressed up close and his breath right against your ear. His hands slid down your straight arms before resting right on top of yours, holding them down on the table. 

“Is that why you wore this pretty little dress for me?” 

“Yessir.” you breathed shakily, your heart already racing with anticipation. Your home cooked meal sat warm on the plates in front of you but any appetite for real food was gone; you were too busy craving him instead. 

“Yeah?” George growled against your ear as he pulled up the bottom of your dress, having to take a few handfuls to successfully bunch up the dress and the voluminous petticoat underneath. When he had enough of the fabric in one large hand, he used his other to slap down hard against your ass.

The sharp spank echoed through the apartment and you gasped forward at the impact. It wasn’t often that George got rough with you - he was more the sweet and gentle type within his passion - so the rare times the more dominant side of him came to the surface, you capitalized on it. Especially now, when something much more intense seemed to have come over him, like he was really ready to go all out to give you exactly what you had confessed to him that you wanted. 

You withered as he pushed his hand around your waist and under the bunched up fabric of your dress to slide over the front of your panties, pressing his whole hand down on your pussy, the heel of his palm right over your clothed clit. His lips met your neck in sloppy kisses, moaning lowly as he felt how warm you were under his touch while he sucked hickeys into your skin and breathed you in completely.

“Baby…” you whispered, “What about dinner?”

“I don’t want it.” he reached around you and shoved both plates to the side and out of the way, clattering the cutlery and a fork fell to the floor in his bit of an aggressive rush. He then bent you forward over the table and spanked you hard again, “I want my pretty little housewife to take my whole fucking dick while I fuck her like my own personal little whore.” 

You could have sworn you could have dripped down your thighs at his demand, biting back your eager grin as he held your head down against the table by a tight grip at the back of your neck. He spanked you again with his other hand, once, twice, a third time. A pink handprint was undoubtedly appearing on the curve of your bum where he hit you. Unperturbed, George just linked his finger in the thin fabric of your panties to pull the waistband higher, giving him a full canvas of your perfect ass for him to slap his palm down harder. 

“Please.” you squeaked out. 

“Please what, my love?” George pressed, groping your ass before spanking you hard again. “I hope you’re not trying to tell me what to do right now. You know who’s in charge here.”

You let out a little whimper in silent submission, your cheek still pressed to the table top from where he held you down. George then linked his finger around the lace of your underwear and followed the fabric right down between your legs where you were already soaking through the material. 

“Really missed me, huh, sweetheart?” George taunted, gently pinching your clit to pull a sharp gasp from your throat. Then, without warning, he grabbed the thin material of your panties in his fist and tore it right off you. 

The slight sting of the ripping fabric over your hips and the rough grunt that left his chest with his strength had your teeth sinking tightly into your bottom lip through a small whimper, hands still pressed flatly to the table top on either side of your head. 

“Fucking hell,” George chuckled darkly, lifting up the puffed skirt of your knee length dress again to keep it bunched up around your middle, “you look so fucking pretty like this.”

“Please, sir.” you breathed, pushing your hips back on him until the front of his slacks were pressed up snugly between your legs. 

You could feel the bulge in his pants and how it was pulling the fabric taut. It made your mouth water, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip again with a small hum, desperately grinding back on him to somehow get him right where you needed him most. 

“God, you’re such a pathetic little slut, my love.” George tisked, slapping his hand down on your ass one more time before shoving you forward again, trapping you entirely between his body and the edge of the table. He kept you there firmly while he worked to unpin his belt, the faint clinks of the metal buckle and what it implied had your pussy fluttering in anticipation. With his belt undone and slacks unzipped, his large hands groped your hips and followed your desperate motions back against him, grinding against you a little more with your feet planted securely on the floor in your kitten heels. 

George didn’t even strip completely, he just pushed his pants and boxers down to the tops of his thighs just enough to pull his dick out and then he was shuffling up close behind you. 

“Please, fuck me. I need you so bad, sir.” you whined. 

“Listen to you, sweetheart; calling me ‘sir’ like a submissive little bitch.” his voice was low and gravely, full of lust. 

He took his hand from the back of your neck to, instead, wrap around your throat to pull your chest off the table. This way, he could lean forward and brush his lips over the shell of your ear while his dick pressed teasingly up against your entrance, feeling the way your body shivered at his words. 

