#so light he could hold her up against a wall with one hand while the other worked her up

[fee224]

Sickest girls in town

Perfect little family

Rafe woke up to a soft knock on the door that nobody would’ve noticed if he wasn’t such a light sleeper. He rubbed his eyes, leaning up on his elbows as he watched the door creak open and two tiny shadows waddle in, the biggest one struggling to hold a tiny thing as the smaller shadow made her way for rafes side of the bed.

A small rough cough came from Elsie mays throat as she clawed at rafes arms, waiting to be picked up, which she was seconds later, and placed in between rafe and you.

“Daddy I feel sick” Lottie climbed onto the bed with her sister crawling to her mama. Rafe grumbled tiredly, pulling her up to him and swiping a hand over her forehead. “Mmshit” he whispered with his eyes still closed, wanting to fall back asleep. “Y’got a fever baby” he sighed as Lottie got comfortable beside him.

“We all do daddy” Elsie murmured from in between them all as rafe reluctantly woke up. “Yeah? You feel poorly too?”. He smiled, unbothered as Elsie climbed on top of his chest and cuddled into him.

You stirred at the whispering, and the small finger poking into your side, opening your eyes to little Sadies satisfied grin at your consciousness.

“Hey princess” you muttered, turning to rafe who had two girls cuddling close to him. You’re throat felt sore like you could barely talk, and your eyes felt exhausted, the warm blanket was oh so tempting.

“Mornin’ sweet” he sensed your awake presence without squinting an eye open.

“Mommy! We’re sick!” Elsie announced loudly from her perch on daddy’s chest. You smiled tiredly. “Yeah, think me too” you said as loud as you could manage, without your throat stinging.

“Got you all huh?” Rafe rubbed Elsie’s back soothingly as she drifted back to sleep.

“Kicking our sorry butts” you smiled, scooting closer to the poor fool looking after you for the next two days.

Next thing there was sounds coming from the kitchen of cupboards being opened and not closed. “Raccoons back” you sighed “aight im gonna go have a cigarette with the raccoon then I’ll be back Kay?” He winked to you, placing Elsie and Lottie carefully tucked under the comforter and striding out of the room in only his boxers.

You’re eyes felt like they only shut for three seconds when he came back in with bottles of milk and tea for you on a tray with a wide pupilled Barry trailing behind him in a graphic tee and sweatpants.

You sat up against the wall behind your bed, tucking Sadie under your armpit as you fed her a bottle. “The fuck you doin’ in our bedroom, get out perv” he pushed his chest back out into the hallway as Barry trunched back into the kitchen area.

“Thanks rafe” you said calmly as he gave you a gentle smile, rummaging through his drawers. There was a peaceful early morning silence as you sat up in bed, the girls beside you drinking hot milk from their bottles, watching the tv placed on top of a dresser. You listened to the shower through the thin walls.

He came back in minutes later with wet hair and clothes. You stuck your tongue out at him and he blowed you a kiss in return.

He took the best care of his girls for the rest of the day, forcing warm drinks down their throats, providing himself as a human hot water bottle, making chocolate cereals for dinner, bathing all the girls and getting them back into bed while you napped. Rubbing your back as you released dry coughs throughout the night and sitting up with you.

“Love you ray” you whispered with your eyes shut as his hands massaged your back gently, trying to send you to sleep.

“Love you y/n” he kissed the back of your neck, lifting your long hair out of his way.

- fee xxx

[not-magdi]

-it has always been you / lando Norris

Warnings: Alkohol, some weird dude

Words: 1.5k

Reading Time: 6min 25sec

A/N

Some cute friends to lovers trope cause I‘m bored :)

Hope you love it !

Y/N and Lando had been inseparable for years. Their friendship had started in the most unexpected way—a fateful encounter at a karting event when they were kids.

Y/N’s brother had been racing that day, and she had found herself sitting alone on a cold metal bench, watching the drivers zip around the track. Lando, always full of energy and curiosity, had plopped down beside her, still in his racing suit and smelling faintly of rubber and fuel.

“You look bored,” he had said with a cheeky grin.

“I’m not,” she had replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Yes, you are,” he had insisted, before launching into an animated explanation of how he was going to win the championship one day. That was the start of it all.

Over the years, they had become best friends, sharing everything from late-night texts about random thoughts to spontaneous road trips when life felt too heavy. Y/N was one of the few people who truly understood Lando’s hectic lifestyle, and in turn, Lando was her anchor in a world that sometimes felt overwhelming.

But while their friendship had always been easy and natural, Y/N had been harbouring feelings for Lando for quite some time. She’d never acted on them, fearing it would ruin the bond they had. And she was convinced Lando didn’t feel the same way. Why would he? He was charming, successful, and adored by fans worldwide.

-----

Tonight, their friends Max and Pietra had insisted on a night out. Y/N had initially resisted, claiming she was too tired, but Pietra wasn’t having it.

“Come on, Y/N,” Pietra had said, practically dragging her off the couch.

“You never go out anymore. You need this. Besides, we can all use a little fun.”

“Don’t worry,” Lando had chimed in with his usual playful smirk. “I’ll make sure you don’t embarrass yourself too much.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Y/N had shot back, rolling her eyes but secretly glad he was coming.

-----

The club was alive with energy, a pulsating mix of lights and music that seemed to electrify the room. Y/N followed Max, Pietra, and Lando through the crowd, her senses overwhelmed in the best possible way. The air was heavy with the scent of perfume, alcohol, and the faint metallic tang of sweat, but it was all part of the atmosphere.

Max was the first to hit the dance floor, his exuberance unmatched as he flailed his arms in exaggerated, dramatic moves. “This is my signature!” he shouted over the music, spinning in a circle.

Y/N burst into laughter, holding onto Pietra for balance as the latter tried to mimic his wild movements. “Max, you look ridiculous!” she called out, but her voice was nearly drowned out by the pounding bass.

“That’s the point!” he yelled back, sticking his tongue out before attempting a failed moonwalk.

Lando lingered close to Y/N, his usual cheeky grin plastered on his face. “Remind me to never let him dance at my wedding,” he joked, leaning in so she could hear him better.

“You say that like you’re not just as bad,” Y/N quipped, shooting him a playful glance.

“Excuse me,” Lando replied, feigning offence. “I have moved. You’re just not ready for them.”

“Oh, I’m ready,” she teased, her smile wide.

Lando nudged her shoulder with his, chuckling. “We’ll see about that.”

They found a spot near the edge of the dance floor, where Lando casually leaned against the wall, his eyes occasionally scanning the room. But his gaze always seemed to find its way back to Y/N. She was laughing more than usual, her face glowing in the neon light. He couldn’t help but admire how the stress of her week seemed to melt away.

“You having fun yet?” he asked, leaning down so his lips were close to her ear.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Actually, yeah,” she admitted, her shoulders relaxing as the rhythm of the music washed over her.

Pietra returned moments later, handing Y/N a cocktail in a glass rimmed with sugar. “Here, try this. It’s amazing,” she said, her excitement evident.

Y/N took a tentative sip, her lips puckering slightly at the sweetness. “Wow, that’s good.”

“See? Told you!” Pietra beamed before disappearing back into the crowd with Max.

Y/N took another sip, then another. The drink was deceptively light, the alcohol masked by the sugary flavour. Before long, Pietra was back with another, and Y/N—caught up in the excitement—didn’t hesitate to take it.

By the time she was halfway through her third drink, the room felt warmer, the lights brighter, and her laughter came easier. Everything seemed a little funnier, a little lighter as if the weight she had been carrying all week had finally lifted.

“Easy there,” Lando said when she stumbled slightly, catching her by the arm before she could lose her balance. His grip was steady, grounding.

Y/N looked up at him, her giggles bubbling over. “What? I’m fine!” she insisted, though her unsteady footing said otherwise.

“You’re having a little too much fun,” he teased, his voice warm but laced with concern.

“Isn’t that the point of tonight?” she shot back, her words slurring slightly.

Lando chuckled, his hand lingering on her arm as he guided her back to a less crowded spot. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But maybe slow down a bit?”

“Party pooper,” she mumbled, sticking her tongue out at him.

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his grin. Y/N rarely let loose like this, and while he loved seeing her happy, a part of him couldn’t shake the need to keep her safe.

As they stood off to the side, Y/N’s attention was caught by a man weaving his way through the crowd toward her. She didn’t notice the way Lando’s posture tensed, his playful demeanour replaced by a quiet vigilance.

The man stopped in front of her, his height forcing her to crane her neck to meet his gaze. “Hey there,” he said, flashing what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Y/N offered a polite smile, stepping back slightly. “Oh, I’m just here with friends.”

He didn’t take the hint. “Well, lucky for me I found you. Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks,” she replied, her voice tight. She glanced at Lando, who was already stepping closer.

The man leaned in, his tone dropping. “Aw, come on. Just one.”

Before Y/N could respond, Lando was at her side, his arm slipping around her waist with practised ease. The gesture was protective but natural as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Hey, babe,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Everything okay?”

Y/N looked up at him, her relief palpable. “Yeah,” she murmured, leaning into his side.

The man’s expression shifted, annoyance flickering across his face. “Didn’t realize she was taken,” he muttered, backing off with a forced smile.

“Yeah, she is,” Lando said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As the man disappeared into the crowd, Y/N exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she said, looking up at Lando with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his hand lingering on her waist for a moment longer before letting go. “Let’s get some air.”

-----

Outside, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the heat of the club. Y/N shivered slightly, and without a word, Lando shrugged off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders.

“Lando, you’ll freeze,” she protested, though she made no move to take it off.

“I’ll survive,” he said with a small smile. “Besides, you need it more than I do.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the distant hum of the city filling the air. Y/N clutched his jacket, her mind replaying the scene from the club.

“When you said you were my boyfriend…” she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It… it made me feel something. Something good.”

Lando turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her cheeks flushing. “I know you were just pretending, but… I’ve thought about it before. You and me.”

He stepped closer, his heart pounding. “You have?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “For a while now. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

Lando reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. “Y/N,” he said softly. “I’ve liked you for so long, but I was afraid I’d ruin what we have.”

“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” she whispered, meeting his gaze.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the world around them fading away. Then, slowly, Lando leaned in, giving her every opportunity to pull away. She didn’t. Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss that deepened as their feelings finally found an outlet.

When they pulled apart, Y/N smiled, her forehead resting against his. “So… not just pretending, then?”

“Not even a little bit,” he replied, his voice warm and full of affection.

As they walked back into the club, hand in hand, Max and Pietra spotted them immediately.

“About time,” Max said with a grin, clinking his glass against Pietra’s.

Y/N and Lando laughed, but neither let go of the other’s hand for the rest of the night.

——-

Don’t forget to leave a note if you enjoyed it, feedback is always welcome !🩷

[sariyastars]

༄ Silver Spoon

Pairing: Damian Wayne & Jonathan Kent (Non-Romantic) Synopsis: Damian wants to be loved, but thinks he'll ruin it. Song: Silver Spoon by Erin LeCount TW: Parent- Child Struggles, Loneliness, Silent Envy, & Mommy Issues Word Count: 1,458

The soft hum of crickets echoed through the farm's fields as the cold night air blew through Damian’s cape, with only the glow of the moon to light the path. He followed Jon closely, watching as he made his way towards the little farm house. 

“It is stupid that you have a curfew.”, Damian mutters bluntly, brushing off a stray cricket that had landed on his leg. 

“They have it to protect me! And we’re late, so let's get it moving!”, Jon encourages, trotting just a bit faster through the grass. 

I'll watch and learn from afar.

Damian rolls his eyes at this, picking up his feet just a bit more while maintaining his distance.

“Also, put the sword away. My mom doesn’t like sharp objects in the house.”, Jon turns to Damian. 

The night air whistles again, carrying Damian’s ‘Tsk’ with it. A long, tense pause laid between the two. There was a glint in Jon’s eye, the weight of unspoken words. With the quietness, Damian’s eyes soften- just momentarily. His typically sharp scowl easied into furrowed brows as the steel of his katana scraped against its sheath before clicking closed. 

A gesture of respect. 

I'll pull the weeds from my heart and put lipstick on for your family party.

With the farmhouse now in sight, Damian looks at the details of it more closely. It was nestled in the center of a large field. The weathered wood carried a rustic charm to it, old but sturdy- with the paint chipped in different areas. The porch, adorned with chimes and mismatched patio chairs, had a beautiful inconsistent wood grain to it. 

As they stepped in on the back porch, the wood creaked beneath their feet. The soft glow of an old fashioned lantern lit up the area, lighting up a worn out welcome mat that sat just in front of the back door at an angle. 

A warm and welcoming home. 

In the garden, I stare at the house you were brought up in.

The door was unlocked as Jon turned the knob of the backdoor. The door groaned as it was creaked open, echoing in the quiet night. Jon then pushed the door open, careful not to disturb the residents. Only the hallway light illuminated the otherwise dark house, casting a warm glow on the kitchen countertops as the light bled gently into the living room area. 

Multiple photographs lined the wall, each with a delicate wooden frame. Some frames were more worn than others, but each captured a moment as if frozen in that time. It was nothing like the portraits Damian had of himself with his mother at the League of Assassins- posed with straight faces. 

Damian reaches for a photo, gently picking it off the wall as if it were to fall apart in his hands if not handled delicately. His fingers graze over the glass, the dim light reflecting off of it. There in the photo, captured, was Jon and his mother. She held him so tightly in his arms, with a smile that could power a small city. Jon looked similar with his smile wide and his cheeks flushed with the joy of being adored. He was much younger in the photo than he was now.

He looked loved.

All the photographs and door frames are wooden.

The kitchen light flickered on, casting a bright light over the room. Within seconds, Damian quickly placed the photograph carefully on the dining table. 

“Jon?”,  a soft familiar voice asked from the doorway. 

There stood Lois, Jon’s mother, who was adjusting her robe in the doorway. Jon immediately took to her, running into her arms with a grin exactly like the one in the photograph Damian was just holding. His head nuzzled into her chest, listening to the comforting sound of her heart beat as she placed her cheek gently on his head. 

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”, she murmured into his hair, her laugh soft and warm. 

“Hey, mom. Sorry I’m late.”, Jon replies, almost guiltily.

Lois hums at this, chuckling softly. “I’m just glad you made it home safely.”. Her voice is steady and full of love.

Her hands cupped his face, her thumbs gently gliding over his cheeks as she looked at him with a softness that only a mother’s gaze could carry. After a long moment, she looked up, her eyes catching Damian’s where he stood near the table. 

“I see you've come in through the back gate… and brought a friend.”, Lois said, her voice laced with curiosity. 

