#He had the audacity to tell me TO MY FACE that he shouldn’t have done that and apologized to me

[skhardwarevers1]

how much aura did I lose when my Spanish teacher got so mad about students being on their phones he slammed the whiteboard and it scared me so bad I started crying and had to be excused from class

[munsonsmixtapes]

That's My Man

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

Eddie defends you in an interview and you repay him in the most generous way

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (m receiving) handjob, the interviewer makes some inappropriate comments about reader

This is a request made my the always lovely @the-witty-pen-name who also came up with the title!

Eddie puts on the pair of headphones that were pervaded for him as the “on air” sign glows the bright red, signaling that the show has started. He doesn’t even know why he even agreed to this interview. The guy’s an ass and Eddie just knows that he’s inevitably going to say something inappropriate. 

He’s really only doing this because his team begged him to. Why, he doesn’t know since the majority of the band’s fanbase hates the kind of guy that Rick is. He’s everything in the book that Eddie can’t stand and now he’s gotta sit here for an hour for his segment. It can’t be too bad, can it? 

“Eddie, welcome,” Rick greets and Eddie puts on a smile even though all he really wants is to kick Rick’s ass. He’s unfortunately caught clips of the show here and there and all he does is sexualize women and talk badly about people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community. 

“Hey, thanks,” Eddie replies, trying his best to not say something he really shouldn’t. He just sits there and waits for Rick to start the conversation. 

“So you’ve got a new album out which is “From the Upside Down.” What was the process like for creating the record?” Eddie’s genuinely caught off guard by the question considering that Rick never seems to care about that kind of thing. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he initially thought. 

“It was actually so different from what we’ve done for past albums. We actually did everything ourselves this time and that was really fun. We took some time off and wrote a bunch of songs and Gareth actually produced them so that was a really cool process to see.” 

Eddie loves talking about his music. It’s like a parent talking about their child. He’s always so proud of himself and his bandmates for what they do and he doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. They worked so hard to get where they are now and he’s nothing but grateful that this is his job. 

“That’s very interesting,” Rick nods and there’s just something about the look on his face that makes it obvious that he’s about to say some dumb shit. “So I know you’re seeing y/n l/n and can I just say, well done, man.” Yep, definitely some dumb shit. 

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. Normally, Eddie would love to talk about you. It’s actually his favorite thing to do. But not like this, not in the way that Rick and a lot of other men like to. Where they just sexualize you and reduce you to an object. Eddie won’t stand for that for anyone, but especially not you. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m “seeing” her,” Eddie laughs nervously. You’ve been trying to keep your relationship under wraps for the past six months but it’s so hard to do when the two of you are under a microscope. 

“Oh, so you wouldn’t categorize this as seeing her?” Rick asks as he pulls up a photo of you and Eddie kissing outside a bar. He didn’t even know that anyone had taken photos of that and now he feels gross.

“Well-” he tries to explain himself but Rick quickly cuts him off. 

“Is she a good kisser? Better yet, is she good in bed?” All of this makes Eddie want to throw up and he can’t believe that men like Rick actually have the audacity to ask questions like that. 

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that,” he answers politely even though he’s seconds away from a crash out. 

“C’mon, you can tell me. It’s just us.” It’s actually not considering it’s a live radio show and even if it wasn’t, that’s something just between you and Eddie and no one else. Especially not pigs like Rick. 

“No, I’m not sharing anything about our relationship. That’s the only thing we have that’s ours.” 

“Is she flexible? I bet she’s flexible.” He shows Eddie a photo of you doing a split on stage and his lunch is about to come up. “Oh yeah, definitely-” 

Rick doesn’t even have time to finish his sentence before Eddie snatches the tablet and slams it down on the table. He would never let any woman be talked about this way. Especially not his girlfriend. 

The anger is festering and he’s having a real hard time trying to keep his cool. Fuck that. He’s not going to be so nice anymore, not wanting anymore disgusting things to be said about you. He can’t let anything else be said about you or he’s going to do something he regrets. 

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he points at Rick, glaring at the man and the man actually looks afraid of him. Good. “I know you tend to objectify women and that shit stood today. If I ever hear you talk about anyone else this way or in a derogatory manner, you’ll have me to answer to. Now keep my wife’s name out of your mouth or we’re going to have a problem.” 

With that, out of the room. Nothing is worth sitting there and letting that man sexualize you. It makes him feel disgusting and now he feels like he needs a long shower. He’s wiping his jacket with his hands to try to literally get rid of that feeling, but he knows the only thing that will help is seeing you. He just needs someone to talk to about the whole thing. 

He’s driving to the venue where you’re performing tonight before he can stop himself. He just wants to hold you in his arms and tell you how much he loves you, hoping that you haven’t been listening to the radio even though he’s sure that you are because you always listen to his interviews. 

Eddie’s so angry about the whole thing, still letting it eat at him even though he already took care of it. He just needs to calm down and he will as soon as he sees you. That always makes him feel better. Just thinking about you is doing the trick and when he pulls up to the venue, the weight on his shoulders is lifting.

You’re sitting in your dressing room, doing your makeup when he walks in, your face lighting up when you see him in the mirror. The anger on his face seems to melt away when he sees you, his smile matching yours as he makes a beeline for you. He saw you just this morning but the time you’ve spent away was far too long. 

You get up from your chair and he’s quick to pull you into a hug, a tight one as he buries his face into your neck. This is all he’s wanted all day, especially since he stormed out of the interview. You always seem to calm the screaming that’s constantly going on in his head. Your hand moves up into his hair, scratching at his scalp as he kisses your neck, moving your hair away from it as he does so. 

You pull away far too soon for his liking before pulling him in for a kiss. He’s needy and desperate and he just wants to show you how much he loves you. Your hands are in his hair as you lick into his mouth, moaning loudly which is only making him harder. He needs your cunt so bad and is so close to taking you right there until you begin to grind against him. 

“I heard what you said on the radio,” you tell him as you kiss down his neck, unbuttoning his jeans. “Defending me like that, it was so…hot,” you whisper the last part into his ear before biting down on the lobe before kissing his neck again, giving it a rough suck, making him squirm. 

You’re backing him up against the vanity, pinning him there as you continue to suck, his hands falling from you to grip the table behind him, white knuckling it as he lets out a whine, his cock hardening even more to the point where you can now fully feel him against you. 

“Now I feel like I owe you.” He defended you and you know it’s because you’re his wife, but you know that he would do that for anyone and that’s how you know you got one of the good ones. 

“You-you don’t owe me anything, sweetheart,” he breathes. He really wants whatever you’re willing to give but only if you really want to not because you think he deserves in return for defending you.

“How about I suck you off, is that payment enough?” His eyes widen at both your question and the way you’re biting down on him. 

“Please,” he whines, needing to get some sort of relief. You give his neck one more kiss before pulling down his jeans, his underwear following as you get down onto your knees. You’re looking up at him with lustful eyes and he watches you, wondering what you’re going to do next. 

You start by spitting into your hand then grab hold of the base, slow strokes to warm him up but they progressively get more intense. He’s already leaking with precum, letting out stuttered breaths as he watches, white knuckling as a moan escapes his lips. 

You keep up the pace, moving as fast as you can as Eddie lets out moan after moan. He’s coming undone already so you know he won’t last long. And you only have a few more minutes before you have to be on stage, so you’ve gotta make it worthwhile. You’ve really gotta make this count. 

You bring your tongue to the slit, licking up the cum that’s already come out, not wanting to waste a drop then bring your lips to the base, kissing it which catches Eddie off guard. You’re now peppering it with kisses and he somehow gets even more hard as he watches you leave lipstick prints behind. It’s hot. You’re hot and he thinks this is where he likes you most, on your knees.

You then bring your mouth back to the slit, licking it again before bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly as Eddie’s hands wind into your hair, letting out yet another whine as you bring him in deeper, sucking harder as your tongue swirls around the head. You’re taking him inch by inch and he’s so close, on the edge of an orgasm as you finally get the last bit of him inside. 

Cum leaks into your mouth as he screams your name, your eyes watering as the head hits the back of your throat, gagging as you suck him off for just a bit longer. Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop, making sure to swallow as he helps you to your feet. 

Eddie pats your tears dry with a tissue so as to not smudge your makeup before you press a lingering kiss to his lips. You clean him up before pulling up his pants and touching up your lipstick.

“How’s that for repaying you?” You ask and he smiles, still dizzy from receiving the best head of his life as he follows you to the side of the stage, wondering how he can get you to do that again once your show is over. He’s sure that you won’t need much convincing.

[jjkbambi]

the morning after luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! part two of is it new years yet because you do not get back together just cuz he has good dick OMG 🖕🖕🖕🖕😒 he also has a great personality and loves eating pussy

warnings: smut, kinda angsty, he’s manipulative but honestly he’s such a nice guy, you should really give him a second chance

^ not edited let’s alll just practice gratitude 🙏

seven days, thirteen hours, and nine minutes and thirty six seconds.

that’s how long it had been since luigi had seen you. not that he’d been counting, he was truly trying to be normal about the distance this time around.

he replays the morning after on a loop, searching for the slightest hint he’d done something wrong to no avail. as a matter of fact, your quiet body was beside him until deep into the afternoon, nothing but soft snores exchanged between the two of you. he wakes before you, kissing your forehead before taking his leave. his frat brothers whistle at him as he enters the wretchedly messy house, throwing him a water.

“happy new year, big guy,” one of them, hasan, greets. “did’ya spend your night thinking about new goals or scoring the same one?”

luigi rolls his eyes. “fuck off.”

another brother chimes in, bright-eyed. “when are we meeting her?”

“in your dreams.”

he had no intention of sharing you in any way; the thought of anyone else even looking at you irritated him. but starting the new year off by your side was far too great a fate to be stoic about. he grabs a plate of what’s left of their shitty communal breakfast (jar salsa from the night before, scrambled eggs, and two pieces of mostly burnt toast) and brings it into your room.

“y/n,” he calls out while entering. the door to the bathroom is now closed, and he sees your shadow shuffling around the room.

hesitant, the door creaks open. youre back in your black minidress, holding onto your heels. “hey, pretty.”

“hi,” you say tightly, the mistakes and soreness from the night before lingering in your mind. you’ve just wiped away the tears still streaked on your face, yet your ex-boyfriend hardly looks hungover.

“dressed up just for me?” he jokes, kissing your cheek. he offers you the plate of food but you shake your head.

“lacy’s waiting for me. i’ve got to go.”

“stay,” he says, his voice honey-sweet, like the boyfriend you knew months ago. it makes you feel sick, the familiarity of it all suffocating you. the room feels too small.

you push away from him. “i have to go.”

“baby,” he drops everything he’s holding to grab you again. “what’s wrong? is everything alright?”

he always blows your mind with his audacity. “no, everything’s not alright, luigi,” you spit back. “we shouldn’t have—none of that should’ve happened.”

“what do you mean?”

“luigi,” you sigh. “we’re over, alright? it’s done.”

“y/n—”

“i mean it,” you raise your voice so slightly, but still it breaks. “you cheated on me, then pulled all this shit, i can’t do it anymore.”

“you can’t do it anymore? are you serious?”

“yes!”

“you ignored me for weeks then showed up at my fucking party, dressed like that,” his voice was low, but angry. brows furrowed, he doesn’t lose his grip on you. it scares you. “you can’t tell me you weren’t bartering for my attention.”

“i wasn’t.”

his jaw sets. “then who’s?”

“oh my god. nobody’s!”

“don’t fucking lie to me—”

“lu, stop, seriously.” your voice trembles this time, and you both notice it. he drops your hand.

“i didnt mean to hurt you,” he says, soft at your upset. “i swear—i dont remember cheating on you. i’m not gonna mess up like that again, i promise.”

he leans in to kiss you, to seal the pledge with his gentle touch, but you pull back. “it doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean to hurt me—you did. you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.“

his big brown eyes bear into yours and he swears, “i can make it up to you.”

“luigi,” you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until he brings his hands up to wipe your tears away. “i just don’t think this is a good idea, i’m sorry.”

“come on,” he says, frowning. “i love you. only you.” his lean-in to kiss you is successful this time. the kiss feels much better—softer—than last night’s. he’s gentle with his desperation, intent on making you stay. “‘m sorry, okay?” he says between kisses. “let me make it better.”

“no, luigi, we shouldn’t—”

“you’ve got to hear me out, y/n,” he takes your lips again. his hot kisses move down your neck—and it all feels so different this time around. even the air in the room feels lighter. his voice is against your ear when he swears, “i’ll be good to you, sweetheart, i promise.”

saying no to him is near impossible—it’s why you shut yourself off of him for weeks, avoiding places he frequented, deactivating your social media, ignoring his constant stream of messages and calls. now, he has you, and within minutes, you’re pressed against the wall again.

