#to which they kept replying built wrong

[oifaaa]

keep thinking about a conversation I had the other week with a friend, I was recommending hadestown since its my favourite musical to which my friend relied "oh I didn't know you'd seen it in person" I laughed and explained ive actually never seen any musicals live since I don't have the money (live theatre is expensive) this however made them go on a long rant about how you really have to see theatre live to really enjoy it and yada yada yada anyway it's nice to be reminded sometimes that I'm not the worst conversationalist out there

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 18 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Short notice before the start of a deployment was bad enough, but Bradley was left worrying about so much more. And if he didn't figure it out quickly, he thought he might lose you. How would you and he make it through the worst kind of time apart?

Warnings: Fluff, oral sex, smut, angst, adult banter, desperate Bradley, 18+

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Your boyfriend was acting strange, and now you had the distinct feeling he was lying to you. You sat on your bed after work on Friday with tears in your eyes as you tried to process the fact that you barely heard from him after you sent the topless picture the day before. Usually that kind of thing got him going in a good way, and he kept telling you he was fine, but it didn't seem that way. You just couldn't figure out what happened. 

A few minutes ago, you texted him about the plan for the weekend. You really wanted to talk to him about your upcoming winter break, too. You were supposed to be heading to his house right now, but you were having second thoughts as you read the latest message from him again.

I know we were supposed to go to Salvatore's tonight, but I think we need to talk instead. 

This sounded so bad to you. It didn't sound like he simply had a long day and just wanted to relax on the couch with you. This was something that built up over the past two days, and now you felt tears in your eyes as you scooped up your overnight bag and headed out.

"Just get it over with," you told yourself as you drove. You tried to focus on your playlist, but your mind was wandering to the plethora of reasons why I think we need to talk spelled disaster.

After you fought your way through rush hour traffic and pulled up to park in front of Bradley's house which you were supposed to move into next month, you noticed he was sitting on the porch step, waiting for you. And he didn't look very happy.

"Hi," he greeted with a poor attempt at a smile as he slowly stood and made his way over to you. He looked tall, broad and handsome in his uniform, but he didn't call you Gorgeous. 

"What's wrong?" you asked, not even bothering to get your bag out of your car before you met him halfway up his walkway. 

He pulled you in for a hug, and you could feel his lips on your ear as he lied to you again. "Nothing's wrong."

"Bradley," you said, trying to pull out of his grasp. He let you go, but now he wasn't even pretending to smile. You swallowed and whispered, "You've been acting strange since yesterday. I thought maybe work was getting to you, or that you just needed a day of quiet to yourself. But clearly this has to do with me, so just tell me what's wrong."

"It's not you," he replied instantly, taking a step closer with a pained look on his face. "God, it's absolutely not you."

When you looked at him more closely, it was obvious he was exhausted. Like maybe he hadn't even slept last night. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were sagging forward just enough that he looked almost defeated. 

"Bradley."

He looked down at the sidewalk before meeting your eyes again. "I found out yesterday... I'm being deployed."

The wave of emotion didn't hit you as hard as it could have, because you'd given this a lot of thought, but you were still rendered speechless. You'd mentally planned for this. Deployments were a way of life for him. But the tears were back as you asked, "When?"

"Day after Christmas," he murmured miserably. "But that's not all."

Your voice wouldn't work as you looked up at him, vision blurring his handsome features into something that was almost frightening. "What?"

He paused while you swiped at your eyes, and just when you thought you were going to have to force it out of him, he said, "It's with the Atlantic Fleet. Out of Norfolk, Virginia. They... they said they want me permanently."

"No," you sobbed, realizing that your tears were starting to roll down your cheeks. Now it made perfect sense. You knew why he'd been acting so odd. "You want to break up before you leave."

"What?" Bradley replied, his voice sharp as he reached for you again. "No. No, Gorgeous. I don't."

You felt ridiculous, crying in his arms in his front yard, but all you could say was, "Then why didn't you just tell me yesterday that you're going back to Virginia?"

"Fuck," he grunted, tucking you tighter against him. "Does this mean you don't want to dump me?"

You inhaled the smell of his deodorant and jet fuel as you cried. "Why on earth would you think I'd want to dump you? I'm in love with you."

He started to back toward the front door, his hold on you never relenting as he murmured, "Now that I know you're not going to leave, let's go inside where we can talk and snuggle on the couch."

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

Bradley had been waiting on his porch step for almost an hour for you to arrive, thinking there was a real chance that you'd drive off again. He was tired and hungry, and he'd spent the last day and a half trying to figure out what was going on with his job. But more than anything, he was afraid you hadn't changed your stance on falling for a guy who lived on the opposite side of the country.

Shit. He made you cry. You were still crying as he led you over to the couch where you ended up sitting on his lap. He was trying to wipe your tears away as you just shook your head. "I'm sorry, Baby," he whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you like this."

You sucked in a few breaths before you managed to say, "Let me make sure I have this straight. You're leaving for Virginia. And you don't know when you're coming back, if at all?"

"Yeah," he whispered. There was no point in beating around the bush about it. "The deployment out of Norfolk is a done deal. Leaving on the twenty-sixth is a done deal. I'm trying my hardest to fight the rest of it."

"You can do that?" you asked, letting your forehead rest against his. 

Bradley kissed you softly. He couldn't stop himself with you this close. "I'm trying. I don't want to leave San Diego. Virginia used to feel like home, but it hasn't for a long time. Especially not since I met you. So a permanent change of station is something I will fight until they force it on me."

You kissed him this time, and he knew nowhere would feel like home without you. But he couldn't retire yet, and he didn't want to have to ask you to uproot your life for him. He just made himself dizzy, chasing his thoughts around in circles. 

"Is there anything I can do?" you asked.

He wanted to beg you to stay with him no matter what, but he couldn't do that either. "Remember when I was deployed last time and you told me you were afraid I was stationed somewhere far away from you? And how you would have to brace yourself to say goodbye instead of pursuing something?" You nodded against him, arms around his neck as he whispered, "I thought about that all night last night. About how this could be the end for us."

"Stop it," you said before pressing your lips to his. "I don't feel that way anymore at all. It wasn't even a deal breaker when I said it months ago, and I hadn't even met you in person yet. I'm not going anywhere, Bradley. We'll figure it out."

He eased himself down along the couch, keeping you firmly on top of him as he sighed in relief. Suddenly fighting for his job with the Pacific Fleet didn't seem as daunting. He had to figure it out though, because he wanted to stay here and get married. "Say my name again?" he asked, knowing exactly how much you could calm him down when he let you in.

"Bradley," you whispered, settling against his chest as he closed his eyes.

"I love you, Gorgeous."

He didn't realize exactly how tired and stressed he was until he woke up close to midnight, alone on the couch with a blanket draped over him, still wearing his uniform and boots. As soon as he opened his eyes, his head was pounding from the events of the week, but he could smell something cooking.

Bradley rolled off the couch while his stomach growled, and he made his way into the kitchen where you were wearing his sweatshirt and making a grilled cheese sandwich while you looked at your phone. "Hey," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You quickly swiped out of the photo album and tossed your phone aside.

"I was going to wake you up soon. You have almost no food here, but you need to eat," you told him, turning to face him. He had no food, because he originally planned to take you out tonight, and now there was no point in going grocery shopping since he was leaving. Your expression was unreadable, and he didn't like that.

"What I need is to spend as much time with you as I can between now and Norfolk." Your lips curved up into a small smile. "I should have told you what was going on as soon as I found out."

You nodded. "I know we haven't been together long, but I'm taking this pretty fucking seriously, Bradley."

"Me, too," he promised. "And it's really hot when you swear." When you laughed, he felt so much better. "Listen, you're absolutely stuck with me now, okay? I'll figure this shit out, but you're stuck with me, and we're going to get married someday."

"Sounds good," you replied easily, still smiling. "But right now you need to eat."

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

You felt better with Bradley's arm around you than you had all day. You couldn't believe he'd been hanging onto your words from his last deployment. You were surprised he could still possibly think that distance would mean anything to you. Both of you agreed not to get ahead of yourselves. Uprooting your life and your career would leave you devastated, but you'd start over again for him.

"Were you just looking at the dirty picture you sent me?" Bradley asked as he bit into half of the sandwich while another one cooked.

"Yes," you whispered before nibbling on your own sandwich half.

"Shit," he mumbled, dropping his food back onto the plate where he stood in the kitchen. "I never even told you how much I loved it."

"No. You didn't."

He wiped his hands on his uniform shirt. "God, I keep fucking up. I got so sidetracked by the orders from Norfolk that I couldn't even think. I loved that photo."

You turned away to flip the second grilled cheese sandwich in the pan. "I thought you got tired of me sending them." Bradley's hand moved faster than his brain as he flicked the knob on the stove, turning it off. "Hey," you protested, turning to look at him again, but he pulled the spatula out of your hand and tossed it into the sink. "Bradley!"

He mashed his lips against yours, silencing you as his hands grabbed the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer until you were pressed tight to the front of his body. Then he let his hands slide along your bare skin from your legs, over your perfect ass, up until they were on your lower back. "I'll do better," he promised. "And right now, I want to show you how not fucking tired of you I am."

A minute later, you were on your back on the edge of his bed, legs thrown over his shoulders while he ate your pussy. Your fingers were tangled up in his hair as he knelt on the floor, and his sweatshirt was bunched up above your tits. "I will never get tired of you," he swore before licking a long stripe up to your clit. If you thought for a second that he would want to throw in the towel over long distance, he needed to make sure you understood he never would.

"Bradley," you moaned as he sucked on your clit. His insignia pins were digging into the back of your thigh, as was his name tag. He would figure this out. He would figure everything out. Leaving in a handful of days was not ideal, but as long as you still wanted him, he was all in.

"Oh my god," you whined, back arching as Bradley realized he was being a bit rougher with you than usual. But he couldn't stop. His fingers were digging into your hips, holding you in place as you tried to rock against him. 

His mouth was demanding as he sucked on and plucked at your clit, but you just kept getting louder for him. Your legs were shaking, heels digging into his shoulder blades, but he didn't stop until you came. With his tongue still swirling your clit as you yanked on his hair, Bradley quickly unzipped his khaki pants and pulled himself free. He positioned himself at your entrance as you tugged until his mouth was on yours.

"You liked it rough," he grunted between kisses slick with your arousal.

"I did," you answered, rolling your hips to take the tip of him. As your fingers trailed down to his pins, you asked, "Are you going to fuck me, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" He watched you gasp, mouth agape as he filled you with one deep thrust, and then your head tipped back as you moaned, "I'll take that as a yes."

His lips found that sweet spot next to your ear that he loved to kiss. "I just want to ensure that you'll miss me as much as I miss you while we're apart."

Your voice was softer as you said, "You don't have to worry about that."

Bradley kissed along your neck and told you how much he loved you before absolutely pounding you into the mattress. 

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

You and Bradley slept in so late on Saturday morning, you heard him wander out to the living room when Natasha arrived to go for a run to tell her he'd workout on Sunday instead. When he tried to slip back into bed, you rolled over toward him.

"Sorry. It was just Nat. I forgot I told her days ago that we could run." He gathered you against his chest and kissed your forehead.

You grinned and said, "I heard you tell her that the love of your life was more appealing today than working out."

"I sure did," he grunted and ran his big, heavy hand down your back. "You're always more appealing than anything else, Gorgeous. But if I don't run, I'll gain so much weight. You know how much I eat."

A smile found your lips as you thought about the rough sex followed by another round of grilled cheese sandwiches at two in the morning. "Can we skip Salvatore's again tonight? I'd rather stay here and feed you. We can go to Salvatore's when your deployment ends and you return to San Diego."

Bradley sighed. "And if I get told my new station is in Norfolk?"

You pressed your fingertip to his lips. "We're not humoring that thought yet. Instead, we're going to snuggle and fuck and maybe watch a Christmas movie. Okay?"

"Nothing has ever sounded better."

After that, Sunday was spent with the two of you trying to use up as much of his food as you could. You even managed to bake some cookies that he ate a dozen of in one sitting, and then you found a strand of twinkle lights in his hallway closet where you discreetly squished a spider without telling him. You helped him hang the lights on his porch railing as he laughed and said, "I don't usually celebrate holidays anymore."

"You do now," you informed him, making a mental note to have your students make some cards for him this week before he left. Bradley would be very busy over the next few days, and you didn't want to stress him out about the holiday. But just when you were about to ask him if there was a chance he'd want to spend Christmas Day with you before he flew to Norfolk, he said, "Maybe we can get Thai food on Christmas, and you can help me finish packing?"

You nodded and tried to keep the tears at bay, afraid to admit to him that the future you were so sure of was scaring you a bit. Being without him for a deployment was manageable, but the last thing you wanted to do was move across the country. At least you'd have your regular pen pal back while he was on the aircraft carrier; having Bradley in your email inbox on a regular basis again was better than nothing.

"That sounds perfect," you told him, knowing you'd do whatever it took to make this work.

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

When Bradley was called in to talk to Cyclone, he was exhausted for a different reason. Although the weekend started out laced with uncertainty between you and him, it bloomed into something sweet. On Sunday evening, you held his hand and walked along the windswept beach until it got too chilly, and then you helped him start packing. You'd had some tears in your eyes that he brushed away as you folded his clothes into tiny rectangles and stuck by his side.

Now the only uncertainty he felt came from the U.S. fucking Navy. With a deep breath and squared shoulders, he opened Cyclone's office door after he knocked. It wasn't surprising that Mav and Warlock were there, too, but he couldn't tell if that was a good sign or a bad one regarding a change of station. He raised his hand into the proper salute.

"Admirals. Captain."

The three men returned the courtesy before Cyclone sank into his office chair. "Have a seat, Lieutenant." His voice sounded gruff and perhaps even more annoyed than usual as Bradley slowly sat down opposite him. "Captain Mitchell," he barked at Maverick who procured a folder from behind his back and handed it to Bradley. Then he turned toward Bradley again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lieutenant Bradshaw, you'll report to the USS Gerald R. Ford in a matter of days to rendezvous with the air strike team."

Bradley nodded and skimmed the paperwork inside the folder regarding the sensitive nature of the mission, but he didn't much care about what they wanted him to do when he got there. "Sir, can you tell me where I'll be stationed once this mission is completed?"

Cyclone leaned back in his seat, brow puckered, arms crossed over his chest. "Naval Station Norfolk has, as you know, requested you specifically to round out their Super Hornet team permanently."

"Yes, Sir," Bradley replied, practically choking on the words. He would have never thought the promise of Virginia would feel like a threat to his happiness, but here he was. "I would really prefer to stay in San Diego," he added, trying to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.

Cyclone leaned forward in his seat with a weary sigh. "Admiral Simpson, Captain Mitchell and myself all agree that the Pacific Fleet is very well balanced at the moment. Losing a reliable pilot to the Atlantic at this point would not be ideal." The tension in Bradley's body eased up momentarily before Cyclone said, "But I can only do so much to keep the status quo when there is a clear need across the board."

Bradley wanted to ask why nobody else was even in consideration when Warlock cleared his throat and said, "There's a price to pay when you're the best of the best."

There was a beat of silent agreement amongst the four of them before Cyclone heaved a deep breath. "I'll do what I can," he said simply. "In the meantime, prepare for your flight to Norfolk. The information is in the folder. And prepare to be out of communication with any and all civilians for the duration."

Bradley's heart stopped. He opened the folder again, but his eyes couldn't seem to focus on the words in front of him as the pages all blurred together. His fingers scrambled as he swallowed hard, and finally he looked up at the older man seated behind the desk. "No communication at all. For the duration?"

Cyclone nodded once. "You are dismissed, Lieutenant."

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

It was just something silly, but when you saw it while you were out shopping, you bought Bradley another Christmas present. You wrapped it up in red and gold paper along with the Mira Mesa Elementary School sweatshirt you got in his size. Then you threw the gifts along with the collection of cards from your students in your overnight bag and tried to keep yourself calm as you drove down to Coronado.

You would have a few days with your boyfriend at the beginning of your winter break before you took him to the airport and sent him off to Norfolk. There would be plenty of things to keep you busy while he was away, including packing up your apartment before your lease ended. But now you'd be moving into his house without him there.

All of the twinkle lights and decorated trees gave you a bittersweet feeling in the pit of your stomach as you drove down his street, but at least this time when you parked, he jumped up from his porch step and met you at your car.

"Gorgeous," he breathed, wrapping his arms around you. His old sweatshirt was currently keeping you warm, and you really wanted him to have his new one for his deployment. You kissed him hard, noting the look of apprehension on his face, but chalking it up to the stress of the unknown.

You kissed him again and kept your arms around his neck as he picked up your bag. "I was going to say we should wait until Christmas morning, but I want you to open your presents now."

His voice was deep and raspy and right next to your ear as he led you inside. "You did not have to get me anything." He kissed your cheek and added, "I need to tell you something important."

"After you open these," you agreed, reaching into the bag and pulling out both gifts before he set it down.

Bradley studied your face before running his thumb along your cheek. "Sure. After I open these."

He took the wrapped packages as you tugged him toward the couch with your hands on his bicep, and you ended up halfway on his lap as he carefully tore at the paper like he didn't want to harm it too much.