When you were a kid, you'd come in through the back gate.

Jon gently pulled away from his mother, his hand delicately in hers. 

“Yeah, I brought Damian! I was just hoping he could hang out for a bit, since we always keep the light on.”

Your folks left a light on, in case you get home late.

Lois gently pulled away from Jon, her hands lingering over his shoulders, eyeing him once over as if triple checking for any injuries. Her eyes soften once she is sure and satisfied her son was safe.

“Of course Damian can stay.”, she looks over to him with a warm smile, her hands now readjusting her night robe once more. “You’re family too, after all.”

She heads over to the fridge, her slippers gliding across the kitchen tile.  “We also have plenty of leftovers. I am sure you boys are hungry.”, she says without waiting for an answer. Lois begins to pull out containers of leftovers.  

Jon smiles at this and immediately prepares the table, moving the mail off to the side and making space for the two to eat. He gestures to Damian to take a seat, a quiet invitation into his place of comfort. 

As Lois heated up the soup on the stove, the scent of vegetables and herbs filled the room. The smell was soothing, a reminder of the love that filled this home. 

And I bet you grew up eating at the table.

Once the soup had warmed to a perfect simmer, Lois poured generous servings into two bowls. She carried them over to the dining table, gracefully and swiftly, setting each bowl down in front of each boy. Jon whispered thank you to her, while Damian nodded. 

Lois stepped away to get them utensils, placing down a silver spoon each.

Fed love from silver spoons, reasons to be grateful.

Lois sat down at the table with them as they ate. The quiet clink of spoons against the glass bowls echoed throughout the room. She watched them for a moment, eyes full of adoration. 

“So”, she began, her voice gentle but inviting. “How was your day?”, she asks. 

Jon glanced up from his bowl to look at her, a soft smile gracing his lips. “It was good! Nothing really interesting happened though.”, he glanced over at Damian with a knowing look. 

Lois looked between them, obvious to what was being hinted but she did not push. She let the silence hang for a moment longer before looking back over to Damian. “What about you, Damian? How was your day?”, Lois asks kindly.

Talia had never asked about his day before.

I bet you grew up being asked how your day was.

“It was fine.”, Damian answers briefly.

Lois hummed softly at Damian’s reply, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. She knew Damian was not much of a talker like Jon was. She never pushed that. The slight ease of his shoulders dropping was enough for her. 

Her hand reached up, fingers threading through Jon’s hair, almost as if she was brushing it. The gesture was quiet, but full of love. Without even realizing it, Jon had leaned into her touch slightly. 

I bet you grew up grazing your knees.

Damian watches as Lois’ hands run through his hair, a touch so soft and quiet- yet so loud and tender. A gesture of motherly love that Damian had never experienced. A kind of love Damian never even knew existed. 

His chest tightened at this thought, his mind flashing to his own mother- Talia. Not once had she ever held him like that or looked at him with such adoring eyes. There had been no soft or loving gestures, no warm soup, or leaving the backlight on for him.

There was only expectation, discipline, and responsibility. Talia was never a mother in the way Lois was. She had always been cold and calculating. Expecting of him in every way. Love for Damian was conditional. Love was for exceptional individuals. 

He gripped the silver spoon tightly at this, staring deeply at his reflection. 

And he was never going to be anything less than exceptional.

But the fall wasn't fatal like it was for me.

A/N: this song has been stuck in my head for so long lol. i cant help but think of damian sometimes when i listen to it. i didnt use all of the lyrics, as i felt it would get repetitive or just wasnt pertantant to what i was trying to portray. i also kinda got lazy ngl,,, oops.

i feel like jon is such a good mirror to him in the difference of how they were raised. also, jon to kon. both hurt. i love angst.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: The hits keep on coming, and the darkness surrounding them continues to surge.

Word Count: 7,257

Warnings: Angst, insecurity, smut, wet dream, suicidal thoughts, violence, and torture.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 15: Lost Without You

Her hands were in his hair, hips moving with jerking, frantic motions as she rode his cock. Tommy moaned wantonly, face burying in her neck, hands clenching tightly at her waist. He inhaled the sweet scent of roses and vanilla, teeth scraping along her skin, laying sloppy kisses all the way along the slope of her shoulder to her throat. 

“Lucy,” he breathed out in sharp warning, feeling his balls tighten. It had been so agonizingly long since he’d had her, it was a miracle he’d lasted more than a few pumps. She moaned, back arching a little against him, head tipping to give him better access to her neck. Her walls squeezed around him in a vice grip, and then he was gasping out her name, white spots appeared in his vision at his cock swelling and exploding inside of her. And then he was holding onto her for dear life and telling her that he loved her and kissing her and trying to mold them together into one being so they would never be parted again and opening his eyes and–

And coming copiously all over the insides of his white shorts.

It took a moment for his head to right itself and entirely process what had just happened. And then he was rolling over, legs tangled in the sheets. Burying his face into the pillow, groaning perhaps a tad overdramatically. 

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Finally, his head started to clear itself of post-orgasm flutters and the lingering arousal left over from the dream. He raised his face to examine the damage, cringing at the realization that his shorts were as good as ruined. 

Sitting up, he reached blindly for a cigarette, lighting it while rubbing at his face. 

In hindsight, he supposed it shouldn’t be that surprising. He hadn’t had sex since the time with Lizzie in the cupboard at her birthday party, and he’d been so preoccupied that he hadn’t had the time nor motivation to wank one out either. Not to mention his continued longing and pining for Lucy from afar. 

Coming in my sleep like a fucking teenager. Fucking hell. He shook his head. He and Lucy had never been ones to keep their hands to themselves. Outside of that time he’d been recovering from his head injury, or the time she was healing from being tortured by Luca, this had to be the longest dry spell they’d ever had. 

Gonna have to get used to it, aren’t you, Tommy? Since she wants next to nothing to do with you anymore, he thought to himself, leaning back until his skull thumped against the headboard. His hands threaded together over his stomach, chest heaving with a miserable sigh. 

God, he was so completely and utterly lonely without her.

There was no one to talk to. No one who understood. He thought that maybe that was what he missed the most. The simple understanding between them. On almost everything. Lucy had been his person. His best friend. Not just his lover. 

A sudden swell of agonizing sorrow washed over him when he glanced at the empty space beside him. Tears welled in his eyes, and rather than fight them back like he had been for so long, he finally gave in and let them slip down his cheeks, ragged sounds emitting from his throat while he sobbed quietly. Leaning down, he buried his face in her pillow, crying openly. The scent of her–renewed somewhat from the night that she’d spent back there after the ballet–was starting to fade. But he still had a bottle of her perfume that he could spray onto the sheets if needed. 

Chris, when did he get so pathetic? 

Missing her was a pain he had never thought he would have to experience. He supposed that he’d always assumed, without even really thinking about it, that the only thing that would separate them would be death. And even then, he knew that if Lucy were gone, he would not be long in following her.

It was not even a question, or something to consider. Just a simple, clean cut fact. 

He could not live without her. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy turned over a slip of paper that had been ripped from her notebook. The information scrawled onto it seemed about to burn through the paper to singe her fingertips. She was lounging back in her chair at her desk in the London office, waiting patiently for Tommy to finish his meeting with Churchill before speaking with him. 

When she’d gotten in from her outing to a phone booth down the street–she didn’t trust that their phone lines in the office weren’t tapped–it was to find Churchill and Tommy already seated and talking in his office, the double doors open. While she removed her cap and stuffed it into her pocket, she didn’t bother taking her coat off before sitting down. It was dark out and they would be heading out once this meeting was wrapped up. 

“There are some times, some nights, when I don’t see the point in carrying on with any of it.” Tommy’s voice rumbled from his office. Lucy’s fidgeting with the paper momentarily ceased, alarm shooting through her.

She’d thought that he was doing better since she’d moved out. What could have happened to change that? Ben and the ten year old’s death had hit him pretty hard. Maybe it was that. 

He always did feel so guilty about everything, even when it was something that was not really his fault. 

When Churchill finally stood to gather up his hat and coat, Lucy busied herself adjusting the lay of a few pens on her desk, trying to pretend that she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“Good evening, my dear,” Churchill said when he passed her desk, smiling at her good naturedly. Lucy returned the smile in kind. She liked Churchill. And she knew that Tommy did too. 

“Good evening, Mr. Churchill.” She waited until the door closed behind him, then stood.

The paper in her hand was crinkled horribly at the edges, but the quick, slightly slanted lines of the words she’d scribbled down onto it were still there, plain as day. 

Slowly, she approached him where he was standing in front of his desk, shoulders curved in and head bowed. 

“Tommy?” she called, timidly, coming up on his right side, inching closer. When his face came into view, she could see that his eyes were closed. She lifted a hand to touch his shoulder, then thought better of it and let it fall limply back to her side. “Are you alright?”

He roused at the sound of her voice, eyes opening and lifting his head. With a slight heave of effort, he pulled himself back up to standing straight. “Yes, I’m fine,” he replied curtly, not really meeting her eyes. 

Her fingers twisted at her rings while she observed him, frowning,. But she knew that pushing him on the matter was unlikely to accomplish much. Especially considering the way that things were between them currently. 

“I found out who killed Ben,” she offered instead, hoping that maybe that would help pull his mind out of whatever dark place it had gotten lost in. 

Tommy’s head finally twisted towards her. “Who?”

“His name is Paddy Rose. He has connections to the Ulster Volunteer Force and now offers his services in exchange for cash. He’s in Sparkhill. He’s the one who planted the bomb.”

“How did you–?”

“I called the girls who work at the Digbeth telephone exchange.” She and Tommy were friends with them. “I asked them about any calls that were made around the time of the explosion. Thirty minutes before Ben died, the call to Paddy Rose was made,” she hesitated. “The number that the call came from was Micky’s.”

“The bartender Micky?” 

“Yes.”

Tommy’s eyes turned to the window, wide. Lucy looked down at the paper which contained her notes. They all liked Micky. He was nice. Helpful. He’d done a stellar job of managing the Garrison since they’d hired him. 

“I asked them about patterns in the calls he made. If I had to guess, he’s been informing on us for some time now.”

“To Mosley?”

“Maybe. But probably selling out information to whoever will pay the most for it. He’s the one who gave the Titanic boys the tip about Arthur’s trip to pick up the opium. That’s why they knew where to go to ambush him.” It was lucky that Arthur was a deranged maniac who was more than capable of chasing off a few rival gang members. Otherwise they might’ve had another funeral to attend.  

“Do you have Paddy Rose’s address?”

She held out the paper silently to him. He took it, squinting a little without his glasses to make out the words. 

“Shall I pay him a visit?” she asked. 

“You, me, and Arthur will,” Tommy smacked his lips together in thought. “I want to speak with him personally.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Paddy Rose screamed as Lucy traced the tip of her blade around the edges of his eyeball, nicking slightly at his eyelid when she did.

“Any more questions for our new friend here, boys?” she asked Tommy and Arthur. Both men were half hidden in the shadows of the bridge. Tommy was leaning against the wall, the glow of his cigarette casting shadows across his face when he raised it to his lips. Arthur was lingering by the edge of the canal, hands in his pockets. 

“No,” Tommy said, tapping ash out onto the ground. Lucy looked back in the eyes of the whimpering Paddy. Well, looked into one of his eyes; the one her blade was poised dangerously close to. The other was long gone, tossed carelessly into the water after she cut it out of his head, leaving nothing but a bloody socket in its wake. 

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Rose. You’ve been very helpful,” she crooned, and sliced his throat open from ear to ear. 

The three of them waited until he’d stopped gurgling and twitching, letting him bleed out slowly onto the cobblestones. Lucy cleaned her knives in the meantime, tucking them safely back into her coat.

“Let’s weigh him down,” Arthur finally said softly once the man had stopped moving entirely, no sound emitting from him save the soft drip, drip, drip of the blood running down his front to kiss the ground. 

The three of them worked together to tie the bricks they’d brought to the body. They dragged him to the edge of the canal, and with a heave, sent him rolling over to splash heavily into the water. The body floated only for a brief second before it sank beneath the dark depths.

“What are we going to do about Micky?” Arthur asked, the three of them standing on the edge, watching the water. Tommy took out another cigarette, offering his case to Lucy silently. She snagged one without even thinking and let him light it, wrapping her coat tightly around herself to hide the splatters of blood that had made their way onto the front of her shirt. 

“He’s going to have to go,” Tommy determined simply. 

“Tonight?”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow. After the family meeting.” 

“Right.” Arthur looked around. “Best get going. Before it starts raining.”

Lucy angled her head up. He was right. It did seem like it was about to rain. She could feel the weight of moisture in the air. As they started the walk back into the city, she trailed behind the two brothers, arms hugging her middle, eyes cast downwards. Every couple of paces, she sensed Tommy glancing back to make sure that she was still with them. 

She had made a decision, after her realization that Tommy was completely lost to her. She would stay until after the assassination was over. But then, she would leave. She had already bought the train ticket, hidden away under the mattress in her bedroom at Charlie’s. A week after Mosley had been dead, she would pack her bags, and leave for Liverpool to catch the first ship out of England.

Lizzie didn’t want her to remain in their lives. The kids probably didn’t either. Nor did the rest of the family. And deep down, neither did Tommy.  

She would not continue to burden him with herself, she decided. He had given her years of life and purpose. Far more than she probably deserved. She would not pay that back by overstaying her welcome and making things harder for him by continuing to linger on the peripherals of his life. Better that she was gone, so he could move on and enjoy his life without having to feel guilty. 

Her being gone, completely, was the best thing that she could do for him. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy sat at the table in the corner, to the left of the fireplace, foot tapping on the floor and leaning back, smoking carelessly. She had been one of the first to arrive at the Garrison, earning an eyebrow raise from several of the other family members. She and Tommy rarely arrived at family meetings separately. Michael in particular had been eyeing her with a rather unnerving expression. 

There had been no time over the past few days for her to further investigate her suspicions that Michael was planning something. They had been too busy weeding out Micky’s betrayal and planning the assassination to focus on anything else. 

Arthur passed her a glass of whiskey after grabbing one for himself, earning a grateful smile from her. There was a tension in the room that she didn’t like; the majority of the family having occupied themselves with either smoking or drinking while they waited. Only Charlie and Curly were speaking, their voices lowered to hushed tones at their place by the door. Something about poor Charlie getting kicked in the leg by Barney, who was outside being watched over by a few Lee boys. 

The door slammed open and she let out a breath of relief she hadn’t even realized that she was holding at the sight of Tommy. He cleared his throat, and the meeting began. 