“feels good?” he teases, grinding his hard-on into your core. you melt underneath him, you can’t help it, he’s so warm.

“lu,” you whimper. you’re still sensitive from how selfishly he took you the night before, you can’t help but react to his touch so quickly. it felt so raw.

“wait—” he never does. his hands are on your hips again, moving your body against his.

“just let me take care of you,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck again. this time, he was sure to leave marks.

he keeps the dress on this time. he places you back onto the bed, and as you gather the courage to take him in again, he moves beneath you.

“knew i recognized these,” his voice hot against the fabric of your panties.

you told yourself the lacy black panties were just meant to match the dress, but it all seemed so intentional—the party crash, the kitchen drive-by, the fact that you were wearing his valentines day gift. whether this was a manifestation of your greatest fear or desire, you couldn’t tell.

he kisses your thighs, then runs his tongue against your core through the fabric of your panties before ceremoniously ripping them off. he kisses and sucks at your wetness. you tremble at the suddenness of his movement. his big nose is so prominent in your pussy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his perfect face and whine as he drinks you in.

“you’re such a fucking mess,” luigi says, smiling into your warmth. his unshaven stubble tickles your sensitive cunt, sending a tremor through you. “so wet, i’ve barely even touched you.”

“i can’t help it,” you whimper.

he grabs your ass, pulling you closer to his relentless mouth. it’s ridiculous how good he feels. he’s completely shameless in his endeavor to ruin you.

“look at me,” luigi orders, so you do. you look down to see him, finding that he’s already gotten to touching himself. his hard length at the edge of the bed, furiously red, as he strokes himself. “i think about you everyday,” he admits in between licking at your core. “i missed how this pretty pussy tasted. i missed having you like this. holding you down so you can’t squirm away. missed hearing you beg.”

you’re almost there, fidgeting underneath his hands. “luigi, please. it’s too much.”

“you’ve taken worse,” he growls into you.

he feels like he’s on fire. one hand moves up and down along his cock fervently, while the other lends itself to fingering your frothing pussy. you mewl at the sudden entry, back arching.

“luigi,” you whine. “please.”

“i’m trying to do a nice thing for you, y/n,” he hums, “but you want me to be selfish, hm? want me to take you?”

“yes,” you say, breathless.

“fuckin’ slut,” he grumbles, pulling himself away from your wet cunt. he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “what d’you want from me, huh?”

“want you.”

“course you do,” luigi says, surprising you with hard slaps against your sensitive clit. you cry out at the sensation, the unfamiliar storm of bliss and torment, and he chuckles darkly. “you fuckin’ belong to me.”

he grabs your chin and forces you into another kiss, your wetness now staining you both. he lifts your leg up and slides himself back into your wet warmth. “you’re dripping,” he praises as he pounds into you. the exhilarating pain sets your senses alight, you grip onto him tighter without even realizing. “all for me, yeah?”

“all for you.” you nod. this is not how you expected this conversation to go. you writhe at how big he is, how hard.

“you can take it,” he grunts. he’s not fast, this time—his thrusts are agonizingly slow and tortuously deep—just as you think it’s all entirely too much, one hand grips your clothed tit, the other lifts to cradle your chin, forcing your lips to part open. he spits into your mouth. “swallow,” he orders.

you do.

“good girl,” he places sloppy, wet kisses along your jaw, your neck, then goes to bite at your tits. “so fuckin’ pretty.”

“i thought about you too,” you admit sheepishly, out of your mind. he looks up at you, raises his eyebrows, urging you to go on. “i missed you.”

to your surprise, he scoffs. “fuckin’ bitch.” he suddenly loses the interest in being gentle with you, returning to your body rough and angry. his fingers massage against your clit, unraveling you. “you’re just as crazy as i am, you know that? running around town like you don’t belong to me. like you don’t touch yourself late at night thinking about this cock. wishing those fingers were half as good as mine, huh? fuckin’ idiot.”

“luigi,” you cry out. was this him being nice?

“be a good girl f’me,” he grunts. he feels you pulse around his cock and drives into you with even more force. “cum all over me, baby. have my fuckin’ kids.”

“luigi,” you mewl again, desperate for release.

“come on, pretty, show me how good it feels.”

his lips return to yours, hot wet and desperate, as he cums inside of you. you’re a complete mess—squirming and whimpering as you unravel onto his cock, he catches your moans with kisses and leaves you shaking underneath him.

“good girl,” he hums, kissing your forehead.

for a fleeting moment, the two of you are perfect. everything feels just right. he slips into the spot beside you, the disarray of tangled sheets forgotten as he pulls you into his warmth. you sink into the nape of his neck, and though there are no more words spoken, the air is thick with an undeniable love, quiet but all encompassing.

but when he stirs awake, reaching for you, all that lingers is the soft, fading smell of your spring perfume.

MASTERLIST send requests ! <3

[antinousletmehit]

Pairing: Telemachus x fem!reader

Note: the name Pandora isn’t gonna stay cause I know how people get annoyed when they find x readers and it’s just a random ho’s name instead of y/n but enjoy!!

Telemachus straightened his tunic as he walked through the courtyard, clutching a scroll under one arm. He had hoped to avoid the Suitors’ usual antics today. Unfortunately, fate or perhaps the gods seemed determined to test his patience.

“Telemachus,” came a smooth, mocking voice.

He sighed. Turning slowly, he was met with y/n, Antinous’s younger sister, perched gracefully on a low wall. Her hair caught the sunlight in a way that seemed annoyingly deliberate, her smirk as sharp as her brother’s dagger.

“Y/n,” he said curtly, already preparing himself for whatever remark she had ready.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?” she asked, hopping down from the wall to saunter toward him. “Or are you just trying to avoid me? That would hurt my feelings little wolf, you know.”

Telemachus rolled his eyes. “I’m busy, y/n. Some of us have responsibilities.”

“Oh, responsibilities,” she echoed with mock reverence, trailing a finger along the scroll in his hand. “How noble. Tell me, does being so serious ever get boring?”

He stepped back, clutching the scroll tighter. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Come now, don’t be like that,” she teased, leaning in closer. “You know you love our little chats.” Her tone dripped with amusement, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And it’s not every day you get to be graced by someone as charming as me.”

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” Telemachus muttered under his breath.

Y/n gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Is that any way to speak to a lady?”

“You’re about as much a lady as your brother,” he shot back, before immediately regretting it.

Her grin widened. “Oh, Telemachus, I didn’t know you thought of me so much. Should I be flattered?” She tilted her head, feigning innocence with a hint of mischief. “If I’m “about as much as a lady as my brother” then that would mean you’re as manly as your mother. Are you hiding something softer under that tunic?” she hollered as she cracks her knuckles and reels back her arm and roughly smacks the young prince’s ass.

Telemachus lets out groan and squirms away from her hand. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”, he barks out as he goes and rubs his ass, trying to lessen the pain that her hand has impacted on him. “The real question is what’s wrong with you?, you’re moaning like a bitch for me already, and I haven’t even done any real action—yet.” Y/n teases with a smirk.

Telemachus’s face burned red, his hand still reflexively rubbing the spot where Pandora had so boldly struck him. “By the gods, y/n, must you always act like this?” he snapped, glaring at her as she stood there, completely unbothered.

“Oh, little wolf, don’t tell me you’re upset.” Y/n leaned against the nearest column, lazily crossing her arms. Her grin was as infuriating as ever. “It’s not my fault you’re so… reactive. I barely touched you.”

“That’s not the point!” Telemachus hissed, his tone laced with embarrassment. “You can’t just go around—doing that!”

“Why not?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the prince of Ithaca, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be able to handle a little attention? Or does my touch leave you… rattled?” She stepped closer, her tone softening into something almost sultry.

“Rattled?” Telemachus repeated, taking a step back. He tried to summon the confidence his father was so well-known for, but y/ns audacity always managed to throw him off balance. “You’re insufferable. And inappropriate!”

“Inappropriate?” Y/n tapped her chin thoughtfully, as if the concept was foreign to her. “No, I don’t think so. I’m just trying to prove a point.”

“And what point is that?” he shot back, exasperated.

“That you’re far too easy to fluster.” Y/n’s grin widened as she circled him, her steps slow and deliberate. “It’s almost too much fun, watching the ‘future king’ squirm like this. Tell me, Telemachus, how will you face a battlefield if you can’t even handle a little teasing, from a woman nonetheless.”

Telemachus clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to her bait. “A battlefield doesn’t involve someone like you,” he muttered.

Y/n laughed, the sound ringing out like a bell. “Oh, I’m sure it doesn’t. But who knows? Maybe I’d be good for you. After all, you’re wound tighter than a ship’s rope.” She stopped in front of him, her face suddenly serious, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. “Perhaps you’d loosen up if you stopped running away every time I came near.”

“I don’t run away,” he said defensively, taking another step back.

“You just did,” she pointed out, gesturing to the distance he’d put between them.

Telemachus opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again, realizing she had a point. “You’re impossible,” he finally said, shaking his head.

“And yet, here you are,” y/n replied with a smirk, crossing her arms again. “Always coming back for more.”

With an irritated groan, Telemachus turned on his heel and strode toward the hall. “Stupid, dumb, idiotic, pompous little-“. Telemachus endlessly mutters as he continues to walk to the library.

[littleocean-rose]

ignore me as i drop this small disaster here before the mv is published

warnings: mafia!san, reader is gender neutral, use of petnames (daddy, kitten, my love, babe), slightly suggestive at the beginning, mentions of san killing people, description of san killing a guy (strangulation with belt)

San looks at you from behind his desk, hair neatly gelled back and his glasses resting on the edge of his nose as he glares over their frames. “What did I tell you about coming in without knocking, kitten?” His voice is low, rough, and it has you squeezing your thighs together. You bite your lip, at least having the audacity to look apologetic.

“Sorry, daddy, but I heard banging and wanted to check on you.”

San’s eyes soften. “Aw, was kitten worried about daddy?” You nod, your eyes falling to the man on the floor beside San. He’s struggling, legs kicking out as he claws desperately at the belt pulled against his neck. The sight fills you with a sense of fear—it’s a clear reminder that your lover is as dangerous as they come; a professional killer, a man capable of horrifying feats, one that always makes sure the job gets finished.

You can’t see the man’s face, which you’re more than thankful for, but he clearly heard you; reaching a hand out in your direction from behind the desk. “H-He-lp.”

A chill runs down your spine, your eyes locked on to his outreaching hand. San pulls the belt even tighter around the man’s neck, and his quiet plea is cut off with barely audible wheezing. “Kitten. Hey. My love.” Your eyes snap to San’s, and he can see the fear in your glassy eyes. You may have come in here with the intent to play around, but right now sex was the last thing on your mind. He looks at you with nothing but softness, a vast contrast to the action he was currently busy with. “Wait outside, okay? I’ll be there shortly.” His voice is gentle, quiet, and you give a nod before exiting the room.

San had done a good job to make sure you never saw him kill his targets. Usually the job was finished outside of his office, but on occasion, when a deal wasn’t struck and the target decides to try to fuck over the Ateez family, well… the office became a killing room of sorts. Which is why San had implemented the knocking rule. On occasion you would walk in without knocking, sometimes to act out in an attempt for San to punish you later that night, other times you simply forgot about the rule. Today you walked in because really had been worried about San. A silly idea, really, to worry about a hitman in a mob family, but you loved him dearly. You cared for him, and he cared for you.

Not even two minutes later, San is exiting his office; the hands that just killed a man were now gently running up your arms in a soothing fashion. He pulls you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Are you okay, my love?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is muffled by his jacket, your face pressed against his chest as you let out a heavy sigh. “Sorry for entering your office without knocking.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your skin, pressing another soft kiss to it. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” You shake your head, inhaling his cologne. “How about you head downstairs and I’ll start making you dinner, hm? I’ll make you your favorite tonight.” A small smile pulls at your lips. “I love you, you know that, right? That I would never hurt you?” You can just barely make out the worry in his tone, and it shows just how much he cares for you.

You pull back, looking him in his eyes. “I know, Sannie. Sometimes I just forget how… dark your job can be. Which is stupid, I know–“

“Hey.” He gives you a mild glare. “It’s not stupid. Nothing you do, say or think is stupid, we’ve been over that.”

“I know,” you roll your eyes. “I’m saying, I shouldn’t be surprised by the things you do. I know what you do for a living.”

“Seeing it and knowing about it are two different things, baby. You should never have to see what I do.” He presses another kiss to your forehead. “Never.”