“Yeah, you like me calling you my little bitch?” George purred right into your ear, his hot breath falling against your neck and raising the hairs on your arms while his fingers squeezed the sides of your throat, “Wearing this pretty little dress...making a shitty little meal to get my attention...just asking for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Yeah.” was all you could whine out, lashes fluttering. 

“Yeah?” he mocked you tauntingly, barely giving you a moment's warning as he pushed inside you strongly. 

Your mouth fell open in silence as he stretched you out, letting out a soft little squeak at the pressure he spread across your hips. Your hand squeaked across the wood table as you tried to find something to hold onto, ending up reaching up to grasp his wrist.

“Fuck.” George huffed stiffly, his hips flexing against yours, tightening his hand around your throat. “Love this tight fucking cunt.” 

He started rocking into you slowly at first, savouring each stroke as if to feel you all, to give you every inch, and his slow breaths fell against the side of your face warmly. 

“So good.” you whimpered, pushing back on him in steady time, “You’re so big, sir.”

“Yeah, you love my cock, don’t you, sweetheart?” he spoke lowly, “Been waiting for this all day, huh? Wanting me to come home from work and fuck you full?”

“Yeah. Please.” you cried, pressing your palms down harder on the table top as he sped up. 

He shoved into you a bit harder, grunting hard against your ear until all you could focus on was him; the stretch he pushed through your body, the smell of the light alcohol on his breath and his familiar cologne that still dotted his shirt from that mornings application, and his hand around your throat. 

“Oohh, God.” you squeaked out, mouth falling open as he took you over the side of the dining room table. 

“Good girl.” George said lowly against your ear, his salacious words a lustful chant, “My good little housewife...good little fucking whore. So pretty and submissive for me. Gonna let me fuck you how I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir, please, please, please-” you begged shakily. 

“Yeah?” George pulled your head back by your throat, finger and thumb pressed right up under your jaw to hold you tightly. 

Your head was almost bent entirely back to look at him upside down, your mouth agape as a flurry of pleasured sounds tumbled from your lips uncontrollably. He fucked the sounds from your throat with practiced ease, the dishes on the table rattling with every firm ram into your body as he took you how he pleased. 

You squealed loudly, hands rolling into fists on the table top as tears pricked your eyes through the painful pleasure he expertly pushed through your whole body. He held you in place with one hand fisting your dress and petticoat over the small of your back and the other squeezing your throat until your mouth was falling open through little gasps. 

“That’s it.” George groaned, pulling your head back towards his shoulder before he was pinching your cheeks between thumb and forefinger to spit loudly in your mouth. “Want me to put a fucking baby in you, sweetheart?” 

The words were unexpected but the way your body clenched so hard around him that he almost lost it right then and there was his answer enough. He shoved two fingers in your mouth and picked up speed a little more, groaning hungrily against your cheek

“Yeah, you do. Gonna get you nice and full and pregnant. My pretty little wife’s gonna look so good knocked up.” 

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, please-” you mumbled through his fingers, words barely sensible as you drooled down his palm involuntarily as he kept you gagged. 

“Oh my God, baby.” George gripped you tighter, fucking you harder and faster until the table was nearly scraping across the hardwood floor with every thrust. “Gonna make a fucking mess of you...cum so fucking deep inside you. Gonna knock you up like my good little bitch.” 

“I need it! Fill me up, baby, please!” you cried messily, clawing at the table as your pussy pulsed strongly around him. 

“You need it?” he cooed, “You need me to cum inside you? To make you a mommy? Hm?”

All you could do was stumble out a chant of, “Yeah, yeah, yeah-” 

In one swift movement, George pulled his fingers from your mouth and tangled his hand in your hair to shove you down against the table again. You caught yourself on your forearms with a squealing gasp, sliding forward under his controlling hand until your chest was flat to the table and your fingers could wrap around the opposite edge of the table. The slick lewd sound of your skin colliding filled your modest apartment as he ravished you from behind, harmonized so prettily with your shared breaths and moans. 

“I want you to cum for me, sweetheart.” George spoke through his teeth as he held you face down on the table, “Show me how good I can make my pretty little wife feel while I pump her full of cum.” 

His other hand slipped around your waist under the plethora of fabric from your dress without faltering the firm thrusts he gave you. His fingers were easily coated in your slick wetness as they blindly found their way between your legs, making it almost effortless for him to rub easy circles over your clit. You fell perfectly silent at his added touch, gripping onto the edge of the table even tighter as you felt that indescribable warmth coiling strongly within you. In seconds, your eyes were nearly rolling back and your toes were curling in your heels as you came around him, gasping and panting and moaning as your body clutched right down on him like a vice. 