It was all going so well. Everything was happening according to plan. And then Michael interrupted Tommy in the middle of him announcing his official reinstatement to the company. Lucy tensed, even more so upon noticing the look of worried confusion on Polly’s face. If anyone would have known what Michael was up to, it would have been her. And yet she clearly didn’t. 

It seemed that the other shoe had finally dropped, then.

Michael met Tommy’s gaze unflinchingly. “Due to the amounts involved, I think that this company should be restructured.”

Holy fuck.

“Restructured in what way?” The look on Tommy’s face was dangerous. The kind of look he gave someone right before he ordered Lucy to blow their head off. She was suddenly greatly aware of the weight of her pistol pressed against her ribs in its holster.    

Michael stood, resting his hands on Gina’s shoulders as he began to speak, to outline his new plan for the company. The entire room was eerily silent save for Michael’s voice, everyone glancing nervously between him and Tommy.

“You see, I know, that the scars, and the wounds, they’re on the inside,” Michael tapped his temple. “Not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that great burden off your weary shoulders.” Did the fucking kid just call them all old? 

Tommy’s eyes were so cold, she was surprised that she didn’t feel a chill in the air.

Michael soldiered on with the rest of his proposal, either not noticing or not caring how close he was to triggering Tommy’s wrath. Gina held out a file to him. He plucked it from his wife’s fingers, “Here is my proposal,” he set it on the table in front of Tommy, who looked down at it like it was a bug that needed to be squashed. “A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director. And you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr. Jones.”

Tommy blinked very, very slowly. Oh, he was mad. Lucy had seen him furious many times over the years. This had to crack at least the top ten, maybe top five, of Tommy Shelby Is Pissed moments she had been witness to over the years. 

Michael looked around the room, turned back to face Tommy, and picked up the proposal, holding it out to him. “Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.”

There was a moment of utter silence, the only sound the soft crackle of the flames in the fireplace. The tension in the room was so tight even a simple whisper could have broken it. Lucy remained ready to spring, fingers itching towards her gun as she watched Tommy closely.

Just give me the order. Just say it and I’ll take care of this ungrateful, backstabbing, usurping piece of shit.

Tommy took the proposal from Michael, brows furrowing in mock concern.

“It’s cold in here, Michael.” In one fluid movement he turned, and tossed the proposal into the fire behind him. Johnny cackled from his place in the corner. Lucy smirked.

“Tommy, the Americans want to deal with me–”

“Item number three,” Tommy’s voice boomed over Michael’s.

Gina started egging Michael on–the girl had guts, Lucy could at least give her that–but before the conversation could escalate even more, there was commotion outside, and upon the news that Barney was giving their boys outside some trouble, the men in the room immediately leapt to their feet at Tommy’s order and filed out the door. Soon it was just her, Tommy, Michael, Gina, and Polly. Tommy turned, pinching at his brow. His hands came to rest against the mantle of the fireplace, head bowed towards the flames.

“I’m doing this for you, Tommy,” Michael placated. “It’s time. And you know it. Tommy, mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Lucy’s miserable. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up–”

Tommy moved with frightening, almost unnatural speed, seizing a bottle of whiskey and throwing it into the fire. The bottle shattered, the flames flaring upwards in response to the alcohol. And then he whirled, seconds away from charging for Michael’s throat. Gina jumped back a bit in her chair. Polly spun away with her eyes closed. Lucy rocked forward, ready to help if he needed her. 

“C’mon, Tom,” Michael whispered, a pocket knife in his hand, held out to Tommy. “C’mon, cut me. Like the good old days. Or,” he lowered the blade, “see this for what it is. A natural succession. That someday must happen.”

Tommy licked his lips, eyes glancing away as he took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back. You,” he snapped his fingers at Gina, “you can tell your family–”

“Let me guess, ‘don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders,’ right?”

Tommy stormed away towards the door. Lucy leapt from her position still seated at the table. 

“Get them the fuck out of here,” she commanded Polly, who was looking at her son as if she’d never seen him before. Shooting one last disgusted, disappointed look at Michael, Lucy followed Tommy outside. As soon as they were out the door and a few paces away Tommy groaned, leaning over with his hand braced on a lamppost. She pressed a palm between his shoulder blades.

“You alright?”

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “After everything that we’ve fucking done for him…”

“I can’t believe that he called us old.”

Tommy gave her a look that was both appalled and amused. “That’s what you’re upset about?”

“What? I’m not even forty yet! Not that forty’s old,” she added hastily at his raised eyebrow. Chuckling, Tommy took her hand, dragging her along with him and heading for the sounds of Barney yelling. 

She hung back with Charlie and Curly, watching Tommy calm Barney down from the unpredictable, frightened mess that the man had been a moment ago. It was quite sweet, really, to see how gently Tommy treated his former comrade, handing him off to Jeremiah to take to Charlie’s yard. She followed Tommy and the remaining men back inside, to finish up the last piece of business before Michael interrupted them. The pub was empty upon their return, Michael, Gina, and Polly had all vanished. 

Lounging back in her chair, feet kicked up while she smoked, she listened quietly to Tommy relaying the plan for Mosley’s assassination to the other men. Arthur slid another glass of whiskey to her.  

In response to Tommy announcing Barney’s role of shooting Mosley, Aberama raised an eyebrow. “That madman out there? Need I remind you, Tommy, that you already have an assassin who works for you,” he nodded towards Lucy. “Why not have her do it?”

Lucy glanced away, swirling the whiskey in her glass. There was still a sting at not being chosen for this assignment, even though Tommy’s reasons were frustratingly sound, as he explained to Aberama and everyone else. Lucy continued to sip her whiskey while the men discussed the details. She and Tommy had already gone over the plan thoroughly. She already had her instructions. 

Guilt roiled within her at Tommy’s bitter demand that anyone who wanted to leave was to leave now. Did he know about the train ticket? Or was it just a reaction to Michael’s words about them being an old fashioned backstreet razor gang? He had his back to her where he was standing with his hands braced against the bar. She couldn’t see his face. 

 She hoped that he would not take her planned departure as a slight. Or as judgment passed onto any of them for the life that they lived. Or as detest towards the gang. She had loved her life with them. Truly. It was breaking her heart to have to leave it all behind. 

No one–her included–moved at the offer of escape. 

Wrapping up giving everyone their orders, Tommy dismissed them all save for her and Arthur. Leaning against the bar, Tommy’s face twisted, brow furrowing.

“It’s time.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Much as he may have hidden it, the sting of the twisting knife of betrayal never really lessened. No matter how many times it happened.

He had known that Michael was up to something. But perhaps he had allowed himself to hope just a bit too much that it was nothing. That it was just his paranoia getting out of hand. And yet he had felt it, the creeping of hands reaching up to try to snatch away his crown, the vultures beginning to circle overhead.

He sank more heavily into his seat in the booth, face cradled in his hand as he tried to keep his head from exploding from the thoughts within. Michael’s words turned over in his mind. Beside him, Lucy fiddled with a coaster in front of her. Arthur was leaning over the bar with his head bowed. The Garrison was empty, save for the three of them. Until the door swung open and Micky walked in, humming softly to himself. All three of them tensed, a quiet resignation filtering throughout the room.

Here we go.

He kept his eyes focused sternly on Micky while he and Arthur explained their findings to him regarding his recent activities. 

“Me and my brother, and my assistant,” he nodded over at Lucy, who was watching them with dark eyes that seemed to glow like amber with the way the light hit them, “we spoke to Paddy. At length. He told us it was him that planted the bomb.”

With every word, Micky’s face drained of a little more color, until he was white as a ghost. He looked moments away from openly weeping. Tommy forced himself to think of Ada. To think of the child his sister would have to raise without a father. To think of the burning car outside his office, the charred figure that had been removed from it once the flames were doused. Micky had done that. He had to remember that. 

Arthur leaned forward. Micky began to sob. Tommy wished that he would fight them. Or deny it. Or be angry with them. Anything to help make what they had to do easier. But instead he just sat there, whimpering and crying, looking around before tilting his head up to the ceiling, murmuring what could have been a prayer under his breath. Sniffling, he pulled himself together, looking to him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy looked away, towards the doors of the pub. Micky continued to stare at him.

“Don’t look at Tommy,” Arthur ordered softly, beckoning a hand at Micky until he fixed his eyes on him. Now. He needed to do it now, or he might not be able to. “The ceiling would be cheaper, brother.”

“Micky!” Fast as he could, Tommy pulled his gun from its holster, lunged forward, pressed it to the underside of the man’s chin, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot thundered throughout the pub, the wet splatter of blood and brains spraying upwards to coat the ceiling.

Arthur cringed away. Lucy turned her head to the side, eyes closed. Tommy slammed the pistol down on the table, hands bracing as he bent over it. A moment later he raised his hand to stare in amazement at the slight way that it trembled. 

“Fucking hell, Arthur,” he held it up for his brother to see. “Eh? Shaking like the hand of a normal man,” he straightened, wiping at his brow. He shot a glance at Lucy, checking to make sure that she was alright. She seemed fine, rubbing her balled up fist against her lips and eyeing Micky’s body where it was slumped over in his chair. Grabbing his coat, he began to pull it on.       

Then Arthur had to start in on pestering him about how maybe Michael was right…maybe they could stop…maybe it could be over…maybe, maybe, maybe…

Once upon a time, he had entertained thoughts of an after. A time when all the heinous shit they had to do would be behind them. When he would be able to rest. Be at peace.

What little lingering hope he’d had for that went up in smoke the day Lucy left Arrow House. Never to return. Not unless by some miracle he managed to win her back. 

Did he even dare? He needed her. But he couldn’t bear the thought of further ruining her life. The kind thing–the right thing–to do would be to let her go. That way she could finally be truly happy without being shackled to a mess of a man like him. He’d never deserved her anyway. 

He did his best to ignore Arthur, instead focusing on gathering up his cigarette case and lighter to stuff into his pockets. Lucy shifted, sliding from the booth to grab her own coat and shrug it on. Arthur whimpered, staggering backwards into the chair he had been sitting in, still babbling. Tommy kept his back turned to him, eyes staring at the floorboards as he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. Lucy was glancing between them worriedly. Michael’s voice, loud and clear, as if he was standing right beside him, rang in his ears.

Mum’s leaving.

Polly with her dark doe eyes, looking at him with that stern, yet motherly expression. An expression that these days always seemed to carry worry and disappointment in equal measures.  

John’s dead.

John’s body, cold and pale and full of bullets. The scent of the smoke from his burning burial wagon.

Arthur needs help.

The sounds of Arthur whimpering behind him.

Lucy’s miserable.

Her sad dark brown eyes. Her hands pulling away from him, even as he reached out for her desperately.

Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.

The thundering boom of Ben’s car exploding right outside his office. Ada’s tears as he told her the news. 

All his fault. Each and every one of them.

It wasn’t the blue stone, Tommy. It was you.

“Michael…Michael could be right, we could go, Tommy. We could go,” Arthur babbled. “We could fucking leave this place. We could leave it to the kids. Michael’s…he might be right. He might be fucking right.”

It was you.

“Arthur!” Tommy exploded, “there is no item number five!” he roared, hand grabbing his gun where it was still sitting on the table next to Micky’s body. He stuffed it into his holster and straightened his jacket. “Go and check that Polly is still on our side,” he turned to Lucy. “Clean this up,” he gestured in the direction of Micky’s body. “Then check on Barney at the yard.” She nodded, eyes not fully meeting his while she adjusted the lay of her coat. “I have to go to Margate.” 

He ignored Arthur’s murmurs of affirmation, heading to the door. The space by his side where Lucy usually was felt gaping and empty, but he did his best not to dwell on it. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Tommy,” Alfie said, before he could leave. “How’s Lucy?” 

He paused at the sound of her name. “She’s fine.”

“Does she know I’m alive?”

“Yes, I let her read your letter.” 

Alfie cocked his head, his good eye narrowing suspiciously. “Why isn’t she here?” 

“She was busy.”

But Alfie shook his head. “Where Thomas Shelby goes, the Red Demon is never far behind. That’s the saying, isn’t it?”

Tommy sighed, realizing that Alfie wasn’t going to let him get by with dodging the topic. “We’re…going through a bit of a rough patch right now.” Understatement of the fucking century. 

Alfie’s face immediately darkened. “What did you do?”

Tommy shot him a look of slight offense. “Why do you immediately assume it was my fault?”

Alfie just stared at him. Huffing, Tommy looked down at his shoes in silent admission that he was correct in his blame. 

“I saw you got married. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the bride’s name wasn’t Lucy’s.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Are you going to fix it?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Tommy looked towards the open doors leading out onto the balcony. “I don’t know if I can.”

“She was always too good for you.”

He let out a choked off, humorless laugh. “I know.”

“She loves you more than anything.”

A lump lodged its way into Tommy’s throat. “Yes.” She’d given him everything. Every little bit of herself. And he’d gone and been careless with it. Broken all the promises he’d made. Ripped out her heart and then stomped on for good measure. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t meant any of it. It had still happened. 

It would serve him right if she never forgave him.

“Do you love her, Tom?” Alfie asked.

Tommy looked up to meet his eyes. “Yes. Of course I do.”

Alfie examined him closely, then leaned back in his chair, seemingly satisfied. “Have you told her that, lately?”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond. To say, yes, of course I have. Because he told Lucy that he loved her all the time. Or at least he tried to. 

But then he thought about it. Tried to remember a specific time that he’d actually told her that he loved her. That his heart still belonged to her. 

To his utter horror, he realized that he couldn’t remember a moment recently in which he had. 

Fucking hell, no wonder she was pulling away from him. He’d so failed in nearly every capacity as a lover. Even he was amazed at how monumentally he kept fucking up with her at this point.  

He kept trying to figure out how it had all happened. And why it all seemed to keep collapsing further into disarray. All he could conclude was that he’d somehow gotten lost. They both had. In their own heads. Their own melancholies. Their own doubts and insecurities. Maybe it had happened after he made the deal with Lizzie, and the chasm started to open up between them. Or maybe it wasn’t until Lucy moved out, and he stupidly let her go. Without each other, they were…anchorless. Adrift. They needed each other. Otherwise–apparently–they lost their damn minds.  

“I need to get back to Birmingham,” he said, suddenly desperate to see her. Maybe…maybe all wasn’t entirely lost yet. Maybe he wasn’t too late. “Thanks, Alfie.”

Alfie just hummed, mumbling something about putting relationship counseling under his ever expanding list of special skills while Tommy hurried out the door. 

∗ ∗ ∗

The phone settled down gently into its cradle. No one was answering. 