Choi San, professional hitman, member to feared mafia family Ateez, was simply a loving, caring boyfriend to you. He put you above all else, made sure you were taken care of, made sure you knew you were loved and supported. With hands that killed and murdered, with you they were soft and gentle and attentive.

Choi San, a man who never thought he’d find love, had found his soulmate. And he’d be damned if he let anyone, or anything, ever hurt you.

listen maybe i'm a little tired of seeing reader always getting turned on when mafia san kills someone or is also a killer too maybe i just want to see mafia san with a reader who's just a normal person who sometimes forgets that their sweet boyfriend is actually really fucking good at killing people and sometimes that spooks them-

anyway idk what this is but brain was like "throw it on tumblr" so.. here you go?

[passengerprincessblog]

“Breaking Point” Pt. 2 Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings?: angst, jealousy, NSFW, brat kink? Idk

Summary: After a tense argument at the circuit, Y/N leaves without telling Lewis, retreating to the hotel to gather her thoughts. But as she settles in, a late-night call from Lando stirs the pot even further, igniting Lewis’s jealousy when he returns.

WC: 3,000?

Part 1 is here

The hotel room is quiet, the silence heavy and almost suffocating. I pace the length of the room, my mind still racing from everything that happened at the circuit. I couldn’t believe he had the audacity to act like that, to throw Lando into our argument just because he didn’t want to face the real issue. It was so petty, so unlike him, and it hurt.

But then again, maybe I shouldn’t have left without telling him. I can already imagine his reaction when he finally realizes I’m gone. But honestly, after the way he brushed me off, I couldn’t stand to stay there any longer.

As I sink onto the bed, my phone buzzes, and I see Jude’s name flash on the screen. I take a deep breath before answering, bracing myself for his no-nonsense tone.

“Hey, Jude,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Y/N,” he replies, his voice clipped and businesslike. “Just wanted to confirm the details for your shoot in LA. You’ll be flying out on Tuesday morning, so clear your schedule for the next month. We’ll need you on set every day, so no personal distractions, alright?”

I swallow, the weight of his words settling over me. “Got it.”

“Good,” he continues, barely pausing for breath. “Now, I’ve sent over the call sheets, locations, and everything else you need to know. Check your email and let me know if you have questions. I don’t want any surprises on set.”

“Right,” I mumble, feeling a flicker of frustration. Jude has always been the type to micromanage every detail, and right now, his stern tone grates on my already frayed nerves.

After a few more instructions, he finally hangs up, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. I set my phone down, trying to push away the nagging guilt creeping into my chest. I shouldn’t feel guilty, I remind myself. I have every right to take this role, to make decisions about my own career.

My phone lights up again. This time, it’s a text from Lewis.

Lewis: “You left?”

I stare at the message, my fingers hovering over the screen. I know he’s upset, but right now, I don’t feel like giving him the satisfaction of an immediate reply. Another text pops up.

Lewis: “So you just walked out without saying anything? Real mature, Y/N.”

I clench my jaw, feeling a spark of anger reignite. He was the one who acted like a child back there, throwing accusations and refusing to see my side of things. I toss my phone onto the bed, deciding not to reply. If he wants to act like this, then let him stew.

It’s nearly 11 p.m. when I hear the faint sound of the door opening, followed by Lewis’s footsteps as he enters the hotel room. I keep my gaze fixed on the window, refusing to turn around and acknowledge him. The tension in the room is immediate, thick and heavy, and I can feel his eyes on me, practically burning a hole in my back.

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” His voice is clipped, a sharp edge to his words that only fuels my annoyance.

“Maybe,” I reply coolly, still refusing to look at him.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, and I hear him drop his bag onto the floor with a thud. “So you just left? Without even bothering to tell me?”

I finally turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “I didn’t think you’d care. You seemed pretty done with me back there.”

“That’s not the point, Y/N,” he says, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t just walk out without saying anything. Especially not when we’re in the middle of something.”

I raise an eyebrow, feeling the anger simmering beneath my skin. “Oh, so now you care about my whereabouts? Funny, because back there, you didn’t seem to care about anything but throwing Lando in my face.”

His jaw tightens, and I can see the flash of irritation in his eyes. “Don’t turn this around on me. You’re the one who just decided to take on a huge role without even talking to me about it.”

I roll my eyes, feeling a surge of defiance rise up. “Lewis, it’s my career. I don’t need your permission to make decisions.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms as he stares me down. “It’s not about permission. It’s about respect. We’re supposed to be a team, Y/N. You could’ve at least let me know before deciding to miss four races.”

I throw my hands up, exasperated. “We’re not married, Lewis! I don’t have to consult you about every little thing in my life!”

He flinches, and I see the hurt flash across his face before he covers it with a cold expression. “I see. So that’s how you see this? As something casual?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” I snap, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “It feels like this relationship is just… too much sometimes. Like you expect me to drop everything for you.”

He stares at me, his face hardening, and I can feel the anger radiating off him. “Too much? You think I’m asking for too much just because I want you to consider my feelings?”

I roll my eyes, a smirk tugging at my lips as I let out a sarcastic laugh. “You’re acting like I committed a crime just because I want to follow my dreams. Newsflash, Lewis, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

His eyes darken, and for a split second, I see something shift in him. Before I can react, he closes the distance between us, his hands gripping my arms firmly as he pushes me back onto the bed. I gasp, more out of surprise than anything, my heart racing as I look up at him as he gets on top of me.

His gaze is intense, a mixture of anger and something else, something I can’t quite place. His hands still grip my arms, his face close to mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You think this is a joke, Y/N?” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous.

I meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “Maybe… maybe you’re the one who can’t handle it.”

A flicker of something crosses his face—frustration, irritation, maybe even a hint of desire. He leans in closer, his grip on me tightening just slightly, his gaze locked onto mine. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between us thick and electric.

“You drive me insane,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” I reply, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Maybe now you know how I feel.”

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the anger and frustration swirling between us, mixing with something deeper, something more primal. His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel my heart hammering in my chest, a rush of anticipation mingling with the resentment I still feel.

His hand moves from my arm to my neck, gently squeezing, his gaze intense and unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted, Y/N? To push me until I snap?”

I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But my silence only seems to fuel him more, his face inches from mine.

“Say something,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

But instead of a response, I let out a soft laugh, daring him with my gaze. “What, can’t handle a little attitude?”

A dark smirk crosses his face, and for a brief moment, I see the flash of something almost… greedy in his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

“Maybe I do,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper, my heart pounding in my chest.

The tension between us is palpable, the line between anger and desire blurring, and I can feel the intensity radiating off him, his frustration and passion mingling into one. For a brief moment, we’re caught in a standoff, neither of us willing to back down, and I know that we’re both teetering on the edge, unsure of what will happen next.

He inhales sharply, his nostrils flaring, and for a moment, I think he might actually snap. But instead, he closes the distance between us, his lips crashing against mine in a bruising kiss. I gasp, surprised by the force of it, but I don't pull away. Instead, I find myself kissing him back just as fiercely, our teeth clashing, our tongues tangling in a desperate, angry dance.

His hands roam over my body, gripping, kneading, as if he's trying to remind himself I’m his. I can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the hard planes of his muscles flexing beneath my touch. He tears at my clothes, pulling my dress off, until I'm left in nothing but my underwear.

I reach for him, my hands fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him, to touch him, to have him inside me. He groans, low and guttural, as I grab him through his jeans. I can feel how hard he is, how much he wants me, and it only fuels my own desire.

He inhales sharply, his hips bucking into my touch. "Brat," he mutters, but there's no real anger behind it anymore, just a simmering heat, a desperate need.

I lean in, trailing kisses along his jaw, down his neck, my tongue darting out to taste his skin. He shivers, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against him. I can feel his hardness pressing against me, and it makes me ache with want.

But then, the shrill ring of my phone cuts through the heated silence, startling both of us. I feel him tense against me, and he lets out an annoyed growl, pulling back slightly, his gaze narrowing as he looks down at me, his breathing ragged.

“Who the hell is calling you at this hour?” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation.

I’m just as annoyed as he is, but before I can even reach for my phone, he snatches it up from the nightstand, his eyes flashing as he glances at the screen. His jaw clenches, and a dark look crosses his face as he turns the screen toward me, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Lando?” he says, his voice laced with accusation. “Why is he calling you? What the hell does he want?”

I blink, my mind struggling to catch up as I stare at the name flashing on the screen. “I… I don’t know,” I stammer, feeling my heart sink. I honestly have no idea why Lando would be calling me, but I can already feel Lewis’s jealousy simmering, his grip on my phone tightening.

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he glares down at me. “Really, Y/N? You’re telling me you have no idea why he’s calling you at eleven at night?”

I sit up, trying to take my phone from him, but he holds it just out of reach. “Lewis, come on. It’s probably nothing. Lando’s always trying to rally people to go out after a race. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeats, his voice dangerously low. “Why does he even have your number, let alone feel comfortable enough to call you at this time? Do you have any idea how this looks?”

I feel a flash of frustration, the anger from earlier bubbling back up. “Are you seriously doing this right now? It’s Lando. He’s just a friend, Lewis.”

He scoffs, his grip on my phone unyielding as he stares down at me, his eyes hard. “A friend who clearly has no boundaries. Or maybe you’re the one who doesn’t.”

My mouth falls open in shock, and I feel a sting of hurt at his accusation. “Excuse me? You’re the one who’s being unreasonable here. I haven’t done anything to make you doubt me.”

“Then why didn’t you tell him to stop calling and texting you?” he snaps, his voice rising.

“Because it’s not an issue! You’re making it one,” I retort, the fire in my chest burning hotter as I meet his gaze. “If you’re so insecure about my friendship with Lando, that’s on you, not me.”

His eyes flash, and for a moment, I see a hint of vulnerability, quickly masked by anger. “Insecure? I’m not insecure, Y/N. I just don’t appreciate my girlfriend getting late-night calls from other guys, especially not ones who I’m pretty sure are interested in more than just ‘friendship.’”

I let out an exasperated sigh, trying to pull my phone from his grasp, but he holds it firm. “Lewis, it’s not like that. And if you trusted me, you’d know that.”

He stares at me, his gaze sharp, calculating.

Then, slowly, he holds the phone out, his expression unreadable. "Fine. Answer it, then. Let's see what he wants.

I glance between him and the phone, my heart pounding as I reluctantly take it from his hand. My fingers are shaking a bit, and I press the screen to answer, bringing it up to my ear.

"Hello?" I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

But before I can get another word out, I feel Lewis's hands on me again, his fingers gripping my waist as he leans down, his lips finding my neck. I gasp, my words faltering as he presses soft, heated kisses along the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

"YIN? You there?" Lando's voice crackles through the phone, cheerful and oblivious. I can barely concentrate, Lewis's lips warm against my skin, his hands trailing up and down my sides, pulling me closer.

"Uh... yeah, I'm here," I manage to say, my voice coming out breathy, almost shaky.

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to see if you were up for going out tonight," Lando replies, his tone light. "A bunch of us are heading to a bar nearby.

Figured I'd check if you wanted to join."

Lewis's mouth trails down my neck, his lips grazing my collarbone, and I struggle to keep my composure, biting my lip to stifle a soft gasp. He's doing this on purpose, I realize, trying to keep me distracted, knowing full well what he's doing to me.

"Um... I don't think I can make it," I finally say, my voice wavering slightly as Lewis continues his assault on my neck, his teeth grazing my skin just enough to make my pulse race. "I... I think l'Il be staying in tonight."

"Oh, alright," Lando says, sounding a little disappointed. "Well, if you change your mind, just text me. We'll be out pretty late.”

I try to mumble a response, but Lewis presses his lips to a particularly sensitive spot on my neck, and I feel a shiver run through me, my fingers gripping his shoulders as I struggle to keep my balance.

"Yeah... okay," I manage, barely aware of what I'm saying.

I hear Lando say goodbye, and I quickly end the call, dropping the phone onto the bed as Lewis's hands tighten around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His gaze is intense, his eyes dark and filled with something primal, something possessive.

"Staying in tonight, huh?" he murmurs, a smirk playing on his lips as his fingers trace slow, teasing circles on my hips.

I let out a shaky breath, meeting his gaze with defiance. "What was that about?" I demand, though my voice betrays me, coming out softer than I intended.

He raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he pulls me even closer, his face mere inches from mine. "Just making sure you're focused on the right person," he murmurs, his voice low, sending a thrill down my spine.

I roll my eyes, though I can't hide the small smile tugging at my lips. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Maybe," he replies, his tone playful but with an edge of intensity. "But I don't like sharing."