“That’s it!” George groaned loudly, shoving into you faster and more desperately to help you draw out your orgasm, “That’s fucking it, baby. I’m gonna put so many babies in you…show off that you’re mine. My perfect little cockslut housewife. Begging to be fucking knocked up. Shit-” 

Oversensitive from your orgasm, his aggression had you whining loudly, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. He wasn’t letting up, taking exactly what he wanted from you, just how you had begged him to all those weeks ago in your tipsy confession. Your eyes were screwed shut with pleasure that bordered on the precipice of pain, unable to control the way you cried out until your voice echoed through the apartment. George slapped his hand over your mouth.

“Take it.” he ordered through his teeth against your ear, “You’re gonna take my whole fucking load until you’re dripping like a pathetic little bitch.” 

You whined into his warm palm and felt him twitch inside you as your muscles pulsed around his thick length. 

“Fucking...take it.” 

George came hard, bucking into you sloppily through loud moans and grunts. His eyes scrunched closed through it, fingers pressing you harder into the tabletop as he shot thick warm spurts deep inside you. You could only grab onto his arm as he filled you up, withering behind the erotic feeling of him claiming you completely. His moans were heavenly and you nearly came a second time at the overwhelm of it all and his hand that was wrapped around the back of your neck only tightened as he finished. 

He let you go after a second and you pushed yourself up from the table, your arms straight and hands flat as you glanced back at him over your shoulder. George’s lips grazed your jaw and he left a few lazy kisses over your skin as you both took a moment to catch your breaths, lingering in the post-orgam bliss together for a moment longer. His hands ran down your sides warmly and you let out a shaky sigh. 

George then reached a hand up to gently tilt your chin towards him with a soft, “Come here.”

You kissed him sweetly, sharing lingering kisses with his dick still pressed up nice and deep inside you. After a few moments, he leaned back to look at your face and he gave your hand a squeeze before shifting back from you and pulled out slowly. Your body ached as he left you empty but his fingers pressed themselves between your legs instead. 

He could feel your heartbeat right there, not to mention how soaked you were, dripping his cum out and onto his fingers, hidden under the skirt of your dress as it fell back down around your thighs. George left a little kiss to your shoulder when he finally pulled back and he gave your bum a little pat before he was zipping up his pants again, 

“Order us a pizza, sweetheart. Dinner got cold.” 

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[hamiltonaf]

Current Boyfriend | Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Female Reader

Word Count: 921

Warnings: None just fluff

A/N: Hiii lovelies ! I’m back from my 6 month hiatus. Saw this trend on TikTok and thought about writing it, apologies if my writing is shabby.. its been a hot minute. Hoping to get back into writing again soon. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy .xx

My week is never complete if I didn’t complete my set goals and more especially, if I didn’t prank Lando. Another week, another trend on TikTok of girlfriends pranking their boyfriends. Lando may act annoyed for a few minutes after cracking he’s been pranked, but I know deep down he enjoys it because we can laugh about it later how he fell for it.

The prank today seems simple, but I know I won’t be able to keep it up for long because Lando will end it the second I start. He was in a good mood after the Miami GP, so whilst he’s on a high, this is the best time to do it.

I ‘soft launched’ the prank when he was on the simulator and I was sat beside him to keep him company. I messaged (Y/F/N) to give me a call and to go ahead with whatever I was saying. “Heyy girly” I answered. “Hey bestie ! What are you up to ?” (Y/F/N) asked. I stood up to pace the room, “Well, you know that I’m staying with my current boyfriend in Monaco. We’re having a chilled day, about to make some lunch. How about you ?” I asked. I noticed Lando’s facial expression change the second I said current boyfriend. He repeated it to himself but didn’t question me about it as I left the room to not disturb him.

After the call ended he joined me in the kitchen to feature in my ‘A day in my life’ vlog. Little does he know that this is not even going to be posted anywhere and I’m creating fake content that’s about to trigger him again.

I set up my phone and started recording. “Hi guys ! It’s (Y/N) and welcome to a day in my life. The day started off with my current boyfriend on the sim and-“ he cut me off. “Wait, what did you say ? Current boyfriend ?” He asked as he stepped into frame. “Yeah, anyway, now we’re about to have lunch. Joining me today is my current boyfriend, Lando” I smiled as I motioned to him. He bit his lip and lightly laughed to himself. “How many other boyfriends do you have ?” He asked as he stared at me.

“Obviously it’s just you. I’m trying to explain it to them so that’s why you’re my current boyfriend” I gaslit him. “Okay” he said plainly. “So my girlfriend at the moment is going to be my sous-chef today” he faked a smile. Oh so he wants to play.

I couldn’t give him a reaction so I just pressed my lips together before taking over. “Anyway, so we’re making an aglio olio pasta today. Whilst we wait for our spaghetti to cook, my current boyfriend will be answering some questions” I side eyed him. “How many more times do you have to refer to me as your current boyfriend. I think they get it” Someone is upset. “Oh I’m done” I said casually. He sighed in relief. “Okay so first question is what does my current boyfriend get up to on a weekend off” I stifled a laugh. He leaned towards the counter whilst keeping eye contact.

“What ?” I half laughed. “Say that one more time” he dared. “Why ? What are you gonna do ?” I asked as I stepped closer. “I’ll get a new girlfriend tomorrow” he smirked. “Oh is that how it is now. You can’t handle a prank so you threaten to get a new girlfriend” I raised a brow. I couldn’t contain myself, his reaction was not part of the script. “I can’t handle a prank ? More like you can’t..who’s the one smiling” he grinned. I rolled my eyes and distracted myself by straining the spaghetti. “I think you fail to realise our for you page is almost the same. Babe, you think I wouldn’t see that prank ?” He followed behind me. “Aww is someone upset” he cooed as he snaked his arms around my waist.

I tried to keep up the bit, but his arms wrapping around my waist made my heart do that annoying little flip it always does when he’s close. I could feel him smiling against my shoulder. “You know I’m your only boyfriend, right?” he said softly, his voice lower now — no longer playing for the camera.

I turned around to face him, arms still around each other. “Of course. You think I’d put this much effort into pranking just anyone?” I teased.

He laughed gently, but then his expression softened. “You could call me your past, current, and future boyfriend, and I’d still be the luckiest guy alive.” That caught me off guard. I blinked up at him, smile fading into something realer — warmer. “That’s... kinda smooth,” I said quietly.

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and gave that soft grin that always makes everything else disappear. “I’m serious. You make life fun. Even when you’re annoying me on purpose.”

“I annoy you out of love,” I whispered with a grin.

“And I love every second of it,” he whispered back, then kissed me — slow and sweet, like we weren’t in the middle of a half-cooked pasta vlog.

I pulled back just enough to look at him. “So… you’re not actually getting a new girlfriend tomorrow?” I asked, playing with his shirt collar.

He smirked. “Nah. I’m too busy being hopelessly in love with this one.” And just like that, the prank was over — and my heart was absolutely, undeniably full.

[luveline]

could I please request a remus x reader that isn’t used to affection and cries at being called a pet name <3

—Remus calls you lovely, so you cry in his back garden. fem

You hold your hands out to the fire pit, relieved when heat kisses your palms and your arms to the elbow. Summer nights are supposed to be warm. Not in Wales. 

The decking under you groans as multiple pairs of feet cross it. Someone steps off by your legs and moves further into the garden. Solar lights illuminate the space and a battery powered lantern lights the patio table where Sirius hosts his championship of Speed. 

A pair of shoes stop by your legs. They step down and a body sits next to you tightly, thigh to thigh, no want for space. “Hey,” Remus says. “Are you cold?” 

“Not really.” 

“Did you bring a jumper?” 

“I’m not cold,” you laugh. “Of course I did, though, it’s upstairs.” 

Staying with Remus and his friends has been fun so far. The idea of spending a few weeks of your summer between your second and last year of University at Remus’ house had felt daunting when they suggested it, but you’ve had nothing but fun so far. It’s nice to have friends. Nicer to have patient and gentle ones.

“You can have my jacket? Wear it over your shoulders like a cape.” 

“No, thank you. Really.” 

Remus takes your arm. Gives it a quick rub with his thumb until his hand moves down to yours. He feels your fingers, his palm soft, before he returns to his personal space. “You’re not too cold. I’ll ask James to put another log on in a bit.” 

“All the food is keeping me warm.” 

He grins. Brown eyes, brown hair, lashes of firelight on his cheek. “Are you having a good time?” 

“Of course I am.” 

“Yeah? Will you tell me if you’re not? I know it’s weird staying somewhere else. Even if it’s just that the bathroom makes you miserable or you need extra socks.” 

“It’s like I’m on holiday with all my best friends,” you say lightly. 

“You are on holiday with your best friends. I’m not, ‘cos it’s my house, but this is the definition of a holiday.” 

“Thank you, for inviting me.” 

Remus puts his arm around your shoulder, and he kisses your temple with a gentle smile. “I wanted you here, lovely. We all want you here.” 

His arm falls away. It’s just amicable affection, you know that, but it’s more than anyone’s given you in a long time. You’re surprised he’d want to; you must feel a deep, deep tenderness for someone to call them lovely like it’s their only name, and to kiss their forehead with a smile already in place. 

You pull the inside of your bottom lip between your teeth. It’s precious, to be wanted. To have someone as special as Remus show you what you mean to him plainly. You’ve had a great day filled with nice food and good friends, and now you’re warming your knees by the flickering fire pit in the Welsh countryside, stars emerging above you, the moon a pinky nail by the mountains. 

You tip your face into your hands. 

Remus brings a hand to your back and draws a shape without comment, but his hand flattens, and he feels it loud and clear when you sniffle. “Dove?” he asks softly. 

You raise your head quickly, sniffling again as you wipe hot tears off of the hills of your cheeks. “Sorry.” 

“Did I upset you?” he asks, sitting up straight. “I’m so sorry, what did I say?” 

“No, no, it’s nice. It’s nice, you’re always so nice to me.” 

“You’re upset because I’m nice?” 

“I’m just not used to it, that’s all.” 

“Not used to it,” he says, frowning. His brows set. He’s nearly stony.

“You’re the nicest friend I’ve ever had.” 

“Can I give you a hug?” 

You nod, shivering as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side, no room left between you. His cheek smushes into the side of your brow, a heat like the fire warming you, the two of you listening to the sound of wood embers popping. 

He makes a sound somewhere in his chest and pulls you closer again. Impossibly, he shifts, and his second arm comes around to turn his side hug into a proper one, as though he’s changed his mind about it just a few seconds in. You turn into him without apprehension. 

“You’re not used to it. Do you like it?” he murmurs. 

You press your face to his jaw and neck. Your arms act of their own accord, tightening behind his back. 

“You should be used to it, someone like you. You should be so used to it that it bounces straight back off you again.” He rubs your shoulder. His fingers work into a tight muscle gently. “You lied about being cold, I can feel it now. Your back is freezing.” 

You raise up off of the decking to hug him harder. He’s all for it. 

“We’ll teach you exactly how to be part of the world’s touchiest friend group,” he promises. “You're already a good hugger.” 

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae! I hope your spring has started off well. Idk if this will make sense, but based off recent circumstances in my life I was just kind of thinking about an idea.. what about a reader with a chronic illness and no one outside in her circle of friends really “gets it” and all she goes through bc they’re not home with her and don’t see her everyday (the flares of pain and weakness and fatigue, the medications, self infections, infusions, appointments, tests, not being able to work or do things for yourself or hang out when you want or live a “normal life” and all the fomo) and they don’t see how hard it is both physically and emotionally. And it really gets to her but the guys do see that and they’re supportive and encouraging when she’s having a hard time with it all. Maybe it’s an especially bad week and things build up and they can tell she’s not doing good and how they handle it. It could be regularly poly!marauders or emt!marauders with their medical pov.

Thank you for requesting angel! Hope your spring/sprummer is going well too <33

cw: reader has unspecified chronic illness that flares painfully, discompassionate/ignorant interactions regarding this, joking about murder

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 933 words

Pain is a lonely thing. This is a truth you know so well you think its flavor is in your bone marrow. Take Remus—you know he gets terrible headaches. You can know this, you can watch his face tighten with the agony of them, you could spend an entire afternoon listening to him describe them to you, but you will still never be able to approximate what they feel like for him. He’s isolated in his experience, and so are you. On your worse days, no one can truly understand you. 

But your boyfriends come the closest. 

Your head is in Remus’ lap on your bed, while Sirius lays next to you and James runs a bath in the next room. On the bedside table is a half gone glass of water, downed with the pills you’d needed upon waking this morning. The boys aren’t making a big deal of it all; it’s as much a part of their day as it is yours. 

“What’s happening in your head?” Sirius asks, prompting you to glance up from your phone. 

“Hm?”

He pouts, drawing a short line over your eyebrow with his thumb. “You’re making this awful pouting face.” 

“Am I really?” 

“No.” He cracks a smile. “I can just tell something’s off. Penny for your thoughts?” 

Wordlessly, you pass him your phone. Remus leans over, and Sirius tilts the screen so they can both read the texts you’ve been exchanging with your coworkers. Remus finishes first. He sits back with a disapproving humming noise just before Sirius sets down your phone. 

“Right,” Sirius says, cooly, “so, shall we kill them?” 

You push air out through your nose. “No.” 

“I’d be very generous. Even let them pick between drowning and assassination.” 

“If you were drowning them,” muses Remus, “would it not still be assassination?” 

“Who are we drowning?” James asks as he comes in, wiping his wet hands on his legs. 

Sirius picks up your phone again, reading off, “Stewart and Liz.” 

“Excellent.” James gives his thighs a decisive pat as he sits by your feet on the bed. “What’d they do?” 

“They’re upset she’s not going to the cinema anymore,” Remus explains. 

James’ eyebrows flick up. “Right. I mean, yes, we’re all upset when she’s not with us.” You turn your face into Remus’ thigh bashfully. Sirius snickers, teasing you with a finger under your chin. “But surely they’ll get on just like the rest of us, won’t they?” 

“They don’t seem to grasp why she can’t go,” says Remus, his voice gentling some. He’s hit the nail on the head, and yet it’s a softening of the truth. Your coworkers—the ones around your age, who’ve decided together that you’d like to be friends and have set up a group chat in pursuit of this—have gone from teasing you about your rainchecks to growing plainly frustrated with them. They get that you have bad days with your illness, but they don’t get it. They think you’re avoiding them. When you texted a few minutes ago that you couldn’t make it to the cinema later today, Liz had asked, If you’re going to sit around at home, can’t you sit around in the cinema instead? It’s not like it takes that much more. and Stewart had said, Guess this means you’ll be wanting me to take your shift tomorrow, right? 

“I’m in favor of killing them, by the way,” Remus says offhandedly. 

That surprises a real laugh out of you. It’s short, and the way your shoulders hitch hurts, but it nevertheless makes you feel a tiny bit better. 

Sirius presses a careful kiss beside your eye. “S’exactly what I’m saying,” he mumbles happily. 

“I do wish I could go,” you sigh. 

“Angel,” says James, “you don’t have to justify it to us. We know.”

“You can’t control the narrative other people have in their heads.” Remus’ hand lands on the curve of your neck, warm and grounding. “You can try to explain it to them after you’re feeling better, if you want to, but if they decide not to believe you then that’s their problem.” 

Sirius makes a huff of agreement. “Bunch of fucking twats.” 

“Those are my friends,” you argue half-heartedly. 

“Not for long, they’re not.” 

“Hey.” A pillow sails through the air, missing you by a few inches but hitting Sirius right on the side of his head. James’ voice rings with triumph. “She gets to make the kill orders, shit-stirrer.” 

“I’ll stir your shit—” 

“Or,” Remus suggest peaceably, “the bathwater probably won’t stay warm forever.” 

“Oh, yeah.” James looks to you. “Do you still feel up to that, lovely?” 

You weigh things for a moment, but ultimately you nod. 

“That’s our girl.” Sirius presses a kiss between your brows as James stands. “Don’t give those twats another thought, sweetness. You’ll do better without the stress.” 

“Alright, let’s go.” James claps his hands. You take a breath, setting your hands on the mattress in preparation of lifting yourself up, but he stops you with a touch to your shoulder. “Not like that,” he says, reaching over Sirius to slip his arms beneath you. Without any more effort on your part you’re in the air, grounded by your boyfriend’s warm, firm chest. 

You try not to sound too relieved as you sigh, resting your head in the curve of his neck. 

Remus says, sounding amused, “Sweet how you thought he was going to let you walk to the bath by yourself.” “Sweet?” Sirius scoffs. “Insulting, more like. Babe, we’ve just finished discussing how everyone underestimates your bad days. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

[sunseed-fandump]

I’ve been wondering on how the bad batch would meet Moonlight cookie and Stardust Cookie and their options on them?

(I would also like to know moonlight and stardust cookie options on the bad batch as well)

In canon, Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie, and Wizard Cookie go to the City of Wizards to recruit Moonlight Cookie against the forces of Dark Enchantress Cookie.

In the Bad Batch AU, I imagine a different set of cookies are sent by PV to speak with Moonlight Cookie. (Most likely Black Raisin and Strawberry Crepe.) Meanwhile, the kids go there to try to plunder the magical secrets the city holds. The location of the City had been revealed to Wizard Cookie in a dream and he is VERY excited to see the legendary city for himself.

I imagine this arc would be very Wizard focused, specifically addressing his almost compulsive need to gain more power due to the staff. In a way, he’s following a similar path to the Wizards who built the city: their ambition seems to have been their downfall. Wizard Cookie, however, is still on that climb BEFORE the fall. There’s still time to save him from being entirely consumed by the power he fervently seeks.

Wizard would probably get into a heavy debate/argument with Blueberry Pie Cookie over this issue.

Dreams are funny things. The rules of the real world don’t apply if one doesn’t wish them to. And since the children reside in a dream controlled by Moonlight Cookie, she can very simply change some rules, even in her dormant state. Like, for example, the need for a certain cookie to remain holding a certain staff. And she wouldn’t even need to lift a finger in order to, just as a hypothetical, subconsciously twist the dream in such a way that same cookie gets separated from the staff and his group.

This wouldn’t be done with malicious intent; in fact, it would be the opposite.

During their journey through the City, the kids would come across the Labyrinth of Remembrance. It wouldn’t be a big piece of the arc, considering Sugar Glass Cookie is no longer here. But it is within the Labyrinth where Wizard gets separated from Wild Strawberry and Gingerbrave, kickstarting them having to wake Moonlight up in order to get him back. HOWEVER, this trip inside the Labyrinth will have an unintended side-effect that will come back later to haunt them:

Some of the kids’ memories get imprinted on the sugar glass. Memories that are discovered by one of the cookies sent by PV. This bit won’t come into play until much much later, but it’s something that will have consequences, nonetheless.

Meanwhile with Wizard, it is revealed the dream that told him the location of the City was Moonlight Cookie’s doing, though it was subconsciously. When the Slumbering Moon silently wished to see a “real wizard” again due to her heartache and fear of a terrible calamity, her Dream had rushed to fulfill her desire, though not entirely how she intended.

While she had not originally intended to invite Wizard and his friends here, she is still glad he came.

Another funny thing about dreams, despite how nonsensical they are, they’re also terribly honest. They lay a person’s rawest emotions and desires out plainly, as one’s subconsciousness pushes itself to the forefront in a desperate bid to be acknowledged. Wizard cannot hide anything from her because of this. She pries away the hard shell forged of hurt and bitterness that Wizard has constructed to protect himself and sees the boy for what he truly is: Afraid. A lost and scared little boy who just wants to be free. A little boy who has been taken advantage of by an evil spirit and told that only being powerful and ruthless will get him what he wants. Beyond the hurt, she sees a child who is bright and brilliant, whose zeal for magic reminds her so much of the Wizards of the distant past. It’s almost as if her dear friends were in front of her once again, in the form of this small child.

And she feels pity for him.

“Come rest. Know peace.” She gently beckons, and pulls Wizard into a soft embrace, holding him in a way nobody ever has before. “I will protect your dreams, for as long as you are here.”

Wizard is not afraid of her. Rationally, he should be, yet he can’t help but feel completely safe here. He still asks, “Why…?”

He’s rotten. He’s no good. He’s corrupted and fowl and everything he touches burns and burns and burns until all that’s left is ashes. He’s hurt others just as much as others have hurt him. He’s a vile child who is going to grow up to be a complete monster. He knows this to be true, because it’s been told to him over and over again by others. There is no going back. No hope for him. Yet here is this Goddess of Dreams welcoming him into her warm embrace despite just having met.

Why?

“Do I need a reason to comfort someone who is hurting?” she asks. “Does kindness need to be conditional?”

If this were the waking world, Wizard would hiss and curse. He’d tell her he didn’t need her pity. He’d shove her away and recoil even deeper into his shell, untrusting and hateful.

But this was a dream, a realm where one’s truest self is laid bare, so the boy cries and sinks deeper into her embrace, wanting nothing more than to be held and soothed in the way he has seen other children comforted. And Moonlight Cookie cries with him, for she sees the wicked thorns the Azure Flame Staff’s curse has buried into his soul and she knows there is nothing she can do to help him at this moment. Not without risking great damage to him, that is. And they cry together, just the two of them, in this peaceful quiet dream.

“Come rest. Know peace.” Moonlight Cookie cradles the boy close, running a hand through his hair and wiping tears from his eyes. “I will protect your dreams, for as long as you need me to.”

He lets it all spill out from him. His pain, his fear, his rage. His emotions feel raw, like reopening an infected scarred-over wound and letting the rot spill out. He tells her all the awful truths he’s learned; how the real world is a terrible place and the only way to survive is to be just as terrible. How tired he is, but how he doesn’t feel like he can stop, lest he disappoint his friends and their dream of a world where they can finally be happy crumbles apart.

In return, she whispers stories to him of when the city was alive. Of the lessons the Wizards imparted on her, and of the lessons she learned through their loss. She tells him how she regrets not being able to prevent the events that necessitated the city's mass evacuation. She warns him that those who are strong must also be gentle, and those who are powerful must remember to be kind. That is the secret to a truly happy world; the world he wishes for.

They both rest soundly until Gingerbrave and Wild Strawberry activate the Clocktower, probably with the help of the Union Emissaries. Right on time too, because Stardust Cookie arrives not too long after the kids reunite.

Wizard won’t tell the others what he talked with Moonlight Cookie about (was it even really talking if its just thoughts and memories bleeding into each other in a dreamlike haze?), but seeing the city she loves so much being destroyed…

Well, much to Gingerbrave’s and Wild Strawberry’s surprise, Wizard Cookie tells them he wants to go out of his way to save the City. Usually, they don’t try to rescue places they initially plan to wreak havoc in, but… Wizard seems really worked up about this. He seems to actually care and, well, who are they to say no?

So they help Moonlight fight off Stardust Cookie, however Wizard’s staff starts acting up. Why? Because it wants to consume Stardust’s lifeforce. It tries to compel Wizard to kill him. Imagine the power he would gain from killing such a being. All of it, just for him, all he has to do is take one cheap shot while Moonlight has Stardust distracted... But Wizard, for the very first time since obtaining the staff, does not comply.

“No.” He grips the Azure Flame Staff firmly. “Not this one.” Because he can see hope in Moonlight’s eyes. He can hear her fondness for one she considers a brother. He can’t take that away from her. Not after the kindness she had shown to him.

At first the spirit within the staff is confused, but then that quickly shifts to anger. Its own compulsive need to satiate its gluttonous appetite makes its calm mask slip. Wizard feels a tug, but he yanks it back.

“Stop!” He commands and the staff merely laughs; the sound echoes in the boy’s head, making him feel dizzy. Wizard Cookie thinks he’s in charge here? That’s cute.

Wizard feels something snaking up his arms, through his torso, clawing his throat and shooting directly into his head. And then suddenly he’s asleep again, but it’s not nearly as peaceful or comforting as it had been with Moonlight.

Much to his friends’ horror, the Staff begins to puppet Wizard’s body with the intent to kill Stardust. Gingerbrave, enraged by this, tackles the possessed Wizard Cookie and gets into a full-blown brawl with him. The minute he disarms Wizard, the possession stops and the boy’s body goes limp.

In the end, Moonlight and Stardust will reconcile. Moonlight Cookie will be asked to help the Cookie Union stand against Dark Enchantress, to which she will agree. Then she will turn to the Bad Batch. Gingerbrave is holding Wizard’s unconscious body, meanwhile Wild Strawberry has taken the Staff and is beating it against the nearest wall. Not hard enough to break it, but just hard enough to get her point across. Both children bristle when the Goddess approaches, unsure of what she plans to do. They weren’t expecting her to kneel down in order to gently brush Wizard’s hair from his sleeping face. She looks… sad.

“I can tell he means a lot to you both,” she says. “He feels the same about you…” She looks up to meet Gingerbrave’s wide eyes. “I wish there was more I could do for him. Alas, my hands are tied unless he makes the choice himself…”

Nobody is quite sure what she means, but it seems to weigh on her.

“Take good care of him.” She smiles, but there’s still so much sorrow in her eyes. Gingerbrave nods without hesitation.

And with a wave of her hand, all the mortal cookies awaken outside the City.

Even months after these events, Wizard Cookie doesn’t share what happened while he was with Moonlight Cookie. He lies and says he can’t remember after he woke up. He won’t even let the Staff pick at those memories, and much to the Staff’s frustration, there’s something protecting that part of the boy’s mind.

Wizard Cookie is still bitter toward the world. He’s still all-in on their plan to steal the Soul Jam. He’s still loyal to his friends and willing to continue his research into the dark arts.

But some nights, when the moon seems especially beautiful and the dark seems especially peaceful, as Wizard Cookie drifts off to sleep… Sometimes he feels a familiar warm embrace.

“I will protect your dreams, for as long as you need me to.”