He could still see Polly’s cold, defeated eyes when she had handed him her resignation. Rubbing a hand over his face, his eyes were drawn like magnets to the gun resting on the table. 

Michael’s words bounced around his skull like a ricochet bullet.

Lucy’s miserable. Lucy’s miserable. Lucy’s miserable.

Lucy’s voice, from their argument in his office, had also been on a constant replay for the past four days.

It’s better this way.

You seem to be doing just fine to me.

You’re the one who made that deal with Lizzie in the first place without even thinking of me!

He swallowed roughly around the lump in his throat. And now he had Polly’s prophecy to worry about.

  There will be a war, and one of you will die. But which one I cannot tell. 

Maybe Michael would get lucky. Maybe he’d take himself out, and Michael could descend upon his throne like a vulture, pluck his crown from whatever was left of his head after he’d blown his own brains out.

He needed to get out of here. Needed to talk to someone. Or else he ran the risk of doing something rash.

∗ ∗ ∗ 

The seat by the fire across from Charlie creaked as he sat down heavily in it, leaning forward close enough to let the flames warm his face.

“I,” he cleared his throat. “I called. The phone for Lucy’s room. She didn’t answer.” Not that he could really blame her. If he was her, he wouldn’t want to talk to him either. Hell, he didn’t want to talk to him.

“She took Asher for a walk. They’ll be back soon,” Charlie explained. He took a swig from the bottle by his feet. 

“How is she?”

Charlie shot him a stern look. The same one he used to give whenever he caught Tommy doing something he wasn’t supposed to as a kid. “How do you think?”

 His shoulders slumped, frown deepening. Charlie watched him across the fire, eyes narrowed. “So what’s your plan?”

“What?”

“To fix things with Lucy. What’s your fucking plan, Tom?”

He shook his head, gaze shifting to the black abyss of night around them. “I don’t know.”

Charlie scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, you better come up with something.”

Tommy sighed. “I don’t…I don’t know if she wants me to, Charlie,” he shifted uncomfortably, not used to feeling so vulnerable.

“Please. ‘Course she does.”

He shook his head again. “I’ve tried to talk to her about it. Each time she pushes me away.” 

Charlie inclined his head. “She’s telling everyone who asks how you feel about this new arrangement that you’re happy with it.”

“I’m not.”

Charlie shrugged. “Well. She seems to think that you are.”

Tommy’s frown deepened as he tried to figure out just what the hell he could have done to make her think that. He thought that he had been quite openly miserable about the whole thing. Charlie must have seen something in his face, because he snorted, shaking his head.

“Why the hell did you even make that deal with Lizzie, Tommy? You had to know what it would cost you.”

Tommy coughed awkwardly. “Lizzie was going to leave me,” he finally admitted. “I saw an opportunity when she presented her deal to keep her around. And…I suppose that I felt guilty. About all that I’ve put her through.”

“And now, where there was once a more balanced arrangement between Lucy and Lizzie, the scales now tip considerably in Lizzie’s favor. Lucy’s not your partner or your lover under this agreement. She’s your mistress or your whore, there to entertain you whenever your wife isn’t around.”

“What?” Tommy sat up, the beginnings of anger bubbling under his skin. “That is not-”

Charlie held up a hand. “I know that’s not what you intended, Tom. But that's what’s happened.” 

He looked at Charlie silently, bowing his head so that the shadow of his hat hid his eyes. “It’s not weighted in Lizzie’s favor, though, Charlie,” he spoke softly. “And it never was fucking balanced either,” he coughed again and rubbed his eyes. “I told Lizzie the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That I’m not in love with her.”  

Charlie took a drag from his cigarette. “Do you think it’ll finally get through to her this time?”

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know,” he hated how helpless he felt. Charlie tsked.

“You and Lucy are so caught up in your own guilt over not being able to give Lizzie what she wants, but why? It’s not your fault that you don’t love her. And it isn’t Lucy’s fault that you love her and not Lizzie.”

“I’ve been a complete shit of a husband, Charlie.”

“I’m not sure if you can ever be considered a good husband, Tom, considering that you don’t even love your wife,” Charlie shook his head. “You and Lucy have done all you could to give Lizzie a comfortable, stable, content life. She’s got the big house, a position in society, money, status, and a child. You have accommodated her as best as you can. Done what you could to get through to her and to make her accept the reality of the arrangement that she signed up for. That is the best that you can do. And by no means am I saying that you should be cruel or unkind to her, but…Tom, the scales are never going to tip in Lizzie’s favor. Or even be balanced for that matter. You and Lucy will accomplish nothing by wallowing in your guilt and making yourselves miserable in some attempt to make Lizzie happy. I know you both feel guilty and like you are being unfair to her. But it is also unfair for you to be expected to be unhappy for the rest of your lives so that Lizzie gets to play out some fucking fantasy. And I don’t think that Lizzie is that unfair. Or cruel.”

Tommy swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I know all that Charlie. It’s Lucy that won’t even talk about any of it.”

“She’s seen this whole situation with you and Lizzie drag both of you down, leaving you both bitter and resentful. You know how Lucy is. She always wants to fix things for people. And… she can have a bit of a martyr complex to her.” Charlie’s eyes bored into him from across the fire. “She wants you to be happy, Tom. And she thinks that by trying to fix things between you and Lizzie, she can accomplish that.”

“I don’t deserve either of them, Charlie.”

Charlie looked at him with deep concern. “You aren’t as bad as you think you are, Tom.”

“All I’ve ever done is hurt them.”

“You gave Lizzie a chance at a new life. You gave her a child; something that she’s always wanted. You gave her a family that loves her and looks after her. And what do you think would have happened to Lucy without you, hm? She’d be dead, Tom. Or sold off to that asshole in London to probably be brutalized and beaten everyday of her life. You gave her life a new purpose. And you have loved her very, very much. Probably far more than she ever thought would be possible.” At Tommy’s questioning look, Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “I saw how fucked up she was when she first arrived here from London, remember? They destroyed her over there, and you put her back together. And you do make her happy, Tom,” he gestured with a small wave, “this whole situation notwithstanding, of course.” He readjusted his injured leg. “Look, you two absolutely need to talk about all of this. It’ll probably be messy and a little painful, but in the end you’ll be fine.” The old man spoke with such confidence, truly zero concern in his voice that their relationship wouldn’t survive such a confrontation. “You love each other too much to let go of the other that easily.”

Tommy wanted to believe Charlie. He wanted to have that same belief that his relationship with Lucy could withstand practically anything. But the fear and unsurety remained.

“What if she wants me to let her go?” He hated the way his voice suddenly sounded. Small, like a scared child. Charlie snorted, flicking his cigarette into the fire. “I don’t know how to fix this, Charlie.”

“You’re Thomas fucking Shelby. If you want something bad enough, you could practically will it into existence. So,” the man who was more his father than his actual father regarded him from across the flames. “What is it that you want, Tom?” 

Tommy pulled his arms in tighter against himself. “I want…” everything; that was what he had told Lucy, that first night he’d properly met her. On the bridge overlooking the cut. And he’d had it. For a moment. For a while. Everything is mine, Lizzie, he had whispered to his wife after they’d sealed their new deal. Everything. And then Lucy was gone, and might as well have taken everything with her. 

There was the soft crunch of footsteps behind them, and then he was being ambushed by something big and black and fluffy headbutting him in the legs, tail wagging.

“Hullo, Asher,” he said, chuckling at the dog’s overexcited response to him. His hands petted over the dog’s soft fur. Lucy appeared next to Charlie, arms wrapped around herself. “Hi,” he murmured awkwardly, voice softer.

“Hullo,” she responded, holding out her hands to be warmed by the flames. Her coat and hair were soaked from the rain still falling heavily from the sky. Tommy wanted to pull her into his lap and wrap his arms around her like he always used to whenever she was cold.

“You know, Lucy,” Charlie stood suddenly, wobbling. “I think that those painkillers you gave me are finally starting to kick in.” He grasped a makeshift crutch to take the weight off his fractured leg. “I think I’m gonna go try to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow and all.” He waved a hand away when they both made moves to help him. “No, no. I can manage.” He gave Tommy a very pointed look as he hobbled past him, taking Asher’s lead from Lucy to usher the dog with him back inside. Tommy had to fight back the urge to snort. Subtle, old man.

For a long moment he and Lucy stood in awkward silence, the fire crackling between them, neither of them daring to speak first.

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[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[Edit 2: There's more art!!!]

[writingouthere]

singledad!Sukuna x neighbor!reader-Sukuna and Yuuji really want you to join their family! role reversal from my other series, think this will just be a one-shot though. Yuuji is Sukuna's brother but he's raised him since he was a baby and Yuuji calls him dad.

cw: Sukuna is manipulative and also a murderer but everyone's happy and you're both aware so it's okay. this is really just fluff.

"I....want you to be my mommy?"

Sukuna scowled as Yuuji looked more confused than ever.

"No, no that is not what you're saying kid. You're just going to tell her about how the other kids' mommies on the playground make you feel left out."

"But they don't, Megumi's mommy always gives me a snack when I'm hungry!"

"That's not his mommy, that's Megumi's daddy," Sukuna corrected, wondering if this was just a hopeless endeavor. He could have easily followed a plan this simple when he was four, but Yuuji was too soft. This was what happened when you raised a kid in a stable, loving environment. They lost the ability to go for the jugular when needed.

"But Megumi's daddy calls him mommy?" Sukuna didn't hold back his groan. You were going to be coming back from your morning walk any minute. He didn't have time for Yuuji to not get basic directions or to explain the dynamics of that Gojo family.

"Look when we go out there, just look sad and I'll handle the rest."

"But I'm not sad, I'm happy. We're going to the park and Megumi's mommy is bringing mochi today!"

"Shit kid, do you want a mom or not?" Sukuna asked, trying not to roll his eyes as be bent down to snap on the velcro straps on Yuuji's light up sneakers.

"I don't need a mom, I have you," Yuuji said. He looked uncharacteristically defiant and Sukuna couldn't help feeling proud of his little brother.

It had been touch and go when Yuuji was a baby. Sukuna had still been a kid himself and they didn't have any money and Yuuji's mom was even crazier than Sukuna's. Their father nowhere to be seen. Since Sukuna and Uraume had spread the pieces of his corpse around the city.

Sukuna pushed these memories aside and ruffled Yuuji's hair. "I know you don't need one, we only need each other." Yuuji nodded, his little head moving with all his conviction. "But it might be nice, right?"

Yuuji seemed thoughtful before finally biting his lip and looking down at his sneakers. He tapped them, making the red and black lights flash.

"She's really nice, I like her."

"I like her too," Sukuna said and he heard the sound of your sneakers slapping against the tiled hallway. "So let's go and look sad, okay?" Yuuji nodded, determined now and Sukuna grabbed his backpack before the two brothers went out into the hall.

You were just taking your keys out of your bag and you turned to the brothers, a smile on your face. "Good morning gentlemen, it's nice to see you. Heading out?"

That was when you noticed Yuuji's downturned expression. Sukuna saw your face shift into one of concern and he resisted a smirk.

Sukuna cleared his throat and squeezed Yuuji's hand. Good boy. "We're heading out to the park, you know the one by the high school."

"Oooh, that's nice. You like that park, right Yuuji? You said it was the biggest one in the whole city," you crouched down so you could look Yuuji in the eye and Yuuji seemed to forget he was supposed to be sad for a minute because he jumped up and down, the lights of his shoes flashing in the dim hallway.

"Yeah, it has the best swings too!" You ooohed and aawed appropriately while Sukuna tried not to smack his head against the wall. Maybe he and this kid weren't related after all, fuck.

Yuuji seemed to notice his expression because he stopped jumping to look down at feet. He put out his lower lip and used the tip of one of shoes to mess with a scuff mark on the linoleum. It would have made a more pathetic visage if his shoes weren't still lit up.

"Yuuji," you said, coming closer so you could kneel on the ground in front of the boy. The sight of you on your knees did something to Sukuna, but he pushed it aside to see what the brat had in mind. So far, he wasn't impressed with the performance. "Is something wrong?"

"It's just," Yuuji let out a sad sigh that wouldn't get him a gig in a car commercial. "Megumi and his mommy will be there and it makes me feel sad because all the other kids have mommies and I don't." God, there was no way you could be buying this, Sukuna looked at you and saw that your eyes looked a little watery.

Huh, look at that. Maybe he wouldn't have to kick the kid out, after all.

"I'm sorry Yuuji, that must be hard," you said and you reached out and swiped out where Yuuji had even managed to shed a tear. Sukuna felt so proud. "But I know that your dad is really excited to take you and the two of you are going to have so much fun!"

"Could you come too?" Yuuji asked and you bit your lip. Yuuji looked up and batted his little doe eyes at you. "It would make me really happy if you came with us. We could all have fun together."

"I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"It wouldn't be intruding," Sukuna cut in. "If you're busy though no worries, I know we'll have fun just the two of us. Right, Yuuji?"

Yuuji bit his lip and Sukuna could tell he was torn between showing how excited he was to spend time with his dad and being 'sad' so you would join them.

You looked between the two before seeming to come to some kind of decision. "If you don't mind waiting while I change, I'd be happy to join you two. Should I bring anything?"

"I think we're all set. We'll wait outside for you," Sukuna said and Yuuji went up and gave you a big hug that you returned.

Sukuna took Yuuji outside to wait for you, the kid occupying himself with a mostly washed away hopscotch chalk sketch. Sukuna alternated between watching him and texting Uraume who was claiming to be over him and his nonsense. Sukuna would take it more seriously if Uraume hadn't been saying that for going on twenty years. He knew they loved him, fucking sap.

Soon, but not soon enough, you came bounding down the stairs. A scarf tied around your neck, your turtleneck exposed by the open top button of your coat. He couldn't keep letting you be single, looking all pretty like that. He was too greedy for that.

Besides, looking the way you did and knowing your big heart, it was just a matter of time before some nice loser tricked you into settling with them and he just couldn't have that. The idea of you taking someone else home to your warm apartment with it's million throw blankets and a cookie jar, an actual cookie jar, he was convinced you kept stocked up just for Yuuji, made him want to commit another murder.

"Ready?" you asked and Sukuna nodded while Yuuji took your hand in his right and Sukuna's in his left.

"Let's go!"

Yuuji's enthusiasm was contagious and the two of you chatted all the way to the park. Sukuna saw some people shoot you all looks as you walked. Sukuna was used to people viewing him with suspicion, even fear. His tattoos, dyed hair and general demeanor making people cross the street to avoid him. Something about you and Yuuji seemed to balance him out though and people reacted as if they were just looking at a cute family going out on a Saturday.