And then he's on me again, his mouth trailing down my neck, his teeth nipping, his tongue soothing the sting. I arch into him, my nails raking down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. He hisses, the pain seeming to spur him on, his hands sliding beneath my thighs, pushing them apart, spreading me wide for him.

I can feel the heat of his gaze on my most intimate parts, and I squirm beneath him, suddenly self-conscious. I feel his hand slide under my thong, onto me. His fingers are there, stroking, teasing, and all thoughts of embarrassment fly out the window. He circles my clit with his thumb, his fingers dipping inside me, stretching me, filling me, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed.

"You're so fucking wet," he murmurs, his voice rough with arousal.

I nod, wordless, lost in the sensation of his touch, the way he's making me feel. I love being touched like this, with such hunger, such desperation, and it's intoxicating. I want more, I want everything he has to give me.

I moan, my head falling back against the pillow as he works me expertly, his touch rough and demanding. "Is this what you wanted, Y/N?" he growls, his fingers pumping in and out of me. "To be fucked like the brat you are?"

I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response, but my body betrays me, my hips lifting to meet his hand, my walls clenching around his fingers. “Yes… please.” I whine.

His fingers slow their relentless pace, and I let out a frustrated moan. "Ah ah ah," he tuts, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "What was that, Y/N? I couldn't quite hear you over all that begging."

I flush, embarrassed and turned on in equal measure. "Please," I say again, louder this time, my voice cracking with need. "Please fuck me, Lewis. I want it… don’t tease me." I whine.

He rewards me with a particularly deep thrust, his fingers curling inside me and making me cry out. "Good girl," he praises, his voice low and approving. "Such a good little brat for me. Maybe if you're lucky, I'll give this bratty girl exactly what she’s begging for." He says lowly, promising something more intense after this.

He continues to work me over with his fingers, his thumb circling my clit in maddeningly slow strokes. My body is wound tight, teetering on the edge of release, but he keeps me there, denying me the satisfaction I crave.

"Lewis, please," I whine, tugging at his hair, my nails digging into his scalp. "I can't…Please let me…." I beg for permission.

He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear as he growls, "Cum for me, Y/N. Cum all over my fingers like the desperate little baby you are."

And with those filthy words, I shatter as I orgasm.

———————————————————

Note: part three is up! HERE

Hope you guys are liking it! If you are please like and follow so I can know to write more!

I’m new to writing stuff like this so 😅 sorry if it’s not perfect!

[ellephlox]

Solidarity

Summary: Frank enlists your help on a dangerous mission. Matt’s not happy about it.

Pairings: Matt x f!reader, platonic Frank Castle & f!reader, platonic Matt & Frank

Warning: Strong profanity (looking at you, Frank). Canon-typical violence. There’s also dog abuse in this, so please proceed with caution!

“You will not believe how terrible my day was.” You were already complaining aloud as you started up the stairs to Matt’s apartment, perfectly aware that he’d be able to hear you. “My boss gave me triple the amount of work that’s humanly possible to complete within a month and somehow he expects me to do it within a week. And then he had the audacity to tell me that I shouldn’t wear my hair in a ponytail because it’s ‘too informal’ for the face of the company. I mean, what the hell does that even mean?”

One of Matt’s neighbors opened their apartment door as you marched up the steps, and you quickly lifted your phone to your ear as though you were talking to someone, lest they think you were just talking to yourself. “And then my coworker took my data — you know, all that stuff I had been inputting onto that Google Doc the other day? And he presented it as his own, no credit to me. I can’t even report him because he’s supposed to retire in a week so it’s pointless anyway.” 

You continued to gripe as you unlocked the door, chucking your keys down and tossing your shoes off so violently that they hit the wall. “Anyway, I’m in a bad mood now, so I have two propositions — well, demands, I guess — for you. One: We watch Jeopardy tonight. In pajamas. I will object if you’re still wearing a tie.” You unzipped your coat and tossed it haphazardly onto the coat rack. “Two: My friend asked if we’ve ever showered together before — you know, typical girl talk questions — and I told her we hadn’t, so I was thinking—” You stopped dead as you entered the living room, your stomach plummeting. Leaning on the wall by the window, arms crossed, was Matt, wearing his devil suit, complete with the helmet on and his billy clubs dangling in his hands. And across from him, standing with an actual gun in his hand, was Frank Castle. Mortification sent heat into your face, and for a moment you just stood there, at a loss for words. 

“We have company,” Matt said dryly, uncrossing his arms and standing up straight.

“I can see that,” you said finally. “You didn’t think to... I don’t know, shoot a text warning me?” Your cheeks were searing; had you seriously just proposed showering with Matt in front of the Punisher, of all people? 

“I was a bit preoccupied all day with making sure Trigger Happy over here didn’t shoot anyone,” Matt said, his jaw tense. 

Frank snorted. “Red, you’d be bleeding out in an alley if I hadn’t saved your ass. Get off your high horse.”

“Yeah. Okay. But you couldn’t have said something, anything at all, when I walked in?  Like, ‘Hey, honey, there’s a wanted fugitive standing in our living room, just so you know.’ Sorry, Mr. Castle,” you added in an undertone to him. “Um — I’m not trying to make you feel unwelcome or anything, I just feel a bit awkward about earlier, so—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Frank said shortly, his gaze still trained on Matt. “We gonna stand here with your girl watching us and argue all afternoon? Or are we going to get this done?”

“Get what done?” you asked.

It was Frank who answered, and from the way Matt was standing with his back straight as a ruler now, you had the sense he wasn’t pleased, for whatever reason. “There’s a shipment of heroin that’s supposed to arrive tonight. The dealers have been selling to kids on the street to make a quick buck.”

“It’s due to come in at midnight,” Matt said. “But the source I talked to last night doesn’t know which dock.”

You made of sound of sympathy. “I take it you’ll be having to sweep a lot of territory tonight, then?”

“That’s a damn understatement,” Frank said. “We’re not just talking about the docks in Hell’s Kitchen, ma’am. We’re talking all the way down to Chelsea, and the piers in Brooklyn Heights.”

“But that’s impossible to scope out,” you said slowly. “Even if Matt’s standing in the center of all the docks in Hell’s Kitchen, he couldn’t possibly hear all the way down to Chelsea, let alone Brooklyn.”

“Which is why we’re in for a rough night,” Matt said. “I called Jessica, Luke, and Danny. They’re all out of town.” He jutted his chin at Frank. “And that’s why we’re here together.”

“I ain’t happy about it either,” Frank added. “He’s already talking my ass off about moral obligation and shit. Feels like I’m in church.”

"Because you tried to stab the guy in the throat after he gave us information we needed.”

“If you could see, Red, then you’d know from the look in that guy’s eyes that he planned on murdering us the second that we turned our backs on him—”

“Which is why I tied him up and left him for Mahoney.”

“I have a better idea,” you said, cutting in before anything could escalate. “I can help.” 

Matt’s response was immediate and scathing. “No.”

"Oh, come on — I get it if you want to do your whole ‘Fly home, Buddy, I work alone’ thing, but you’re not working alone, you’re working with the Punish— I mean, Mr. Castle. I’ll be supremely insulted forever if you don’t let me help.”

“If you think that I’ll let those dealers anywhere near you—” Matt began, but you interrupted again.

“Look, I’ve always waited here patiently and uselessly while you do your deviling every night, but can’t you give me a chance? Maybe we’ll be a dream team. Terrific trio. Second Edition Avengers. The Scooby gang minus a talking dog.”

“She could help, Red,” Frank said, sending an unreadable look in your direction. “I say we do it. She can camp out at Brooklyn. I mean, the guy said that they could dock there, but they never have before. Odds are they’ll be in Chelsea or Hell’s Kitchen.”

“So, what? We throw her to the wolves in Brooklyn where we can’t get to her easily if things go south?” Matt looked as though he were about two seconds from socking Frank in the jaw. Or worse, two seconds from handcuffing you to the apartment so that you wouldn’t leave. 

“No,” you said firmly. “Things won’t go south. Matt, I’m not going to... I don’t know, engage in a fight with them. I’m not a vigilante. I’ll just hide and keep an eye on the docks, then if they show up, I’ll call you.”

“I’ll stay in Chelsea,” Frank said. “I know you get all weird about the Kitchen, Red, so it’s all yours.”

Matt was standing stock still, grinding his teeth. Finally he ground out, “It’s too dangerous.”

“So is driving a car. So is crossing the street. And yet I’ve done both many, many times,” you said. “I’ll be completely fine. Why would dealers have any reason to go after a random passerby, even if they did see me? Which they won’t,” you added hurriedly. “Because I’ll stay safely out of sight.”

“Perfect.” Frank checked his watch. “I ain’t staying here while we twiddle our thumbs and wait for midnight to roll around. Give Y/N my burner number, Red.”

“I’d never have thought you’d do this, Frank,” Matt said, his voice low. “I thought you at least were on my side when it came to keeping people safe who—”

“Who are what?” you said sharply. “I might not have... superpowers, or, I don’t know, a weird bloodthirstiness — sorry again, Mr. Castle — but I can still help.”

“Call me Frank.” Frank leveled his gaze at you. “And cut the apologizing shit.”

“Uh. Okay.” You had to bite your tongue to keep from apologizing again.

And, somehow, you actually ended up on the mission. You took the C train down to Brooklyn Heights after enduring a very long and very dry lecture from Matt on how you were to stay out of sight no matter what and to call him should any boat arrive with men wearing ski masks. 

And, in all honesty, you weren’t nervous. The likelihood of the dealers showing up at your assigned docks was slim. And even if they did, you’d just have to make a quick phone call to both of them, and then camp out. Easy-peasy. 

You settled in on a wooden bench overlooking the piers, wishing you had worn more than your jacket. The temperature had dropped more than expected when the sun had set, and now you shivered slightly, the cold metal of a knife against your thigh. Just in case. 

How exactly you were actually out here, on a real mission, with Matt willingly letting you out of his protection, you weren’t sure. It was exhilarating, though. The city was dark, yet not really; it was aglow with the street lamps and headlights and apartment windows whose blinds hadn’t been closed yet. You scrunched up your legs to conserve body heat and regretted not bringing a blanket, too. And a pillow. That would’ve made the bench slightly less rock hard against your bottom. 

Seriously, how did Matt do this kind of thing every night? Fifteen minutes in and you were already missing the warmth of home. 

You glanced at the skyline. Somewhere, on the other side of those skyscrapers, Matt was waiting as well. Probably he wasn’t curled up on a bench like you were, though. It was more likely that he’d be stalking the rooftops, or pacing in the shadows. 

And then movement caught your eye, at just after 12:30 in the morning. You scrambled to your feet, squinting in the dark. It was a boat, fast approaching the pier just next to you. 

No way. Yeah, you were on lookout, but somehow you’d convinced yourself that the dealers wouldn’t actually show up on your end. You waited to call Frank and Matt, though, because in case it was a different boat, you didn’t want to raise a false alarm. You moved away from your bench and began walking leisurely down the pier, as though you were going for a nighttime stroll. All you needed to do was get a good glimpse of them, then you’d head up the street where you could watch from a safer spot. 

“In, out! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” someone said, a bit loudly, from the deck of the ship. You swiveled your head to see him, and sure enough, he had a ski mask. Swiftly you pulled out your phone and fire off a quick text to both Matt and Frank. You were about to leave the pier altogether when a bark made you stop short. 

....A dog?

“Shut the bitch up!” one of the men snarled. “We get caught, then all the goods get seized.”

“She’s been fucking howling the whole way, what am I supposed to do?”

“Give her a piece of food.”

“What food? You ate the rest of it, man.”

“Can’t believe we’re bringing this dog anyway. Boss already has six bitches. Why does he need another?”

“She’s some special breed, or some shit, I don’t know. Sells for a thousand bucks a pop. Grab that box. Like I said — in, out. We’re already late.”

The dog kept barking, though, and you winced as the man kicked the poor thing in the ribs. Piece of shit. You wanted to go up there and throttle him yourself. If Matt or Frank would just get here already, then you’d be able to relax, but it would still be at least twenty minutes...

And what if the dealers got away in that time frame?

The dog started barking again, and suddenly, without any word of warning, one of the men picked the dog up like a sack of potatoes and threw her overboard. “To hell with the extra cash. That’s how you deal with security problems,” you heard him say as he wiped his hands on his pants. “Get moving, go, go, go! Unload this shit so we can get out of here!”

Below, the dog’s frantic head slipped below the surface.

Oh, hell no. 

Your feet were moving even before you could make an executive decision in your mind. The cold of the evening was forgotten, as were Matt’s strict words to not be seen, no matter what happens, and you dove into the water, where the dog had fell beneath the black waves beside the pier. 