"Just rip it," you said with a soft laugh, but he shook his head and looked up at you.

"It's too pretty," he replied. "And nobody gets me gifts, ever. Unless you count coupons for steak dinners from Natasha."

You laughed a little louder as you imagined the laundry list of weird gifts his best friend must have given him over the years. When he finally had his hands on the sweatshirt, he sat frozen with a smile on his face. "I love this. I kind of feel like an honorary faculty member at your school."

"You're a legend in my classroom, Bradley," you promised, snuggling a little closer as he set the shirt aside and carefully unwrapped the second item. This one would mean more to you while he was away, and you hoped he understood just how much you were going to miss his voice and his touch. But you'd still have something from your pen pal.

"Oh," Bradley said softly as he held the navy blue stationery set on his lap. It included note cards, luxuriously thick paper and a gold pen. You could already picture his handwriting on the pages.

"We can go back to being pen pals for a bit," you whispered. "I'll be refreshing my email inbox and waiting not so patiently for my mail to arrive. It'll be great. That's how I fell in love with you in the first place."

"Gorgeous," he groaned, setting the stationery down on his coffee table before burying his face in his hands. "That's not gonna happen."

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

Atlantic Fleet, here we come. But for how long? No pen pals. No email. No letters. This deployment already hurts. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 19

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[owlcomics101]

”Zoomies.” Task force 141 x Cheetah hybrid!user

Warning: SFW (I am a minor), fluff, cussing/swearing, cat shenanigans

You were a cheetah hybrid. You had the cheetah ears, tail, fangs, and feet paws. You were a great asset to the task force for your speed and agility accept, there was one problem; You get the ‘zoomies’. If you have an off day or a mission that didn’t involve a full on chase. All that built up energy needed to be released at some point. You were sitting in Price’s office, helping him out with some reports when your legs started to bounce. Your fingers tap against the table anxiously as you held one of the files in your hands and tried to focus on reading it. Price looked away from his computer screen-noticing your fidgeting.

“You alright there Y/N?” He asked with a skeptical brow, to which you tried to play it off with a head nod before going back to your paper. Price cocked his head to the side seeing your tail thrashing back and forth violently and smacking against your chair. He couldn’t help but slightly smirk in amusement.

“You’re fidgeting, love.” He points out. You let out a huff looking away from him.

“No-……So what? I’m just a bit finicky right now….” You grumble, griping the paper tightly until your knuckles turned white. Price couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Look, if we get this done I’ll take you outside. How does that sound?” He tried offering a compromise, trying to have something to motivate you to work. Your ears couldn’t help but perk up at the offer.

“Really?” You asked with a low purr rumbling in your throat“Really, mate.” Price replied. Amused by your low purr that you hadn’t even noticed occur. Your ears rested flat against your head as you went right to work, determined to finish early before it was lights out for everyone. Price let out a small sigh of relief. Finally getting your ‘zoomies’ under control. That was until there was a large thud in the hallway. Price immediately got up from his desk and walked over to the door and opened it to see what the racket was all about.

“What the bloody hell is going on out here!?” Price shouts, only to be met with Soap being chased by Ghost down the hall. Gaz on the floor who seemed to have been caught by surprised and trampled by the two, but Gaz was just too fed up with them to get up anymore.

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK JOHHNY-RIGHT NOW BEFORE I CUT YOUR BLOODY TONGUE OFF!” Ghost shouts. Your ears perk up at this as you look over to see Ghost tackling Soap to the ground and attempting to choke Soap out.

“Y-You c-an’t escape the t-truth L.T!” Soap said between choked breaths. Price storming over and pulling Ghost off of Soap.

“Would you muppets cut the shitte out!? Y/N are trying to get some fucking work done and you two are just sitting here acting like childr-“

“Uhh…..guys?” Gaz interrupts Price slowly standing to his feet.

“What!?” Price snaps looking back at Gaz before his eyes widen. All four of them see you staring back at them with dilated pupils and teeth bared, your shoulders slightly shifting as if your getting ready to pounce.

“Oh shit….” Soap muttered

“Fucking hell-“ Ghost was cut off by you bolting out of Price’s office and sprinting towards them. Soap struggled to get up as they all panicked trying to get out of the way but just kept bumping into each other like a pair of idiots.

“Y/N no-Please just take a moment to breathe-“ Price tried to deescalate the situation but you immediately tackled him to the ground. Knocking the air straight out of him as he wheezed. You looked down at Price before looking back up to see Soap running ahead.

“Soap stop running!-Your gonna give Y/N the wrong idea-“ Ghost tried to get Soap to stop but you used Ghost as a boost and jumped onto Ghost’s shoulders and jump off to tackle Soap.

Cut to the team lying in makeshift beds in the infirmary, all of them covered in head to toe with bruises and scratches from you. You were given catnip to ‘calm down’. They all stared at you playing with a toy mouse. All of them still out of breath and wheezing from the chase. Ghost and Soap will think twice before arguing with each other again.

[lxclerc]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢 ─ 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary... in which karma finally bites you in the ass faceclaim... christina nadin pairing... charles leclerc x reader warning... none so far. petty charles and petty reader

note... i need everyone to pretend like all the text messages are in french. also no charles yet but lots of charles in the next part.

series masterlist main masterlist

part one → current part (part two) → part three

charles leclerc has never been on your podcast. it isn’t for the lack of trying per se but rather out of your own sheer stubbornness and need to protect your pride. chasing red, the motorsport podcast you’d built from the ground up, consists of you and your best friend emma. months ago, emma had emailed charles inviting him as a guest with emma alone as the host. it’s already unusual in itself considering you’re in every episode, but charles had replied to the email with a sort of snarkiness you aren’t used to but definitely not surprised to hear. 

dear emma,

if y/n wants me as a guest then she can contact me herself. thank you. sincerely, charles

it had been short and to the point and you’d rolled your eyes when you read it. if charles wanted to be petty then you’re certainly not about to appear on his doorstep begging him to come on your show. charles seems to forget that he’s gotten his pettiness from you. 

still, after that particularly irritating email, emma had been badgering you to explain what had happened. charles leclerc is the nice guy after all. who else would let ferrari fuck them over as much and still scream forza ferrari at the top of his lungs? according to emma, it’s simply impossible for charles to respond in such a way without some hidden history between the two of you. 

and she wouldn’t be wrong but you’d been able to keep that under wraps pretty well. you’ve kept your past right where it belongs – in the past and in your opinion, there’s simply no need to dig up old bones. of course, up until now as you watched with furrowed brows as your name trended on twitter. it seems no matter how deep you bury old bones, it comes back and haunts you – or in your case, bites you in the ass.

“you dated him!” you winced at emma’s sharp tone. you already feel a headache coming in – you hadn’t expected to be shoved down memory lane at a random tuesday if you’re being completely honest and you’re definitely not in the right state of mind to be dealing with it. 

“keep your voice down,” you say, putting your phone down and allowing yourself a sip of your coffee as you try to ignore emma’s incredulous looks. 

“you dated him?” she says again, in a sarcastic whisper this time that made you roll your eyes. you hated her sometimes. you love her of course, but you really hate her sometimes. 

and you hate whichever idiot got ahold of those photos. everyone seems to have so much to say but they can’t seem to comprehend that the charles and y/n in those photos aren’t the same charles and y/n now. you’re both grown now, no longer little kids fueled only with dreams and ambitions. now you’re fueled entirely by coffee and the will to not stalk his social media. 

you’re over charles leclerc. you’re so over him that you spend all your time applauding yourself just how over him you are. of course, you’ve seen charles around after the break up. you both live in monaco after all. it’s impossible not to accidentally pass by each other walking to the grocery store or be at the same restaurant or the same party. you’ve seen him around the paddock multiple times but neither of you say anything. sometimes your eyes meet and the familiarity in each other is difficult to ignore but mostly, you just walk past each other as though you’re strangers, as if you hadn’t spent your childhood memorizing the patterns in his eyes. 

you groaned at where your mind went. this is the last thing you want to be thinking – or talking – about at eight in the morning. you blame twitter and emma entirely for your predicament. it doesn’t help that you share an apartment with her too. 

“no comment,” you say finally at her expectant face. 

her little evil grin terrifies you as he picks up a stack of papers from the coffee table, placing it in front of you. “i’d suggest clearing the air between the two of you before thursday because you’re spending vegas with ferrari.” 

you almost spit your coffee as you grabbed the paper and double checked. unfortunately, there it is in plain sight, your sponsor team right next to ferrari. the document contains your schedule for vegas as an F1 presenter. you’ve been lucky enough not to be assigned to ferrari since you’ve been assigned the job three months ago. but alas, all your bad karma seems to have finally caught up with you today as you read through your itinerary, the first words being an ice breaker game with carlos sainz and charles leclerc proceeding with a hot lap with one of the drivers on friday. 

oh jesus christ, you’re screwed. 

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yourusername vegas ready and sporting red for the weekend!

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emmauser very excited for the weekend

⤷ yourusername 🖕🏻

⤷ username emma what do you know

username god have answered all my prayers and forced y/n and charles to finally interact

username watching the childhood lovers to strangers, forced proximity trope in real time

⤷ username i am so invested actually

username her and charles are my roman empire

⤷ username they have consumed every nook and cranny of my feeble brain im afraid

username now what in the booktok is going on

taglist: @nhlfs @livinglifethroughfanfic @sage-butterflyy @chimchimjiminie16 @thatgirlmj @hiraethrhapsody @roseseraj @celestialams @1655clean @minkyungseokie @ssararuffoni @f1verse @honethatty12 @formulas-bitch @nmw-am @lorarri @erikasurfer @thievin-stealing @glow-ish @raevyng @scenesofobx @coffeehurricanes

[loulouwrites]

DIVULGATION . TOMMY SHELBY

summary: tommy's perfect life comes crashing down around him

warnings: angst, swearing, infidelity (sort of), talks of childbirth, terminal illness, child abandonment, infertility issues, period typical attitudes towards pregnancy and childbirth, period typical sexism/misogyny, loss of a parent, unedited

a/n: i will get to making a taglist, but life is a nightmare atm lmao

word count: 3.7k

In many ways, life had not been kind to Tommy Shelby. He had been raised in nothing more than a slum, in a town that saw no sunny days, any form of sunlight being covered by the thick smog of the factories that loomed over the town's residents - a constant reminder of their destiny. He had volunteered to fight for the King before he truly had time to understand what it meant, the thought of fighting men the same as him in a foreign country seeming better than being stuck in Small Heath for the rest of his miserable life.

He was meant for greater things, and he knew exactly what he had to do to get them.

As haunted as he was, Tommy excelled in nearly all aspects of his life. He had built an empire from nothing, he had secured a country manor for the cost of a shack in Small Heath, and he had a wife that had seemed to be put on this earth just for him.

Every decision he made, every step he took, was a calculated move to protect what he had built and to silence the ghosts that refused to let him be. Tommy Shelby was a man driven by both his aspirations and his demons, forever walking the line between triumph and torment.

She had married Tommy Shelby out of nothing but love. When they were wed, he had just arrived home from France, and people told her he was a shadow of the man he once was, though she never believed them. He was funny, charming, and clever; he just kept that part of himself hidden from everyone but her, which only endeared him to her even more.

They had come a long way since their wedding day. They had moved out of the terrace on Watery Lane into a mansion that was far too big for their small family. She no longer spent her days working in the shady betting office at the back of their house; now her days were filled with planning dinner parties and organising fundraising events for her husband's numerous charitable organisations.

Life was easier now, even if it felt a little emptier. She had thought her family would be bigger by now, expecting a few children to fill the vast house and keep her company, but it had never happened for her. She had wondered if there was something wrong with her, that her body was simply created wrong. It wasn't until she was having lunch at Polly's house that realisation dawned on her.

"You're pregnant," the older woman grinned behind her cigarette.

Her eyes widened at the words, and she dropped the china cup on the table. She had long given up on the thought of carrying a child, so the signs of her pregnancy had gone unnoticed. But the words Polly spoke hit her like a ton of bricks.

She was pregnant.

She left Polly's house hastily, barely glancing at the woman as she rushed to her car, a smile on her face, already imagining Tommy's reaction when she told him. She knew he would be thrilled. He had been pining for a child of his own even more than she had, and the hopeful looks he gave her whenever she was sick pierced her heart each time. But that didn't matter now, she was finally giving him a child, they were finally starting their family.

She called Frances' name as soon as she stepped through the door, asking if Tommy was home yet as she threw her bag and coat on the chair by the door. The housekeeper appeared in the foyer with a nervous look on her face, a rarity for the somewhat judgmental woman.

"Mrs. Shelby," Frances started, wringing her hands together in a timid manner, "you have a visitor."

"Who?" she asked, her joyful smile slowly fading.

"A woman," the older woman replied. "She claims to know your husband."

She understood Frances' apprehension in that moment. It was rare for Tommy to receive female visitors at the house, unless they were family or there for business.

She was about to question the housekeeper further but was interrupted by the front door swinging open. Her husband stepped inside, his eyes widening in confusion at the sight of the two women standing frozen in the foyer, their eyes burning into him.

"Mr. Shelby," Frances broke the silence. "You have a visitor."

"Who? I'm not expecting anyone," Tommy said, walking to stand beside his wife and placing a tentative hand on her waist, not missing the way she stiffened under his touch.

"A woman," his wife said, pinching her lips together.

"A woman," he echoed, his eyes flickering between his wife and Frances. "Did this woman happen to give you her name, Frances?"

"She said her name was Catherine, Mr. Shelby," Frances replied hesitantly. "There is something else..."

The husband and wife fixed her with such a burning gaze that the older woman had to lower her head to evade it, only daring to raise it again when Tommy cleared his throat, signaling for her to continue.

"She has a child with her, little thing, about ten years old."

The tension in the room thickened with Frances' words. All three bodies straightened, Tommy dropping his hand from his wife's waist to nervously rub along his lips.

He didn't notice his wife's absence at his side until he heard Frances' panicked voice call her name as she stormed towards his study, the skirt of her dress swinging from side to side with the force of her steps.

He joined Frances, calling out of her name, but she didn't listen, swinging the door to his study open, her heated gaze landing on the woman sitting on one of the seats at Tommy's desk.

"Who are you?" she spat out, shaking off Tommy as he caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

The woman's eyes widened. "My...my name is Catherine."

"I didn't mean your name," she hissed, approaching the desk. "Who are you?"

"I'd prefer to speak to Tommy alone," Catherine answered meekly, dropping her gaze.

"You'd prefer to speak to Tommy," she mocked, leaning a hand on the desk. Tommy called her name again, shaking his head at her when she looked at him.

"Do you know this woman?" she asked her husband, whose gaze flickered to the woman sat by his desk, a blank look on her face.

"No."

Catherine scoffed at his words, standing up from the chair on shaky feet. It was only then the frail state of the woman was clear. She may have been pretty once, but her sunken cheeks and pale skin aged her, and the drab clothes she wore made her seem worn and tired beyond her years.

"This," Catherine pointed to the child sitting beside her, and the other two adults in the room looked at the boy for the first time since they entered, "is Frank."

The young boy didn't look up at the mention of his name, his eyes fixed to his swinging feet.

"He's your son, Tommy."

"Ha," Tommy's wife scoffed. "I'm sure he is."

Your paragraph is mostly clear and grammatically correct. Here's a refined version:

Tommy called her name again, a warning in his voice that he seldom used when addressing her. She fixed him with a glare she seldom directed at him.

"It was before you went to France," Catherine interrupted the husband and wife's silent conversation. "You and your brothers were buying whiskey for the whole pub. I always remember you sitting in the corner, just watching everyone else have fun. I came over and asked you if you were drinking to celebrate or to forget, and you said..."

"Both," Tommy finished her sentence.

"Oh my God," his wife gasped, her hands covering her mouth.

Catherine ignored the other woman, turning her attention to Tommy.

"By the time I realised I was pregnant, you were already in France, and when you came back, everyone said you were different...I was managing fine so I didn't feel the need to tell you..."

"But now you need money," Tommy nodded, reaching into his breastpocket for a cigarette. "How much?"

"What?" Catherine frowned.

"How much?" Tommy mumbled as he lit his cigarette.

"I don't need your money," the woman had the decency to sound offended at the man's words.

"Bullshit," his wife scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I don't," Catherine insisted. "I'm sick, Tommy. Very sick, and I have no family. It's just me and Frankie."

The silent little boy in the chair finally lifted his head to look at his mother, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"He'll have no one when I'm gone."

"We run an orphanage," his wife spoke, her voice cruel and cutting, "we can reserve him a space."

Tommy's head snapped towards her, shock written clearly on his features. His wife was many things—sarcastic, witty, clever—but he had never seen her as cruel, not until this very moment.

"No," the boy shouted, getting up from his chair to stand beside his mother. "I won't go to an orphanage."

"You won't, son," Tommy addressed the boy for the fist time. "My wife was just joking."

His wife rolled her eyes, stormed out of the room, muttering a 'fuck you, Thomas' as she passed him on her way to the door.