You didn't seem to notice either way and just continued talking to Yuuji about some new anime for kids Sukuna had probably had to suffer through but hadn't retained any memory of.

As soon as you all got to the park, Yuuji took off with barely a good-bye. You seemed concerned and Sukuna bumped your shoulder with his. "Don't stress, he just sees the Fushiguro kid over there. See, they're already fucking around."

He pointed to where Yuuji was chasing around a scowling dark haired boy the same age as him. Sukuna didn't buy the scowl for a second.

He had once run into the kid and his weird dads at the grocery store and the kid had scolded him when he figured out Yuuji wasn't with him. Sukuna would have knocked the kid down a peg if he wasn't actually four years old and if his 'mommy' didn't low key give him the creeps. Sukuna was pretty sure he wasn't the only person guilty of homicide currently at this playground.

"That's so cute," you cooed and Sukuna nodded along while he took you over to some picnic tables. Unfortunately one of them was already occupied.

"Aww if it isn't Sukuna. How nice it is to see your lovely face on a Saturday morning!"

"Gojo."

Sukuna was ready to leave it there but then the bastard got up and walked over. His partner continued sipping on a large cup of boba, watching from his seat although he gave you a little wave.

"Who is this, new girlfriend?" Gojo asked tilting down his sunglasses to look you up and down.

You laughed and introduced yourself while Megumi's parents did the same. Gojo grabbed your hand when you held it out and kissed the back of it, his lips curved into a smile even as he lingered, his fingers clearly holding onto where your pulse would be. Sukuna moved closer to you and put a hand around your waist, the gesture a clear sign for the other man to back off which Sukuna knew Gojo understood because the bitch fucking smiled at him.

Sukuna didn't necessarily take any of Gojo's flirtations seriously. He flirted with every mom and dad on the playground, including him when they first met. He'd even seen him flirt with the guy who worked the ice cream truck so egregiously the kid had looked on the verge of passing out. His partner never seemed bothered and Sukuna wondered if he was just that secure in the relationship or if he hoped someone would finally come along and get the annoying man away from him.

As usual though, Gojo lost interest quickly and went back to his husband who didn't say anything as Gojo lay across his lap like some kind of housecat.

"There are children here," Sukuna said. Mostly out of spite and not jealousy that the two of you weren't curled up like that.

"Don't be homophobic," Gojo said and you snorted before looking innocent when Sukuna shot you a look.

"Alright, let's go see what Yuuji's up to." Sukuna went along with your excuse, mostly just because he liked the feeling of your hand in his. The two of you wandered closer to the playground where Megumi and Yuuji were currently engaged in a game with some other kids that Sukuna couldn't have possibly guessed the subject of.

The kids alternated running around the large structure, disappearing into tunnels, jumping down to hide underneath slides and behind climbing walls. Every time Yuuji popped back up to view he would wave and call out to you both. Sukuna still felt a little warm whenever the kid called him dad and the look you gave him after made him feel caught.

"So, I can see why Yuuji was so sad those morning. Megumi's parents are just vicious monsters," you said and Sukuna was so taken aback he knew his expression didn't hide it well. You smiled and swung your hand that was still in his, turning so you could look at him.

"I don't think that's what the issue was," Sukuna managed and you nodded.

"Right, it must have been because he's so lonely," you said before the two of you were interrupted by the sound of children's ecstatic laughter. You both looked to where Yuuji was now being chased by an entire horde of children.

"I'm the curse, you have to catch me," he yelled out and the other children screamed and laughed as they tried to grab him. Yuuji had never had a hard time making friends and that was very evident in the way he got kids of all ages, even the quiet ones to join in on his game.

"You can have friends and still be lonely," Sukuna argued and you gave him just the softest look. It wasn't fair for you to see through his schemes and still look at him like that.

"Are you lonely, Sukuna?" You got closer to him, your hand still got in his and you were so warm. "Maybe I should come home with you, then?"

Sukuna couldn't have stopped himself from kissing you even if he wanted to, which he didn't. He let go of your hand so he could cup your face in both of his palms. You moaned your approval into his mouth and he responded by nipping your upper lip, pulling you up to meet him as he leaned down to kiss you. Sukuna was about to risk another arrest by taking you right here in the park before a familiar voice called out to the both of you.

"Hey now, there's children here."

Sukuna turned to give the infuriating dumbfuck a piece of his mind when you distracted him by pulling him back to you and giving him a quick peck on the lips. He could leave the fight with Gojo for another day, he supposed. He knew he'd win anyway.

You're smiling and you look so happy and Sukuna doesn't feel the least amount of guilt in getting you here. Even if you knew it was a trick.

Although.

Did this mean you knew that all those times he was "stuck at work" and needed someone to watch Yuuji were a lie too? Or that he actually could cook and the one time he set the building fire alarm off had been because he started an actual fire and not just him burning dinner and two of them didn't actually need you to invite them to dinner so much? Did you also know that your radiator hadn't just stopped working randomly but he had broke it, knowing you would call him because your super never answered, and when he said a part was still missing and you would just have to stay the night at his and Yuuji's place-

Sukuna looked at you more closely and you just kept smiling.

As Yuuji called for the two of you to come help him and Megumi on the swings, Sukuna wondered if he had ever trapped you, even once. Or if you had just let him catch you.

Watching you push Yuuji as the boy screamed for you to go "higher, higher!" he decided he didn't care. Fuck, it might just be better. Knowing you were maybe as crazy as he was.

shout out to the dad at the park today who had the audacity to play with his toddler and have a cute dog at the same time.

also I liked the end of this so much I may just write a prequel of Sukuna and reader taking turns gaslighting the other into a relationship, we'll see.

Edit: wrote the prequel, here!

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (pt.2)

As the weeks went on, Gaz and Soap would constantly try to pull you into the walk-in. But Simon's stare made you stop dead in your tracks every time. You've resorted to going over to their place, it's always a surprise who's gonna end up on top of who. During breaks between rounds, you'll catch up on a show you were all watching or playing video games and eating snacks. It's light, fun, young, energetic.

"The boys keeping you satisfied?"

Price asks during one of your smoke breaks, he's leaning against the railing again. Your eyes dart to the floor, embarrassed.

"I could take proper care of you."

The words drip from his mouth and run up your legs, making you squirm. He chuckles, a deep rumble from his broad chest.

"I'll pick you up 7 tonight."

Flicks the butt of his cigar onto the wet cement before walking back into the kitchen. Your hand shakes as you finish your cigarette.

The outing was nice, he took you out on a real date. You wore a tasteful dress that he was obsessed with the moment he saw you in it.

Made you order something expensive from the menu.

"Gotta keep you well fed, hm?"

You couldn't argue with him, he held an air of authority even outside of the kitchen. Conversation was pleasant, he kept it appropriate. Actually, that whole time he was an absolute gentleman. Walked you up to your flat. You gave him an anxious kiss that made him laugh softly and you quickly slipped into your studio. You pressed your back to the door, heart pounding. You squinted through the peephole and watched as he turned around, walking away. As soon as you swung your door open, he was stepping inside your place and scooping you up. He gripped your ass while holding you up, his hands positioned in a way that allowed him to rub your folds through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Already wet? Knew you'd be a good girl for me."

You melted in his arms at those words. Gently laid you right on the bed, pulling back to slip off your heels and left kisses from your ankle to inner thigh. He moaned when you giggled from his beard brushing against your soft thighs.

"Fuckin dogs, markin you up like your theirs."

His lips grazed over the hickeys Gaz and Soap left on your hips and thighs. He pulled the dress up and over your shoulders.

"Those sexy fuckin eyes of yours, Christ."

He kneeled over you, taking you in. Your moans, touch, smell, all that was left was your taste. He sunk back down between your legs and had you coming faster and harder than Soap or Gaz. He was down there for hours, only coming up to briefly cram his thick dick into your tight hole just long enough to leave you being for more when he pulled out. So much restraint he had. Only reason he finally finished was because he had to get up early tomorrow. Painted your sore walls with thick ropes of his spend,

"G'na take it all like a good girl, yeah?"

He held your face to muffle your moans with his mouth while he finished pumping into you. Wouldn't even clean you up, just gently pushed whatever leaked out of you back inside. Then he held you close and fell asleep, effectively trapping you in his arms. He ends up driving you to work the next day, taking you in early so he can prep with Ghost. Simon seems more grumpy than usual (it's because he's the one who's supposed to drive you to work, creature of habit he is).

"I'll let you pick her up next time. Don't get mad at me for being a gentleman."

Price sighs while portioning out meat. You swear you see Simon huff.

The drive home was silent as usual, but there was a tension that wasn't present before. Sure, there's been an uneasy or awkward air in the car before, but this was different. You needed it to stop being quiet.

"...sorry for not telling you about John taking me today."

You sat on your hands, staring at the veiny hand gripping the gear lever.

"S'alright, he told me."

His tone was unreadable as ever. He parked in front of your building, looking at you with those dark, intense eyes. You shifted uncomfortably, about to open your mouth to say something.

"G'night."

He interrupted, you nod and step out of his car to your door. You fumble with your keys and turn around to invite him in, he's already locking his car door and headed towards you. Oh fuck.

He doesn't even let you take your shoes off, just flops you onto the edge of the bed and haphazardly pulls down your jeans and underwear, folding you in half.

"Open."

He grunts, shoving two fingers into your mouth, getting them slick with your spit. He roughly fingers your sweet spot until you are overwhelmed with pleasure, then he undoes his pants. You gasp. Literally gasp at the sight of his length.

"That's not going in me."

You blink at him. He looks at you, stroking himself.

"Alright."

He shrugs before slapping his shaft on your wet folds, then rubbing himself against you. He goes at this for what seems like forever, occasionally his tip catches in your entrance before he slides out and continues to grind against you. It's maddening. Finally, you break and beg for him to slide himself in. He does so with no hesitation or concern for your poor walls. Bullies his way inside you until you physically can't take anymore and pounds into you ruthlessly. He covers your mouth with a rough hand while the other toys with your nub. You squeal, yelp, moan. It's all muffled; only to be heard by his ears.

"Atta girl, takin it like a champ."

You were barely keeping it together, each hit to your cervix made you see stars. It hurt. It was heaven. Your eyes rolled back.

"Don't look away from me."

He grabbed your face, making you stare right into his brown eyes. That's what pushed you over the edge, he rode out your orgasm before reaching his. Your heavy breaths filled the room. That's when he finally decides to pull off your shoes and pants. He was surprisingly good at aftercare, made you both some tea (why did he know where everything was?), wiped you down, and put on some cooking competition show. He was into it. Very into it.

"How do you fuck up beurre monté?"

He says to himself, shaking his head while the contestant on TV cried about messing up a sauce. It goes on like this for a while, shitting on chefs choices and mistakes. Your stomach rumbles, he looks at you. Offers to make something. You remember how the food at the restaurant gets sent back. A lot. Decline politely. He walks to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. You'd say something, but you know you can't stop him. Twenty minutes later he hands you a plate,

"Shakshuka."

It looks...edible. He sits at the end of your bed, eating and watching his show. You take a spoonful into your mouth. Fucking delicious.

"Best I could do with what you had."

He made himself home, slept like he paid the bills, splayed out and snored louder than a Harley. Pinned you right under his arm, mouth right next to your ear. You barely get any sleep.

The next day you drag your feet back and forth from the kitchen.

"Fuckin hell Simon, you kept her up all night?"

John shook his head, burning another steak. Simon grunted, plating the meat and placing it on the window. You served the food to the customer and walked back to the kitchen.

"That's my hoodie."

Soap pointed at Ghost. It was obviously Soap's, they were both well built but Simon's arms and chest stretched the fabric.

"So?"

Simon shrugged, sweeping the floor.

"So? I gave it to her."

"S'fine, she has enough of your shit."

Soap looked at you, betrayed. You shrug, you were too tired to even notice what Simon was wearing.

"Didnae ye notice yer favorite hoodie was gone?"

He looked at you, eyes sad and blindingly blue.

"Give it a rest Johnny."

"'But it's 'er favorite. Right bonnie?"

You nod (you don't have a favorite, but obviously he needs this) and he sighs in relief, smile plastered on his face. Pesters Simon to give him back the hoodie.

"Keep it somewhere safe, aye?"

He hands it to you, holding it like it was a damn fabergé egg.

While Simon and you were walking to his car, Kyle and Johnny run after you, insisting on seeing your place,

"What, only they get to see your flat? It's not fair."

So puerile, Ghost rolled his eyes.

They oohed and aahed at your flat, fawning over your decor. You're thankful for splurging on a king sized mattress. Gaz slept like an angel, but Johnny? Even in his sleep he was restless, kicking and talking. You make a note not to have Ghost and him over at the same time.

Two days later, Johnny almost drops to his knees when he sees Simon in your 'favorite hoodie' again.

[elliee3e]

‘pretty when you cry’

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‘old’ logan howlett x crybaby f! reader

‘don’t say you need me if, you live last, you're leaving —

i can't do it, but you do it best

‘cause i’m pretty when i cry’ — pretty when you cry - lana del rey

summary ;

basically just old man logan & his lil crybaby girl<3

content warnings ;

light ddlg if you squint, piv, size difference, age play/younger & smaller reader implied, corruption kink, oral sex (f receiving), slight overstimulation

old man logan, who both loves and hates having his sweet girl crumble in his arms.

by now, he feels like the only thing he’s good for is ruining. killing. tainting. that’s what he did with you, tainted your damn innocence. and now he hates how big he is compared to you, hates how he always feels like he has to hold back in fear of hurting you, hates how he tries to be gentle with you because you always end up crying in his arms no matter what.

he could be between your spread thighs, scruff brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue works against your heated core, sucking onto your clit whilst you completely crumble — thighs squeezing and trembling around his head, sniffles, whimpers and broken moans leaving your parted lips, tears starting to drip down your cheeks as you pant, the sight making logan pull away as he looks up at you from his glasses, that by now had slipped to the bridge of his nose that you always so badly wanted to kiss.

“baby, baby— hey, look at me darlin’..” he would croon, your sweet taste still clinging onto his tongue as he shifted up to grab your face, watching your pretty glazed eyes full of tears for him: looking up at him. “l-lo..” you would sniffle, voice no more than a broken whimper and it tugged at his heart.

“did i do something wrong? was it too much?” his gruff voice, laced with worry — asked. and god, yes, it was too much: but in the best way possible. you just didn’t know how to explain that you couldn’t help the tears that would take over you when something felt too good.

“n-nothing wrong, lo— just.. just a lot..” you would huff, stomach fluttering as logan would sigh at your words: bringing up a rough thumb to swipe your salty tears away: the other gently tugging your panties back up. “damn it, darlin’. givin’ me a damn heart attack everytime you sob like that, makes me feel like i hurt ya.”

“c’mon. let’s just lay together for a while. probably be better for ya, sweet thing.”

old man logan, who, after a while, would begin to understand that his girl just couldn’t help her pretty tears and sobs. it was a part of her that only he got to see after all, and that’s what made it special.

he began to love having that power over you. loved having the ability to be fucking into you, pretty legs wrapped around his hips perfectly, nails scratching along his shoulders and back where you could reach, your desperate moans mingled with choked sobs ricocheting off the apartment walls — your nails leaving cat like scratches that started to heal in a short while as they weren’t deep wounds — but they still made him groan. one of his hands, the one not on your waist to keep a steady grip on you, moving up to grab your small wrist to stop you; his hand wrapping around it no problem. “easy, baby. i’m tryna be gentle here, but you’re really pushin’ it.” he would grunt, bringing your wrist down up next to your head, easily using that for leverage to keep on his slow and deep pace into you.

“gosh, darlin’, don’t go cryin’ for me right now..” he would groan, watching as you sobbed even more, trying to slow his pace more than it already was to scoop you up into his arms, keeping your smaller body cradled in them as he soothed your sobs with gentle ‘shh’s’ — hips still fucking into yours at a steady pace, just enough to have you trembling under him and for your cries to choke up in your throat with pretty moans, a familiar heat starting to build up in your lower tummy as it made your walls flutter around his thick cock. “uh— mmph, gonna.. gonna cum, lo—“ you would whimper, small hands squirming under his bigger ones, his grip only getting tighter on your soft wrists.

“that right? my baby’s gonna cum for me? gonna cum all over my cock like the sweet girl she is?” logan would grunt, using the best of his force to fuck into you just enough to find your little gummy spot, the one that sent shivers through your small body and made you let out a sob that broke off into a moan as you felt your orgasm quickly take over — hips trembling under his, sweet pussy squeezing around his cock as much as it could as your juices leaked onto him.

“fuck, doll.” he would huff, glancing down and pulling out just enough to see your pretty pussy — flushed and dripping for him, your sniffled cries filling the room once more as you tried to recover.

“gonna be a good girl and finish me off now too?”

[eccentricwritingbaby]

baby finn series, welcome home

lando norris x wife!mom!reader

series masterlist

summary - your young family of three has now added another little piece of joy.

masterlist

-

the hospital lights shone as dim as they could get and cascaded along your tired, slumped body. you stared off towards the hum of monaco, out the window, taking in the peace that has overcome your mind. even though the next few months of juggling a newborn as well as a toddler would be difficult for your young family, the physical struggle was now over for yourself, and you and your husband had welcomed a lovely and healthy baby girl into your growing home. 

calmly coming into the world on a crisp december night, eleanor cisca norris, approached your lives bringing nothing but love and a little extra chaos. but ‘what would the norris family be without a small riot?’ your husband had ironically asked while you were soothing the crying baby for what felt like the hundredth time. having done this once before, your mom skills were at a high, swaddling game down, and breastfeeding locked in. your husband was also in his element, finally having his baby girl. 

you turned your attention away from the window and in the direction of the now two-time father, currently soaking in skin to skin time with his baby, sitting in the quietest corner of the room. she laid her peaceful head on his bare chest, sleeping soundly to the rhythm of his heartbeat. he spoke to her in the calm solace that he only reserved for you or finn, now adding little eleanor, or lola as he has elected to nickname her, to that list. you watch in awe, your heartrate picking up slightly as you feel yourself fall in love all over again with the man before your eyes, watching his gentle mannerisms that you had seen once before with finn in this exact hospital. he catches your eye, sending you a tired smile, and holding lola just a tiny bit tighter, as if once he lets go, she may slip away. 

your eyes are dry as you keep yourself from blinking, scared the moment will end if you do. as if he can read your mind, lando gives you a soft nod, telling you in your own telepathic language of love that, it’s alright, we’re here, get some sleep. 

one thing that he will never communicate without making sure that you hear it is whispered out as you begin to close your eyes, “i love you, y/n,”

“i love you too, lan,” you whisper back, as sleep and exhaustion win their battle against your mind and heart. 

the morning is brighter than normal, your baby girl now a whole day old, you and lando getting back into the swing of a newborn - having been woken up every two hours throughout the night - and yet the excitement stands. today was the day that finn would arrive at the hospital and get to meet his baby sister. 

you held lola in your arms, lando sitting next to you on the bed with one arm wrapped around the both of you. his other hand gently strokes your own arm, holding you close, and attempting to give you all of his appreciation in the world. 

“you did so good, love,” he whispers into your temple before placing a soft kiss there. 

“thank you, baby,” you sigh, exhaustion still hitting you, “when will finn be here?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the lovely lady in your arms.

“my dad said they’ll be here soon,” he whispers, eyes not leaving little lola either, “said finn was bouncin’ off the walls to come see us,” he chuckles.

“i believe that,” you laugh, “the little guy is so excited to meet her,”

as if lola could hear the conversation about her big brother, she begins to squirm in your arms, letting out a melody of baby gurgles as your husband and you swoon. lando begins to coo at the little girl as you turn to admire him instead. fatherhood always looked damn fine on him, and always will. a small knock on the door jolts the two of you out of your newborn babymoon, and instead towards lando’s parents and a sweet little boy wiggling around in his papa’s arms. 

“hi, bubs!” lando excitedly whispers as he removes himself from the bed and heads to his firstborn, taking him from his own father, “daddy missed you baby,” he giggles, kissing all over finn’s face.

“i miss you, daddy!” finn lets out between laughs as his father continues to kiss his entire face. cisca and adam eye the little girl in your arms and both ‘awe’ at the sight. they head over to you, and your eyes are already welling up at your firstborn son. 

“would you like to hold her?” you ask in the direction of the two parents, and adam steps slightly back as his wife nods her head.

“shouldn’t finn hold her first?” she asks tentatively, still reaching her arms out for the baby.

“i would prefer to hold him right now while you soak in some newborn time,” you laugh with the handoff between you two. she sighs at the sight of the small baby in her arms, wrapped in pink with a small bow hat adorning her head. adam wraps an arm around his wife as they smile, before he moves to take his own son in his arms, leading lando to plop finn on the bed and let him crawl towards you. 

“hi baby,” you sniffle as you hold him, emotions at an all time high.

“why you cry, momma?” finn asks loudly, leading your overprotective husband to snap his head towards you.

“i’m just so happy to see you, baby. momma missed you,” you let out a quiet sob along with a chuckle, lando coming over to kiss your forehead. 

“when will your parents be in, y/n?” adam asks you as he pulls you into a gentle hug of his own.

“they’re catching a flight tomorrow, should be at our house when we get back there,” you softly say, rocking finn in your arms as he cuddles into you, “they’re going to stay with us for about a week to help out a bit,”

“that’s good,” cisca sighs, still entranced by the newborn in her arms.

“do ya wanna know her name, mum?” lando quietly whispers, perching himself back on the bed to hold you and finn. she nods softly, carrying herself with such grace as she always does.

“eleanor cisca norris,” you let out as she snaps her head to the both of you. 

“oh my,” she sighs, “you two don’t know what that means to me,”

“you’ve beyond been there for me during this pregnancy and finn’s, it was only right,” you nod. she hands little lola over to adam and pulls you both into a hug as she tears up. 

“thank you, both,” 

“of course, mum,” lando sighs, tears pricking his eyes as well. 

“is it time for the little man to hold his baby sister?” adam asks, holding the baby out to you. you nod gently, rearranging the way finn was sitting on your lap in order for lola to be placed on top of him. cisca quietly records the interaction with her phone as adam sets her onto finn, lando opting to hold her head for him, and you hold onto her body to help.

“woah,” finn lets out as he gets a close look at her.

“what do ya think, bubs?” lando whispers, eyeing the little boy in your lap.

“she’s really small, daddy,” he laughs, letting the whole room let out giggles too.

“she is, buddy, that’s why you need to be gentle with her, okay?” lando teaches his son.

“i will, daddy,”

“i know you will, bubs,”

-

two days later and you have returned home, basking in the extra help of your parents and lando’s, along with the plethora of gift baskets that had been sent over from drivers and teams and friends. 

it was a calm evening, lando bouncing the quiet baby in his arms as your parents had retired to their guest room in order to catch up on jet leg. finn was playing around the living room under your supervision until the knock at your door had you moving. the little lightning bolt of a three year old had gotten there first, jumping up and down near the door - he knew exactly who was behind it.

“i wanna answer! i wanna answer!” he shouted with excited giggles.

you laughed in response while attempting to calm him, “okay, okay, but baby you need to remember baby sister is trying to sleep, alright? so let’s try and quietly welcome our guest,”

“otay, momma,” he lets out in a loud whisper as you giggle again, unlocking the door and stepping aside to let carlos and rebecca in. 

“hola, finn,” carlos laughs as your baby boy pounces on him, “and hello to you too, y/n, you look well,” 

“as good as i can do for still being in a diaper,” you all laugh as rebecca hugs you and you all head to the living room.

“aye, there she is,” carlos sighs at the sight of lando and lola, finn still clutching onto him. 

“finn, baby, get off uncle carlos so he can see your baby sister,” you softly tell the boy, finn immediately climbing down from him and over to rebecca as she scoops him up into her awaiting arms. 

lando exchanges the baby into his friend’s arms, looking on with love and care as he leads you over to the couch and wraps you in his own embrace. carlos and rebecca sitting on the couch across from you both, holding your two most precious gifts, and staring on in awe. lando squeezes you a little tighter, kisses your cheek, and lays your head to rest against him. 

“y’know mate, you look really good as a godfather,” your husband speaks up, causing the couple across from you to snap their heads up. 

“and you look beautiful as a godmother,” you add in rebecca’s direction. 

“what?!” they both respond with tears in their eyes, clearly ecstatic about the news, and obviously the perfect match to be elected. 

-

[happy-is-thirsty]

Just thinking about Yachi squeezing around Tendou's long fingers as he slides them into her tight heat.

[paarksunghoon]

omg imagine heeseung and reader shopping tgt in a mall when suddenly reader decided to hop into victorias secret?? heeseung gets so horny n needy in the changing rooms whenever reader tried on lingeries infront of him so he just fucks her in the changing rooms 💗

this made me go crazy….wrote this last night but forgot to hit publish so here we are

***

Heeseung doesn’t understands why guys don’t like stepping into lingerie shops. His friends always lament about going into a store that’s frilly and too girly, but Heeseung can’t see their point of view. Going to Victoria’s Secret is less of an embarrassment and more of a fantasy to him because every time you hold up a piece of fabric and ask for his opinion, he imagines you wearing it while he’s got you in his bedroom in all kinds of positions.

“Babe?” You call out for him and wave the set in front of his face. “What about this green one? Do you think it would look good on me?”

Heeseung licks his lips. “Yeah, I think so. You should try it on just to make sure.” You light up.

“Good idea! Let me find the dressing rooms.”

He follows behind you and notes the people in the store. There are a few shoppers and a small handful of employees around. He watches you disappear into one of the fitting rooms and hears the door lock. He lets his mind wander as you change.

“Heeseung, you can come in now.”

Your boyfriend stands up and feels his dick straining in his pants at the mere thought of you but the way you look in the lacy fabric makes his mouth drool. He locks the door as you look at yourself in the mirror.

“What do you think? It’s a bit more skimpy than I’m used to…”

“You look sexy.”

You pout. “You always say that.”

Heeseung brings his hands to your hips and toys with the band of the panties, rubbing the pads of his finger against the fabric. “You always look sexy but fuck.” He kisses your shoulder and slides his index finger below the band. “This set barely covers your pussy or your tits.”

He notes the way you look at him through the mirror as if to contemplate. Heeseung’s right, though. The panties don’t cover much. One wrong move and your folds will slip out. He’s right about the bra, too. It offers almost no support and the cups are designed to be so small that the rest of your breasts start to spill out, even when you’re standing still.

Heeseung moves his hand to cup them and brushes his thumbs over your nipples. “I could eat you up.”

“So I should get it?” He nods and keeps flicking your nipples when his lips touch your neck.

“Put it on my card.” Heeseung laughs against your neck when you gasp after he’s slotted his hardened dick against your asscheeks.

“Not in here!” You scold him in a whisper-yell and push his hands off of your breasts. You watch him pout through the mirror and wriggle to free yourself from him but your boyfriend’s arms wrap around you to keep you steady while he grinds himself against you.

“Why not? Thought you loved public sex.”

Your cheeks warm up. “This is different.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“I don’t want to get these dirty before I pay!”

Heeseung chuckles and skips his hand down your panties as he crouches down to his knees. “When I pay. I don’t mind if the see a little wet patch.”

“W-Well I do,” you stutter.

“Mm, okay. In that case, I think we should take these off so you don’t ruin them, don’t you think?”

You watch him slide the green panties down your legs and stand on your toes when he forces your asscheeks apart after you’ve stepped out of them. He tosses it on the provided bench and admires your convulsing hole. Heeseung leans forward and gives you a lick.

Your hand catches the wall as your back arches out. Your chest pushes against the surface to balance yourself out as his big hands stretches your ass apart.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he mutters when he brings his thumb to stroke your folds. “Wish I could’ve pulled them to the side instead of take them off.”

You turn around to look down at him, “After we pay.”

He looks up at you. “Right, right. We should take off this bra too, right? So you don’t ruin it?” Heeseung stands up right and pulls your body back to him to unclip it until it falls to the floor. “There. Problem solved.”

Heeseung pulls his dick out, listening to the sounds of people walking just outside. He’s sure that if anybody pays attention to the shadows underneath the open gap from the door, they’d see two shadows. Not that he minds.

“Can’t wait.” His voice is clipped. He pushes your back until you’re gripping the clothing rack for stability as he pushes inside of you. “Need you.”

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 

that student was his responsibility... 

...and he failed him entirely. 

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day. 

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 

she’s only six. 

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead��

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 

the room is dead silent. 

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 

he regrets his words immediately. 

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 

“kento?” 

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

[mcrdvcks]

fantasize

chapter summary: You have a crush on Logan, but you're not sure he likes you back. Why would he? You're not his type. At least that's what you thought.

word count: 2.4k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: here was the request

so i took a tad bit of creative freedom since i read a book on my kindle (that i got for christmas, one of the only good things about that day). it's a holiday romance/comedy book called 'good elf gone wrong' that you can read if you have kindle unlimited

anyways i took some inspiration from that book and applied it here, so i hope you enjoy it! and thank y'all for 900 followers!

warnings/tags: implied curvy!reader, slight angst, fluff, kinda protective!logan

The Danger Room was quieter than usual, with most of the team taking the rare free evening to relax or catch up on personal projects. Logan had been in there for a while, his gruff voice occasionally echoing out as he muttered to himself between sessions. The clang of metal on metal and the occasional snarl punctuated the stillness, but it wasn’t long before he stepped out, towel slung over his shoulder and a half-empty bottle of water in hand.

You were walking down the hall, carrying a box of supplies Hank had asked you to grab from the storage room. The box wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward, making it hard to see where you were going. You nearly bumped into Logan as he came around the corner.

“Whoa, easy there,” he said, steadying the box with one hand before it could topple.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, shifting it to your hip to get a better grip. “Hank needed these for his lab. Guess I should’ve watched where I was going.”

Logan smirked, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re always doin’ stuff for people, huh? Gotta learn to say no once in a while.”

“It’s fine,” you replied quickly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Hmm,” Logan said, his tone somewhere between a grunt and genuine amusement. He stepped back to let you pass. “Well, don’t let McCoy bury ya in work. You’ve got your own stuff to handle too, y’know.”

You smiled faintly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Logan watched as you disappeared around the corner, his brow furrowing slightly before he shook his head and headed off toward the kitchen. He wasn’t one to meddle in other people’s lives, but something about you always made him pay a little more attention.

---

“Hey, would you mind making 50 copies of this? I need it for my class in 2 hours but I have a meeting with the Professor.” Jean said, holding a single piece of paper, some activity for her class.

Even though you were cleaning the kitchen because Scott asked you to, and you had to fix the sprinkler system since Ororo couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it, you obliged. “Yeah, sure!” you replied, taking off your gloves you were using to clean to grab the paper from Jean to put in your small tote for later.

It was later in the evening when you finally got a moment to yourself. The mansion had settled into its usual rhythm of quiet chaos, and you found yourself in the rec room, curled up on one of the oversized chairs with a book. The soft hum of conversation and distant clatter of dishes in the kitchen made the space feel alive but not overwhelming.

Logan walked in, towel around his neck and hair damp from a shower. He gave you a quick nod before heading to the fridge to grab a beer. As he twisted off the cap, he turned to you, leaning back against the counter.

“You’re always workin’, doll. Don’t you ever sit down and let someone else handle it?”

You looked up from your book, smiling faintly. “I’m sitting now, aren’t I?”

He chuckled, taking a swig of his beer before sauntering over to the chair opposite you. “Guess that counts. What’re you readin’?”

You held up the book to show the cover. “Just something light. Needed a break.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but not unkind. “You? Takin’ a break? That’s a first.”

“It happens,” you teased, marking your page and setting the book down on the armrest. “What about you? You’re always either in the Danger Room or off somewhere on your bike.”

“Gotta keep busy,” he said with a shrug. “Helps keep my head straight.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind his words. Logan wasn’t one to open up easily, but you’d learned to read between the lines.

“Fair enough. I guess we’re both bad at just sitting still,” you said.

He smirked. “Yeah, but at least I don’t let people walk all over me while I’m at it.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Here we go.”

“I’m just sayin’, sweetheart. You’ve got a good heart, but it’s okay to say no once in a while.” His tone was softer this time, less teasing and more genuine.

You looked down, fiddling with the edge of your book. “I don’t mind helping. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything else pressing to do.”

Logan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked at you. “That’s not the point. You deserve time for yourself, too. Don’t let these jokers make you forget that.”

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest at his concern. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better,” he said, leaning back again and taking another sip of his beer. “‘Cause if I catch you runnin’ yourself ragged again, I might just have to step in.”

“Oh, really? And what would that look like?” you asked, amused.

“Let’s just say it’d involve you sittin’ in that chair for more than five minutes without someone askin’ you to fix somethin’.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Alright, deal. But only if you promise to do the same.”

He raised his beer in a mock toast. “Deal, doll.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the noise of the mansion fading into the background. Logan’s presence was steady, grounding in a way you hadn’t quite expected when you first met him. It wasn’t hard to see why you’d grown to like him so much—even if he didn’t realize it.

As you picked up your book again, you caught him watching you out of the corner of your eye. When your eyes met, he just smirked and shook his head, muttering something under his breath before finishing his beer and heading out. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, the moment lingering long after he was gone.

---

You and Ororo were making dinner, her stirring food on the stove while you cut up chicken at the counter. The kitchen smelled warm and inviting, the quiet hum of activity making it a relaxing space to chat.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Logan lately,” Ororo said, her tone light but curious.

You paused mid-slice, glancing at her with a small smile. “He’s been around, yeah. We just… talk sometimes.”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, stirring the pot without looking at you. “And you don’t think that means something?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “No, Ro. Logan talks to everyone—well, kind of. It’s not like I’m special or anything.”

She turned to look at you, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? Because the way he looks at you sometimes…”

“What way?” you asked, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks.

Ororo set down her spoon and crossed her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Like you’re the only person in the room. Like he actually wants to be around you—which, let’s be honest, is rare for Logan.”

You snorted, trying to brush off the comment. “He’s just… nice to me, that’s all. He probably feels sorry for me because I’m always running around doing things for everyone.”

“Nice? Logan?” Ororo gave you a pointed look. “That man growls at people for breathing wrong. He’s not just ‘nice.’”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. Could she be right? You’d always thought Logan’s kindness was just him looking out for you the way he did for everyone on the team, even if it seemed a little… different sometimes.

“Even if you’re right,” you said finally, “I don’t think he thinks about me like that. I’m not exactly his type.”

Ororo frowned, clearly unimpressed. “And what makes you think you’re not his type?”

You gestured to yourself vaguely. “Come on, ‘Ro. He’s this tough, no-nonsense guy, and I’m—”

“Amazing,” Ororo interrupted firmly. “You’re amazing. And if Logan doesn’t see that, then he’s a fool. But from where I’m standing, it seems like he does.”

You sighed, setting down the knife and leaning your elbows on the counter. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to make things awkward, you know? If I say something and I’m wrong, it could mess everything up.”

Ororo placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I get it. But sometimes, you’ve got to take a leap of faith. You deserve to be happy, and if Logan makes you happy, it’s worth the risk.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, Logan had wandered into the hall just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his brow furrowed as he listened.

“I’ll think about it,” you said softly, returning to the chicken.

“You do that,” Ororo said with a knowing smile, turning back to the stove.

Logan cleared his throat as he stepped into the kitchen, startling both of you. “Smells good in here.”

“Oh!” You nearly dropped the knife, your heart racing. “Hey, Logan. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya,” he said, his tone casual. His eyes lingered on you for a moment before flicking to Ororo. “You got room for one more?”

Ororo smirked, glancing between you and Logan. “Always. But only if you’re willing to set the table.”

Logan chuckled. “Fair enough.” He grabbed some plates from the cupboard, his movements unhurried but purposeful.

You tried to focus on the chicken, but your hands felt clumsier than usual under his gaze. Ororo shot you a sly look before turning her attention back to dinner, leaving you and Logan to fall into an easy, if slightly charged, silence.

---

Logan, for the first time in a long time, was clueless about what to do. He almost felt like a teenager, walking around with a secret—perhaps not-so-secret—crush.

To make matters worse, in the following days when he thought he had gathered himself to tell you how he felt, you flashed him a smile and all his previous thoughts went out the window. Logan found himself retreating to the Danger Room more often, grumbling under his breath about how he wasn’t built for this kind of thing.

One evening, after a particularly long day of running errands and fixing half the mansion’s quirks, you were in the rec room folding towels that had piled up in the laundry. Logan walked in, pausing in the doorway when he saw you. He frowned, his grip tightening around the beer in his hand.

“You’re kiddin’ me. Again?”

You looked up, startled. “What?”

“That,” he said, gesturing to the stack of towels. “You’re always doin’ somethin’ for everyone else.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, shrugging. “It needed to get done.”

Logan let out a low growl of frustration and set his beer down on the coffee table. He crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed the towel you were folding out of your hands, tossing it onto the pile. “Enough.”

“Logan, what are you doing?” you asked, startled.

“Savin’ you from yourself,” he replied, his tone firm but not unkind. “Sit.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. “What?”

“I said sit, doll,” he repeated, pointing to the couch. “You’re takin’ a break whether you like it or not.”

Reluctantly, you sank onto the couch, watching as he grabbed a towel and started folding it himself. “You don’t have to do that,” you said.

“Yeah, well, neither do you,” he shot back, not looking at you.

You crossed your arms, feeling both touched and mildly annoyed. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I like helping.”

“You like helpin’ so much you forget to take care of yourself,” he muttered, finishing one towel and moving onto the next.

“That’s not true,” you protested.

Logan finally looked at you, his hazel eyes piercing. “Yeah, it is. You’re runnin’ yourself into the ground, sweetheart. And for what? So McCoy doesn’t have to walk ten feet to grab his own damn supplies?”

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped. He wasn’t entirely wrong. “It’s just… easier to say yes than to make a fuss,” you admitted.

“Easier for them,” he countered. “Not for you.”

You sighed, sinking further into the couch. “Why do you care so much?”

Logan’s hands stilled, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he set the towel down and turned to face you fully, his expression unreadable. “Because I like you, that’s why.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “I like you. And it drives me nuts watchin’ you run yourself ragged for people who don’t appreciate it.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “Logan…”

“Look, I ain’t good at this kinda thing,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But I know what I feel. And what I feel is that you deserve better than this.”

You felt a warmth rise in your chest, a mix of disbelief and something else—hope. “I didn’t think… I mean, I thought you just saw me as some pushover,” you admitted.

He snorted. “A pushover? Nah. You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for. But that doesn’t mean you gotta carry everyone else’s weight all the time.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. Logan took a step closer, crouching down in front of you so you were eye level. “You don’t gotta say anything, doll. Just… promise me you’ll start puttin’ yourself first for once.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll try.”

He gave you a small smile, one that made your heart flutter. “Good.”

Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Logan froze, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at you. “What was that for?”

You shrugged, feeling bold for the first time. “For caring.”

A slow grin spread across his face, and before you knew it, he was leaning in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he kissed you—gentle at first, then deeper, more sure. When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless.

“That… was overdue,” he said, his voice low and a little rough.

You laughed softly. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

Logan smirked, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Guess I’ll have to stick around more. Make sure you’re takin’ those breaks.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” you teased.

“Part of it,” he said with a wink. “The other part… well, we’ll figure it out.”

And for once, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to be taken care of too.

[pathologicalreid]

blue ribbon | s.r.

in which you and Spencer dedicate yourselves to helping your daughter with the best baking soda volcano the science fair has ever seen

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: chemist!reader, misuse of lab equipment i don't care, their daughter is very girly, glitter word count: 1.46k a/n: ending the post margotober drought with the very first margovember request!!! i promise i'm working on masterlists but for some reason they're exhausting.

“Why do I have to walk backward?” You grumble while trying to balance the end of the plywood on your knee, pulling at your badge reel to unlock the lab door.

Spencer nods his head in the direction of the keypad, “That would be why.”

Rolling your eyes, you push the door handle down with your elbow before pushing the door open with your foot, shuffling your feet. “Honey, can you turn the lights on?”

Lifting herself up on her tiptoes, your daughter flips all of the switches on the panel, cringing at the bright fluorescent lights.

Together, you and Spencer hoist the science project onto one of the lab tables, careful not to knock anything over as the papier-mâché volcano rests in your professional lab.

You and Leah had stayed up until eleven last night finishing the last coat of paint, even entertaining a visit from her Aunt Penelope so that the finished project could have a fine dusting of glitter all over it. Your dining room was now permanently sparkly, but the look on your daughter’s face when she saw the finished project made the mess entirely worth it.

Spencer steps to grab your jugs of white vinegar from the car, propping the door open so he can bring the supplies for the baking soda volcano in.

Obviously, you weren’t going to use the full-size volcano now, but Leah had refused to travel without it and Spencer believes that saying no to her is an impossible task. “Mommy?” The little girl pipes up, playing with the stirring rod that you had just set in front of her.

“What’s up?” You ask, leaning your hip against the counter, gently reaching out and adjusting the bows adorning her pigtails that you’d put in her hair that morning.

She looks over at the wall, minding each of the posters that line your laboratory, “What is that?”

You follow her finger to see what she’s pointing at, smiling softly, “It’s the periodic table.”

Humming thoughtfully, Leah sets the stirring rod down and walks over to the poster, “It looks like the one at home.”

Nodding, you get a step stool out for her to stand on, “They’re the same poster, the one we have at home is just a lot smaller than the one I keep at work.” You explain to her, knowing she’s talking about the poster you keep in your home office. “Come on baby, let’s go get you a lab coat.”

Setting a hand on her shoulder, you guide her to the storeroom, “Woah,” she breathes. It’s not a positive reaction, her eyes flitter all around the room, a mess of lab coats and goggles.

“Okay,” you say, shoving your way through the space until you find your locker, pulling out your lab coat, as well as safety glasses for the whole family. Holding a coat up to her and having her pull it on, you put your own lab coat on before looking back to find your five-year-old drowning in polyester. Laughing slightly, you adjust the lapels of her jacket, “How does it feel?”

Leah looks down at herself, “Cool!” She exclaims beaming up at you and giving you two thumbs up. She skips out of the closet and heads back to her volcano, almost tripping over the extra fabric of the lab coat, but Spencer grabs her arm before her knees can hit the linoleum.

He smiles at her, “Are you okay?” Helping her adjust her coat, he kneels down to her.

“Daddy,” she cheers, completely ignoring his question for the sake of being five years old, “Look at my coat!”

Smoothing her hair back, Spencer’s eyes briefly meet yours before he looks back to Leah, “You look like mommy.”

In a fit of giggles, he scoops her up in his arms in an attempt to avoid a tripping hazard, but she just thinks it’s fun. He sets her down feet-first on the step stool you had gotten out for her.

“Here,” you say, handing him a lab coat for him to wear and setting the safety goggles you’d gathered on the countertop.

When your daughter came home in tears because she felt like she had been assigned the ‘most boringest’ project for the science fair, you and Spencer quickly decided that you’d try everything to make her baking soda volcano exciting. At the very least, you’d work together to make sure she has fun.

Leah puts her goggles on and looks up at you for her next instruction, watching you divide the baking soda and white vinegar into separate beakers, “So, what will happen when we add these two together?” Spencer quizzes, watching you make careful portions.

“It’s gonna fizz up!” She responds correctly, bouncing on her feet while you gently push the first two dishes in front of her.

You nod, “You can pour the white vinegar into the baking soda,” You nudge her gently, knowing that you measured just enough to reach the top of the beaker, but not enough to flow onto the counter.

She uses both hands to grip the beaker and pour the liquid out, and the immediate reaction surprises her so much that Spencer holds an arm out to keep her upright. He trains his eyes on her amazement as the foam dissipates and the water and sodium acetate are left in the glass. “Can I drink it?” She asks, frowning up at her dad.

“No,” you both answer immediately, a sort of parental reflex. If you don’t answer quickly enough, odds are she’d pick it up and try anyway.

Disappointed, her frown remains on her face while her eyes return to the countertop, timidly, she tugs on Spencer’s lab coat, prompting him to crouch down to her eye level, “What’s wrong, lovey?”

Her eyes nervously look around the lab, eyeing some of the cabinets before she takes a deep breath, “Can we make it pink?”

“The foam?” Spencer says curiously, eyes flickering up at you while you nod frantically, already thinking up options so that you could further individualize your daughter’s glitter volcano.

She rocks back and forth, “Can we?”

As soon as Spencer says yes, it’s like a hold on you has been released, unlocking some of the cabinets so you can grab more supplies from around the lab, you return to the station with an armful of things to try, and Spencer mutters something to Leah about you being a mad scientist, leading you to maturely stick your tongue out at him.

You set up four options, taking photos as you go so you can paste them onto her presentation board. The first one is just baking soda, but you added a touch of dish soap to the vinegar. The increase in bubbles seems to greatly please Leah, so you decide as a team that the final product should have dish soap in it.

The second one has manganese sulfate mixed into the baking soda, and if the pink salt altered the color of the foam at all, it doesn’t impress your perfectionist daughter.

The third one includes phenolphthalein, which you think has some real potential, based on the way Leah’s eyes widen at the sight of it combined with the vinegar. The liquid was almost a fuchsia color, and she gasps when she pours it in to find that the foam is white, “It’s gone?”

You nod, “The phenolphthalein when it’s in the vinegar is pink because it’s an acid, but as soon as you add the baking soda it becomes a basic solution, so…” Your voice trails off when Spencer starts shaking his head, and you look down to find that you have completely lost Leah’s attention. Instead of listening, she’s trying to pronounce phenolphthalein, tracing the letters on the black countertop.

“What do you have next?” Spencer asks, eyeing the tiny dropper bottle in front of you.

Picking it up, you drop some of it into the vinegar and hand it to Leah, “It’s food coloring.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Why do you have food coloring in the lab?”

You wrinkle your nose at him, the expression makes Leah giggle, “Mind your business.”

As a family, you watch the chemical reaction, the white of the foam mixing with the red food coloring to create the desired pink lava. “Oh,” your daughter says softly, “Thank you, mommy!”

Beaming down at her, you place your hands on your hips and sigh, “If you’d like, we can add glitter to the baking soda too.”

Wide eyes look up at you in amazement, brown eyes inherited from her father, “I love science,” she whispers.

Behind her back, you hold your hand out for Spencer, exchanging a silent fist bump—a quiet celebration between two scientists.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: dubcon-ish due to suggestiveness and alcohol, yandere, breakup, depression, schemes, manipulation, office au for some reason

part two in Gojo's pov

fem reader

It’s been two weeks since your breakup—since you got dumped on your sorry ass.

You wished you could say you were fine, wish you could say fuck that guy, anyway, good fucking riddance—that you’d make him regret it, that he didn’t know what he lost, that he’d come crawling back begging your forgiveness soon enough. You really wish you were that girl—the one who gets up and dusts off and gets back out there with her head still held high. You really do.

But no, you’re one of those girls who feel silly getting dressed—worried that you’re trying too hard. Fuck, it’s hopeless. You feel like shit, and you look like shit, and you don’t even want to go out anyway—it’s just some shitty office party at some shitty little bar where everyone’s going to make your breakup their business. It would be best not to go—leave them to talk shit about it behind your back. 

Sure, you could slap on your best tough act and tell them all to go fuck themselves, but why bother? You’re just going to drink too much and end up doing something you regret.

And oh, how right you were.

It’s not even been a good few hours before you’ve got the office slut’s tongue down your throat—all but clinging to him as you press your body up against his. Manicured hands tussled in his pretty white locks, pulling on him while sucking each other’s faces, leeching off the feeling of his hands grabbing your waist—oh god, it feels good to be wanted again.

Yes—yes, this is what you need. Fuck your ex-boyfriend, he’s probably out fucking some skank himself. Well, two can play that game. He’ll see. You’ll make him see. That fucking asshole—

Oh no.

“Wait—stop,” you break off the desperate kissing. 

Hanging your head while steadying your breath, you push both hands flat on his hard chest, keeping him distanced even as he leans after your lips. 

You swallow thickly, then wipe your mouth, taking a step back. “The fuck am I doing…”

You don’t dare look back up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you just want to get out of there as quickly as your feet can carry you—catch the first cab home and forget all about it. Pretend it never happened. 

“Sorry, ‘m gonna go,” you mumble as you start walking away, leaving your confused colleague behind, alone outside the bathroom stalls, still recovering.

You make your way down the hallway with dim neon lights flickering overhead, feeling swallowed up by the graffiti-littered walls.

What a sorry place for mistakes.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I was about to be one of those girls.” You shudder as you wrap yourself in your own hug, feeling silly for wearing a cropped jacket—and why the fuck is your dress so short? You’re not a fucking teenager anymore. “Fucking hell… I’m such a mess.”

“No, wait.” A tug of your jacket holds you in place. Oh, but you really don’t want to look at him. It’s humiliating enough already that you’d sought him out for validation—you don’t need his pity as well. It’s Gojo, for fuck’s sake. A different girl brings him lunch about every day—the whole office knows.

You might just die from the toll of it.

“Com’on. I’m perfect for this, aren’t I?” he asks under his breath while maneuvering you up against the wall again, his dewy breath brushing your scalp as he peers down at you in wait for your answer.

“What are you on about?” You veer away. You should be in a cab already. Better yet, you should have never gone out in the first place. What was your goal here anyway? To not wallow in your own worthlessness? And you really thought seeking Gojo’s seal of approval would make you feel any better about yourself? The office hottie and the century’s ultimate fuckboy?

Fuck, it’s so wrong on so many levels, you feel disgusted with yourself.

“We’re both drunk,” he states, but you don’t really want to hear it—head too filled with your own bullshit to heed any of his. You swear, if he tries any one of his sleazy pick-up lines on you, you’re gonna knee him right in the balls. It would be nice to get fired now anyway—you’d take it as a blessing.

What he says instead is unexpected—brutally and grossly honest, “You need a rebound, right? And I wanna fuck.”

Your thoughts stop shaming you as you look back at him, returning his gaze with an awaiting silence, allowing him to go on.

“So let’s use each other and blame it on the drink.”

It sounds like the lyrics of an angsty heartache song they might have played back inside the bar—the muted thuds seeping in through the walls makes it all but true. And still, there’s something oddly enticing about it, even as it makes you cringe.

“No hard feelings. No strings,” he continues, a small grin playing in the corner of his lips. “Just a good ol’ tit for tat.”

He almost sells it. But you’re just one too many bad nights too tired to buy.

“Don’t be dumb—” you dismiss and try nudging him away again—only, he doesn’t let up.

“C’mon—you’re angry, aren’t you?” he poses with a quirked brow. “What better way to stick it to him than fucking the hottest guy around?”

It stunts you. Suppose that had been exactly your objectives tonight, unknowingly and much to your shame. At least you can find some mediocre solace in your next confession, for as it turns out, “I’m not that kinda girl.”

It’s a depressing outcome. Made even shittier by how you sort of wish you were—that kind of girl. The type who doesn’t let anything get to her, who moves on and doesn’t think twice about it—who fucks the hot guy in front of her and wakes up feeling empowered the next morning. If only you weren’t such a tragic fucking loser…

“Be her for a night?” he suggests, still not having given up. He cups your chin and brushes a thumb over your lips. It’s really intimate, makes you feel pinned beneath that look in his eyes—as if the sky was coming down upon you. His words are low, brushing your face with heat as he says them, “I promise, I’ll make you feel so good you’ll forget all about him.”

Goddamn it—there it is, the fucking pick-up line. Now, it doesn’t really make your knees weak or anything, but you’re sorry to say you can’t deny it’s tempting, either. 

Besides, you really didn’t want to go home and spend the night crying yourself to sleep—again, now paired with regrets about this night on top of it all.

You look at him through the thicket of your mascara, into those big blue puppy-dog eyes looking at you in something so strange such as earnest. Oh God, he really wants to do this for you, doesn’t he? He could go find himself any other girl—everyone had been eyeing him earlier—it’s not too late for him to simply go pick any one of them up. 

Is this his way of being considerate—being a good colleague by offering you a fuck? Ugh… that makes you feel so fucking pathetic. But then again… why does it really matter? You couldn’t really stoop any lower at this point—might as well have some fun while at it, right?

You were out of ice cream anyway…

“C’mon,” he drawls, eyes growing heavier as he leans further in—once again, only a tiny inch separating you. So close you taste his breath and feel his voice on your lips. “Don’t make me beg.” 

You don’t. No, you end up saying not another word. Too busy drowning your sorrows, getting drunk while kissing him breathless.

And oh, you and your bittersweet heartbreak taste so good on his tongue—coercing your boyfriend into dumping you was the greatest ploy for your heart he could ever do.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[misserabella]

ive been so obsessed with bbf ellie recently, so can we get a bbf ellie where ellie and reader fuck when the brother is sleeping or not home and like ellie fucks reader ROUGH telling her to keep quiet while the strap is deep🤭

don’t make a sound

bbf! ellie williams x fem! reader

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, teasing, name calling, degradation, praise, no use of y/n, voyeurism kinda??, strap on usage (r receiving), harsh rough sex, ellie has a dirty mouth, sub! reader and dom! ellie, hickeys, hair pulling, oral sex (e receiving), cum eating, face riding (r receiving)…

“that’s it. nice and quiet. don’t want your brother to wake up, hm?”

it’s late at night. the moon is dampening your room in soft strokes with its light. the hair is damp with the smell of sex, and is filled with your gasps and ellie’s soft grunts.

she’s deep into your cunt, roughly fucking her cock into your walls, which squelches with every harsh thrust and snap of her hips.

your brother’s room is right beside yours. and the walls are so thin you can hear his snores. you were fucking his best friend just a room away. you were letting her split you open with her strap over and over again as you try to contain your moans of pleasure because she’s doing it so good… she’s so good, she feels so good…

“feeling good, princess?” you babble, nodding. “yeah of course you do. you’ve been waiting for this the whole day, haven’t you? fucking slut. teasing me running around showing your panties while i’m at your home just so i fuck you, huh? are you that needy for it? do you want me that badly, baby?” you nodded, gasping when a hand surrounded your neck. “speak up.”

“yes, fuck, yes.” you moaned, watching her chuckle.

“of course you do. look at you. you’re fucking dripping. taking my cock like it’s nothing, hm? it slides in and out so easily…” she bit down on her lip, looking in between both your bodies and pressing you harder against the wall she was fucking you against, her free hand holding your leg up around her waist to fuck you deeper, harder. you’re a mess, slick sounds of your pussy taking her pounding filling the room. a particularly loud whimper falling off your lips making the grip around your neck tighten. “shut the fuck up.” she spat. “shut the fuck up and take it.” her lips latched to your neck, damp kisses being given to your skin. “fuck. wanna mark you up. should i, baby? let your brother see what her best friend does to you when he’s not watching, hm?” you moaned. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you. dirty girl…”

“ellie…” you sighed, her lips now on your chest.

“maybe i could do it here, hm? where he won’t see. it’ll be our little secret.” she smirked, seeing you whimper as she harshly sucked on your skin, bruising you, marking you. “all mine. all fucking mine.” she groaned, speeding up her thrusts. one of your hands, that were surrounding her neck, laced on her hair, tugging and making her grunt.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried out. you could feel yourself stumbling towards your orgasm, the warmth of your lower stomach spreading all over your body. ellie pushed her tongue inside your mouth to try and silence you up as she felt you squeezing her cock harder. “i’m gonna cum. i’m cumming, i’m cumming…!” you gasped, your nails digging on her back and tightening on her hair as you felt it coming.

“that’s it. cum for me. cream my fucking cock.” her words easily pushed you over the edge. “good girl. fuck. good fucking girl.” she grunted, fucking you through it, blissed out by your expression, although she had to kiss you again to muffle your screams. “so fucking loud… can’t keep fucking you like this. you’re gonna wake up your brother.” you whimpered when she pulled out, leaving you empty and in need for more. “get on your knees.” she ordered, pushing down on your head until your shaky knees were bobbling and letting you fall onto the floor. you watched as she unbuckled her strap, throwing it aside. your mouth watered at the sight of her soaked folds and puffy throbbing clit. “eat my pussy. that’ll keep your mouth busy.” she smirked at the dumb look in your eyes. “what’s the matter, baby? you look hungry.” she chuckled, one of her hands cupping the back of your head to push you closer to her cunt. “just open up for me, hm? stick your tongue out.” you did as she said, showing her your tongue, and she groaned. “just a pretty slut hungry for pussy, aren’t you? then eat it.” she grunted at the feeling of your mouth on her once she had buried your face on her cunt. “fuuuuck. that’s it baby. eat my pussy.” she sighed as you lapped at her slick with a pathetic whine, your hands holding onto her thighs as she tugged on your hair and bucked her hips against your mouth. you were drunk on her. she tasted so good. the strong tang of her arousal filling your mouth as you slurped her juices. you latched onto her clit, making her softly moan as you suckled on it, looking up at her through your lashes. “shit. you have a mouth on you, don’t you? so fucking good at eating your brothers best friend’s pussy, huh?” you hummed against her, lapping at her. she had been so close from the back of the strap bumping against her clit than just a couple of licks from you had her bordering the edge. “want me to cum on your face, princess? fill your mouth up with my cum?” you nodded, sucking at her clit as she humped you face. “of course you do. flatten your tongue up for me, gonna ride it.” you flattened your tongue and she started to thrust harder against it, stimulating her clit. “shit, gonna cum baby, gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours.” she was panting, gasping, searching for her release. and with one, two, three more thrusts she was reaching it. “fuuuuck.” she groaned, her head tilting backwards, her throat bobbing with a gulp. you licked her though it, eating up her cum, drinking every last drop of it.

and the sight of your chin and lips dripping with her cum, convinced ellie that this wouldn’t be the last time she’d be fucking you.