Fortunately, it was summer, and as shockingly cold as the water was, it wasn’t anywhere near deathly cold. You couldn’t see anything, and desperately tried to listen for the dog, but you didn’t have Matt’s ears, and for a moment panic swelled inside you that this dog would drown, and you wouldn’t be able to do a thing. 

And then you saw movement, out of the corner of your eye. The dog was struggling to stay afloat, her snout barely making it out of the water. You grabbed her around the middle and kicked with all your might, coughing on water and unable to see hardly anything except for the blurry outline of the pier. There had to be a ladder somewhere along there, and you groped blindly along the edge, seeking out a grip to pull yourself and the dog up. 

For a moment, you completely forgot about the dealers behind you. All you could think about was getting the dog safely onto land, and with a massive effort you lifted her up. Her paws scrambled against the edge of the pier, but with a good shove to her rump, she was able to get over the edge and dash away into the shadows. 

Good luck out there, doggie. You started to climb the ladder yourself, but froze when you heard the telltale click of a gun being cocked in front of you. Slowly you looked up, your blood running cold at the sight of a gun pointed straight at your forehead. The man holding it had his hair tied back in a bun, and there was a horrible expression on his face that told you he wouldn’t have any qualms about pulling the trigger. 

“Should I shoot, boss?” he asked, his eyes not moving from your face. “Stupid girl’s seen us. She’ll probably run her mouth and tell the cops.”

Your brain felt as though it were short-circuiting. “I swear, I won’t tell a soul. You have my word. Really, I’ll just leave here, and I promise—”

“Do it!” one of the men shouted from the boat. “Get it done so you can get your ass back up here to help. You know how many bodies there are in the Upper Bay? She’ll just be another.”

Your heart was punching the inside of your rib cage. You considered falling backwards to try to swim away, but what good would it do? There was no other way to get back onto land nearby except for this ladder, and you didn’t trust yourself to swim around the boat and across to the next pier without simply getting shot en route. Lunging up the rest of the ladder to fight him was an even worse option. Even if you could fight like Matt (which you could safely say was not the case), you were at a disadvantage; he had the high ground. 

But you didn’t have a choice. The man lunged down and grabbed you by the collar of your jacket, hoisting you up onto the pier. You shivered violently, unsure of whether it was from fear or cold. The man looked you over. “Could hold her for ransom, Tom. That’d bring in some extra cash.”

“No.” The man, who must’ve been Tom, shook his head. “That’s just a surefire way to get attention from the cops. Let’s take her in. We’ll kill her once we’re back on open water and dump her body in the Atlantic. Much cleaner that way.”

The man holding you grunted in agreement and shoved you forward up the ramp to the boat. You obeyed only because of the gun pressed against your temple, feeling like you might vomit any second. 

Where are Matt and Frank? The night was as still as a reflecting pool. It was as though the city itself had gone to sleep, abandoning you to these men, and you had to choke down the rising lump in your throat that was making you feel like you might cry any second or pass out. But tears wouldn’t come, as you were led into a cabin, your mouth promptly duct-taped closed. The sensation made you panic even more — a little air could get through to your nose, but not much, and the sudden feeling of being near to asphyxiation made you even more light-headed. 

The men, however, seemed to forget about you as soon as they tied you to the chair. That they hadn’t killed you immediately was the most relieving of mercies, and you struggled fruitlessly to escape your bonds, feeling supremely useless. Surely Matt would arrive any second; he would hear exactly where you were, you reasoned, and he’d make his way to you as soon as he could. Any minute you’d hear the sound of a baton ricocheting off some unfortunate skulls or the cracking as bones shattered under his fists. 

But instead, it was bullets you heard first. Frank. You gritted your teeth, hearing the shouts of men that were surely being killed without a second thought. Hopping with your feet, you were able to wiggle your chair forward slightly until you could see outside the cabin door. Frank’s silhouette was a menacing shape against the moonlight. 

Where is Matt?

One of the largest men — Tom, you recalled — suddenly came barreling into the room, a gun in his hand. He untied you violently, yanking the rope so roughly against your wrists that you gasped under the tape, and then dragged you forward, the gun against your head. Unceremoniously you were toppled from the chair, your knees slamming down onto hard wood. 

“Drop your gun!” Tom jabbed his gun against your forehead so hard that you saw stars. “Drop it now and put your hands behind your head, or I’ll blow her brains out!”

Through your fuzzy vision you saw Frank freeze. His gaze was cold; calculating, and for the first time you wondered what your value was in Frank’s mind, compared to the triumph of offing some criminals. Which was worth more to him? For a moment, you feared he would prioritize killing the smugglers. His fist clenched even tighter around the gun, and he drew in level breaths, without lowering his gaze for even a second. 

“I swear to God I’m pulling this trigger in ten seconds if you don’t drop it,” Tom said, and he dragged the tip of the gun so that it was placed precisely against your temple. Water was still dripping from your clothing and goosebumps were raised so violently on your skin that you felt like you had chicken pox, but that was nothing compared to the electric adrenaline shooting down your spine, as though your nervous system was screaming at you to do something, anything, but it was to no avail; all you could do was stay on your knees, as still as possible, and keep your head lowered. 

And then, as though he’d made a snap decision, Frank set the gun down.

“Kick it over here,” Tom ordered. 

Frank obeyed, slowly raising his hands to his head. “The gun’s down,” he said. “Now let her go.”

Tom’s grip on you tightened. “You’re a fool,” he said, and suddenly you knew what was about to happen, from the steadying of his hands and the firmer press of the gun against your temple. You wrenched yourself away from him, just as the bullet fired off, and the heat of it barely grazed your shoulder as you dove away. 

The victory was short-lived, though. Tom aimed again, and this time you were on the ground, with nowhere to go. You screwed your eyes shut, sending a silent apology to Matt, and...

The bullet never came. 

Gingerly you opened your eyes to see the devil punching Tom with all his wrath and fury. Frank had already picked up his gun again and was running towards the back of the boat, where you knew there were still a few more crew members. Quickly you crawled backwards to get out of the path of Matt and Tom, the latter of whom was being thrown against the cabin wall. 

That had been close. Way, way too close. You fumbled for the duct tape and ripped it off your mouth, lightheaded from breathing irregularly. Stars formed in front of your vision and you had to slow yourself down, drawing in air and then releasing it slowly. 

Matt was still slamming his fist into the face of Tom, and blood was spurting everywhere. You squinted at them, your heart dropping — far too much blood was spraying out, and Matt was showing no signs of slowing down —

“It’s okay. You’ve got him,” you whispered, the words coming out of your mouth in a rasp. “Matt.”

Matt dropped Tom, who slid to the ground, unconscious. Using the edge of the boat to support yourself, you stood up slowly, and limped over to Matt; your knees were still aching from earlier. Gently you reached towards his shoulders. “I can call 911.”

“He deserves to die.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” you said. Matt was in a dangerous anger, you could tell; one wrong move and he’d do something he’d regret for the rest of his life. Choosing the right words now was imperative. “A judge will decide that.”

“He tried to kill you,” Matt snapped, whirling around and knocking your arm off his shoulder. “If he had — if he’d succeeded—”

“But he didn’t.”

“Does that matter?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Frank got there first. “Cool down, Red,” he said, as nonchalantly as though you were all at dinner together. “Your girl’s safe. We got the drugs before they could get shipped.”

“Don’t talk to me like I need to be calmed down,” Matt said, his voice hardly more than a snarl. 

Frank stared at Matt for a few moments. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “To answer your question. It does matter that he tried killing her.” Then, without warning, he shot Tom, square in the forehead. You yelped, looking away from the bloody hole where his head was now caved in. His features were unrecognizable, and hollow in death, and yet you couldn’t help looking back at him, his eyes meeting yours as though he still were alive. 

“Get her out of here. Warm her up,” Frank said, nodding at you. “I’ve got other business to do this evening.”

“Other business?” you asked, but Matt was reaching for you, skating his hands over your body. 

“Sorry,” you said lamely, shaking slightly from the adrenaline. “I sort of disobeyed the only rule.”

“You could have died.”

“But there was a dog, and I had to save it — they tossed the poor thing overboard. I couldn’t just sit by.”

And, to your surprise, Matt’s lips cracked into a small smile. Though you couldn’t see his eyes under the mask, you could feel his warmth. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

Frank was gone already. Together, you and Matt exited the boat, and it took all of your willpower to not look back at the corpse. 

“So,” you said, taking Matt’s hand as you walked down the dark street together. The feeling of the duct tape was lingering on your mouth, and the way that you had been tied up — the gun against your head — and it was making your heart race. Even though Matt would see right through you (hear right through you?), you adopted a casual tone. “How was my audition? Can I officially be the Assistant Daredevil?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not deflecting. I’m just wondering if I passed some sort of test, and if you’ll let me join you now—”

“Sweetheart.” Matt stopped short and pulled you into the shadows between buildings. “You’re not fooling me.”

“I’m not trying to fool you.” Your mouth was dry. 

“That was intense. You don’t have to pretend it wasn’t. You could’ve died.” Matt’s voice shook a bit, and you were reminded that as terrifying as it was for you, it had probably been even worse for Matt. Because if you had died, and it was technically on his watch... yeah. That wouldn’t have gone over well. 

You cupped his face, and he leaned into it slightly. “Okay. I’m a bit freaked out. But I’m okay.”

“Who’s reassuring who, now?” he said after a moment, and that warm, small smile returned. He pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly enough that you had to draw in a short breath. 

“Maybe...” Your voice came out in a whisper. “Maybe we both need it tonight.” 

A/N: Sorry for the slightly rushed ending but this was beginning to expand a bit too much and I didn’t want it to feel like it should have multiple chapters. Honestly, I wasn’t happy with this piece so it’s been sitting in my drafts for about a year now, but it’s been awhile since I posted a one shot, so... here we are.

Hope you all had a great day, thanks so much for reading! 

-Elle

[fan-fantasies]

Waiting

A/N: hey guys! I’m here for my annual posting 😂 I wanted to crank something out just to get out some emotions of my own. I know I usually don’t write angst but I was in the mood for it. This is rough, I’ll admit! But let me know what you think!

Summary: after a few dates, Bucky pushes you away. After another failed date, you came to the conclusion that it must be you. Will Bucky ever come to his senses?

Pairing: Bucky x reader kinda?

Warnings: just sadness and arguing. Well more so one sided yelling

You looked in the mirror, straightening out your dress. A sigh slipped from your lips as your shoulders fell. You don’t know why you let Natasha convince you to do this.

A date with a stranger was the last thing you wanted to be doing. Well, a date? Maybe. But you had someone specific in mind.

You made your way into the shared kitchen where a few of your teammates were lingering before dinner.

“Wow! Look at you!” Sam whistled.

“Thanks, Sammy,” you chuckled. You grabbed your keys and threw them in your bag.

“What’re you up to tonight?” Steve asked.

“Oh, nothing,” you shrugged.

“You’re gonna knock John off his feet!” Nat said coming up behind you.

“John?” Bucky finally spoke up. Your heart sank into your stomach hearing his voice.

“Yeah, she has a big date tonight. He’s one lucky man,” Nat smirked. You forced a smile and bid everyone goodnight.

It felt like all of the air had left Bucky’s chest. Nat could tell by the look on his face that he was upset.

It was his fault though.

See, you and Bucky had been on a handful of dates, and they had all gone really well- or so you thought.

After your fourth date, Bucky stopped texting as much. He would avoid you in the tower, only really seeing you during training. You tried to talk to him but he’d always blow you off, saying that you’d talk at another time.

Eventually, you gave up. You really liked him, but you weren’t about to let someone lead you on and drop you like you were nothing.

So that’s how Nat convinced you to go on a date with a man she swore was a winner.

You got to the restaurant right on time. John was waiting for you outside so you put on your best smile and let him lead you inside.

He was handsome, you’d give him that.

He talked about his work and how he liked to travel, something you had in common.

He had you laughing the entire night and you even managed to forget about Bucky for a while.

“Until next time,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before parting ways.

You made it back to the compound and you actually felt good. The good date showed you that Bucky isn’t the end all be all of your life.

-hey! Thanks again for a great night!- you texted John.

You made your way to your room, but not before running into Bucky in the halls.

“How’d it go?” He asked. That honestly surprised you. He had barely spoken two words to you as of late and now he had the audacity to ask about your date.

“Fine,” you grunted, pushing past him.

“Hey, wait-“

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you ended the conversation.

The next couple days passed without much fuss, but you hadn’t heard from John. You thought maybe he was playing it cool but once a week had passed it really hit you.

“It must be me!” You told Nat as she sat across from you on the couch.

“You know that’s not true,” she sighed.