It was late when Tommy finally entered the bedroom; his wife sat at her vanity, removing her earrings.

"They've finally gone then," she sighed, beginning to unpin her hair. "How much did you give them?"

He ignored her, throwing himself down on the bed and placing a hand over his eyes, doing anything he could to avoid meeting her gaze.

"Thomas," she warned, "how much?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Nothing? They left without a penny?" she scoffed.

"They didn't leave," Tommy snapped, raising his voice and slamming the arm that covered his eyes onto the bed. He groaned as the hairbrush she had thrown hit him in the chest.

"They're still here?" she hissed, standing from the vanity and approaching the bed as Tommy sat up.

"Just listen," he attempted to place his hands on her hips, but she smacked them away, pacing the floor with her hands in her hair. "I am that boy's father, whether we like it or not, I am, alright?"

She shook her head, muttering under her breath as she paced.

"I'm not going to throw him and his sick mother out on the street," he continued. "That's not the man I am, and you know it's not."

"No, your moral compass is a beacon to us all, Tommy," she rolled her eyes.

"What do you want me to do?" he shouted, beginning to lose his temper.

"Not get whores pregnant, for one!" she shouted back, throwing her arms up. "You've betrayed me, Thomas."

"Betrayed?" he repeated, the disbelief evident in his tone. "I didn't know you fucking existed then."

"Well, I still feel betrayed."

Tommy sighed, rising from the bed and approaching his wife the way he would a skittish horse.

"I know, I know," he sighed, placing a hand on her cheek. She didn't resist, though she didn't lean into it either. "It's a fucking mess, and I'm sorry."

She choked out a sob, dropping her head. "It was supposed to be a good day."

"I know," Tommy murmured, moving the hand that was holding her cheek to the back of her neck and pulling her to his chest. "I'm sorry I ruined it."

If only he knew what he had ruined.

The clattering of knives and forks was all that could be heard in the dining room, there were more than ten people sat at the table and it appeared nobody could find a word to speak.

It had been exactly three days since Catherine and Frankie appeared on the Shelby's doorstep, and the tension had only been rising. She had thought she was doing a good job of being civil towards the woman and child who had ruined her life—nodding at them politely when her attempts to avoid them failed, and choking out a 'hello' whenever she ran into them in the corridors.

Tommy had been less than impressed with her attempts to hide from the strangers, and insisted he throw a dinner party to offically introduce his son to the rest of the family, much to his wife's chagrin.

"Lovely lamb," Arthur muttered awkwardly from the other end of the table, his words met with half-hearted murmurs of agreement.

"Frankie loves lamb," Catherine responded, receiving eye rolls from the woman sat beside her, and Polly who was sat opposite.

"How lovely," Polly offered a fake smile.

"I don't eat it a lot, though," Frank spoke from his mother's side. "Lamb's too expensive for mum."

She and Polly sniggered at the boy's words, covering their mouths when Tommy threw them both a glare.

"You enjoy school, Frankie?" John asked.

"It's okay," the boy shrugged. "I'm not very clever, though."

"Takes after his father," Polly muttered, earning a laugh from the man's wife.

"That's not true," Catherine placed a hand on Frank's shoulder. "He's a brilliant artist, and loves to read."

"What about you, Catherine?" Polly leaned forward, puffing on her cigarette. "Tell us about yourself."

"Well...I was a secretary until recently, I'm from not far from you..."

"Fascinating," Polly dismissed her.

"Polly," Tommy warned, subtly shaking his head.

"Why don't we take Frankie outside, Tom?" Arthur interrupted. "Show him how to shoot a gun."

"Oh, I don't-" Catherine started, but was interrupted by Polly.

"That's a wonderful idea, leave us ladies to chat."

Catherine conceded, not wanting to offend the older woman more than she already had. The men all left the table, Tommy having to gently drag Frank away from his mother, leaving the three women alone.

"So, Catherine," Polly began as soon as she heard the door close behind the boys. "Are you planning on staying here until you die?"

"Polly," the other woman gasped at her bluntness, but couldn't help but turn her head to Catherine to await the answer. She had been wondering that herself.

"Well, I hadn't thought about it," Catherine laughed awkwardly. "I just...needed to know Frank would be okay."

"He will be," Polly nodded.

"I know, I know that now." Catherine nodded. "Tommy has been very generous." Her eyes flickered to Tommy's wife, sat beside her, the omission in her statement clear.

"You have no other family that could take Frank?" Polly question, and Catherine shook her head, sweat beginning to pool on her forehead.

"No, my mother died when I was about his age, and my dad passed a few years ago. I'm an only child."

"Bless you," there was malice Mrs. Shelby's tone when she finally spoke.

"It must be scary, knowing you're not going to be here for your child. Trusing two strangers to care for him," Polly continued, not noticing Catherine's face getting paler, nor the way her hands shook when she lifted them to rub her head.

"Polly, I don't think she's feeling well," the other woman frowned when she noticed Catherine's body begin to slump in her chair.

"She's fine."

"No," Catherine said. "I'm not, I think I need to lay down."

They called Frances over, instructing them to take Catherine to bed, neither woman standing up from their seats to assist. They watched as Frances struggled to hold up the frail woman's body as she hald carried her out of the dining room.

"She's a fucking good actress," Polly muttered.

Frances returned to the dining room to inform the two women that Catherine had taken a turn, and the doctor would arrive soon to examine her.

Polly sat unaffected by the housekeeper's words; her counterpart's eyes, however, widened in horror.

"Oh my God, Polly," she gasped. "Have we killed her?"

"Oh, shut up," Polly scoffed, stamping out her cigarette in the ashtray. "She was dying before she even got here."

"Polly," she sputtered. "Your interrogation has literally put her in an early grave."

"Oh, because you were treating her splendidly?"

"I was just ignoring her. You've fucking killed her."

The dining room door slammed open. Tommy stood there, his face red, his eyes stormy.

"What did you two fucking do?"

Two days following the dinner party, Catherine's condition had not improved. The doctor had told them that her illness was so advanced that it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Still, she couldn't ignore the guilt that was bubbling in her stomach when she thought about the way she had acted at dinner.

She knocked lightly on the door, opening it gently, careful not to disturb the frail woman that was lying in bed.

"I'm surprised to see you," Catherine choked out, weakly pulling herself into a sitting position.

"I'm surprised too."

"Is there something wrong? Is Frankie okay?"

"Everything's fine," she reassured the woman, moving to sit in the chair beside the bed. "I came to apologise."

She didn't miss the way Catherine's eyebrow's rose.

"The way I've behaved since you arrived has been terrible. I'm not a cruel person, I swear. I was just angry."

"I understand."

She paused, her breath catching in her throat at Catherine's words.

"I would be angry, too, if I were you."

"It doesn't excuse the way I've treated you."

"No," Catherine breathed with a laugh. "But I understand it anyway. You felt like you lost everything in a few minutes, and I was easy to blame."

"I am very sorry," she spoke through the tears in her eyes.

"I am too."

"Well," she coughed, standing from her seat. "I should let you rest."

Catherine called her name when her hand was on the doorhandle, and she turned to look at the sick woman.

"Look after Frankie, please," she said, her voice weak and teary. "He's a sensitive boy. Please look after him, and love him, love him as much as the child in your belly."

"How did you know?"

"I had the same mood swings when I was pregnant," she said. Both women let out a small laugh.

"I promise to look after him... and to love him like my own."

"Thank you."

She approached Tommy, who was leaning in Frankie's doorway, quietly observing the boy as he slept peacefully. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his back. Tommy jumped in surprise before reaching to hold his wife's hands, which were clasped around his stomach.

"You'll be a good father," she spoke into his back.

"Just wish it didn't happen like this," Tommy mumbled. "It should have been you and me."

"It will be," she promised. "You, me, Frankie, and the baby."

Tommy unclasped her hands, turning to face her, a frown on his face.

"You're..."

"I am."

Tommy's expression softened as he processed the news, a mixture of surprise and tenderness crossing his features.

"You're pregnant," Tommy breathed, his voice filled with a mix of astonishment and wonder. He pulled her close again, holding her tightly against him. "We're having a baby."

She nodded against his chest, feeling his heart beat faster beneath her ear. "Yes, Tommy."

Tommy pressed a kiss to the top of her head, overwhelmed with emotions. "I love you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you and I'm so fucking sorry."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she hugged him back, her eyes landing on the boy asleep in the bed.

Catherine's funeral service was small. There weren't many people close to the woman, the majority of the mourners being the Shelby family.

Frankie didn't say much the whole day, he just stood at his mother's grave, an empty look in his eyes that she recognised all too well.

They arrived home in silence, Frankie jumping out of the car as soon as it pulled up in front of the house, running inside before anyone could stop him.

"He just needs time," she told her husband, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I know," Tommy agreed. He was no stranger to death, nor the solemn emptiness that came after.

She knocked on Frankie's door later that evening, popping her head in to see him sat on the carpet, still in his suit from the funeral.

"I'm just checking in," she offered him a small smile, kneeling down beside him on the floor. "How are you feeling?"

Frankie shrugged in response, his eyes downcast.

"It's okay if you want to cry, there's no shame in it."

"I don't want to cry," his voice shook, "I just want my mum."

"Oh, sweetheart," she breathed out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know you do."

He didn't respond, he just kept his gaze pinned to the blue carpet beneath him.

"I lost my mum too, you know?" she said. Frankie's eyes snapped to hers for a moment, then snapped back down. "She died when I was a bit older than you. She got sick and died a few weeks later; there was nothing anyone could do."

"Do you miss her?" Frankie asked, turning to face her.

"Every day," she told him, "it doesn't get easier. You just learn to live with it. And then, someday, you'll be able to think about her and your time together, and it won't hurt so much. But you'll always miss your mum."

Frankie's lips pinched together in thought, and he nodded, accepting her ineloquent words greatfully.

"I know I haven't been very nice to you," she said. "But we're a family, and if you ever want to talk about her, you can come to me, and I'll listen."

"Okay."

"Okay," she rose from the floor.

"I'm sorry about your mum," Frankie said once she was standing.

"I'm sorry about yours," she replied, offering him one last smile before leaving the room.

Elsie Catherine Shelby was born in the early hours of the morning. She came quickly and was less fussy than other babies, according to the midwife.

Her big brother was excited to meet her, pacing the bottom of the stairs until the midwife allowed him to enter the room, a smile on his face as he greeted his little sister with glee.

"I'm not an only child anymore," he had laughed, poking the infant's cheek gently.

And just like that, the Shelby family welcomed their newest member.

[puck-luck]

take my medicine | cole caufield

warnings: oral (fem!receiving), masturbation pairing: cole caufield x fem!reader requests: “subby cole caufield (not sure if people will agree with me on this but i always think of coley as a sub)” wc: 915

You knew something was up when you turned on Game 7 of the Stars and Golden Knights and Cole didn’t want to watch. He kept his face firmly buried in your neck and whined when you removed your hands from their position in his hair. He raised his arms and found your hand, returning it to his head. You scratched his scalp, running your fingers through his hair, and he sighed in content.

“You okay, Coley?” You asked, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. 

“Miss you,” Cole replied, voice muffled.

You let out a small laugh. “Baby, I’m right here.”

Cole tore his head from its place in the crook of your neck and pouted at you. 

You pushed his hair out of his face and tilted your head. “What’s wrong?” You asked, voice laced with concern.

Cole flopped back down on top of you, tucking his face back into your neck and mouthing over the skin until you giggled. 

You threaded your fingers through Cole’s hair, which he had really grown out since the end of his season, and pulled him away from you. “Co, baby, really. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Cole groaned, leaning into your touch. “Just feeling funky.”

“Well, why don’t we get your mind off it?” You offered, pushing Cole up by his shoulders until he was sitting back on his knees. He didn’t make it easy for you, practically going boneless with his desire to cuddle you and return his face to the safety of your neck, but when you spread your legs, Cole’s attitude changed. 

His eyes lit up and he smiled, his dimples indenting his cheeks. Still, he sat back on his heels prettily and waited for you to give him permission to touch you. “A little medicine?” He teased.

“Make me feel good,” You corrected Cole with a nod.

He pulled your clothing down past your knees, leaving it bundled at your ankles. Cole leaned down and let a line of saliva drip into your folds, but he didn’t allow it to creep over your skin in its goosebump-raising way for long. His tongue met the line of spit and massaged it into your skin, licking up your slit in long passes, much like licking a popsicle. 

Cole hummed happily, his eyes drifting shut as he continued to eat your pussy. 

You turned your attention back to the hockey game on the screen, one hand finding its way back to Cole’s hair and resting there. The other rested on your stomach, holding the remote. You breathed in and out evenly, not giving Cole the slightest bit of attention. 

He had told you long ago that he wanted to earn your attention, especially when you were allowing him to eat you out. Your sweet Cole only ever wanted you to praise him when he had done something deserving of praise, something that had made you feel good. 

The memory made you smile– when Cole finally admitted this feeling to you, having snuck under the dining room table where you were doing homework before you had graduated and planted himself firmly between your legs. “Just– wanna eat you out, you don’t even have to look at me,” Cole had whined, his touch ghosting over your core. His mood that day had reflected his mood today– not knowing why something was wrong, but it was, and the only way to solve it was to get his mouth on you, to make his pretty girl come.

“Feels good, Co,” You murmured as Cole suckled on your clit, his eyes opening slowly and gazing at you with pure affection. They were almost cloudy with his love.

Your climax built steadily. Cole’s hands remained in place, one on your thigh and one in his own shorts, circling the base of his cock but not stroking it. His mouth did all the work, his tongue flicking your clit and prodding at your hole. He worked his spit into your hole, which caused you to clench down on his tongue and let out a moan. You pulled his hair and he purred, doubling down on his efforts. You ground down on Cole’s face, his nose bumping your clit, until the coil inside of you snapped and your orgasm washed over you.

Cole continued to watch you, eyes wide, as you recovered and found your breath. 

“Fuck your hand, baby,” You told him. “Wanna see you come.”

Cole moved as if he were a marionette, just waiting for you to pull his strings. He fucked into his fist, feeling the drag of the couch cushion underneath him. It only took a minute or two, Cole knowing how to bring himself to orgasm better than you after years of getting himself off under his covers with baited breath. He kissed your pussy as he came, groaning as the pleasure overtook him. 

“So pretty,” You praised. “Come up here. Come cuddle.” You reached over to the coffee table, barely grabbing a few tissues from the box that you had left there after overcoming a cold a few weeks prior. Now, they came in handy as you wiped the come from Cole’s hand.

Cole returned his face to the crook of your neck and sighed, reaching his arms around your waist to hug you tightly. He drifted off with your hands back in his hair, playing with it and soothing him, the sound of playoff hockey filling your living room and lulling him to sleep.

note: sweet baby Cole is a) my husband b) the cutest lil thang and c) definitely has a service kink… even if he’s not a subby guy… he gets off on making you feel good. that’s MY personal headcanon about him. hi Co! genuinely give me one chance, i could make your 5’8” ass feel so tall all the time and i would laugh at all your terrible jokes.

[waitimcomingtoo]

SLUT!

chapter five: don’t say I didn’t warn you

Series Masterlist

The first time you walked onto campus holding hands with Peter, it caught some attention. Your school was small enough that a reputation like yours was pretty well known around campus so now that you and Peter were public, people took notice.

“Everyone is staring at us.” You whispered to him and he could tell you were feeling self conscious.

“Well you look really pretty today. So they might as well be looking at us.” Peter replied. He could see you smile at that and knew he had just passed his first test as a boyfriend.

“This is just like that scene in Twilight.” You said as you passed through a group on onlookers.

“Which scene?”

“The one when they walk in to school together and everyone is staring.”

“Oh.” Peter laughed. “Yeah, I can see why you thought of that.”

You laughed as well and headed towards the library so you could study together before your class. On the way, you walked by one of the guys on the basketball team.

“Whore.” He said through a fake cough as he passed by. You stopped walking and let go of Peters hand.

“Why’d you let go? Are my hands too sweaty?” Peter asked and wiped his hands on his pants.

“It’s not that.” You sighed. “It’s because I’m poisonous. If you’re seen with me, you’re just gonna get a reputation too.”

“Who cares? We can wear the scarlet letter together.” Peter said and took your hand again. You looked down at your intertwined hands before looking at him skeptically.

“You really don’t care?”

“I don’t.” Peter shrugged so nonchalant that you believed him. You smiled in satisfaction and tugged him closer by his shirt to kiss him. It was your way of saying thank you and his way of saying he didn’t care who saw you together.

As the weeks went on, the buzz around your relationship died down and no one seemed to care anymore. All the while, you were growing more comfortable in your relationship with Peter. You kept up with your studying session during the day and went on dates at night. You were getting better grades and happier than ever.

Peter went back to his dorm after a late class one day with a huge smile on his face. He dumped his backpack on the floor and sat down on his bed with a happy sigh.

“Remember that girl from high school that we both liked?” Peter asked Ned.

“Liz? With the beautiful black hair and perfect bone structure? Who always smelled like Japanese Cherry Blossom? I vaguely remember her.” Ned replied.

“Yeah. Liz. I liked her so much. If you asked me back then, I would’ve sworn I was in love with her.”

“Why are you thinking about Liz?” Ned wondered.

“Because I realized I never actually liked her. I liked the fantasy I built around a girl I found pretty. I didn’t even know Liz and I thought I was in love. But I know Y/n. And I know that I’ve never felt this way before.” Peter said with another happy sigh.

“Oh no. You’re not saying you’re in lesbians with her, are you?” Ned gasped.

“Damn. I forgot about that movie. We should watch it again.” Peter said. “And no, I’m not saying I’m in love with her.”

“Okay. Good.” Ned relaxed.

“But I’m going to.” Peter added.

“You are? Isn’t it a little soon?” Ned asked him.

“We’ve been together for two months now. It’s how I feel. Why shouldn’t I tell her?”

“I’m just saying. I think you should wait until you know how she feels.”

“I think she feels the same.” Peter told him. “It’s just hard for her to trust people. That’s why I want to be the one who says it first. And I think I’m gonna do it next time I see her.” Peter said proudly. He then got a text and smiled when he saw your name on his screen.

“That’s her now.” Peter said and opened his phone to read your text. His smile slowly faded as his eyebrows knit together.

“What’s wrong?” Ned asked when he saw Peters face.

“She’s at a frat house. She wants me to come get her.” Peter said as he got off his bed.

“Ew.” Ned grimaced. “Why is she at a frat house? Is she trying to get scabies?”

“I don’t know. Probably a party.” Peter shrugged but also found it strange to hear you were there. The frat boys were the ones who bullied you and beyond that, you were never a party kind of person. He threw on his jacket and stepped into the December air to walk to the campus frat. He was let right in which he found slightly suspicious and texted you once he was inside. You said you were in the first bedroom on the second floor, so Peter made his way up the stairs and knocked on the door. When you didn’t answer, he frowned and started to get nervous. He opened the door and felt his heart drop when he saw you in bed with some guy in a hockey jersey. You were fast asleep in your hoodie and sweats with a cup of ginger ale on the dresser beside you. Peter felt tears come to his eyes and stood there frozen in shock. Brad and his friends suddenly appeared behind him in the doorway and laughed obnoxiously in Peters ear.

“Oh shit! The slut strikes again.” Brad laughed as he took a picture of you. Flash and Harry were right behind him, laughing and taking pictures as well. The commotion woke you up and you sat up as you rubbed your aching head.

“What the fuck?” Peter blurted, making your groggy eyes fly open. You looked at him in confusion but could barely see him with your splitting headache.

“Peter? What’s going on?” You asked as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“You tell me. Who is that guy?” He shouted and pointed to the guy next to you. You gave him a confused look and followed his finger, screaming in surprise when you noticed the guy for the first time. He was too drunk to realize what was going on but you were starting to come back. You looked around and saw the boys laughing at you with their cameras out before your eyes landed on Peter. He was crying and staring at you with the most betrayed expression you had ever seen.

“Peter.” You said breathlessly, knowing how bad it looked. You were too focused on him to care about the pictures being taken or the teasing from the guys. Peters face twisted in misery as he turned to leave. He pushed past the guys who were cheering and calling you names and ran down the stairs.

“Peter, wait.” You pleaded as you ran after him. He kept running so you did too. You caught his arm in the lobby and made him stop.

“Please, talk to me. Let me explain.”

“I can’t believe this. I thought we had something.” Peter said as he wiped his face on the back of his hand. The music was shut off as people tuned in to listen to the fight.

“We do have something. That wasn’t what it looked like. I don’t even know that guy. Please, I need you to believe me.” You said and took his hand but he yanked it away from you.

“Believe you? How can I believe you when I caught you sleeping with another guy?” Peter shouted, making the party goers go “ooo” as they watched the drama unfold. You looked around in embarrassment and knew your reputation was never going to recover from this. People were filming and staring at you and all you could do was let it happen.

“It looked like that, but-“

“Everyone was right about you.” He cut you off, making you freeze as he said the most hurtful words you could imagine him saying.

“What did you just say?” You whispered in disbelief.

“I said that they were right. This is exactly what I was warned would happen if I got involved with you. You get what you want from a guy by pretending to like him and then break his heart. I should’ve known better.” Peter spat, making you stumble back in surprise.

“Peter, no. That’s not what’s happening. Please, just let me explain. I need you to believe me. What you saw wasn’t what you think. You know me, Peter. You know I’m not like what everyone says.”

“Maybe you are. Why else would you lead me on like this? You said you needed to go slow with me but then I catch you fucking some other guy? What are you, some kind of slut?” He shouted.

The room went silent. The world went silent.

You were wrong. Those were the most hurtful words Peter could say to you. People started to laugh and call you “slut” and all it’s hateful synonyms as you stared at Peter in disbelief. And as angry and hurt as Peter was, he knew he had just crossed the line. He wasn’t the kind of guy who used that word yet there he was, throwing it at you in a room full of people.

“You said you’d never call me that.” You whispered as a tear ran down your cheek. The betrayal in your eyes told Peter that he had already burned his bridge with you. You were never going to forgive him for that, so he decided he might as well put the nail in the coffin.

“Well that’s what’s you are.” He snapped. “If you didn’t want me to call you that, maybe you shouldn’t act like one. I can’t believe I was ever in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” You said breathlessly.

“Not anymore.” He said before he even knew what was coming out of his mouth. His face was burning all the way up to his ears. That was not how he wanted his first “I love you” to go. He hadn’t meant to blurt it the way he had but it just came out.

Your jaw dropped as a tiny gasp escaped your lips. Peter immediately regretted it but there was nothing he could do to make things right. The entire room was against you and on his side so even if he apologized, it wouldn’t reach your ears. You stared in each others eyes and the people in the room cheered for Peter while they ridiculed you.

“Yeah! Get her Peter!” Brad proudly cheered from the stairwell. Peter wondered what kind of guy he had become if Brad Davis was applauding his actions. In fact, he didn’t want the approval of any of the people in the house. Peters eyes softened and he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but you didn’t want it hear it. You ran out of the house with tears in your eyes and Peter silently watched you go. Some of the jocks clapped him on the back and expressed their pride in him, making Peter feel sick to his stomach. The music resumed and people started to talk about the scene and degrade you further while Peter stood frozen. The guy in the jersey came stumbling down the stairs and asked what had happened, but received no answer. Peter left without saying anything and went back to his dorm, slamming his door behind him as he went in.

“Woah, dude. What’s wrong? Where’s Y/n?”

“She cheated on me. You were right. She’s just a slut.” Peter mumbled as he sat on his bed. Now that he has used the word once, it was tumbling out of his mouth with ease. He didn’t know who he had become because he was not raised to be a guy who said things like that, and yet there he was.

“Wait, really? I’m never right. What happened?” Ned asked him.

“I walked into the party and she was in bed with some guy.” Peter said with a sigh as he replayed it all in his head. Now that he was out of the heat of the moment, he wondered about your initial confusion when you saw the guy in bed with you. You looked just as surprised as Peter was to see that guy there.

“I’m sorry, dude. I know you were about to tell her you loved her.” Ned said sympathetically.

“I just don’t understand. She told me all those rumors weren’t true. How could she do this to me?” Peter wondered out loud. He laid his head down on his pillow and felt tears leak out of his eyes and into his ears. He replayed the moment over and over again in his head until he eventually fell asleep.

Tag List 💋

@breadglasses @hollandweather @cashtons-wife @scenesofobx @trumanbluee

@classygladiatortidalwave @miwagila @sarcasm-and-stiles @hitoshislut @misspascalpunk

@buckylovinglokivariant @betzabobababi

@eterjas @pleasingregulus @avatarjuno @dreamingofts18 @diorrgrl

@crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @erule @justsomebodyweird @un06 @tom-hollands-wifey

@bellajg21 @madlyinlovewmattmurd0ck @secretly-a-cold-blooded-murderer

@ferrjulie @kitykatnumber @angelayse @cleosertoriooc @iamdedsthingz @girls-and-guts

@tomshufflepuff @lovely-blackinnon @matchafrappeidm @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

@kneelforloki @xorderedkaosx @dory-98 @okayiamkassandra @chaerfull

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to. 

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free. 

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least. 

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both. 

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics. 

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms. 

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open. 

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.” 

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ��stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole. 

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open. 

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such. 

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before. 

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side. 

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you. 

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor. 

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect. 

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer. 

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully. 

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers. 

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor. 

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane. 

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area. 

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get  to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

[marifilue]

Part 3: Glimpse Of The Past

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n, you have regenerative healing ability, skilled with guns and rifles, reader in her 50s but because of her ability looked like in her mid 20s. Logan is from the first X-Men movie era.

Warnings: Explicit Language, slight PTSD Mentioned.

WC: 5,5k

<- Part 2

Two weeks had passed, and nothing much had changed between you and Logan. You’d shared a handful of interactions, each one short and tense, just enough to remind you how much he got on your nerves. He was stubborn, quick-tempered, too much like you in all the wrong ways and it was infuriating.

Logan was settling into his new role, slipping into the position of history professor with a certain ease that only came from experience, a literal, first-hand experience. His lectures were magnetic, filled with anecdotes that felt too vivid, too personal. The students were enamored, hanging onto every word, captivated by the way he made history feel alive.

Still, you could feel the invisible wall he’d built around himself, his guard firmly in place. It made sense, you'd do the same in a new environment. Though it irked you at times. You still doesn't know much about him, not that he'd be interested to talk when the whole team held out a dinner occasionally and share some fun fact about his life for the past century. Everytime the table chats comes up with questions get asked, he'd quickly dismissed them. You remember one time Ororo was joking and teased Logan about his love life which he just shortly respond "Nothin much, it's boring." As far as you acknowledge, he's just old as fuck.

On a quiet Saturday morning, autumn breeze outside with the mansion still cloaked in early light, you found some refuge in the garage, preparing your gear and checking over your rifle before zipping it into your dark green bag as you planned a solo hunt. The stillness was just beginning to sink in when the faint sound of footsteps snapped you out of it. Glancing up, you saw Logan leaning casually against the doorframe, watching you with that same half-amused smirk.

“You goin’ somewhere?” he asked, his voice breaking the silence like a rock tossed into still water. You barely looked up, focusing on adjusting your scope. “Going hunting,” you replied tersely. Logan raised an eyebrow, his interest obviously piqued. “Hunting?” he repeated, amusement thick in his tone. “Out here?” Your patience was already wearing thin. “Yeah, out in the woods. It’s a quiet spot, about an hour away.”

He crossed his arms, clearly not dissuaded. “That so? Sounds like a perfect way to kill some time. I’ll come.” You stiffened, giving him a hard look. “Look, it’s a solo trip. Don’t need any company.”

A spark of defiance flickered in his eyes, and that irritating smirk just deepened. “Didn’t ask if you needed it. Just saying I’m bored. Got nothing better to do, so I’ll come along. Unless you’re afraid I’ll out-hunt you.” You clenched your jaw, the challenge hanging between you like a dare. He had no idea what he was getting into, but if dragging him along was the only way to shut him up, fine. You rolled your eyes. “Fine, whatever. But you’re bringing your own bike.”

A slight chuckle escaped him as he pushed himself off the doorframe, clearly pleased with his victory. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

With engines roaring, you hit the open road. The wind was cool against your face as the trees blurred by, and with every mile, you felt the tension of the mansion fading. Logan’s bike kept steady behind yours, the low rumble matching your own, and by the time you reached the forest clearing, you’d almost forgotten you had a company behind.

The spot was perfect: a quiet, open stretch beneath towering pines, with a lake gleaming in the early morning light just a few yards away. You slid off your bike and shrugged your rifle strap over your shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of pine and fresh earth. Logan dismounted, his eyes scanning the area with a skeptical look, as though it weren’t quite wild enough for him.

Reaching into your pack, you pulled out a second rifle and handed it to him. “Here. Pre-charged pneumatic rifle. Same as mine.”

Logan took the rifle in his hands, looking it over like it was a toy. He raised an eyebrow, chuckling as he examined it. “An air rifle? What, are we going after rabbits?” He scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You sure you don’t want to give me a slingshot while you’re at it?”

You felt the heat rise in your chest, your grip tightening around your own rifle. “It’s called PCP, Logan,” you shot back, voice edged with irritation. “These aren’t toys, and they’re not some cheap replacement for a ‘real’ weapon. Just because it’s not your style doesn’t mean it’s useless.”

Logan chuckled, clearly unimpressed. “Right. Just don’t expect me to take down anything serious with this thing.” You squared your shoulders, meeting his gaze with a defiant glint in your eyes. “You’d be surprised what I can take down with this thing. But hey, if you’d rather just watch, go ahead.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, something sparking in his eyes as if he was finally beginning to understand that this wasn’t a joke to you. Without another word, you turned and started toward the trees, steps purposeful, daring him to follow if he thought he could keep up.

The morning wore on, and Logan followed you through the dense trees, rifle in your hand but with no real intention of using it. Logan moved with the instinctive grace of a predator, completely at ease, his senses sharp, picking up on every rustle and movement around him. It wasn’t long before he spotted a squirrel perched high in the branches, his eyes narrowing as he took aim. A split second later, his rifle went off, and the small animal dropped to the forest floor. Logan glanced back at you, a smug satisfaction evident in his expression.

“See? Not bad for a ‘toy,’” he muttered, half-teasing. You managed a tight smile, adjusting the rifle in your hands, though it felt heavier than usual. As he scoped out his next target, you followed, keeping your expression neutral. Another squirrel appeared on a nearby branch, and Logan gestured for you to take the shot. You lifted your rifle, sighting down the barrel, but at the last moment, you let the bullet go wide, the squirrel darting up the tree and vanishing.

Logan gave a low chuckle, and his eyes gleamed with that knowing look. “Missed, huh?” he said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “Didn’t seem like your usual aim.”

You kept your gaze on the ground, shrugging slightly. “Guess I’m a little rusty.” But Logan’s scrutiny didn’t ease up, and he’d clearly seen through you.

Logan’s eyes were sharp as he watched you line up another shot, this time at a squirrel nestled on a higher branch. You steadied your aim, but when you squeezed the trigger, it was with just enough force to send the shot wide, the squirrel scurrying off into the trees. Logan’s low chuckle made you glance over, and you saw that familiar, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t miss that one by accident, did you?” he remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I told you I'm just a bit rusty." You said again.

“You didn't squeeze the trigger, you flick em with your finger way too harsh. Tryna scare it off, maybe?” Logan teased which caught you off guard, you raised an eyebrow, studying his expression. “You sound just like my old man.” You told him, recollecting lost memories since you haven't heard those words in ages. Stop pulling the trigger, you need to squeeze it. Your father used to scream those combination of words every. Single. Time. A rifle is in your hand. Stop pulling it, just squeeze. "You two used to hunt together?" Logan voice a bit softer, suddenly brings you back from the pit and let the lost memories to float away once again.

You ignored his rhetorical question as your curiosity mingling with surprise. “Most people wouldn’t notice something so small about a trigger pull.” Logan shrugged, glancing down at his own rifle. “Been around long enough to pick up a thing or two,” he said. “One of my many lives, I was in the military, then special forces. Spent a lot of time with weapons—and people who didn’t always want to shoot straight.”

You nodded, absorbing the new bit of information, of course he'd been in the military at some point, though part of you wondered just how many “lives” he’d actually lived. Logan turned back to the forest, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible softness in his gaze now, as if he understood more than he was letting on.

“So, why come out hunting if you don’t actually want to kill anythin'?” he asked, watching you intently. The question hung in the cool morning air, and you felt a knot tighten in your chest. With a deep breath, you straightened, memories uncoiling in your mind.

“My father used to take me hunting when I was a kid,” you started slowly, eyes tracing the bark of a nearby tree. “Every weekend, he’d drag me out there, make me practice my aim. I hated it, the thought of killing something that didn’t even know I was there.” You paused, voice tightening, but pushed through. “Eventually, he stopped caring if I didn’t shot anything. I’d just aim for the fruit stems, watching them drop." You scoffs recalling another details "I'd bring home a bag full of persimmons, my mum loved them.” You smile sheepishly, remembering the sweet memories you used to have with your family. Even if it's for a really short time.

Logan’s expression softened just a bit, as if he were picking up on the edges of something deeper. When you fell quiet, his gaze never left you, and he waited in that steady, quiet way of his.

“It was… before he sold me to the military,” you added in a clipped tone, almost an afterthought. The words surprised even you, slipping out with a bitterness that had dulled over the years but still lingered. After your words hung in the air, Logan's face shifted, his usual hard expression momentarily cracking. He blinked, caught off guard, brows pulling together as he absorbed what you'd said. His mouth opened as if to speak, but for a beat, he just looked at you, his eyes carrying an unexpected softness.

Finally, his voice came low and careful, the rough edge softened. “I’m… sorry,” he murmured, like he almost couldn’t believe he was saying it.

You gave a short, almost dismissive shrug, lips quirking into a half-smile. “I’m not,” you replied, the words wry but surprisingly honest. Logan’s gaze lingered, his respect for you deepening as he caught the steel beneath your half-joking tone. Without another word, he nodded, the forest around you both settling into a silence that felt almost like understanding.

“You’re a strange one,” he finally said, his voice gruff but softer than usual. He glanced down at the rifle in his hand. “But I get it.”

You didn’t say anything, but you felt a small, unexpected weight lift from your shoulders. Logan turned, heading further into the trees, but he didn’t ask you to take another shot. Instead, he led the way, rifle lowered, the two of you moving together walked in silence for a while, curiosity gnawed at you until you finally asked, “So… how long did you serve?”

Logan glanced at you, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. He gave a short laugh, looking off as if doing the math in his head. “Since the Civil War,” he replied simply.

You stopped in your tracks, caught off guard, blinking as you took in his words. “The Civil War?” You’d guessed he might have been in World War I, but this was something else entirely.

Logan chuckled at your reaction, his lips quirking as he kept walking, and you scrambled to catch up. “What about after that?” you pressed, genuinely curious. “I mean… until when?”

He raised an eyebrow, thoughtful, and then shrugged. “After Vietnam around the 80s,” he answered. “Finally called it quits after a while.” Your mind raced as you did the math. “So that’s….. like more than a hundred and twenty years in the military?” You shook your head, a little awe mixed with something close to disbelief.

Logan just grunted, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but then he looked back at you. “What about ya? How long?”

“Twenty,” you replied with a half-smile. “Not even a quarter of your time.” The two of you shared a look, something unspoken but deeply felt passing between you, an understanding of battles fought, the weight of service, and the scars it left behind. Logan’s gaze softened a bit more, his voice quiet but steady. “Guess we both know a thing or two about how it changes you.”

You nodded, feeling a connection that went beyond words. As you walked further into the woods together, a quiet understanding settled between you, each of you carrying the weight of those years but somehow feeling just a little lighter with someone who understood.

As you and Logan trekked further into the woods, a flash of orange against the dense green foliage caught your eye. You stopped in your tracks, looking up at a tall persimmon tree, the branches laden with ripe fruit, a few of them dangling low within sight but just out of reach. It was like a piece of your past had somehow woven itself into this moment, in the middle of the quiet forest with Logan by your side.

Without explaining, you turned to Logan. “Hold still for a second,” you murmured, unslinging your rifle. He raised an eyebrow but complied, watching curiously as you stepped up behind him. Hoisting the rifle up, you positioned it on his shoulder, trying to steady the barrel.

Logan tensed as he felt the weight of your rifle settle. “So, twenty years in the military, and this is what they teach you on rifle safety procedure, huh?” he muttered, his usual sarcasm laced with a flicker of amusement.

You smirked, squinting down the scope as you zeroed in on a particularly plump persimmon. “Cry me a river, Logan. It’s not like if I accidentally blow off an ear, it wouldn’t grow back.”

Logan huffed, shaking his head slightly but careful not to disrupt your aim. “Real professional,” he grumbled. “I didn’t live over a century just to become someone’s human bipod.”

You stifled a laugh, your gaze still fixed on the fruit, the tiniest stem all that kept it hanging. “Do me a favor and shut up. Hold your damn breath my rifle's trembling." You said firmly with slight irritation in your voice.

Logan’s muttered complaints quieted, though his annoyance was clear as he held his breath, his whole frame going rigid beneath the weight of your rifle. “Unbelievable,” he managed to whisper, voice muffled as he exhaled in controlled bursts.

With a steady hand and laser focus, you squeezed the trigger just as your father had taught you. The shot rang out, clean and precise, and with a satisfying snap, the persimmon detached and fell gracefully into the forest floor. Stepping back with a triumphant grin, you patted Logan on the shoulder as if he’d actually contributed.

Logan exhaled, glancing between you and the fallen persimmon. “You really went through all that trouble for one fruit?” You shrugged, retrieving the persimmon and wiping it clean on your sleeve. “Not just any fruit,” you replied, studying it with a small, nostalgic smile before taking a bite. “It’s a piece of home.”

Logan watched you for a beat, his usual snark softened, something like understanding flickering in his gaze. But of course, he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction without one last jab.

“Next time, maybe just ask for a ladder,” he muttered, though the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, biting back a grin as you stashed the persimmon for later.

Logan’s gaze settled on another branch of ripe persimmons hanging just out of reach, and you saw the challenge spark in his eyes. Without a word, he raised his rifle and took aim at the slim stem of a fruit, clearly bent on proving himself.

“Careful,” you warned, munching on your own persimmon. “It’s not that easy without something to steady your aim.” But he only smirked, cocky as ever. “Shut up"

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, I’d give you three chances with that,” you shot back, a teasing glint in your eyes.

Logan rolled his eyes, muttering "I don't need three bullets." something under his breath as he braced the rifle, using only his left arm for support. He took his first shot, and the bullet whizzed by the stem, barely brushing it. A slight frown replaced his smirk as he reloaded, now more focused.

“Still sure you don’t need three?” you taunted, crossing your arms as you watched. He grunted in response, taking aim again. The second shot missed by a hair, and he huffed in frustration, your expression already broadcasting an I told you so.

“Huh. Not exactly fair,” he muttered, a faint grumble in his tone. “You had my shoulder as a bipod, and it’s not like I can use yours.” His eyes flicked to your height as if to emphasize the point, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth.

Raising an eyebrow, you smirked back. “Have you ever thought about just asking for help?” Before you could second-guess the impulse, you stepped in front of him, lifting your right arm and offering it up. “Here, use this.”

Logan’s smirk faltered as he looked down at you, clearly caught off guard but game enough to try. He gave a short nod, settling his rifle on your palm with arm raised above your head, though he quickly realized it wasn’t quite steady. Without a word, he reached out, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist to gently adjust the height. The touch was firm, grounding, but the warmth of his hand sent a jolt through you, making your heart skip a beat. You hadn't fully thought this through, and now, standing this close to him, you became acutely aware of every detail. The roughness of his hand against your skin, and the subtle brush of his fingers as he guided your arm into position.

He adjusted your arm a little higher, bringing it closer to his shoulder, his focus entirely on the rifle. But for you, every second of contact felt charged. The way his hand lingered, steadying you, almost made you forget why you’d offered in the first place.

“Hold it there,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. You nodded, words catching in your throat, as he finally let go, his hand slipping from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling where his fingers had been.

For a moment, you were hyper-aware of the closeness between you, his face inches from yours. Your heart picked up its pace as you took in every detail—the rugged lines, the odd yet charming mutton chops, and the hint of green that softened his hazel eyes. How could a man this old look so… timeless?

With steady focus, Logan finally pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, sharp and clean, hitting the branch dead-on. You turned your head just in time to see the cluster of persimmons break loose, tumbling to the ground with satisfying thuds.

Before you could react, Logan lowered the rifle from your raised arm, his smirk unmistakably triumphant. He looked at you, eyes twinkling with that signature cocky satisfaction, and held your gaze a moment longer than expected. The intensity in his eyes made you catch your breath, an almost silent exchange passing between you, his smirk softening just slightly as if savoring the moment.

But before he could notice the warmth spreading across your face, you quickly turned away, breaking the spell. Without missing a beat, you strode toward the fallen persimmons, dropping to your knees and reaching for them, your heart still pounding.

“See?” you said, grinning as you picked up the fruit, keeping your focus on them. “I don’t make the rules. Everybody needs a bipod.” Logan gave a low chuckle behind you, clearly amused, but you kept gathering the persimmons, not quite ready to face him again. The weight of that brief look stayed with you, lingering just like the warmth of his hand on your wrist.

As you pocketed the last of the fallen persimmons, you began walking deeper into the woods, Logan by your side. The familiar path led you to a small, serene lake you’d often visited. You knew these woods by heart, every hidden trail and shaded grove. The early morning sun cast a warm glow over the still water, and without a word, you both sat down on the soft grass by the lake’s edge.

The peaceful quiet settled around you as you leaned back, savoring one of the persimmons Logan had shot down. You glanced at him thoughtfully. “So, why did they call you Wolverine?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Someone invented that name for me,” he replied shortly, brushing it off. "Why do they call you Hollow?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he were reluctant to break the peace of the early hour.

You looked down at the half-eaten persimmon in your hands, a slight smile tugging at your lips. “I invented that name myself. Better than what they used to call me. Fire and Flesh,” you replied, your tone casual, though the weight of those words still lingered. His eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. “Who called you that?”

“Jarheads,” you replied, using the old slang for Marines, which Logan seemed to understand. His face softened, a flash of recognition in his expression. “Semper fi,” he murmured, the famous Latin phrase among Marines meaning always faithful, familiar in his voice.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes a bit, though with a soft smile. “Oorah,” you replied weakly, echoing the battle cry you’d once shouted alongside fellow Marines. It had been years since anyone had greeted you with Semper fi and it stirred something within you, a sense of camaraderie, a reminder of a time long past.

But as you sat there, looking out over the lake, you felt an unexpected calm wash over you. The overwhelming weight you’d carried for so long felt lighter in this quiet moment. Sitting by the lake, eating persimmons with your new friend from work, far removed from the chaos of life, gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t known you needed.

As you pocketed the last of the fallen persimmons, you rose and dusted off your hands. The quiet of the lake had been soothing, but the early morning sun was beginning to creep higher, casting golden beams through the trees. “We should probably head back,” you said, glancing up at the sky. “It’s almost nine.” Logan gave a nod, and together, you began the walk back through the woods.

After a few minutes of silence, you broke it with a question that had been lingering. “Does it hurt…when your claws come out?” Logan’s eyes flicked toward you, then back to the trail. “Every time.”

There was something in his tone—a resigned acceptance that pulled at you. Logan then returned the question, his gaze shifting to you thoughtfully. “How did they…manage to push your mutations?”

You took a breath, the memories flooding back with an uncomfortable vividness. As you walked, you found yourself speaking, the words coming out slowly, almost reluctantly. “I was human. For 27 years, I think. Feels like a lifetime ago.” You paused, watching the path ahead. “They injected me with something. Then left me in an incubator for days, where the oxygen pressure would drop so low I’d pass out. Over and over again.”

Logan’s face hardened, but he didn’t say anything. Somehow, an apology felt empty, too small for what you’d endured. Instead, he shared his own story, his voice low. “My, uh…claws. They were bones naturally.” The admission caught you off guard, and you looked at him, silently urging him to continue.

“They coated them in metal,” he explained, his tone blunt. “Adamantium. Through injections.” You winced at the thought. “That’s…sick.” There was a beat of silence, so you added lightly, hoping to soften the mood, “Do you like them better now, though? You know, because they’re metal and unbreakable? I can’t even picture you with bone claws. Kinda gross, actually.” Logan shot you a sidelong glance, half-amused. “You’re a terrible person, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you replied with a smirk. “But, come on, do you?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Yeah, it’s better with adamantium.” You couldn’t help but grin, triumphant. “Knew it.”

The two of you kept walking, your conversation mingling with the crunch of leaves underfoot, the forest around you somehow feeling a little less heavy. The bond between you, shaped by shared scars and dark humor, felt surprisingly natural, like the start of a new kind of camaraderie.

As you both finally made it back to where your bikes were parked, the morning's warmth faded into a colder silence. You knelt, carefully unzipping your bag and placing your rifle down, adjusting everything with meticulous care, you're always taught PCP rifle is so fragile, the stock is carved with polished woods and not some metal. Just as you were reaching back, Logan called out casually, “Hey, here you go,” and tossed the rifle he had borrowed straight in your direction.

In that split second, you hadn’t been looking, and before you could react, the rifle fell to the ground with a harsh thud.

A bolt of panic and fury surged through you as you stared at it, horrified. You reached down, fingers trembling as you inspected the rifle. This wasn’t just any rifle. It was a gift from your late mentor Mr Santiago who had taught you everything about shooting since you're fourteen years old, who had trusted you with his prized possession. The wood of the stock had cracked upon impact, a delicate fracture spider-webbing across the finish.

“You dumbfuck,” you said, your voice icy and trembling with anger. “Couldn’t you just handed me the rifle like a normal person!?” Logan looked taken aback, his brow furrowing. “Whoa, relax,” he muttered, straddling his bike. “The rifle’s fine.”

You knelt by the rifle, running a finger over the crack. It was irreparable, and your hands tightened with suppressed rage. “You cracked the fucking stock,” you spat, not even looking at him. He shrugged, still unconcerned. “Alright, sorry, that’s on me. Look, I can get it fixed or just replace it.”

“Replace it?” You turned on him, anger boiling over. “Unlike you, Logan, I actually take care of things. People trusted me and this rifle was a gift. My mentor gave this to me before he died. I’ve kept it safe for years, not a single scratch. Here you go holding it for one fucking hour and you manage to crack it. You're unbelievable, I can't believe I trusted you with it.” Your voice trembled with the weight of disappointment and resentment.

Logan went quiet, his face darkening, but he didn’t say anything. For a moment, he looked like he was going to respond, but the words died in his throat as he looked away, feeling the sting of what he’d done. Without another word, you packed your bag, zipped it tightly, and got on your bike.

Without looking back, you started up the engine and took off, the roar of the bike carrying your frustration as you sped down the trail, the tires kicking up dust behind you. You left Logan behind in the dust, his figure shrinking in the rearview mirror, a mix of guilt and regret plain on his face. He sat in silence, the gravity of his small but thoughtless mistake settling over him.

As you arrived back at the X-Mansion, the grand building loomed before you, a familiar yet comforting sight amidst the turmoil of your thoughts. You parked your bike and headed toward the mansion's entrance, not even glancing behind to check if Logan had caught up. He was still somewhere on the trail, and that suited you just fine.

Entering the mansion, you were greeted by Ororo’s calm voice as she crossed the hall. “Good morning. Professor Xavier needs to see the team after breakfast,” she informed you, her usual serene expression in place, though her keen eyes picked up on your tension. You nodded, offering a faint smile, and continued upstairs without another word.

Once in your room, you carefully laid the damaged rifle on your bed, the fracture in the stock glaring up at you. Sitting down beside it, you ran your fingers along the crack, feeling a pang of frustration and sadness twist in your chest. Mr. Santiago’s face came to mind, and the disappointment in yourself for letting this happen stung. Fixing it wouldn’t be easy—it might not even be possible—and the thought weighed on you.

But you needed to gather yourself; there was a team meeting, and breakfast first. With a sigh, you stood, tearing your gaze away from the broken rifle, and exited your room, leaving the door cracked open. You resolved to focus on one thing at a time: breakfast, the meeting, and then dealing with this mess.

As you made your way downstairs, the usual chatter in the dining area barely registered as you sat down, grabbing a cup of coffee and some toast, lost in your thoughts.

Gathered around in Professor Xavier’s office, the team waited, exchanging curious glances. Scott, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, tapped his foot impatiently. “Where’s Logan?” he muttered.

Ororo stood near the window, arms folded. “He’ll be here,” she said, though a hint of curiosity flickered in her gaze. Jean, seated beside the professor’s desk, looked thoughtful, sensing the tension in the room.

Just as Scott opened his mouth to comment again, Logan entered, his gaze immediately locking with yours. You quickly averted your eyes, refocusing on Professor Xavier, who was already watching you both with a knowing look. Logan took his place, leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable but quietly remorseful.

Charles cleared his throat, signaling the start of the meeting. A hologram flickered to life above the table, displaying an image of a stern-looking man with a white lab coat and cold, calculating eyes. “This is Dr. Emrys Killebrew,” Charles began. “A former geneticist known for his experimentation on mutants and humans alike, pushing the limits of ethical science. Over the decades, his work has created…unintended consequences. He has targeted individuals he believed showed potential to develop powers, experimenting on them without regard for their lives.”

Your heart sank, a feeling of dread creeping over you. Professor’s gaze softened as he addressed you specifically, “Hollow, I believe you’re already aware of some of his projects, though you may not know the extent.”

You nodded, but then froze as Charles continued, “He’s the one responsible for the injections that changed you. Dr. Killebrew obtained Wolverine's genetic material in the late '70s…and used it in his experiments on you... when you were still human.”

Stunned, you tore your gaze from Charles and glanced at Logan, whose expression had gone dark with a mixture of guilt and confusion. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as though he was processing the news for the first time himself. For a heartbeat, the two of you were frozen in a silent exchange before you turned your head back to Charles as the memories of those experiments came back vividly, the painful injections, the endless tests, the way they broke you down. The odds that Logan’s DNA had been a part of it all felt surreal.

A solemn silence settled in the room, broken by Ororo’s gentle voice. “Professor…is he still conducting these experiments?”

“Yes,” Charles replied gravely, flicking to another image of a heavily guarded facility. “We’ve located another of his labs. Intelligence suggests he’s holding a group of young mutants there—twelve in total. They’re being kept under heavy surveillance and sedation, and they are in immediate danger. I need you all to work together tonight to bring them home.”

Scott stepped forward, his tone resolute. “We’ll get them out, Professor. Whatever it takes.” His gaze traveled over the team, determination in his eyes. Jean nodded, her expression fierce. “If Killebrew’s behind this, we can’t let him keep experimenting on innocent kids. He’s not getting away this time.”

Hank, adjusting his glasses, looked thoughtful. “It will be essential to understand the facility’s layout and any possible security measures. If this location mirrors any of his previous labs, it’s likely rigged with traps for mutants specifically.”

Logan spoke up, his voice tense. “I’ll handle any of those traps. This guy’s work is…personal.” He looked toward you again, softer, a silent apology in his eyes. “More than most of you might realize.” Ororo placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Then we move quickly. Every second counts if those children are suffering.”

Charles nodded approvingly, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Thank you. Prepare to leave after sunset. Coordinate together to ensure the safest extraction possible. We bring them back to safety tonight.”

Part 4 ->

An: It gets even longer through every new chapters, the ideas is buzzing in my mind. Thank you guys for interacting, I'll see you next chapter<3

[arinzu]

Can you do Blue Lock Itoshi brothers and little sister reader? The reader has always had a good relationship with her brothers, but when Sae went to and came back from Spain, everything changed. On the day when Sae crushed Rin's dream, Sae also said very hurtful things to his little sister, and he left. When the reader tried to reach out to Rin, he also said hurtful things to her and avoided her. Before he went to Blue Lock, he just ignored her. All of these things made the reader very depressed; she went from a happy girl to a depressed one. She needed her brothers so much, but they are not hers for her. After growing up, the reader remembered that she still has her own life and dreams. She knows that she doesn't need her big brothers, and she should focus on her happiness now. So she made a decision to cut her big brothers out of her life completely. She blocked them and deleted their numbers from everything. After she made sure that they could never reach her, she moved to another country, which is very far from Japan. The reader is now going to start her new life, and she will never forgive her big brothers. When Sae and Rin found out that their little sister moved somewhere far and she cut them from contact, they panicked but couldn't reach her.

Part 1 l part 2

this is a great plot, I might mess up on this so if you don't like it you can request another fellow creator to make this amazing idea!

��Broken bond between siblings��

Summary : Being the youngest sibling of the itoshi family is sounds like a dream come true to most. Two brothers by your side at all times, both are athletes, well built and popular.

No ships! everything is platonic, angst, this is very messy (bcus the internet kept cutting of since they were a thunderstrom) so i apologize for that, isekai'd reader!

Credits to the owners of the dividers! this fanfic style is from @chateaaa

Note : reader is a year younger than rin.

Isn't that reality sounds amazing? the youngest itoshi sibling in the family, but what they didn't know was that you were isekai'd to this reality.

You were a genius in your previous life, a prodigy, someone who invented a gadget that change the course of humanity.

𝐀 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞…

But before you could ever finish the last few pieces of the machine, you were poisoned by your very own lover...

"What have you done..!?" you choked out holding your neck, as your mouth began to foam.

"It's just business, love" your lover... no the person who betrayed you said in a calm voice.

"but don't worry your invention won't to go waste" you saw their wicked smirk, but before you ever replied the poison started to take its course.

You felt your insides burning up, it was worse than you having your period. It hurts like hell... You succumbed little by little to the darkness and passed at only the age of 27 by your very own lover.

You felt yourself falling and there seem to have to end.

The experience was like falling down a cliff, but what you see was all the memories you had in this life.

Hours have gone by, you were still falling down. until you finally felt stop with a loud thud.

After that was a long pause.

You tried to open your eyes to no avail, nothing seems to be in your control, your sight was pure darkness, yet you could still hear some soft murmurs.

Trying to scream but the only thing you heard was a loud cry of a baby, screaming again the ending was still the same, a loud cry of a baby.

Using your brain you figured you reincarnated as someone, but who...?

You stop trying to scream to try to figure out where were you.

"お兄ちゃん、妹また泣いてた..." said an familiar voice, wait was that itoshi rin from blue lock?

"それはあなたが彼女を間違って運ぶからです、リン" Said another voice which you recognize was sae itoshi.

Translation! : (i use google to translate it!)

"お兄ちゃん、妹また泣いてた" = "Brother, little sister was crying..."

"それはあなたが彼女を間違って運ぶからです、リン" = "Its because your holding her wrong, rin."

You left yourself leaving a spot and going to another, unlucky for you, in all of your experience of being a genius you have no clue what they were speaking.

You felt yourself being rock in one's arm which you assume was sae's, and began to sleep.

Timeskip to where you were 10 years old!

You finally got to learn Japanese while also started to learn your native language on the side.

Sae's is leaving for Spain, you and your brothers got along well you still hid the fact you were isekai'd to this universe very well.

Other than skipping a grade or two... You couldn't hide the fact you were more intelligence than the rest of the pupils. Due to this you were enrolled in a special education school for prodigies such as your self once you finish with elementary.

You are currently in your last year of elementary, next year you will start junior high.

You obviously took advantage of the fact you were in an anime/manga you watch/read.

Since the series of the blue lock ended a long time ago, you re-read the manga and re-watch the anime. Looks like being fan of blue lock really paid off.

You easily won their favors, that made them involved you in parts that the series didn't mention. You played your cards carefully to not affect the main storyline, or else the Butterfly effect will happen

If you are not familiar with the butterfly effect : is it basically when you disrupt the plot, may it be the reader getting together with one of the main characters, that will end up in having a timeline not included in the previous plot.

Standing at the airport as you see sae wave goodbye with a smile not daring to speak.

"Good luck, sae!" mrs. itoshi said as she smiled.

"Take care of your health!" you hear mr. itoshi said.

Looking to your side you saw rin with a neutral expression that turned into happy expression you re-call his words and repeated in your head.

"Nii-chan, Have a safe trip!" you hear rin said with a smile, but surprisingly you heard something that wasn't added in the manga.

"Me and sis will be waiting for your return" you stood there looking dumb founded. something like that will cause something that wasn't in the manga.

"yeah yeah i know, see ya." you hear sae say, "Im off to be the best in the world." sae added and you stay silent.

Trying your best to stay happy you wave goodbye to his leaving figure. You know well that as small as a sentence that may disturb the plot and change the course.

As you guys start heading back to the vehicle, you were silently wondering what to do now. You were spending too much time with them, you know well small problems with end up being messy for you to clean up once you leave it alone.

You just hope that that this butterfly effect won't affect the storyline.

Rin called out to you loudly "(reader)! what lukewarm thing are you thinking now?" you stop daydreaming and look to his direction.

He added once he realizes you noticed him. "Stop standing there and just get inside the car"

You nodded and started to to enter the car, trying to relax your mind by talking with rin for the majority of the ride back home.

At least that cleared your mind up for a while.

You can't help but remember what happened to sae when he was in Spain whenever rin mention him. poor dude. You wanted to warn him but that might end up disturb the his character development.

4 years have passed since sae left for spain.

Not much have change, rin was still practicing his football to be the best in the world with his brother.

The relationship between you and his improve over football since you have some small but effective tips to help him improve his skills... Right? your quite sure that you hadn't change the plot.

You were a good sister, you tried your best. So why...?

.

Mrs. Itoshi ask you to get rin since it was getting late, getting your jacket since it was winter. You wondered if this time will be the day sae will come back from spain.

You doubt as you opened the front door and started walking. You thought many times before that sae will come back, but it was just a false alarm so you try to not involve yourself this time of month.

Step...

Step..

Step.

'Oh, its snowing. didn't see this on the news' You thought as you started walking faster.

Observing the place you were walking at, 'peace' something you hadn't have in your previous life all you did was work work work...

You always to make the best version of humanity, neglecting yourself all for the sake to make humanity one step closer to being in the most advance era.

Looking back, you noticed how dumb but you were happy, right?. If you had a chance you'll go back and convince yourself to take a break every now and then.

Maybe because of that you wouldn't have died? Your mind wonder off... to the time you died, Oh yeah your time travel machine... you completely forgot that, maybe you can make here in this life.

Humming slightly you quit focusing in your previous life, this is a life that you can finally make the time-travel machine you'll always wanted. You instead started focusing to get to rin in time for dinner.

...

You finally reach your destination, seeing two figures. Your heart drop, is this actually happening? and your in the middle of it.

Trying to back away before they noticed you, sae noticed you and you froze. He approach you steadily taking note of your appreance.

Both of you were in a stalemate, you move one wrong move the plot might change all because of a Butterfly effect.

Playing dumb you greeted him with a smile, looking to the side

"Sae-nii, how are you, have you become the best in the world?" You asked taking in his expression, it was just like in the manga.

"No, not yet atleast" He gave a short response and was started to leave, but suddenly you felt this weird sensation. You couldn't seem to control your body anymore.

"Sae-nii have you done something?" You heard yourself question him but you already knew the answer.

"Hm, what to do mean?" sae asked trying to clarify your question

"What did you do with rin?" you clarified your question not trying to blow your cover.

"I gave him a reality check, he. is. weak. both mentally and physically"

You felt your body tense up, you seems to know what's gonna come out of your mouth, as you predicted you started defending him.

"what!? he just literally won a match-"

"The match was mediocre at best, it wasn't a competition." Sae added as he started to glare at you.

"But he still won!" you replied.

"Didn't you hear it (reader)? it was mediocre, even a kid in Germany can beat them." he continued speaking not letting you reply "Japan makes shit strikers, that's a fact"

"Rin and you could be the best in Japan, but face it, you both will never be the best in the world if you have the same mindset Japan has given you both." he gave a sigh and started talking again.

"You may think that your someone special in my life, but no your not. Your an eyesore, pathetic excuse of a sister."

"You don't even play football, your not worth anything, your useless, without football i can't believe your my sister i feel disgusted"

"thinking of you always makes me wanna vomit"

"Don't fucking contact me (reader)"

You start feeling yourself tear up but you manage stop yourself just in the nick of time, 'Is this what rin felt like after sae broke their dreams?'. This is a mess, you never thought your ever gonna felt this bad.

Looking at the side after sae left you saw rin still at the ground looking as traumatize as ever. You stared at him trying to think of a way to console him.

But before you could console him, he blew up like a bomb.

"I fucking knew it..." rin said clenching the ground beneath him, "You always felt weird, i didn't know what is it at first."

"But know that piece of shit opened my eyes, i know that feeling now. Disgust."

"Sae was right about one thing, your someone who disgust us both. I'm surprise that i didn't notice that feeling sooner"

"We're both weak and pathetic, but something is making us different from eachother" Rin said as he saw your shock expression.

"I don't revolve around peace like you do, i don't shut my room to study for some important science project for my elite school"

"I live for destruction, something you will never understand. I'm absolutely disgusted to call you my sister" Rin admitted all of this in a matter of minutes, leaving you more heartbroken than before.

.

You watch him stand up and leave you standing there.

Once he left your tears finally started forming, you could only do much by stopping your tears forming whilst rin was saying what he thought of you.

You clench your fist into a ball, feeling so much emotions at once. You wanted to punch the air but you might look crazy, you question yourself.

If this was all worth it, having yourself be beat down to a plump just because you decided to come and get rin.

You started regret going all the way here just to get rin, and now you got your heart-broken by two characters you read in the manga. How unlucky you are.

Getting betrayed once again. Not once but twice in a single night by two brothers. Getting up again you started to walk back to the place you call home.

1 year after than incident

You were not the once happy and bubbly person you were, you start questing yourself and not in a good and healthy way. their hurtful words clings to you like a bug.

You can't get rid of the fact they felt disgusted by your presence, you buried yourself in your schoolwork to skip a grade or two to go to collage.

Occasionally you will try to fix your relationship for the sake of the storyline (and your mental health). Sae just ignores for texts trying to re-connect, while rin just gave you the cold shoulder.

You tried one last time once rin had to leave for blue lock.

"uhm... hey rin?" you awkwardly called out to him as he was about to leave the house.

"What is it?" He asked not bothering to turn his head to look at you.

"I just wanna say goodbye... and good luck on your journey." You stated.

"Thanks i guess, well i got to get going now." He replied as he leaves.

Watching him leave without a second thought, today will be the start of the blue lock program. Almost 15 years you've been in this universe.

You mind starts to wonder off as you watch him walking towards the train station a few blocks away. You've been so focus on trying to mend that you started to neglect yourself again, the same mistake you made in your past life.

Thought after thought, you came to a decision to move on from them.

They didn't want you in their lives so you wouldn't push it any further, the easiest way to ignore them is to block them.

You're pretty sure that this decision was harsh, but it wasn't that harsh though when they said that winter night.

He was right you all just wanted peace.

You went inside the and quickly got inside your room, the decision you made might be irrational and might make you regret it later on.

But all you wanted now is a place where's there is peace, something that can later on give you happiness in this life.

Getting your phone you started to block all of the itoshi brothers media on all apps you know they had. It wasn't much so you manage to do it in a couple of minutes.

You let a sigh of relief, you know damn well you will regret it near future.

...

You saved up for you collage to go study abroad in your country before this. It took awhile but at least you got a scholar, you really didn't care what they think you since you were finally free.

You manage to make the time machine here in this life at age 23, even if you died atleast your name will be remembered on through generations as being the "lady who surpass humanity's limits"

i lost motivation here, and i cried while making the angst frfr

I forgot to add this but the poison reader consume was a poison that was makes the reader bloom. Or well throw up flowers, the pain you felt in your stomach was the flowers blooming.

Thats why the divider was a flower :D

Wsup! its the creator <3 the person that send the request didn't specifically said the ending for this amazing plot, so its decision as you the reader to carve your own path! You may or not forgive them both or one sibling, this was such a joy to make You can 100% reblog this and make your own ending, i would love to see your pov :D

[storytowrite]

|You will always be mine ~ Lee Minho series|

PART 6

Paring: Minho x Y/N

Genre: smut, angst, university au

Word count: 951

Warnings: sex, 18+, Minho is a psycho, dom!Minho, sub!reader, abuse, slight BDSM, kidnapping, violence, age gap, Minho is an university professor, Y/N can be hurt physically (and mentally too I guess).

Synopsis: Who knew that accidental fuck in the club bathroom with a handsome man will bring you to a lot of unexpected events.

Author's note: I kept this series for a really long time not sure if I want to post it or not, but I decided to do it anyway, so I hope you'll like it.

——————————

He helped you get dressed. You spent about two hours in his office. Who would have thought that a lecturer could have so many erotic toys inside his desk? But Minho was no ordinary lecturer, and you knew it. 

You looked at the man, who began to get dressed. Although he was not one of the tallest people you knew, he looked really good. His body was very well built. You liked his physique. His muscles were perfectly defined, could it be that he went to the gym? You unconsciously bit your lip slightly. 

“What are you thinking about, sunshine?” Minho asked. “Do you like what you're looking at?”

“Yes.” You admitted. “ I like you...”

“I'm glad.” He smiled and zipped up his pants, then glanced at his watch. “Well... it was a successful day. I missed one class for you.”

“Oh no, probably the female students were disappointed.” You laughed.

“I'm sure... a lot of them would like to be in your shoes, kitten.” The man replied and placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Come on sunshine, I'll drive you home.”

“Are you sure? What if someone sees us and...”

“At this hour no one will see us sunshine... Besides, I won't let you go back alone at such a late hour.”

"Hush, don't exaggerate, it's not that late." You rolled your eyes. 

"I have already decided." He shrugged. "Let's go."

You left his office in a very good mood and walked to the parking lot together. It was already evening outside, it was getting dark. It must have rained earlier, because the ground was full of puddles. Even though it had become a little cooler, you smiled to yourself, you were happy. You had spent a pleasant afternoon, and the events of the morning, in Minho's apartment, had long since left your mind. 

You got into his car. The car was not big. It was perfect for two people. The interior was covered with leather in a light cream color. The outside of the car was black. And the tinted windows added to its mysteriousness. 

Minho started the car and drove to the address you had given him earlier. He placed his right hand on your thigh, rolling his thumb gently. You bit your lip and looked at the driver. He looked sexy. He held the wheel with one hand. His fingers tightened on the wheel. The veins on his hand and forearm became more visible. You let out a soft sigh and filled your eyes with the view you had. Minho smiled slightly amused, noticing your reaction out of the corner of his eye. 

"Do you like the view that much, kitten?" He asked. "Or are you thinking about what we did in my office?" He patted you lightly on the thigh, to which you mumbled softly. "You like spanking, huh?"

"Honestly, I didn't even know I liked it. I haven't even had anyone to experiment with yet." You shrugged, admitting your inexperience. Admittedly, you had had sex more than once, but not like with Minho. And you were starting to like it more and more. 

“That's interesting. Haven't you ever wanted to try something other than casual sex in a club?”

“I don't know.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I guess I'm just not lucky in love.”

“Nonsense. You're just looking in the wrong place, kitten.”

“It's just that not everyone can be as good as you.” You chuckled, at which Minho smiled slightly. 

“I'm glad to hear that.” He said. “Well, here we are.” The man parked outside your apartment. 

“Thank you for giving me a ride.” You replied and kissed him gently on the cheek. 

“It's nothing... Although I'd rather I didn't have to drive you here and just go straight to my place.” He winked. 

“But there's Rheena at your place... I wouldn't want to run into her again. She was quite unpleasant.”

“Don't worry about her, I'll take care of it and she won't bother you or me ever again.” He winked at you lightly. “I should go now...”

“Wait, maybe you would like to come in? I've already been to your place and maybe...” You started.

“I'd love to come in, but not today, kitten. I have to chase a pest out of my apartment and I still have a meeting with a friend scheduled.”

“Oh, well...” You replied, disappointed by his refusal. “Then... next time?”

“Mhm, next time for sure.” He smiled at you. “Sweet dreams, kitten.” He kissed you on the cheek before getting out of his car. As soon as you disappeared behind the door of your apartment and Minho made sure you were safe, he drove away. 

You sighed quietly as you locked the front door. You thought the man would come in, that you would talk, maybe spend another intoxicating night.... 

You went deeper into the apartment and sat down on the couch with a heavy sigh. It had been a strange but successful day. You smiled to yourself thinking about Minho. Suddenly, you received a text message. You immediately rushed to the phone, thinking it was a message from HIM. What was your huge surprise when you noticed that the sender of the text message was none other than Lisa. You unlocked the phone and read it. 

“I saw you slut with our lecturer. You're screwed.” 

An attachment was sent. 

You immediately opened it to see pictures of you with Minho as you got into his car. You shivered. You didn't realize Lisa was out there somewhere. You thought you and Mimho were discreet enough that no one would notice you. You felt like crying. You didn't know what you should do. 

“Fuck...”

——————————

<- Part 5 | Part 7 ->

-> Series Masterlist

Taglist: @yaorzu-blog, @iovecb97, @hpnsfwaddict, @syedazarintasnim, @palindrome969

[godisshook]

Movie Night

Zach was the best friend I could have. He was nice, a nerd just like me, and so so funny. One time, some bully tried to beat me up because I was gay, and Zach stood face to face with him and almost fought him if a teacher didn’t break them up before any fists could be thrown. He was the most genuine guy I knew, and when I found out we were both going to the same high school, I was overjoyed. He was incredibly driven, and despite him not being crazy smart, always was successful at anything he put his mind to.

Sometime during our sophomore year he started really getting into working out, and he was making some progress, but I would always joke that he was just a “muscular shrimp” to which he would usually reply, “At least I HAVE muscle.” And he wasn’t wrong, I was 5’7 and 115 pounds, not the most built individual, most definitely.

We were always hanging out until the pandemic hit later in sophomore year. All of a sudden we were home, and I couldn’t talk to my best friend like usual. We kept in touch through discord and would call each other almost every day after class. When Zach got a girlfriend our junior year, we stopped talking almost completely, and I had a breakdown. When we were back in class senior year, he had completely changed. His girlfriend cheated on him before the year started, and broke up with him three weeks before the first day of class. He started going to the gym a lot more it seemed and even took a firefighter course, which I thought was super cool, even if I would never say it to his face.

When we got back senior year, he looked completely different. A guy who was once 5’8 and only 130 pounds was now 6’2 and 185 pounds of pure muscle. He apologized for not talking to me for so long, saying that he needed time to just focus on himself, which I thought was bs but accepted because I still really valued him as a friend. In class, I would still joke with him, and he would welcome them, flexing as I said that his arms were too big, or he looked like a dorky jock if that was even possible.

The transition back made it so that we would alternate days going to class, and so we were still not seeing each other, but during one of his firefighting classes, I snuck in and attended with the teacher being none the wiser.

We also made a new tradition, a movie night over zoom. It was our way of still hanging out, even though we were busy and couldn’t just go to each other's places. I would constantly pick horror movies, and Zach would pick action every time. It was fun and allowed me to connect with my old buddy even as our lives became more hectic.

I noticed that as time passed, Zach became even more jock-ish, and would start calling me small and saying that he could easily lift me, which I took to great offense in a joking way of course. As we were watching Scream one night, I see Zach on my other monitor with his shirt off, flexing and looking straight at me. “What are you doing?” I say, looking at him incredulously. “Nothing.” he replied in a low tone. I shrug it off as him probably just being weird, and go back to finishing the movie.

I manage to sneak in a screenshot of him as he was doing it, and kept it in my camera roll for “blackmail.”

I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about that night the following week, and one day in class, while daydreaming, Zach interrupts my waking dream by saying, “Do you wanna come to my place for movie night this weekend?” I look up at him and reply, “Of course!” I felt as if the old days of our friendship were coming back, and was so excited to go. His parents were out of town, and this is the whole house would be empty aside from us two. We decide that it would be better if I just spent the whole weekend there, so packed a suitcase on Friday to bring over.

We played board games all day, and then went into playing Fortnite, which he hard carried me in, having to explain half of the game to me the whole time.

It was my turn to pick the movie again, and I wanted to pick Nightmare on Elm Street because I wanted him to see all the "classics." When I came back from a bathroom break, he said I had practically missed half the movie, to which I swiftly play-punched him in the shoulder, and then immediately regretted my decision as it felt like punching straight iron. Despite this, we start play fighting, but as I vastly underestimated his new strength, and vastly overestimated mine, I found myself pinned against the couch as both of my wrists were in his hands.

I look up at him, and as he stares back, I notice his sweatpants start to rise. As the shape of his cock takes form in his sweatpants, he begins taking off his jacket, and I rush to pull my shirt off. There's a mutual hunger, a horniness only created after years of knowing each other, and it was releasing itself tonight.

I rush to pull off his sweatpants, and begin sucking him off. "Fuckkkkkkk" he groans as I wrap my tongue around his shaft and start licking all over it. He pushes my head down on his cock as I gag, saying, "How do you like that?" "Itsthhh sooo guuuuddd" I say between breaths as his cock goes down my throat again. I had never seen him like this, it was like a beast took over him. He takes me and lifts me up, ripping my underwear and placing his cock into the hole he created in it.

He starts pushing me up and down on his cock as I'm on his chest, and every time he pulls me up he goes in for a kiss, a small bit of sweetness breaking through the roughness.

Slowly, he starts to walk upstairs, with me still being hoisted up, and with his dick in me. Every step up causes it to go deeper, and as he gets on the stair it comes out ever so slightly. I moan in pleasure as he does this, and he slaps my ass as I do. When we get to his bedroom, he throws me on the bed and rips off the shreds of underwear I had left.

He fucks me for what seemed like years, taking his massive cock and digging it all in my tight hole. It felt like it was going up into my chest, and I rolled my eyes back as he kept fucking. After the backshots, he turns me over and fucks me, hugging his body towards me, and sliding his dick in and out. His abs were grinding against my cock, and I came as he started pulling in and out of me quickly. With him going faster and faster, I felt his dick get warm in my ass, and soon he started to groan, and hot cum leaked from his dick into me, and he laid on my chest with his cock still in my ass.

As I was walking home commando, I couldn't help but think about how good it was, and texted him, "Where did you get THAT energy from?" to which he replied, "From wanting you since day one." I will admit, that made me blush. Zach was now my regular fuckbuddy, and the sex was mindblowing. I looked forward to our "movie nights" every week, and even though we would never make it through a movie again, at least I get good sex in exchange.

[sterekorgtfo]

This may be a niche unpopular ‘What If’ situation of the Daddy Kink convo we all love and what it’s inspired, but What If Tommy couldn’t match Bucks passion?

Buck and Tommy were collapsed on the bed. Buck was very blissfully fucked the fuck out. He had gotten really into the “Daddy” roleplay and was enjoying this new sex life with Tommy. He had egged Tommy on to see how much harder Tommy could fuck him, and Buck wanted to see how much his own hole could handle now that he had been more comfortable bottoming more and more.

Tommy was pressing kisses to Bucks back and rubbing his back and Tommy was checking in asking “Was that good for you? Was that what you wanted? Are you okay?” and Buck was coming down from his high before he realized something was less than happy in Tommy’s tone.

Buck rolled around and quickly caught a small glance of Tommy frowning before he quickly turned it into a smile, but Buck could tell it was performative and there was something wrong in his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Evan softly inquired with concern as he caressed the strong jaw of his boyfriend.

“Nothing,” Tommy lied with a positive cadence, attempting to hide whatever it was he was keeping from Evan, which didn’t make Evan feel great inside.

“Did I do something wrong?” Evan asked cautiously, which made Tommy visibly wince. Tommy couldn’t stand the thought of Evan feeling like he did something wrong.

“No, baby, of course not, it’s nothing like that,” Tommy quickly tried to reassure his boyfriend, cradling his face and looking deep in his eyes to let him know Evan didn’t do anything to hurt him.

“Then can you please tell me what’s bothering you?” Evan asked softly, doing his best to gently coax Tommy out of his shell he was trying to mask his feelings within.

Tommy stayed quiet for a moment, not breaking eye contact with Evan, but Buck could see Tommy trying to process something on the other side of them.

“You know I respect you, right?,” Tommy said with a strong, assertive emphasis on ‘respect’. “I love you and I see you as an equal, and it’s important to me that you know that.”

“Of course,” Evan replied with growing concern. “Of course I know, babe. You’ve treated me phenomenally. This is by far the best relationship I’ve had. You make me feel comfortable in a way none of my exes ever had.”

Tommy kind of slowly nodded, but it seemed like he couldn’t fully process the words yet. Evan grabbed his hand and that seemed to catch Tommy’s attention and stop him from overthinking.

“Is this about the sex we just had?” Even asked cautiously.

Tommy hesitated for a while Bee letting out a small not and a soft ‘yeah’. “In the past, twinks and twunks only saw me as a big man who only existed to dom them and other men built like me only saw me as competition to keep them away from said twinks.

“I like topping, and yeah, getting hot and heavy even really passionate can be fun, but….”

Evan looked at his boyfriend with concern and sadness, feeling guilty he triggered something painful inside his man for his own fun. Be braced himself for what was about to come.

“Treating you like some…object or toy and fucking you harder than I should have really…made me feel kinda bad Inside….” Evan winced a little at the confession. He didn’t consider Tommy’s feelings just because he was topping and masculine and stronger than Buck. His boyfriend loved romcoms and romance and always treated him like a gentleman. The man said he would match Bucks pace, and Buck never realized it would be possible to out-pace him.

“But I know you were really into it and you kept saying ‘harder’, ‘faster’ and I know you’ve been hinting at getting more bold bottoming and I…You never used the safe words so I knew you were okay, but it was…Kinda hard to put you through that.”

“Tommy,” Evan said with regretful sadness. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t consider any of this and I feel awful I didn’t,” Evan apologized.

“Please, don’t apologize,” Tommy tried to quickly say. “This isn’t on you and I am not blaming you.”

“I know you’re not,” Evan countered. “But I am going to be sorry and apologetic anyways,” Buck said assertively. Tommy was more of a people pleaser then he let on. He made it hard for Buck to ever apologize for things because Tommy would never think Buck did anything wrong. It was endearing as much as it was an occasional obstacle.

“You told me you were okay with being called ‘daddy’ and I ran with it. I never checked what exactly that entailed and what your limits were and I just assumed you’d give all I wanted to take, which was wrong of me,” Buck said. “I got swept up in the appeal of dating a big strong man who was a sexy beast and I expected you to act like one, despite knowing you’re so much more than that.

“So, it’s important to me that you know that I see you as an equal. I love you and I respect you and you are more than my personal meaty manhandler,” Buck said with insistence.

Tommy laughed, but let out the first warm smile he did this whole conversation and it made Bucks heart so much lighter and release so much tension he didn’t know he was holding.

“I do,” Tommy said. “Thank you, Evan. I want to be the type of Daddy that takes care of his boy, not uses him like a toy. Would that be okay with you?”

“Of course it is,” Buck assured. “I know you’re sometimes worried about our age gap, but I don’t only not worry about it, but I’m also not only into you because of it. And if you’re ever feeling doubtful or uncomfortable, our safe words are for you too. Even if you’re the one topping. You deserve to use those too. Promise me you’ll use them when you need them.”

“I promise,” Tommy oathed. “Thank you, Evan. Next few times can we stick with moderately vanilla missionary, and cock riding? I like being able to see your face and kiss you when I need. I’ll be able to handle a few minutes of Doggy, if need be, I just want to…make love to you sometimes, not just fuck you, and Vice-Versa.”

“Of course,” Buck said, leaning in to kiss him deeply. “I’ll never say no to making love with you if that’s what you need.”

They held each other close and buried their faces into each others necks, massaged each others backs, and both enjoyed the comforting supportive embrace of the others’ love.

[dxwnstxr]

Rain drops against your window

Fandom: Bungou stray dogs

Characters: Dazai x y/n (reader)

Genre: steamy-ish

Warnings: make out sesh :p

A/N: requests are closed!!! I've been so busy with my tiktok I completely forgot about Tumblr I'm so sorry! My requests have just built up and there's atleast 20 T-T. I'll try my best to finish them all but I can't promise I'll do all of them. I wanted to write this today though because dazai's been my new obsession. ^^ this is written in the readers pov.

Cold. That's all that I felt as I walked home. Raindrops hitting my shoulders and dampening my hair, along with my clothes. I had forgotten an umbrella on the one day it's supposed to rain this week, just my luck. By now all my paperwork was probably soaked and I'd have to redo them all.

I sighed and hung my head low. My house wasn't close to my work but it wasn't very far either. The closest bus had already left for the next few hours and no taxi was available, leaving walking as my only option.

I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag. Taking one more step in another puddle, a hard board hit me in the face. I tumbled back and rubbed my nose, groaning in pain.

"Cmon..."

I mubled, annoyed at my terrible luck. Looking up to see what a ran into I was met with one of my co-workers. He leaned down to me, face full of concern.

"Are you okay?"

He asked me. I nodded and kept my curses to myself. Dazai, was a well known person at my work. He was known for slacking and goofing off but when we truly needed it, he would help us as best as possible. He put out his hand, asking me to grab it. I put my hand in his and he helped me up a little.

"How far away is your house?"

He ask. I raised a brow.

"Why do you want to know where a live?"

I replied. He just rolled his eyes.

"I'm guess still a little far right?"

I tsked and look to the side. He wasn't wrong, which just annoyed me further. I sighed and nodded.

"My house is around the corner. You can stay there for the night. It's non stop thunderstorms till tomorrow morning."

He stated. I hated the idea of staying with him but it was the only option I had. I could stay at a hotel but I don't have a bunch of money on me.

"Alright.."

Dazai chuckled and took my hand.

"Follow me"

I let him guide me to his house which was actually a condo. He just calls it a "house" to make him feel like he isn't broke.

When we got the he unlocked the door and opened it for me. He lived on the second floor, so he had a beautiful view outside with his balcony facing where the sunsets. Too bad it was too clouding to see it tonight.

Dazai put away his umbrella and walked to his room. I followed him and saw him looking in his closet.

"Here. Go change in the bathroom"

He handed me some baggy close. Dazai was more on the thiner side, but he was still rather muscular. I nodded and he pointed to down the hall.

Stripping myself of the soaked clothing, dazai's warm clothes seemed to fit well enough, to the point the pants didn't fall off. I walked out and tried to find where he went. Walking back into his room, he was sitting on his bed, scrolling on his phone. He looked up at me and his eyes widened.

"I'll throw your clothes in the wash"

He told me, taking them from my hands. He soon left the room as I could hear him getting the detergent and oxi clean. I sat by the balcony window and watched the rain come down. I leaned my head against the glass doors and listened to the way the rain hit the glass.

I closed my eyes and focused on the sound. I didn't hear Dazai come back in until I heard him sit opposite to me.

I opened my eyes and he smiled.

"Fan of the rain?" He tried to tease.

"Only when it's not soaking me to death." I reply.

He just chuckled. The ac turned on and the chill came back as goosebumps flooded my arms and legs. Dazai took note of this and moved closer to me. He sat next to me, his shoulder pressed against the glass doors, and opened his legs and arms a bit. Almost as if he was inviting me to cuddle him.

I glared at him and he smiled in return.

"You're cold aren't you?" He asked me, smarkily.

I continued to glare and he just sighed.

"Do you want to freeze?"

I huffed and scooted to him. Pressing my back to his chest.

"See isn't that better~?" He teased.

"Just shut up" I told him, annoying at his teasing and he pouted in return.

It didn't take long for me to relax. Letting my body relax into his as I let his warmth surround me. I let out a hot breath and watched the rain pour. I titled my head to the side and was able to hear his breathing and the way his heart beated.

I listened close and tried to match my breathing uo with his. Though, even though I tried, It didn't last long. I turned my body around so my chest was facing his and he leaned back a bit, his back now pressed against the side of his bed. I wrapped my arms around his torso and sighed in relief. The heat finally reaching me as it surrounded my body.

Dazai tensed at my moments but soon relaxed and continued watching the rain pour outside. I looked up at his to see what he was doing and he looked down at me.

We both didn't move. In fact, we both stay in that position. He looked at my eyes then my nose, my cheeks, forehead, lips, and so on. His eyes moving around my face, taking in all my features as I did the same to him. At the same time our eyes reconnected and it shocked us both. Our eyes widenening then relaxing. I sat up and wrapped my legs around his hips, so I was sitting in his lap.

He placed his hands on my waist and pulled me closer. I swallowed nothing and blushed a little. Dazai cupped my chin and pulled my face to his. It took me a second to realize that he was kissing me but when I did I reciprocated it. His hand that was resting on my chin moved to the back of my neck, tilting my head up.

Doing that opened my mouth slightly and he licked my lips. Parting them he welcomed himself in and pressed his tongue against mine. His other hand that was on my hip moved to entangle itself in my hair. He held me so close that it felt like he was scared that I would disappear.

He pulled back and slowly opened his eyes, along with me. He brought his thumb to my bottom lip and rubbed the wetness on it. Not wasting a second more, he leaned back in. This time the kiss was more lustful than the last. Like he was trying to be dominant with me. Though... I didn't complain.

He pulled away with a string of saliva connecting us. He started peppering kisses down my jaw line and to my neck.

"Dazai..." I breathed out.

He picked his head up from my neck and studied my face. Dazai then sighed and his head dropped to my shoulder. He rested it there for a while before speaking.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered.

"For?"

"Not asking.."

I practically looked at him in awe. I pulled his head off my shoulder to get a look at his face. A adorable little blush was dusted across his cheeks and I smiled at it. I kissed his nose and cupped his face.

"It's okay" I whispered to him.

I brushed away the hairs that were in his face and rubbed his cheek gently. He melted into my touch and looked at me with his chocolate brown eyes. He smiled softly and spoke with a red blush forming on his cheeks.

"May I kiss you?"

[abarbaricyalp]

I simply MUST know about the OnlyPaws WIP! Or the actors AU, if someone’s already asked about the other one.

Hi Zainab! WIP Game

I've been working on this fic for over a year now, but it's still so dear to me. A coworker and I were joking about a dating app that was centered around pictures of your pets instead of yourself and this fic was born from that.

Sam and Bucky (technically Figaro and Alpine) match on an app called OnlyPaws and Bucky falls desperately in love with 'Figaro's dad' as he's always calling him because they don't really know more about each other. But it's the little things, like how he talks about Figaro or the snippets of his apartment that Bucky sees when the cats are facetiming, etc. (Yeah, the cats have facetime playdates)

It actually gets to be a problem when he starts hanging out with this guy in real life who drives him nuts, but he also kind of likes. This half guilt is only exasperated by the fact that Sam also seems to be hiding someone too. A comedy of errors and fools.

Sorry, this excerpt is long, but I like it as an establishing idea.

.

But, even now, sitting at a bar with friends, he found himself pulling out his phone while they danced. He'd taken a picture of Alpine earlier chewing on his aloe vera and he sent that to Figaro now.

There was a reply almost instantly: an incomprehensible string of emojis with every single plant in the dictionary, including the trees. Then: Sorry, man, I'm not home. But Fig says hi anyway. 

Bucky sucked on his teeth, sent back the cat emoji and a waving hand, then pocketed his phone. His friends were all clumped together, dancing poorly to an equally bad EDM remix of an old 80s song. The group had grown over the night as each of his friends invited a few others. He didn't know most of the people he was throwing back shots with, but that was part of the fun, he supposed.

Yet another man had joined the group. He stayed next to Steve, even as he smiled easily with the people around them. He was handsome, from what Bucky could see across the floor and under the throbbing lights of the club. Tall and built, but not overly muscular like some of the gym rats Steve could pick up. He had nice thighs under short-shorts and Bucky could appreciate the mesh top straining over his chest. The lights looked good on him and he could at least keep time to the music. A feat, since even the music kept losing its own tempo. The lights and shadows made his cheekbones stand out, even across the room.

Bucky ran his fingers over his phone one more time before he finished his drink and strode out to his friends, sidling up to Steve’s side where the new guy was. Steve, already most of the way to drunk, threw his arm over Bucky’s shoulder with a laugh and pulled him into the group as he jumped around to still-bad music. It only took a few hops before his arm fell from Bucky’s shoulders and Bucky could step back out next to the newcomer.

“Hey,” he greeted in a shout. “I’m Bucky. How do you know Steve?”

“Is this an interrogation?” the guy shouted back. “I’m Sam, though.”

“Nah, just wanted to know which version of him you knew.”

“You’ve noticed that too, huh?” Sam asked with a grin. He had nice teeth. A cute gap between the front two. “I see all of him,” he promised. “I know him well enough to know about you.”

Bucky held a hand over his chest in a slightly sarcastic ‘I’m touched’ kind of way. “You know, I’m just gonna ask him about you in the morning,” he pointed out.

Sam shrugged and went back to dancing, tugging Bucky closer to him with long fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Do you really wanna talk about Steve all night?”

And, yeah, Bucky could get with that. He wrapped one arm around Sam’s waist and dropped his prosthesis over his shoulder. Sam mirrored him after a studious few moments where he really seemed to be calculating how much closer that could bring them.

“How’d you lose your arm?” he asked. “Shark attack? Hiking accident? Cloning session gone wrong?”

“I worked for the circus,” Bucky joked back. “I was a lion tamer.”

“Not a very good one,” Sam answered and then beamed when Bucky laughed all full chested at him. “Sorry, usually I’m more polite than that. I don’t drink a lot.”

Bucky shrugged and pressed their bodies together. “I don’t mind. I have a lot of forgiveness for cute guys.”

“Only cute?” Sam asked. “A stoned guy in the bathroom thought I was a god. You’re gonna have to up your game.”

Bucky laughed again and dropped his forehead against Sam’s. Sam moved like he didn’t need to keep all of his body parts connected. His hips went one way and his legs did something else and his arms were so strong around Bucky. He was dizzying to keep up with and Bucky loved it. This wasn’t just a bump and grind. Sam knew how to move like a salsa dancer, found a beat for every second like a tap dancer, brought Bucky into all of it like it was second nature to have a partner.

“Are you a competitive dancer?” Bucky asked, because he was on his own way to drunk and he asked stupid questions in that state.

Sam laughed and did a complicated spin under Bucky’s arm just to show off. “Now you’re talking. That’s a good compliment. Nah, man. I just grew up doing it. You’re not so shabby either.”

“Yeah, I’m nothing like you,” Bucky disagreed.

Sam shrugged. “Who is?” he agreed, and then laughed brilliantly again. “Sorry, I really don’t mean that. I think you’re great. A great dancer, I mean.”

So they kept dancing. They’d both abandoned the songs above, grinding against each other to a mutually agreed upon beat that stayed steady. Sam was kind of grabby, which Bucky could get behind. He was also so warm, especially as he leaned more and more weight against Bucky. It was beginning to make Bucky slip off into a warm, weighted trance.

“Hey, you wanna get outta here?” Sam asked eventually.

“If we leave together, Steve will never let us live it down,” Bucky warned, tucking his face further into Sam’s neck and shoulder.

“Trust me, I don’t do anything specifically to impress Steve,” Sam chuckled. “Let me just go to the bathroom first.”

Bucky reluctantly let go of Sam. He left with a laugh and a squeeze to Bucky’s hip. The music came back all at once, loud and grating. Bucky let himself off of the dance floor, propping up a small doubles table as he pulled out his phone. Coincidentally, a message from OnlyPaws popped in right then. It was a picture of Figaro, as a kitten, curled up in a large potted plant, all of the thin leaves bent away from him. Sorry, I couldn’t leave you hanging. Here’s an old picture from one of the first days he came home.

Bucky stared at the picture with a pang in his chest that he couldn’t really name. He wanted to push it to the side and ignore it. Wished he hadn’t taken his phone out at all. But now that it was nestled in his chest, there was no removing it.

The restlessness made him want to dash right then, but he also couldn’t shake the warmth of Sam’s body from his mind. The guy at least deserved an in-person rejection. He made himself stand there, antsy and getting increasingly nervous, or maybe guilty. Regardless.

Sam came back a few minutes later with an easy grin, bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s to get him moving. Bucky let himself be cajoled outside and gave the cool night air a chance to calm him down. “Hey, man,” he said, grabbing Sam’s wrist after a block or so.

Sam turned to him with the kind of bright, but guarded grin that told Bucky he already knew what Bucky was going to say. “I am not coyote ugly,” Sam defended lightly. “What, you see me in the moonlight and changed your mind? Get outta here.”

“I don’t know what coyote ugly means,” Bucky dismissed. “It’s got nothing to do with you. Shit, man, you’re even more handsome out here, which is saying something,” he admitted. “It’s just…there’s this guy I’m talking to.”

Sam laughed, an edge in it but not in his face. “Isn’t there always? Hey, no hard feelings.”

“I could…still walk you home?” Bucky offered.

“That’s okay, man,” Sam dismissed. “I can walk myself.”

Bucky chewed on his lip and didn’t read too much into the way Sam’s eyes went to his mouth and then immediately away. “Alright. I’ll see you around.”

Sam gave half a salute before turning and walking away. Bucky let out a heavy breath. He spent the rest of the walk home debating what exactly it was that his heart was doing in his chest.

[yutahoes]

Polarity

Teaser - Chapter One - Chapter Two

characters: mafia boss! Yuta Nakamoto x innocent! florist! reader

summary: While running away, you seemed to be moving closer to the man you were avoiding. Are you even heading to the right direction?

chapter word count: 1.6 k words

chapter genre: angst, fluff (if you close your eyes)

chapter warning: super innocent main character, language, blood, gun, killing, flirty(?) Jaehyun (I swear this is a Yuta fic)

There are a lot of triggers that don't sit well with minors so please keep in mind that some scenes are disturbing and purely fictional. Inspired by Koi no Dangan.

a/n: I honestly haven't written a follow-up for this. My writing speed is so slow and I'm honestly so lost on what I should do. So if you have suggestions for what you want to happen in the next chapters, I promise that would help a lot. 😁 Thank you for your warm welcome. Sorry, I cannot reply to you all but I'm really happy to be back and see you all again. Thank you for letting me write for you again. 🥰

taglist: @sourirensoleille @kyuprincess @nuoyipeach @anonjyxd @a-bts-world @a-place-filled-with-random @smolbeanieee @yumilovesavocado @imnotsureokay @dhaly-g

But moving away means huge money. And where would you go? Another country? That will cost a lot of money. Another city? But that won't guarantee that you will be safe from another mafia group. 

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you list your expenses for the month and the salary you’re receiving from this flower shop gig. Should you get another part-time job? A job that would pay you a hundred thousand a night perhaps? Is there even a job like that? 

"What's with the long face?" Sophie, the owner of the flower shop, asked. "It's bad for the business." You apologized but she just stared at you worriedly. "What's wrong, Y/N?" She had always been the older sister you never had. It wasn’t the best impression when you first met her, but she had always been there for you and even took you in when she first built this flower shop. “Is it about your dad? I told you to just send him to the hospice, you can have the freedom by yourself.” But you cannot do that, he’s the only one in your family left. You cannot just abandon him like that. 

You dropped the pen and then stared at her in question. “Do you know any job where I can get a hundred thousand per night?” 

She laughed. A boisterous laugh that made you sigh. Of course, that would be stupid. There’s not a job like that. “You’re pretty and you’re young. You could sell yourself.” The older suggested which made you look at her. Sell yourself? How? Like in a market? “I’m pretty sure those old men would have a field day seeing you.” 

What? You’re so lost. What is she talking about? “What? I don’t get it.” 

Sophie gave you a frustrated sigh. “If you sell your body to those old men, they’ll definitely pay you a hundred thousand. Sometimes even more.” 

“Really? How?” 

“By sleeping with them and bearing them a child.” 

Your eyebrows scrunched in question, “How do you bear a child?” 

You can see how she looked at you as if you were stupid. And with how she judged you, you felt like you were. “You’re a hopeless virgin.” She claimed while shaking her head. “I’ll ask around.” You nodded, thanking her for that. “Y/N, please don’t let anyone corrupt your innocence.” 

Your talk was cut off when the door chime rang and a customer entered. It was weird seeing a guy clad in black clothes and wearing sunglasses, asking for a flower suggestion. But you weren’t one to judge. A customer means business and you’re more than happy that someone is buying flowers at this time of day. 

The guy kept on returning for three days in a row, sometimes twice a day, which you found rather odd. You were convinced that he was after your boss since Sophie would always entertain him and you would just arrange the flowers he would buy. On the fourth day, however, he came in the morning even if your boss isn’t around. He bought a bouquet of tulips, like on any typical day, without asking for Sophie. Maybe he really is a customer. 

That afternoon though, instead of the man in black who usually comes in, a familiar dimpled guy appeared at the door of the flower shop that startled you. “You didn’t call me.” How did he find you here? Is this merely a coincidence? 

“I lost your card.”

“Lost or threw?” He knows. He locked the door of the shop which made you revolt but he only stepped closer to you, pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “You didn’t clean your wound.” he whispered, “You could die because of this, Y/N.” It’s just a gunshot wound. How bad can it get? 

If it wasn’t for Jaehyun, you wouldn’t notice how the part of your arm where the wound is was swelling. He explained it was natural and since you left the wound in the open, it is infected. You didn’t understand anything but felt bad that you dismissed his warning. But why is he so concerned about you? “I gave you my card so I can help you clean your wound or if anything happens, you can call me. I like brave girls but I hate stubborn girls the most.”  

“You don’t need to concern yourself with me.” 

He smiled, a dimple popping out from his cheek. Well, Jaehyun is rather handsome. You had to note that. But he’s related to a mafia and that’s a huge red flag already. “I don’t," You shrugged, he really shouldn't be.

"...but I’m grateful.” He claimed which surprised you. Grateful about what? “If it weren’t for you, the leader of the Nakamoto group would be dead. Of course, you don’t realize how big that is. But because of you, Y/N, the group is alive.” You didn’t know if it was his serious tone or the weight of his statement that made you hush. Jaehyun stared straight at you, “And a young child wouldn’t be more traumatized.” 

“So Miss Y/N Y/L/N, like it or not, you’re already involved in this mafia group.” The words you dread to hear. “Unless you pay off your debt.” 

Maybe Sophie’s suggestion of selling yourself would be a good idea.  

Jaehyun stood by the door. From the outside, you can see the customer you have been noticing for days approaching the shop. He’s pretty late today. “And be careful outside. There might be people after you.” 

If there is one thing that Jaehyun was right about, it is the fact that you were stubborn. It was the reason why you still went to the mafia’s house even if your father told you not to get involved. Yet why are his words repeating in your mind? It wasn’t a big deal. You pushed a guy when you saw that he was in trouble. Anyone could easily do it. But why is it bugging you like this? 

Another is his warning. You didn’t try to notice it before but you were so paranoid right now that you do feel that someone is following you. Why did you leave the shop this late? You should have just come to work early tomorrow to do the inventory and not today.

From the windows of the closed shop, you can spot a tall man in sunglasses walking in the same way as you are. The same eerie man who kept coming back to your shop for days. Is he following you? Why? Hastily, you made a sharp turn to a dark alleyway and started scrambling to get something from your bag, the pepper spray Sophie had given you for this situation.

You weren’t surprised when he appeared in front of you. But your eyes widened in surprise when you heard a gunshot followed by the man falling on the ground, blood quickly pooling on your feet. You looked up to see a familiar pair of dark, predatory orbs staring at the body in front of you while putting down the gun he obviously used. 

Why is the mafia boss here? And why did he kill this person in front of you? “Take him.” You saw how the man with brown hair, who you remembered as Mark, appeared in the alleyway and started dragging the bloody away. You only stared at the trail of blood, your heart thumping fast that you could feel your face heat up. 

“You didn’t have to kill him, boss.” You knew that voice. Jaehyun. “How can we get information from him?” He walked to where you are, greeting you casually. “We’re seeing you too often, Y/N.” 

“What’s happening? Why…?”

“His group is kidnapping girls and selling them as prostitutes to the black market.” It was Yuta who said those words, keeping his gun on the holster by his belt. 

Jaehyun grinned. “You’re lucky you didn’t get kidnapped and sold.” Wow, you thought, you really attract the things you were thinking about. Aren’t you just considering selling yourself? You didn't know you could be near that plan because of that eerie man. “Didn’t I warn you to be careful?” he asked, wiping something from your cheeks. The handkerchief has a splotch of blood that startled you.   

“You can keep on flirting all you want. I’ll leave first.” The leader just turned around and started walking away without looking back. You wanted to thank him for saving you but you cannot find your voice or your courage for that matter. 

Jaehyun asked to drive you home which you didn’t turn down because of what happened earlier. You can still feel your hands shaking at the thought of the vivid scene. Instead of just the street heading to your home, he actually dropped you in front of your house. He handed you his card once again, “I’m not doing this to flirt with you. But if you needed anything, just call.” You nodded, putting the card in your pocket before going out of his car. You thanked him and he immediately left.  

You breathed heavily before heading inside your house. You cannot show your father that you're shaken up like this. Calm down, Y/N. You're safe now. That wouldn't happen again. “Who’s that?” Your dad asked once you were inside the house, him staring outside the window. “Why are you coming home in a car?” 

You didn’t want to lie to your dad but you didn’t want to tell him the truth either. “It was Sophie’s boyfriend. He just gave me a ride home since it’s late.” Maybe a little white lie wouldn’t hurt. You cannot let him know that you’re now involved with the mafia he owes money from. 

Then that sentence replayed to you. Jaehyun was right once again. You are now involved with the mafia. They know who you are, where you work, and where you live.

The shaking of your hands came back, heart thumping real fast that you felt your face will burst from the heat. You will never be safe from now on, Y/N.

Chapter Three