“I’m serious, Nat. First Bucky, and now John. So what is it about me that just drives men away?” You tried to choke back the sobs but to no avail. Tears started to stream down your face as you let your walls break down.

“Oh, sweetie.” Nat grabbed your hand and let you cry.

“Is everything okay?” A voice broke through.

Instead of answering, you got up and pushed past Bucky. “What was that about?”

“Men are fucking stupid, you should know that,” Nat snapped at him.

Bucky’s heart sank. He knew what he had done was wrong. He shouldn’t have pushed you away. It came from a place of fear and he knew he shouldn’t have let that fear dictate his life.

Bucky decided to check on you a little while later. He knocked on your door, waiting for you to answer.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

“What do you want?” You didn’t open the door.

“Can we talk? Face to face?”

“Oh now you wanna talk?” You snapped, finally opening the door. You left the door open, retreating back into your room. Bucky followed, closing the door behind him.

“Look, I owe you an apology.”

“I’m listening.”

Bucky fiddled with his hands as your eyes bore into him.

“I really care about you. I know I didn’t show it well and for that I’m sorry. The closer we got, the more scared I became. I haven’t been close to someone like this in forever. I-I don’t know how to be with someone. And I thought you deserved better. You are so amazing- so sweet and caring. You’re perfect. Seeing you go out with someone else woke something up in me. And seeing you cry, it broke me.”

“It broke you?” You let out a dry chuckle. “It broke…you? All of what you said, that’s your issue. Yet you put that on me and you broke my heart. How is that fair?”

“Well-“

“And it took for me going out with someone else for you to realize that? That’s bullshit! Instead of communication with me, you shut me out. You made me feel like there was something wrong with me! For all I knew, you found someone else, someone better. And now here you are saying I was too good? You think you can waltz in here like a kicked puppy and I’ll forgive you?” Anger rose like bile in your throat but you didn’t stop. Weeks and weeks of emotion was finally spilling out.

“Please, let me-“

“Let you what? Waste more of my time? Make me wait around until you decide I’m worth your attention? Fuck you! Fuck men in general! Women are not your toys to play with when you’re bored, tossing us away when you’re done. Just because you’re ready now doesn’t mean I have to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s voice broke.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out.”

“I want to make this up to you,” Bucky pleaded.

“This isn’t on your terms, James. I’m not ready.” You stood up and opened your door, waiting for him to leave. He hung his head and walked out.

He turned to say something but you slammed the door shut before he could. Now it was his turn to wait.

[lavenderishhaze]

As I was just posting my 50th (!) chapter of Luigi Ever After I suddenly got a bit nostalgic about some of the earliest chapters - I really loved writing Liv and Luigi before they officially confessed their love for each other 🥹

I’m thinking about maybe writing a Luigi pov for Luigi Ever After (Deleted Scenes) of the below scene just to get to revisit it ❤️‍🩹

(From Chapter 4)

When the laughter finally died down, you gently plucked the phone from his hand and set it on the nightstand. “I think that’s enough LuigiTok for today.”

“Agreed,” he grinned, rolling onto his side to face you. “Now I guess I’ll head back to my room and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night. I’m getting pretty good at it - practiced all night last night.”

Your smile faltered, concern flickering across your face. “You didn’t sleep at all last night? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged lightly, the smile still there, but dimmer now, like someone had turned down the brightness behind his eyes. “What would you have done about it? You’ve already been more than kind tonight, staying up with me, distracting me from my own head. That’s more than enough. Thank you.”

There was so much sincerity in his voice, it made your chest ache. “What would I have done? Oh, Luigi, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.” You held up your hands, wiggling your fingers theatrically. “I’m an elite back-scratcher. I have a near-perfect track record for putting people to sleep using nothing but these magic hands. Fresh manicure and everything.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering through the exhaustion in his face. “That’s a bold claim.”

“And you know I don’t make bold claims lightly,” you shot back, your heart starting to pound at your own audacity. “So lay down, turn around, and I promise you’ll be asleep in ten minutes, tops.”

The silence that followed was just long enough to feel charged, like you’d crossed an invisible line neither of you had acknowledged until now. It wasn’t just an offer. It was intimate, familiar in a way that friends maybe shouldn’t be. Your pulse drummed louder, but you held his gaze, daring him to accept.

Luigi hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his face. “Are you sure? I feel like I’ve already hijacked your night, and now I’m invading your bed too. I don’t want you to make you feel awkward.”

There was something almost shy in the way he said it, like a boy too tall for his own limbs, afraid of taking up too much space. And that was all it took to make you need him to stay.

“Please,” you said, trying to sound breezy, casual, as though you weren’t hanging on his answer. “It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. Shirt off, though. That’s non-negotiable. Please, Luigi - you’re getting annoying. Just let me put you to sleep!”

His brows lifted, surprise flashing across his face before dissolving into a laugh. “Alright, alright. If you’re sure.”

“Luigi,” you said, mock-serious, “I’m the one making the offer. You’re the one overthinking it.”

Still smiling, he gave you one last unreadable look - half hesitation, half surrender - before rolling onto his side facing away from you and peeling off his shirt. And for a brief, breathless moment, you just stared. His back was all lean muscle and sun-warmed skin, a map of strength and softness that had you wondering how you were supposed to concentrate on anything other than the absurd beauty of him.

But you had a job to do, a very selfless, altruistic job, you reminded yourself. You swallowed hard and placed your hands on his back, tracing the first slow, feather-light strokes along his spine. His whole body sagged into the mattress with the kind of exhale people only make when they’ve been holding tension for far too long.

You smiled, drawing lazy patterns across his skin, your nails trailing from his shoulders down to his lower back, then sweeping up again in soft, rhythmic circles. His skin was warm beneath your touch, muscles shifting faintly under your fingers, and you wondered if he could hear your heart pounding, because it felt loud enough to fill the whole room.

You let your hands wander, brushing down his arms, tracing the line of his shoulder blades, your fingertips drifting up the back of his neck until you met the first curls at his hairline. You hesitated, your fingers hovering just shy of touching his hair, almost like you needed to brace yourself for the moment.

Because you’d been fascinated by those curls since the day you met him, and somehow, touching them felt like something more. Like some invisible door swinging open, a step you couldn’t easily take back. It felt almost too intimate, too personal. And yet you couldn’t resist.

“Is it okay if I touch your hair?” you whispered, your voice softer than the hush between you.

He didn’t speak, just nodded, already halfway to sleep. Your heart swelled at how much trust was wrapped up in that small, silent gesture. You let your fingers finally sink into his curls, the texture softer than you’d imagined, and a shiver ran down your spine so sudden it nearly took your breath away. You closed your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by how something so simple could feel so big.

Slowly, you worked your fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp, massaging with just enough pressure to lull him further toward sleep. He let out a low, almost involuntary sound, half-sigh, half-moan - and you saw goosebumps ripple across his neck and shoulders. The reaction sent a flicker of pride through you, a quiet thrill at knowing your touch affected him like this.

You kept going, fingers threading through his curls, tugging lightly just to watch them spring back into place. God, he was beautiful. And somehow, he was here, half-asleep in your bed, trusting you to hold this soft, vulnerable version of him.

It didn’t take long before his breaths evened out, slowing into the soft, rhythmic snoring that meant he was truly gone. Mission accomplished. You smiled to yourself, the warmth of quiet satisfaction settling in your chest.

Carefully, you tucked the covers around you both, rolling onto your back beside him. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed you too, your fingers still tingling faintly with the memory of his hair beneath them.

[auspicioustidings]

141 fighting each other to be the one whose lap reader sits on during a meeting or smth

CONGRATS ON 1kkkk

Thanks <3 Please find silly nonsense below!

Tomfoolery Senses

Words: 1k

CWs: Slightly spicy but nothing explicit

Honestly you shouldn’t even be on base, not with your knee being how it was. It was annoying as hell that the recovery time meant you were out of the field for the foreseeable, but they still needed you. You may not be able to run around with a gun right now, but tactical was always your strong point anyway so for now you attended meetings and made plans.

You walked into one such meeting and your tomfoolery senses immediately went off. There were too many glinting eyes for them not to have pulled something, and when you went to sit down you nearly laughed out loud at the bloody audacity. No empty seats. Strange since there should be some, almost as if someone had relocated them beforehand specifically for some ridiculous purpose.

“Ye can sit here bonnie!”

It took a moment for your brain to catch up. Soap was very much patting his lap in excitement. The last time you had ended up in that man's lap his hand had wandered during the entire meeting. You recalled being a mess by the end of it and Soap being very much like the cat who got the cream about it because he knew it meant when he followed to your room like a puppy you would let him in.

“Move your arse MacTavish, I’m injured and I need the seat.”

“Wouldnae dream of it! As ye’ll recall, I also have a dodgy knee. Only right for us tae stick together.”

“Surely you’re not asking them to sit on your dodgy knee then Johnny? Come on sweetheart, right here.”

You gave Ghost a bemused look. Soap you expected this from, but him? Actually no, you had very much been overwatch for 141 missions, this is exactly the kind of nonsense you expected of this idiot.

“Now I would love to, but weren’t you just telling me about your bad back? I seem to remember something about needing me to massage it. It would be irresponsible of me to risk making it worse.”

“Your massage fixed it right up actually" he replied, large hand patting thick thigh in further invitation.

You rolled your eyes. Your “massage” had lasted about a minute with you sincerely giving it your best effort before he had pinned you down and given you a very thorough massaging of his own. Only that one had done the opposite of fixing your back, if anything you'd say he had in fact blown it out.

“That so? You were complaining about it right before they walked in” Gaz said, smug as anything even while Ghost glared over at him.

“He's a lying git luv, obviously just looking to get a gorgeous thing in his lap. My lap, however, is neutral.”

You knew for a fact his lap was not neutral, not one bit. His lap was very much the kind of lap that you found yourself bouncing on anytime he got you alone and charmed you right into it. You could be in the middle of a training exercise, fully in the zone, and next thing you knew you were stuffed full of Kyle bloody Garrick in the middle of a safehouse where anyone could wander in at any moment. It wasn't like you were a big risk taker, but he could make you think anything was a good idea.

“A veritable Switzerland I'm sure.”

“Safest place to be really.”

“Look me in the eye and say that with a straight face then.”

Soap and Ghost groaned in tandem as you made the mistake of looking at Gaz. That bloody sunshine smile could sell ice in the Arctic and as such everyone usually avoided eye contact when they knew he wanted something. Charisma score above 20 that boy. Honestly these fuckers were the worst, but oh Gaz's big brown eyes were just smiling so gently at you and surely he would never do anything untoward. How could you look at this man and think he would ever manipulate you?

“Corporal, come ‘ere, that's an order.”

Gaz's sunshine expression turned to one of wry disbelief. He had been so close, you had been about to take a step towards him. It was awfully unsportsmanlike for Price to pull rank, something Gaz would be holding against him.

“So much for honour.”

“Cheeky fucker.”

“Just taking the piss Captain.”

It wasn't completely unfounded for Price to use his rank to get what he wanted when it came to you, it was why usually the others would try to get you away from him. Ghost did it sometimes too if he wasn't there and the Sergeants were. Although he didn't use it quite as thoroughly as Price did once he got you alone. The Captain was always happy to give you orders if only so he could punish you when you bit back, which you did often. Not because you enjoyed the punishment, that certainly wasn't it. You could not supply another reason, but that was besides the point.

“Well I suppose I have to since you're the Captain, unless there was someone that technically had more authority to give me orders” you said with a grin.

“Come on now pet, don't be like that, just come sit and we can start the meeting hm?” he said, using that voice that was right in the middle of soothing dominance and rough command in a last ditch effort.

“Of course Captain, just want to clear it with command first.”

Price sighed, glancing over and seeing that he had lost the fight when he was met with Kate's sly little smile. She was often your saviour when it came to these men. It helped that her and her lovely wife were both sweet on you. They had invited you round for dinner once or twice, and suffice to say the very delicious home cooked meals were not the only thing getting eaten. If there was one thing the men in the 141 hated more than losing to one another, it was losing to Laswell. She was always so annoyingly smug about being your favourite.

As you settled right down in her lap and both the meeting and Kate's hands gently massaging at your waist started, the 141 collectively thought that next time they'd better bring you a damn chair.

[k-dokja]

Bringing this dysfunctional pairing back even if no one asked (I asked)

“You’re mad at me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but take the drink he offered anyway because you don’t want to go through this conversation sober. “Gosh, isn’t the sky also blue?”

“We came down to the same side anyway,” Samuel shrugs, taking a sip of his whiskey, “you shouldn’t have more reasons to be upset.”

That audacity of his, you can’t even believe your ears. “I’m upset because you acted without telling me,” you jab at him with your elbow, he doesn’t bother to dodge. Noticing that, you can only roll your eyes and gaze back down at the view of the city below. It once gives you immeasurable comfort to see how insignificant everything will be in the grand scheme of things. However, here, with Samuel by your side, nothing but unease permeates your senses.

“You wouldn’t have gotten into that mess with the first affiliate if you bothered to tell me a word about it,” you frown, knocking back the drink in one go. The taste is bitter on your tongue and you can’t help but wondering how he drinks this all the time, but it is nowhere near your priority at that moment. “Playing double agent is one thing, but triple agent? You were spread thin even before you shook hand with Big Deal’s leader, what make you think you can succeed without my help?”

Samuel keeps his face impassive but you can see the twitch of annoyance at the corner of his mouth. “I was overconfident,” he says, “I thought I didn’t need you.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” you hiss before turning on your heels, “but that doesn’t matter anymore, what’s done is done, I will stay cooperative since we have the same goal but don’t expect any personal favor from me again.”

Samuel doesn’t answer, and you don’t need him to do that. Not from the way his shoulder tenses. You had thought you got him figured out, you had thought that the bond between the two of you was at least friendship.

But, like him, you thought wrong. And now you’re paying the price for it.

Fool be you for thinking that this would’ve ended any other way.

[seven4asecret]

Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: Loki and the reader talk about their places.

Content & Warnings: Brief discussion of neglectful fathers (Just Odin being Odin)

Chapter 7: What We Mend

Loki sat beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak tree in the palace gardens. The grass among his legs was soft and inviting, but his mind was racing, echoes of the earlier council meeting still fresh. The Queen paced restlessly before him, graceful sandals pressing into the lush surface as she vented her anger.  

“I still cannot believe the audacity of Odin, sending you away as if you were nothing more than a mere pawn,” She exclaimed, eyes alight with indignation. “Does he truly see so little worth in his own son? It speaks volumes of his cruelty that he thinks only of himself, disregarding your value entirely.”

Loki shifted, drawing his knees to his chest as he rested, a sigh escaping his lips. “I believe he simply wished to be rid of me, in truth.” He replied, voice flat, almost resigned. “I’ve caused enough trouble over the years. Perhaps he sees this as a way to gain some peace.”

She paused, her ire momentarily giving way to concern as she settled beside him in the oak’s shade. “But he is your father, yes? Shouldn’t there be some part of him that holds affection for you?”

Loki erupted with a bitter laugh, breaking the serene atmosphere of the garden. He shook his head as he plucked a small weed, a tiny flower among the grasses, and examined it closely. She knew so little of him nowadays, but now was not the time to tell. “I do not think that all fathers love their children,” He said, voice laced with a hint of melancholy. “At least that is what I have learned. But it matters little now that I’m out of his reach.”

“I’m sorry. You deserved better.” She murmured, gently leaning against him, her head resting upon his shoulder. The unexpected intimacy made him tense, but as the moments passed, he allowed the warmth of her presence to soothe him.

He shrugged slightly, twisting the weed between his fingers, watching the small puffs of seeds take flight into the gentle breeze, dancing away into the vast garden. “There’s no need to apologize. You had nothing to do with my fate. What’s done is done. I can only look ahead.” She responded with a soft, thoughtful hum, nestling closer against his side..

He was quiet for a long moment, watching the last of the seeds drift off in the wind, carrying them far off among the garden. “What am I here for, my lady?” He asked, finding he could no longer hold his tongue from the thoughts that had troubled his mind. His voice wavered ever so slightly as he turned his gaze from her, afraid of what he would find in her eyes.

She simply blinked, furrowing her brows slightly as confusion danced across her features. “What do you mean?”

Loki inhaled slowly, fixing his eyes across the sprawling gardens. “I mean… What am I here to do? Why have you chosen to keep me by your side?” “I’ve told you before.” Her voice was gentle, as if she were treading on fragile ground, “I wish to keep you close and safe. Especially with the tensions rising between Asgard and the other realms.”

“But is that all?” An irritated huff escaped him, tinged with frustration. “Am I simply a means to an end for you, a way to defeat Odin? Or am I simply a pretty bauble for you to remember the past by?”

She startled, pulling away, her features looking like his words had cut deeper than he had intended. “Is that what you believe? That I see you as only some pretty trinket of our history, a simple political pawn to do my will?” Her voice held an ache that tugged at his heart

A tide of uncertainty crashed over him as he bit his lip, resisting the urge to reach out to soothe her. Yet he stayed rooted.“Yes,” He murmured, jaw tight with unspoken emotion.

Her gaze flicked over his face, a gentle hurt present in her eyes. “I—you have my apologies then. I had no intention of treating you as such.” Her hands in her lap began to fidget slightly, a tell-tell sign of nerves. “I had intended to give you a place of safety. I hoped by keeping you close, we might rekindle what we once had. It seems I have failed you in that regard.” 

Loki’s shoulders dropped, his frustration vanishing at her words. He hadn’t expected her to look so wounded. He assumed she would brush him off, offer another smile, and turn the conversation aside.

“I didn’t mean to accuse you,” he said after a moment, voice low and tinged with regret. “Not really. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, a weary sigh leaving his lips. “I’ve been grappling with my place in all of this. In your court. At your side. When I arrived here, I was certain I was heading toward exile. And how I’m… I’m unsure of where I belong.”

“I thought,” She said slowly, choosing her words with care, “that if I offered you a place beside me, you would understand it was because I wanted you close again. Not merely because I needed a pawn, or a relic, but because I want to know you. Not just the boy you were, not the consort you could be.” She paused, gaze steady but soft, “Just… you.”

Loki swallowed hard, feeling her words settle in the pit of his stomach, leaving him momentarily speechless. 

“I would rather face your father alone than force you into something that makes you question your worth,” She continued, voice dipping into a quiet, more vulnerable tone. “If you would rather leave the court—to leave my side— I won’t stand in your way.” Her fingers curled tightly in her lap, knuckles pale with tension.

Loki stared at her, his jaw tight as he absorbed her sincerity. The sun, hanging low in the sky behind her, threw a halo around her head, creating a soft glow as she spoke.

“You mean that,” He said, the realization washing over him as a statement rather than a question, surprising even himself. 

She nodded once, gaze fixed on her lap, afraid of what she might see in his face, “I meant it when I asked you to stay. And I will mean it if you choose to go.”

“I… didn’t want to leave,” he confessed softly, barely a whisper. “I still don’t. I had convinced myself that I was only here because of what I represented to you back then, or what you could use me for now. But if you’re offering me the choice in what I become here, who I am to you…”

“I am,” She said quickly, voice firm yet gentle. “I don’t expect you to be the person you once were, nor do I intend to use you as merely a pawn.”

A wave of relief washed over him at her words, ridding him of some of the doubts he had carried. If he wasn’t simply a puppet or a reminder, perhaps he could truly carve out a new path, free from the shadows of his past. Still, a lingering uncertainty clawed at him: would she still allow him to stay if she truly knew the depths of crimes he had committed?

His hands fell to his lap, fingers fidgeting as if unsure what to do with themselves. “Then I’ll stay,” he declared, words firm yet filled with the weight of lingering insecurities.

“Then stay,” She whispered, shifting closer against him, her hand hovering over his for a brief moment before she gently intertwined their fingers. “And we shall figure out the rest together.”

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Loki found it easier to breathe.

They lingered like that for a while, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the garden in the warm oranges and deep reds of dusk, painting the sky with a tapestry of colors.

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[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Blurb 8

Where it begins.

Theo

Theo had to drag Hermione Granger through the communal Floo in Diagon Alley. Literally drag her, with an arm bound around her torso, Theo managed to drag her heels against the pavement and managed to call out Harry Potters home before she managed to grab a handful of powder herself.

When they landed in Gimmauld Place, with Hermione’s teeth sinking into the skin on his hand, Theo tipped over and rolled into the parlor, his hold on her unrelenting.

“You bit me!” He shouted when they landed, still holding her against her will atop of him, his back on the floor.

“You kidnapped me!”

“I’m following orders, Granger!”

“This is illegal! It’s against my will! Harry!” She was now kicking and squirming and Theo had to roll them onto their sides so that he could wrap his legs around hers, in an attempt to save his male anatomy.

He wrapped his other arm under and around her arm, essentially pinning her like a wrestler would.

“Theo, you’re hurting me!” Her only free limb was pawing and scratching at the hand she had previously bitten.

“You are,” Theo huffed and tightened his hold on her other arm, causing her to cry out in pain. “Quite possibly, the most infuriating subject I have ever protected.”

“Then quit! I just want to go home.” Hermione was practically whimpering in pain and frustration.

“I don’t quit.” He sighed. “My orders were to bring you here.”

“I’m going to.” She tried again to break free, only causing her arm to bend back further behind her head. “Kill Malfoy!”

Theo briefly shared the sentiment, secretly wishing harm upon his best friend for asking him to guard this insufferable witch.

Just then, the Floo flared to life and both Theo and Hermione froze to look over their shoulders, collectively, to find Harry and Draco stepping out.

“Ah, I see Theo got our message.” Harry said, clearing his throat.

“Theo,” Draco took a step forward. “Can you please tell me why you’re on the verge of breaking Granger’s arm?” His voice was calm, but Theo knew Draco well enough. He was amused.

“He kidnapped me on your orders!”

“She bit me!”

Harry snorted causing both Theo and Hermione to pause their struggles to glare over their shoulders at the wizard.

“Sorry, it’s just. No, nevermind.” Harry shook his head and moved to settle onto a couch in the corner of the room. “This is not Theo’s fault, Hermione.”

“Should I sink my teeth into you, Harry James Potter?”

“Uh, no?”

Theo snorted and slowly untangled his body from hers. She didn’t hesitate to jump to her feet, appearing incredibly lithe and agile, which shouldn’t have been a surprise to him, really. Considering all that had gone down between the two of them. It also didn’t stop him from being able to predict nor roll out of the way of a hex shot by the witch.

Draco chuckled under his breath and Theo was thankful for the distraction it gave him. Granger’s angry glare jumped to land on Draco and it was more menacing than the way she had appeared before.

Theo pulled his want from his holster and shot an Incarcerous at her. Hermione screeched as the thick ropes wrapped around her body, before she toppled over. Theo managed to catch her with one arm and hauled her over his shoulder.

Harry watched, dumbfounded, as he placed her onto a chair.

Draco’s eyebrow was raised as he watched Theo brush off his suit and shake his hair back from his face.

Leveling his best friend with a bland look, Theo sighed, “I believe you’ll pay me double for this one.” He chin jerked in Hermione’s direction.

Draco laughed openly at that before settling into the chair besides Hermione’s.

Theo stood in front of the Floo, as if to block it should she choose to run.

“I’m going to hex you all, for this.” Hermione stated, dryly.

Harry had the audacity to gulp.

Theo merely shrugged and shot her a grin.

But Draco, he was staring at her with something like admiration. Like whatever she had said or done was only working to cause his friend to fall even more in love with the damn witch.

She avoided Draco’s gaze and pointedly looked at Harry. “Why am I here, then?”

“Well,”

Theo was glad to have this question asked. He wasn’t in the position to ask questions, really. His job was to protect. And he would, at all costs. However, Draco had never explained what, exactly, he was protecting the witch from.

Harry rubbed at his brow. “Remember those files I was looking at this morning?”

“The witch killer?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded and glanced over at Draco.

“He isn’t just targeting witches, Granger.”

She looked over at him, finally. “Muggles, as well.” She said, recollection flashing in her eyes.

“Yes...” Draco dragged the word out. He paused and considered her again, his eyes roaming her face. There was something alarmingly intimate in his eyes and it made Theo uncomfortable.

Hermione blushed and looked away, opting instead to stare into the Floo.

“But?” Theo prompted for her.

Draco cleared his throat, running a hand over his jaw. “They are targeting witches that fit a certain profile.”

“Typically,” Harry added. “They are half muggle, or muggle born.”

“Oh.” Hermione’s response was underwhelming but the look in her eyes was anything but. Fear and fury seemed to meet and mix into something that caused her eyes to brighten and darken all at once. It was really quite fascinating.

But now, Theo understood why Draco had been so obsessed with those Muggle women being murdered over the years.

Now, he realized why Draco had arrived at his home in a flurry of frenetic energy this morning. Now, he understood what kind of a threat he was protecting her from.

“I fit the profile.” She finally said, her eyebrows knitting together.

She was still bound, her body limp against the back of the chair, her feet barely touching the floor.

“You do.” Draco responded, and his voice was rough, strained.

She turned to look at him and for a moment, their eyes locked. Theo had to force himself to look away.

Harry cleared his throat. “There was another victim today.”

Hermione pulled her eyes away from Draco to look at her best friend.

“Typically, according to Draco’s research, the killer has put greater gaps of time in between each victim. He seems to be growing more...” Harry looked to Draco for assistance. “Eager?”

“He’s getting sloppy and he’s growing desperate.” Draco supplied. “I don’t think he fully immobilized this victim and she managed to fight back.”

Tears suddenly filled Hermione’s eyes and ran down her cheek. The reality of the situation seeming to dawn on her. “Who was the victim? Do we know her?”

“I don’t think so.” Harry said, quietly. “Forensics is working on identifying her now.”

Fear and sorrow were heavy in the air and Theo found himself feeling something different. Something angry and seering. He had never cared for any of the principals he had been assigned before. He protected them, sure. But Hermione Granger was different. He knew her. Had always secretly admired her brilliance in school and had always felt rather poorly for his family’s part in her pain.

And so it was with a new sort of reinvigorating sense of resolve that Theo silently swore an oath to himself. That he would help protect Hermione Granger at all costs.

Even if it means experiencing the wrath of her fury.

[glasskey]

Nick & June's Mix tape Vol. 1

Today I’m going to be sharing some of my favorite Nick and June tracks that have us all hitting rewind over and over and over and over……..after all, who doesn’t love a good mix tape?

Oranges & Tuna

This is the first time we meet Nick but given June’s familiarity, it’s not the first time she has. In Atwood’s text, Nick sounds like a bit of alright and the POV camera shot when June comes down the stairs IS a touch pervy.

Nick’s working with his sleeves rolled up, sweating and judging by the wanton looks it seems June’s in no particular rush to go shopping. She also seems to know quite a bit about him already, including the fact that he’s single. In her head, June’s already inviting Nick down to the oyster house bar for a drink, a subtle reference to a well-known aphrodisiac. It takes all of 10 seconds for Nick to start flirting with her, by telling June a gag about not being a pescatarian. It’s a fact which June purposefully ignores, in order to return his flirtation, and that’s it, that’s all it takes…..Nick’s fucked.

Throughout the next few episodes we see that Nick can neither believe nor resist June’s audacity. Nick knows he should say something when he sees her legs uncovered but he says nothing and simply stares. The sound of the lid closing on the box in front of him is like a trap snapping shut.

He can’t resist standing waaaaay too close and stroking her hand when he brings her ice, the heat is palpable. Nick now knows he’s in serious trouble and June is left reeling. Throughout season 1 these two are constantly measuring and testing each-others boundaries, but honestly from the second Nick told his tuna fish gag, he may as well have waved a white flag.

You shouldn’t wear anything for me

Sweet mother of Mercy. Apparently the sight of June’s naked body has turned Nick Blaine into the master of the double entendre overnight. Season 1 sees Nick pulling the jokes out left and right, first with the tuna fish gag and now this. Nick can hardly keep a straight face as he delivers it and June barely stifles a chuckle. This casual comment is not only a statement about June never changing her appearance to please him, but also one about how desirable he finds her, naked and unmanicured.

This is also the first time we see these two perform their infamous hand brushing and it’s literally breathtaking for the both of them. It’s a moment steeped in danger, electricity and passion, as you sense them both recalling their previous night together. Glowing lights seem to follow these two around like a spell, and as they intertwine their fingers a luminous orb appears between their hands.

I’d like to say that June ever stood a chance at resisting the foxy driver’s charms but I’d be lying. He’s hot AF, lives less than 200 feet away and flirts with her shamelessly, this was all a done deal long ago. In Atwood’s text, these two can barely keep their hands off each other and Nick is described as absolutely fascinated with her. Not surprisingly then, this scene is closely followed by a knee trembling, face melting kiss that sends June straight from “it can never happen again, sorry Nick” to a dazed mess spelling saucy words during her scrabble game.

Is This It?

Nick thinks that breaking up with June is going to be simple, in fact he seems to think he won’t need to explain himself at all. June is having none of it, this is her one small ray of light in an otherwise dismal existence so Nick had better have a good reason.

He does, he’s already seen one handmaid die and he’s starting to get seriously attached to the new one. Seeing June on the wall just because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself is more than he could bear. This is Nick doing Nick: keep your head down, step aside, stay out of trouble and keep your mouth shut.

June rightfully calls him on his shit, accusing him of being a coward who wants only to be Fred’s whipping boy for the rest of his life. How could he want to live such a small life? It’s a gut punch that leaves Blaine looking suitably ashamed.

Their individual attitudes to “ending up on the wall” speak volumes about who these two are at heart. To June death is everywhere, living in terror isn’t living and the reward is worth the risk. Nick is a survivor, sacrifice for duty and self-preservation is second nature, a small life is better than no life at all. Unfortunately for Nick, his aspirations for a life half lived died the moment he met June Osborne. Before I get into Nick and June volume 2, I’ve got volume 1 of the Lawrence and June mix up next. Back soon.

[ladylooch]

oooh for blurb night (and if you've blurbed something like this already feel free to ignore!!) does lexi ever get subjected to any nastiness on social media or even in person? some of these fans take it a little too far, as we've all seen 😬

!!!!!!!!!! We have not talked about this yet. We talked about this with Emma. But we all know Lexi gets it and it’s bad. Nico does his best to protect her, but there is only so much he can do.

Lexi is unusually quiet tonight. At first, Nico didn’t think anything of it. She has been struggling since she quit her job, feeling like a “useless sack of potatoes” (her words) while flipping through various comedy shows trying to get a laugh. The truth is, she’s still grieving the loss of her special patient, and it’s going to take a long time until she moves through the process.

But this quiet tonight also comes with a distance that doesn’t sit well with Nico. He thinks of that as he wipes his hands off on the kitchen towel after finishing washing the knives from dinner. Then, he moves around the island to stand by her head in the living room.

“I’m gonna watch some film, unless you want to catch another episode of Gilmore Girls?” Nico asks, tugging her pony tail where it flops over the arm of the couch. She shakes her head no without looking at him. Nico sighs, coming around to squat in front of her. He examines her face, pursing his lips in sadness at how hollow her gaze looks. “Baby, I’m worried about you. What’s up?” 

“Why are you with me?” Nico blinks back at her in surprise. He did not expect that question.

“What?”

“Why are you with me?”

“There are a million reasons. But if I had to sum it up in a sentence or two, it’s because you’re the best person I know and I can’t live without you.”

“You could do so much better.” She whispers as tears fill her eyes. Nico lowers his eyebrows in confusion. This is not like her.

“Lex, what is going on?” Nico scoots her over until her back presses into the large cushions fully. She begins to sob, hiding her face as Nico curls her into his chest. 

“People are being so mean to me on social media. And I can take it, Neeks. I can take so much if it means that I get to have you forever, but they’re going to a whole new level that I just… don’t.. know how to deal with.” She begins to sob harder. 

“Baby, I am going to fix this. Tell me what happened. I’ll take care of it.”

“How? Are you going to shut down the internet for me?”

“I fucking will if I have to, yeah.” This gets her to smile through her tears. Damn does he love her. He would go find every server in the world and rip the cords out himself if it meant she wouldn’t cry like this because people were mean to her. Because of him. They attack her because he loves her. How unfair is that?

“Someone DMed me on Instagram asking if I knew how unworthy of you I was….” She sighs afterwards, tugging at the drawstring of his sweatshirt. “Like how do you get out of bed with so much ugly audacity?” She repeats.

“But you know that isn’t true.” He strokes her wet cheek, then tilts her chin back so she looks into his eyes again. 

“Yeah… I mean, for the most part. But, sometimes…. I’m just not sure.” 

“Oh Lex.” He breathes out a heavy breath, feeling his heart break. “Am I doing something wrong that makes you feel like that?”

“No! God, no, Nico you are… perfect. But, they get into my head… and I’ve been in such a bad place.” 

“I wanna fix this for you. Wanna soothe every crack and hurt in your heart, baby.” He kisses her lips desperately as he says it.

“You can’t.” She eases the burden for him. 

“What can I do?” Lexi contemplates, slowly blinking, really contemplating what she needs from her boyfriend right now. 

“Maybe you could take over my social media accounts and change the passwords, so I can’t login right now? I shouldn’t be on anything. Not until I heal. I can’t seem to hold myself accountable to that commitment.”

“Done. What else?” 

“Hold me. All night… until we are tired lumps, melded together with no ending.” Nico chuckles. 

“Okay. Here or in bed?”

“Bed.” It’s a heavenly sigh that tells Nico he’s getting lucky tonight.

After Lexi falls asleep, Nico maneuvers his arms around her and pulls her phone up. He makes a list of all the people sending her awful messages and blocks them, then he logs into his account and blocks them on his as well, across all social medical platforms until all that is left is praise, love, and appreciation for his beautiful girl.

Nobody makes his girl feel like not enough. Nobody.

And if this continues, this Devil is going to unleash hell.

[displacerghost]

To This Day (by Shane Koyczan) When I was a kid, I used to think that pork chops and karate chops were the same thing.

I thought they were both pork chops.

And because my grandmother thought it was cute, and because they were my favorite

She let me keep doing it.

Not really a big deal.

One day, before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees, I fell out of a tree and bruised the right side of my body.

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it because I was afraid I’d get in trouble for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been.

A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise and I got sent to the principal’s office.

From there I was sent to another small room with a really nice lady who asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home.

I saw no reason to lie.

As far as I was concerned, life was pretty good.

I told her, “whenever I’m sad, my grandmother gives me karate chops!”

This led to a full scale investigation; and I was removed from the house for three days until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises.

News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school and I earned my first nickname.

Pork chop.

To this day, I hate pork chops.

I’m not the only kid who grew up this way.

Surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones.

As if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called- and we got called them all.

So we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us.

That we’d be lonely forever.

That we’d never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their tool shed.

So broken heart strings bled the blues as we tried to empty ourselves so we would feel nothing

Don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone.

That an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away

That there’s no way for it to metastasize- it does.

She was eight years old on our first day of grade three when she got called ugly.

We both got moved to the back of the class so we would stop get bombarded by spitballs.

But the school halls were a battleground where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day; we used to stay inside for recess because outside was worse.

Outside we’d have to rehearse running away or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there.

In grade five they taped a sign to her desk that read beware of dog.

To this day, despite a loving husband, she doesn’t think she’s beautiful because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half of her face.

Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer that someone tried to erase but couldn’t quite get the job done.

And they’ll never understand that she’s raising two kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word mom.

Because they see her heart before they see her skin

That she’s only ever always been amazing

He

Was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree.

Adopted.

But not because his parents opted for a different destiny.

He was three when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy.

Started therapy in 8th grade; had a personality made up of tests and pills

Lived like the uphills were mountains and the downhills were cliffs

Four fifths suicidal; a tidal wave of anti depressants

And an adolescence of being called popper.

One part because of the pills, and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty.

He tried to kill himself in grade ten when a kid who still had his mom and dad had the audacity to tell him “get over it”.

As if depression is something that can be remedied by any of the contents found in a first aid kit.

To this day, he is a stick of TNT lit from both ends,

Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends in the moments before it’s about to fall,

And despite an army of friends who all call him an inspiration

He remains a conversation piece between people who can’t understand:

Sometimes becoming drug free has less to do with addiction, and more to do with sanity.

We weren’t the only kids who grew up this way.

To this day, kids are still being called names.

The classics were, “hey stupid”. “hey spaz”.

Seems like each school has an arsenal of names getting updated every year.

And if a kid breaks in a school and no one around chooses to hear…

Do they make a sound?

Or are they just the background noise of a soundtrack stuck on repeat,

When people say things like “kids can be cruel”?

Every school was a big top circus tent, and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers from clowns to carnies

All of these were miles ahead of who we were- we were freaks.

Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies.

Oddities juggling depression and loneliness, playing solitaire; spin the bottle, trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal.

But at night while the others slept, we kept walking the tightrope.

It was practice- and yes, some of us fell.

But I want to tell them that all of this is just debris.

Left over when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be

And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself: get a better mirror. Look a little closer. Stare a little longer.

Because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told you to quit.

You built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself; you signed it, “they were wrong”.

Because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique.

Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything.

Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell but never told,

Because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it?

You have to believe that they were wrong.

They have to be wrong.

Why else would we still be here?

We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them.

We stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway; and if in some way we are- don’t worry, we only got out to walk and get gas.

We are graduating members from the class of Fuck Off We Made It

Not the faded echoes of voices crying out “names will never hurt me”.

Of course they did.

But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act,

That has less to do with pain, and more to do with beauty.

when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever