#and he gave me so much in return.. it's like all the love i gave truly did come back to me

[seaglassandink]

𓊝 𓂃Oceans (part II)

Conrad Fisher x ex!fem!reader | part 1 part 3

Summary: When Conrad calls you from Cousins Beach, you expect a catch-up. Instead, he tells you Belly and Jeremiah just showed up engaged. What starts as a late-night FaceTime turns into sixteen years of friendship unraveling: old wounds, unspoken love, and the sting of realising he still hasn’t let go of her… and maybe never will. Warnings/tags: so much angst!!, season 3 spoilers, Conrad doesn't know what he wants, mild swearing if you squint, English is not my first language Word count: 6.5k (I'm sorry) ╭┈┈┈┈┈┈╯ 𓆉 ���� ╰┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

Your legs had been tangled with his, the faintest morning giggles spilling into the quiet of the bedroom. The Cousins sun was soft and golden, streaking through the curtains as the world outside slowly stretched awake.

You had lain there together in his bed, curled into one another, his lips ghosting along your neck like a promise he couldn’t stop making.

“I love waking up with you,” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm.

You grinned, eyes still heavy with sleep. “You always did.”

“But this,” he whispered, his voice lower now, rawer. “This is different. This is you with me. Like it’s always supposed to be.”

You’d looked down at him then, and everything inside you had softened at the look on his face—the kind of gentle adoration that could ruin a person forever.

“Promise me something?” you asked.

He nodded, no hesitation.

“Promise me you’ll always love me. And that we’ll always be us.”

“I promise,” he said without missing a beat.

Then he kissed you, slow and unhurried, and in that moment you believed every word. You jolted awake in the dark, breath catching in your throat. For a moment, you weren’t sure where you were.

Then it hit you.

Your apartment.

Your empty bed.

The sound of your own heart hammering against your ribs.

The dream had been so vivid you could still feel his skin against yours, still hear his voice whispering against the shell of your ear.

It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory.

And it shattered you all over again.

Because there was a time—long ago, but not nearly long enough—when that moment had been real.

When he had been yours.

Back at Cousins, at that same hour, Conrad woke up drenched in sweat, his T-shirt clinging to his back, his breath ragged as if he’d just run miles.

His mind was a hurricane, caught between past and present.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the image burned into his mind: you, bathed in morning light, laughing softly as if you had no idea you’d been his whole world.

He hadn’t let himself dream of that in years. Hadn’t let himself think of you like that.

And yet tonight, his own subconscious had betrayed him.

You didn’t sleep again after that.

Every time you shut your eyes, the memory returned—his voice, his hands, that promise. And the cruelest part was that, back then, you hadn’t realized that was the last time.

You painted to fill the silence, but the brushstrokes blurred when your eyes burned. You journaled, but the words felt hollow and jagged.

Mostly, you cried.

You cried because the universe had a way of taking and taking until you were hollow. Because he had been the one constant—the person who was always supposed to be there—and he had become a stranger.

At three in the morning, body aching from the weight of it all, eyes red and swollen, you finally gave in.

You grabbed your phone.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, trembling.

And then you typed the truth you had been choking on for years.

Y/N: I always thought it would be me. Why couldn’t you let it be me?

The message sent. You stared at the screen, waiting for it to show delivered, then tossed the phone onto your bed as if it burned.

And in that moment, you no longer cared about losing.

Because somewhere deep down, you knew: you had already lost him.

Conrad’s phone buzzed on the bedside table, the sharp sound slicing through the heavy silence of his room. He reached for it instinctively, heart thundering in his chest when he saw your name glowing on the screen.

For a long moment, he just stared at it. Then his thumb hovered—hesitant—before finally opening the message.

The words on the screen knocked the air out of him like a blow to the ribs:

I always thought it would be me. Why couldn’t you let it be me?

He read it once. Twice. A third time. Each time, it hit harder. His chest tightened painfully, his throat closing up.

He wanted to explain. To tell you that it was you. That it had always been you. That there hadn’t been a single day in his life where you weren’t there, even when he was too much of a coward to admit it.

But the words—the right words—wouldn’t come. All that came was a wave of guilt so sharp he almost doubled over.

Finally, he typed a message. His fingers trembled over the screen.

Connie: Can we talk? Please.

You saw it immediately.

Your phone lit up against the mess of your sheets, and that simple line felt like salt in an open wound. For several minutes, you sat there staring at it.

You wanted to throw the phone across the room. You wanted to cry all over again. But more than anything—you wanted to hear his voice.

So you pressed the call button, breath shaky.

He picked up on the first ring.

The silence that followed was crushing.

Neither of you knew how to begin, as if four years of unspoken words were clawing to get out all at once.

When you finally spoke, your voice was raw, hoarse from hours of crying.

“I had a dream,” you croaked, barely above a whisper. “No. Not a dream. A memory. Seven years ago. One of those Cousins mornings. You promised me something.”

You paused, your chest rising and falling as you tried to hold yourself together.

“And it haunts me,” you whispered. “It haunts me that you broke that promise.”

On the other end, Conrad’s heart cracked open.

Your voice was ragged, so tired, so broken that it physically hurt to listen to you.

He closed his eyes and the memory came back in full color, as vivid as if he’d been transported back into that morning.

The soft sunlight. Your bare shoulders. Your laughter.

Your voice asking for a promise he had meant with every part of him.

“I remember,” he said quietly, barely trusting his voice. “I remember the promise.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. The tears spilled again, hot and relentless.

“You know,” you whispered between uneven breaths, “the first part I could’ve survived. I could have understood if we’d grown apart. If we broke up. I could have lived with thinking that what we had—that love—maybe it was just because we’d known each other forever. That maybe it wasn’t love, just… comfort. Familiarity.”

You bit down on your lip, tasting salt and blood.

“But you also promised,” your voice cracked, “that we would always be us. And we’re not. We haven’t been us for years. And that…” You swallowed hard, your throat aching. “…that hurts more than knowing you don’t love me anymore.”

Conrad’s hand tightened around his phone until his knuckles turned white.

You don’t love me anymore.

Those words pierced him clean through, leaving him breathless.

He wanted to speak, to tell you it wasn’t true, that he loved you more than anything, that there wasn’t a single thing about Belly or about anyone else that had ever come close.

But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out except the raw truth of his guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, gutted. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

Silence.

He waited—for the click of you hanging up. For you to yell. To curse him out. To tell him to leave you alone.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your voice broke through the quiet again, small and fragile and cutting him down to nothing.

“I just wish you hadn’t promised.”

It was like someone twisting a knife straight into his chest.

He felt himself folding in on that pain.

He knew exactly what you meant. How much that promise had meant to you. How much he had destroyed.

I just wish you hadn’t promised…

And for the first time in a long time, Conrad Fisher had no idea how to fix anything.

“Was any of it ever real?” Your voice trembled so softly that Conrad barely caught it through the phone. “I mean… did any of it even mean anything to you? Or has it always been her, and I was just a placeholder?”

The questions hung in the air like heavy smoke—questions that had haunted you for years, the ones you never had the courage to ask before tonight.

Conrad’s heart constricted painfully in his chest.

Of course it was real. Of course it had meant everything.

His mind flashed through the years in an instant: barefoot summers, sand sticking to skin, the kind of laughter that hurt your ribs, the late-night confessions, the arguments that left you breathless, the reconciliations that always felt like home.

“Of course it was real,” he said hoarsely, the words scraping against his throat. “You were never a placeholder. You have to know that. You were always more than that.”

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

He could feel it—the disbelief in your breathing, the way your pain filled the pauses.

You wanted to believe him. But four years of being ignored and replaced had left scars too deep.

And he didn’t blame you. He had earned your distrust. He was the one who had broken you heart.

“Please,” he said, his voice raw, “I know you don’t believe me, but just listen.”

You sniffled, wiping your cheeks, though the tears kept falling relentlessly. “I just… I don’t understand,” your whispered, voice cracking as if every word cost her something. “Why not me? Why… not me?”

It was so quiet—small, barely audible—but it hit him like a tidal wave.

Conrad’s heart ached with a pain so sharp he could barely breathe.

He wanted to reach through the phone, wanted to hold you, to stop those words from ever leaving your mouth. But he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there, useless, listening to the wreckage he caused.

“You want to know why not you?” he asked quietly, almost to himself.

“Yes,” you whispered back.

“Because I was a coward,” he said simply.

The truth sat there, stark and merciless.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking on the words. “I was scared of losing you. Of losing what we had. I was already losing my mom, and everything in my life felt like it was falling apart. And… I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, his words cutting straight to the core of you.

But you knew—it wasn’t that simple.

“You left me for her,” you whispered.

Your gaze fell to the unfinished painting propped against the wall. You had started painting it the second you woke from that dream. It was that memory from seven years ago, frozen in time like you wished you could have been.

On the other end of the line, Conrad’s guilt swelled until it drowned him.

You were right. There was no sense in pretending.

“I did,” he said softly. The admission tasted like poison.

“And she broke up with you anyway,” you continued, your voice turning bitter, almost unrecognisable to your own ears. “She brought you pain. And who was there for you in those last moments, Conrad? Who was there when you couldn’t even breathe from the grief?”

Your voice shook.

“I was. I was there. Not her. She was too young to understand, and I—Fuck, I stayed. And you still decided to call me last night after barely checking in for four years… to talk about her.”

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, blinking through the blur of her tears.

“I assume,” you said, your tone flat, “you understand why I was angry last night.”

Conrad's chest tightened at your words. You were right. Again.

You had been there for him during his darkest moments, and he had left you behind. He had thrown away your relationship, your history, like it meant nothing. He had thrown away over a decade of life with you.

He had gone back to Belly, and for what? For her to hurt him again.

He felt like the biggest idiot in the world.

"I do," he said quietly. "I understand why you're angry."

"And I'm so goddamn sorry," he added, his voice laced with sincerity.

The guilt and regret were eating him up from the inside out.

You deserved so much better than him. You deserved someone who would never hurt you. Someone who would always put you first.

Not a coward like him.

You bit your lip, looking out of the window. New York was surprisingly quiet. Too quiet for your liking.

“Was it worth it?” you asked, the question that had been haunting you for years. “Were six months with her worth most of our life together?”

Conrad's heart twisted at your question.

"No," he said immediately, his voice firm.

It was an easy answer.

Six months with Belly was nothing.

Nothing compared to all the moments you had shared.

The memories, the laughter, the pain, the fights, the tears – all of it was worth far more than those six months with Belly.

"Never," he said, his voice hoarse. "The answer is no."

"I was an idiot," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "A stupid, selfish idiot."

He was a fool for ever thinking that he could choose Belly over you.

He’d been so desperate to salvage something, he’d ended up losing everything.

"I wish I could take it back," he said, the pain and regret in his voice tangible. "If I could go back in time and smack some sense into my old self, I would."

It hurt. Hearing him like this hurt. Because you believed him. You knew when he was telling the truth. He hadn’t changed that much in the end.

You wiped your face, considering your options. Considering the current situation. He was there, in Cousins, with Belly alone under one roof.

“Why did you call me about that? Of all the things you could have called me about, you called me to talk about her?”

Conrad closed his eyes, the guilt and shame hitting him all over again.

Why had he called you? Why had he talked about Belly to you?

Maybe because, deep down, he knew that you were the one he really wanted to talk to. You were the one who always understood him, who always listened to him. You had always been his person.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I just... I don't know."

“Do you still love her?” you asked after a while.

The whole point of your hurt, your anger last night, was the fact that he had been with her for six months. They had broken up four years ago, and he was still conflicted about what to do with her under one roof. It was just… ridiculous to you.

Conrad's heart clenched at the question.

Did he still love Belly?

The answer was complicated.

He still cared about her, of course. They had a history, a bond that would never go away. But was it love?

No. He didn't think so. He thought it was all those what ifs if he hadn’t screwed up the first time.

"No," he said firmly. "I don't love her."

He knew it was true, deep down. He still cared about her, yes. He still cared for her. But love?

He didn't think so.

You stayed silent for a while. Your heart was broken, but it jumped a little at his words.

If you knew one thing, it was that Conrad Fisher was a complicated man. Not in a bad way. It was in a way that he made himself get lost in his own mind, in his own feelings—often doing things he thought were good but that ended up hurting more people than necessary.

You swallowed hard, running a hand over your face.

“Connie?” you whispered quietly, your voice so broken and small.

Conrad's heart ached at the sound of his nickname on your lips.

He'd always loved it when you called him that. Nobody else called him that the way you did.

"Yeah?" he asked quietly.

“I miss you,” you whispered, fresh tears spilling down your face.

You missed him so badly. So many bad things had happened in your life these past four years. But also so many good ones. And you had friends to share them with. But he was the one you thought about first each time. And you couldn’t share any of it with him. Because he wasn’t there.

Conrad's chest clenched as he heard your words.

You missed him.

God, he missed you, too.

He missed you more than anything.

He missed your smile.

He missed your laughter.

He missed your touch.

He missed everything about you.

"I miss you, too," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "So goddamn much, you have no idea."

It hurt. He missed you.

You had so many questions. So many things to yell at him for. To cry about. To ask.

You were an hour flight away from him. Unless he went back to California. This might be the only chance. You knew he didn’t have clinic this summer. But you worried that if he went back to his life in California, the opportunity to reconnect would be lost.

“Are you going back to California?”

Conrad let out a long exhale, his heart heavy with the weight of your conversation.

"I was planning to," he said quietly. "I don’t have clinic anymore, but Agnes found me something."

He knew what you were hinting at.

You wanted him to stay. And God knows, he wanted to stay.

He wanted nothing more than to stay.

You nodded even though he couldn’t see. The fact that he was in Cousins right now, in his room at the beach house, in the same bed you had been in together so many times… it hurt.

You sniffled. “When?” you asked quietly.

Conrad's heart ached as he heard you trying to rein in your tears.

He could hear your sniffles over the phone. He wished he could be there for you. He wished he could hold you.

"Next Saturday," he replied reluctantly.

He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay there. With you.

That was a week and a half away. You had a week and a half. You could book a flight and go straight to Cousins first thing in the morning.

But you didn’t want to hurt again. You didn’t want your heart to break again. Even though you wanted to see him more than anything. You hadn’t seen him for four years. It was a maddening thought.

Conrad could sense your hesitation, your doubt.

He knew you well enough to know that you were internally arguing with yourself.

You wanted to come. He could hear it in your voice. You wanted to come. But you were scared. You were scared to get hurt again.

He didn't blame you. He'd done a damn good job of hurting you.

He had to say something.

He had to do something.

He took a deep breath before speaking.

"Just come," he said, his voice low. "Just come to Cousins. Please. Just for a couple of days."

God, you wanted to cry in that moment.

He wanted you to come.

It was breaking your heart.

It was breaking you.

You looked at the unfinished painting in front of you. You had much more than a couple of days.

Things had been tough lately.

You swallowed and held the phone away from your ear for a moment, opening an app to book a flight.

“Ten in the morning sounds okay?” you whispered after a few more minutes.

Conrad's heart leapt at your answer.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

You were coming.

You were actually coming.

For the first time in four years, he felt hope. Hope that maybe… just maybe, the two of you could fix things.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good," he said softly. "I'll pick you up from the airport."

You nodded, your heart jumping a little. You glanced at the time. Four in the morning. If you wanted to make it, you had to be at the airport in three hours.

“I have to go pack then,” you whispered, wiping away your tears. “You should get some sleep.”

Conrad swallowed, nodding even though you couldn’t see him.

He didn't want to end the call. He didn't want to let go of your presence, even if it was just your voice through the phone.

But he knew you were right. It was late. And you had to pack.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "You're right. I'll… I'll let you go. Get some sleep too, okay?"

“Yeah,” you said shortly, nodding. “See you soon,” you whispered before hanging up.

You stared at the phone, your whole body paralyzed.

You had no idea what this all meant.

You had no idea if you were going there as a friend, as an ex, or as a completely new person.

But you were going.

Conrad stared at the dark ceiling of his bedroom, his mind racing.

You were coming.

You were coming to Cousins.

He should be happy, right?

He should be ecstatic.

But there was also a sense of unease building inside him.

He didn't know what to expect. He didn't know what would happen when you got there.

All he knew was that he needed to see you.

He needed you. --------------------------------------------

The flight from New York to Rhode Island was a little over an hour. Then there was the drive from the airport to Cousins, which was another fifty minutes.

And that was the part that terrified you most.

Being alone with him in a car after four years of not seeing each other, after only a handful of scattered conversations, was enough to make your heart pound in your throat.

Your flight was at nine, but you hadn’t slept at all.

You had spent the entire night packing, pacing, and staring blankly at the clock. By the time the sky turned pale blue, you drove to the airport on autopilot, too anxious and wired to feel tired.

The flight went smoothly. No turbulence. No delays. To your dismay, there was no excuse to put off what was waiting for you on the other side.

You arrived at Rhode Island at 10:20 a.m., grabbed your bag from the overhead compartment, and headed toward baggage claim.

Your hand trembled as you pulled out your phone and typed the message.

Y/N: Just landed. I’m getting my suitcase.

Conrad had barely slept either.

He’d spent the night tossing and turning in bed, his mind racing with thoughts of you—what he would say, what he wouldn’t say, the way your face had looked on FaceTime two nights ago.

He was nervous.

No, scratch that.

He was terrified.

When your text came in, his heart skipped a beat so hard he thought it might stop altogether.

Fifteen minutes later, he was at the arrivals terminal, standing in a sea of people, scanning the crowd with restless eyes.

You pulled your suitcase off the carousel and headed toward the terminal.

The air in the arrivals hall felt heavy, stifling.

Your eyes swept across the crowd, searching.

You already knew he hadn’t changed much—FaceTime two nights ago had been proof of that—but seeing him in person after all these years was different.

And then you saw him.

Standing there, just like you remembered, trying to look calm and failing miserably.

Normally, you would have laughed at how obvious his nerves were.

But not today.

He was tanned now, the California sun leaving a golden glow on his skin. His hair was the same, only lighter at the edges, sun-streaked. He wore a pale blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up, tucked neatly into a pair of vintage Levi’s.

You swallowed hard. He looked just as perfect as always. Maybe even more so. There was something husband-like about him now, something more mature.

Conrad’s heart was a wreck.

He felt it pounding in his chest like a drum as soon as you stepped into view.

God, you were even more beautiful than he remembered.

His breath caught in his throat. For a second, he had to remind himself to breathe.

He watched you look him over, taking in his appearance, and he wondered what you were thinking. He saw the exhaustion on your face, the faint shadows under your eyes, but to him you still looked stunning.

You walked toward him, painfully aware of how underdressed you were.

You felt like a mess—your hair was slightly tangled from the flight, your face bare because you’d been too tired to bother with makeup, and you’d thrown on linen shorts with a simple cream-colored top.

“Hey,” you said when you reached him, your voice a little hoarse.

Conrad’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of your voice.

That voice he’d missed so much. That voice that had haunted him for four years.

"Hey," he said softly, offering a small, tentative smile.

He wanted so badly to reach out, to pull you into his arms and never let go.

But he didn’t. He didn’t trust himself to do that without breaking down completely.

Neither of you said anything more as you started walking.

Without a word, he reached for your suitcase and took it from you. You let him, nodding slightly, your throat too tight to speak.

You didn’t know how you were going to feel once you got back to Cousins. It already felt like stepping into a life you had left behind.

Outside, the summer air was warm as he led you through the parking lot to his car.

You raised an eyebrow when you saw it.

“New one?” you asked as he walked you to a gray Toyota.

In your head, he was still driving that Range Rover you’d spent so many summers in. You missed that car. But somehow, this one suited him now.

He nodded, opening the trunk and lifting your suitcase inside with ease.

Catching your surprised expression, he smiled faintly.

"Yeah," he said, closing the trunk. "Bought it last year."

He walked around to your side, opened the passenger door, and gestured for you to get in.

As he slid into the driver’s seat and glanced over at you, something inside him shifted.

It felt familiar. Driving with you felt natural, like muscle memory. Like all those years apart hadn’t happened at all.

It felt right.

You climbed into the car, letting your eyes wander around the interior as you settled into the seat. You pulled the seatbelt across your chest, clicking it into place and leaning back, trying to make yourself comfortable.

Fifty minutes.

That’s how long the drive would take if there wasn’t any traffic.

In the past, every drive to and from Cousins had been its own little ritual. The moment the car door closed, you would kick off your shoes, curl your legs up onto the seat, and watch the world go by while he asked, without fail, whether you had taken your Dramamine. Then he’d start the engine, and the two of you would sing the entire way, trading off verses and laughing when one of you forgot the lyrics.

But that was back when it was his Range Rover.

This was not that car.

And this wasn’t four years ago.

You no longer took Dramamine—you’d been prescribed Scopolamine now—and the easy comfort that once sat between you was gone, replaced with something heavier, more fragile.

As Conrad started the car, a sharp ache bloomed in his chest.

The hum of the engine only made the memories louder.

He remembered those long drives like they’d just happened: the way you’d fold yourself up into the passenger seat, the music playing on low, your voice cutting in and out between laughter as you sang along. He remembered how he would glance over and ask, “Did you take your Dramamine?” even though he already knew the answer.

He knew you so well back then.

Now everything felt different.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter than he needed to, knuckles white, forcing himself to look at the road instead of at you.

But he couldn’t help it.

Every so often, his eyes drifted in your direction, taking in the small details—your tired face, the way your hair was slightly tangled, the faint crease between your brows as you stared out the window.

The silence in the car was deafening.

The kind of silence that carried weight.

Was your heart pounding as hard as his? Were you searching for words and finding none, the same way he was?

Finally, you spoke, your voice soft, barely above the sound of the tires against the pavement.

“Do you mind if I play some music?”

Conrad let out a slow breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, grateful for something to break the heavy quiet.

"Yeah, sure," he said, nodding. "Go ahead."

He wondered what you would choose. Would it be new songs he’d never heard, the soundtrack of a life that didn’t include him? Or would it be something older, a fragment of what you used to share?

You picked up your phone, connecting it quickly to the car.

Your thumb hesitated as you scrolled through your playlists.

Most of them were new.

You’d archived almost all the old ones, shoving them into a digital drawer like they couldn’t hurt you there.

But a few had survived.

One in particular.

Driving with Connie.

Your lip caught between your teeth.

You could pick anything—anything safe, anything easy—but everything already felt so strange, so brittle, that you pressed play without giving yourself another second to overthink.

Within seconds, the soft, unmistakable opening notes of Pink+White by Frank Ocean filled the car.

Conrad’s breath caught the moment he heard it.

Memories crashed into him all at once—the exact shade of the late-afternoon light streaming into the car windows back then, the sound of your voice singing over the chorus, the warmth of your presence beside him.

He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting to keep his composure.

He turned his head just enough to glance at you, and his heart clenched.

You remembered.

You still remembered.

“I found our car playlist,” you said quietly, clearing your throat as you set your phone down. You turned to the window, watching the stream of cars blur by.

The soft hum of R&B filled the silence, wrapping itself around the two of you.

You knew there were so many songs that would come up—songs that were yours. Songs that once belonged to another version of the two of you.

But… wasn’t that the point?

Conrad swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the road. He only nodded.

Our car playlist.

Hearing you say those words was like a knife twisting in his chest.

It pulled him straight back to all those hours spent in his old car, the two of you crammed into a shared world of music, voices off-key but happy, windows down, summer air whipping in through the open sunroof.

Back then, there was no distance between you. Now, there was nothing but distance. Because things were different now.

You weren’t the same girl he had known four years ago.

And neither was he.

But the music—

The music hadn’t changed.

Each song carried memories like ghosts, filling up the car, forcing you both to sit with them in heavy, suffocating silence.

Song after song played.

Hozier.

The Neighbourhood.

Old favourites that neither of you could bring yourself to skip.

And then, a familiar sound cut through the quiet. The first delicate notes of Oceans by Seafret. The second you heard it, your breath caught. Panic kicked in.

You reached for your phone, fumbling with the screen, trying to change the track, to stop the rush of memories before they swallowed you whole.

Conrad noticed.

He noticed the second your hands started moving, that subtle urgency in your movements.

Before you could scroll past the song, his hand shot out.

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist.

The sudden contact burned against your skin, grounding you in place.

You froze.

You swallowed hard and slowly lowered the phone, turning your face back to the window.

You didn’t pull away. His hand stayed.

The lyrics filled the air:

I want you And nothing comes close To the way that I need you I wish I could feel your skin…

The tension inside the car thickened, wrapping tight around your throat.

You wanted to disappear.

To hide from the truth threaded into every note of the song.

It feels like there's oceans Between me and you once again…

You closed your eyes, keeping your face turned away from him, as though that would help.

But Conrad didn’t need to look at you.

He knew this song. The moment it started, he knew.

Without thinking, he tightened his hold on your wrist—not harshly, but enough to stop you.

His voice came low, soft, almost breaking.

“Leave it,” he said.

You stilled completely.

His grip didn’t loosen.

Instead, his thumb began tracing small, slow circles against the inside of your wrist—tiny, unconscious movements that made your pulse race.

He still couldn’t bring himself to look at you, staring ahead at the road, but everything in his body leaned toward you.

The air between you was alive, heavy with all the words that hadn’t been spoken.

You didn’t push his hand away. You let him hold you.

And in that moment, it was the closest the two of you had been in years.

The cars passed by, the world outside moving on, but inside that gray Toyota, time stopped.

The song kept playing:

I want you And I always will I wish I was worth But I know you deserve You know I'd rather drown Than to go on without you…

It hurt. God, it hurt.

Because the meaning of the song had shifted.

It wasn’t the same anymore.

This used to be your song.

He used to sing it to you, soft and low, when you were lying on the beach at night, or in his room with the window cracked open. He’d learned how to play it on guitar just for you. All of that felt like another lifetime now.

Conrad sat there listening, each lyric a blade twisting deeper.

He remembered all of it—the strum of the guitar, your voice joining his, the way you’d look at him like he was everything.

Back then, this song had been filled with love and hope.

Now?

Now it felt like a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.

Without realizing it, he tightened his grip on your wrist just a little more, as if holding on to that small piece of you could stop you from slipping away again.

He still didn’t let go.

The car fell silent as the last notes of Oceans faded, leaving only the hum of the engine and the muted sound of the wind against the windows.

Conrad’s grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but he still couldn’t bring himself to let go completely.

He could feel the steady beat of your pulse beneath his fingers. He could still feel your skin, warm and real, grounding him in a way that terrified him.

He wanted to look at you, to read your expression, but he forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He swallowed hard before finally speaking, his voice low and rough.

“I didn’t realize this song was still on your playlist.”

“You know I don’t clean the playlists. I just make new ones,” you said quietly, your gaze locked out the window.

It wasn’t the whole truth.

Because you could’ve sworn you’d deleted that song years ago.

You hadn’t touched the car playlist in so long that you assumed it would be buried, erased by time, by everything that had happened.

But there it was.

Conrad’s heart clenched at your words, and he nodded slowly.

Of course he remembered. He knew you too well.

He could picture you—sitting cross-legged on your bed, phone in hand, creating new playlists while the old ones, like this one, gathered digital dust.

Memories that refused to go away.

He wanted to ask. He wanted to ask why you never deleted it. Why this song was still there. But he bit his tongue. Instead, the two of you stayed silent.

The rest of the drive stretched on, the only sound filling the car was the shuffle of the playlist, song after song pulling you both back into the ghosts of summers past.

By the time the familiar sight of Cousins appeared through the windshield, your chest ached from holding back everything you didn’t say.

The tires crunched softly over the gravel as he pulled into the beach house driveway.

You glanced outside.

Nothing had changed.

The house still looked like it belonged to another world—timeless, golden, suspended in the endless rhythm of summer.

Conrad shut off the engine. The music stopped instantly, and a heavy silence settled over the car.

The only sounds now were your quiet breaths and the faint crash of the waves in the distance.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the house, taking in the sight of it. It felt like stepping straight back into another life.

Neither of you spoke.

The memories in the air were thick, clinging to your skin like the summer humidity.

Finally, you both stepped out of the car.

Conrad went around to the trunk, lifting out your suitcase, and you followed him up the porch steps.

Your stomach knotted tighter with every step.

This was the hardest part.

Because you knew who was inside. You knew Belly was here. She was the reason any of this had happened over the past three days.

You swallowed hard as you stepped through the door.

Inside, nothing had changed either. The same walls. The same photos. The same house you used to think of as home.

He set your suitcase down in the hallway.

You stopped, standing there with him, unsure what to say. You turned toward him, ready to speak—

And then footsteps creaked down the stairs.

“Conrad, have you—”

Belly’s voice rang out before cutting off abruptly. Her eyes landed on you, and she froze mid-step.

You clenched your jaw, every instinct in your body bracing for impact.

In a perfect scenario, you’d already be across the room, pulling at her perfect hair until someone dragged you away.

But this wasn’t a perfect scenario.

“Hello, Belly,” you said instead, your voice cool, steady, every word edged with steel. ╭┈┈┈┈┈┈╯ 𓆉 𓇼 ╰┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

READ PART 3 HERE A/N: Well... this might become a miniseries. It's just so easy to write for them. I swear I have it resolved!! But it's gonna take some time... Let me know if you want a continuation :) Tagging everybody who asked for part 2! @maybankslover @mlt2000 @we-flower-fan @xxxabsss-blog @emory06 @ynnlvrs @10hrs26mn @bellelamoon @idgaf-frr

[heyashford]

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ——— 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

c/w: SMUT AF. using of strap ofc!! hard and angry strap fucking. probably ellie’s sex doll. READER’S UGLY ASS EX APARITION!!!

Ellie is obsessed with you. Since your relationship began, she's only looked at you. And only you.

She loves the way you speak, that sweet tone of voice that characterizes your personality. Your soft, full lips; every time she kisses them, she melts. Your eyes and your gaze. She loves every part of your body, which she herself has explored and knows. Your hips swaying when you jump on her, and your innocent, angel-like appearance. Simply her angel.

You swore that at the beginning of your relationship, Ellie was shy. A quiet girl, insecure when someone approached you. You had adopted that idea of what she was like in your head. It lasted for months until, little by little, she began to reveal her true self. It started with helpful clues: passive-aggressive comments when someone other than her or your friends approached, her fixed gaze on those in contact with you (and, somehow, you felt Ellie's gaze). And if you make a list, you compare the Ellie of before with the Ellie of now: from angel to demon.

All of that came to a head the day you went on patrol with your ex, Marcus.

Jesse assigned you each patrol partner. And although you thought he'd choose Ellie, he ended up pairing you with the person who ruined your life.

What else could you do? He chose the partners, not you. So, with a frustrated sigh, you walked your horse to stand beside him.

"Long time no see? How are you?" the boy murmured as Jesse gave instructions for today's patrol.

"Just because I'm accompanying you on this trip doesn't mean we should converse with fake smiles. Don't forget what you did," you replied, cold and sharp, like the dagger Ellie had hidden in her pocket. And just as sharp was the look Ellie had given them.

You felt chills as you saw her eyes fixed on yours in a particular way. It was a look that clearly didn't want you to speak to her.

You remained calm, ignored her heavy gaze, and listened attentively to Jesse's instructions until he gave the signal to start. The gates opened, and all your companions rode off in different directions. You looked at Marcus and signaled for them to start riding. They galloped in the indicated direction, away from Jackson's gate.

After a few long minutes of riding, you arrived at an abandoned cabin. You dismounted and inspected everything. Luckily for both of you, there was nothing unusual: not a clicker. Not a runner. Absolutely nothing.

An hour (which seemed like a day to you) of awkward silence passed between you and your patrol partner when you heard the radio signal to return home. You took your horse and mounted it, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

"You know, you don't have to be so hard on me," he suddenly exclaimed.

You turned, holding your horse by the reins.

"I'm just protecting myself from shit like you. I'm not going to fall for your tricks again," you replied. He sighed.

"I heard you have a girlfriend."

"That's right."

"Is that her? The girl with freckles and half-up hair?"

You nodded firmly. You could see his face lose its shine as it recovered. You seemed so determined.

"Do you love her?" he asked, climbing onto his horse and adjusting the reins.

"With all my being."

There was a silence. An awkward silence for you. And a painful silence for your damn ex, who plays the victim when he sees you happy without him.

"Does she make you laugh?" The question hung in the air for a few seconds, until you answered.

"She’s never hurt me," you replied. You galloped off, chasing the sunset. He had no choice but to follow you at a distance until you reached Jackson. The return trip was liberating for you. You were finally able to tell him how much you had suffered for him.

Upon arrival, the gates opened to receive the remaining groups. You dismounted your horse and led it to the stables. It felt strange not having seen Ellie, but you assumed she was already home.

You gathered your things and walked home. You took out your keys and opened the door.

You entered. It was quiet. You put your things aside and took off your boots, which were sore from galloping.

—— "What were you doing talking to him?" The sudden question startled you; you hadn't heard your girlfriend behind you. You stared at her for a few seconds, perplexed.

—— "Answer me," she ordered.

—— "We haven't even talked that long. He was just my partner on this patrol..."

—— "Oh, but you know what happened between you two." She walked slowly toward you, taking off her jacket.

—— "E-Ellie, hi. He and I are absolutely nothing. I swear nothing happened," you said nervously.

—— "Didn't you make it clear to that idiot who you belong to, Y/N?"

—— "Yes! I swear!" Not even your comment could stop her. She pulled your arm and threw you against the couch, climbing on top of you.

You tried to struggle, pretending you didn't want her to fuck you. But your innocence didn't last long, because when she reached down to touch your clit through your clothes, she noticed how wet you were for her.

—— "You'll prove to that idiot that you're mine," she said nervously, as she got rid of your clothes in a matter of seconds.

You were completely naked. Ellie had taken off her jeans and blouse, leaving her in her bra and boxers. She took the strap out of a drawer and adjusted it for later.

Ellie started by kissing your neck. With one hand, she pinched your nipple and with the other, she fucked you, getting you ready.

——"You're a bitch, you think you can do whatever you want and with whomever you want. You'll learn to respect me," she whispered in your ear. You shuddered and bucked your hips, needing your girlfriend to fuck you.

Ellie sensed your need and didn't want to beat around the bush. She positioned himself between your legs, lifting them and placing them on her shoulders.

And just like that, without warning, She entered you deeply, making you gasp in pain.

"Shit... Ellie..." You cursed softly, closing your eyes, trying to hold it in.

"I know, baby. I know..." She forced you to look at her and began to move.

Her thrusts stirred your walls; you felt so good, but it hurt so much that you had already started to cry. You brought your hands to her back and scratched her as you felt her penetrate deeper and deeper, almost reaching your stomach.

You arched your back, sobbing and screaming.

"Ellie!" you sobbed.

"This will teach you not to talk to him," she said, agitated. She brought her hand to your neck and squeezed. You couldn't take it anymore. Minutes had passed, torturing you as if you were her sex doll. They changed positions; you were facing away from her while she fucked you on all fours. She had taken your wrists and led them behind your back, handcuffing you with her bare hands. Your hair was a mess, as was your face, deformed by so many tears. You had marks from her all over your body; She was taking the liberty of making you hers again. You were screaming with pleasure and pain; you couldn't take it anymore.

"Fuck!" you cried, but she buried your head in the couch cushion.

"Shut up!" she ordered in her shaky but firm voice. You felt her trembling hand grip your head tightly.

"I'm going to cum..." you said between moans and tears. Your legs were shaking and your hips were trembling from so much pleasure and pain.

"Beg for it."

"Please, please, Els." You began to beg like a whore, needing to orgasm and be done with it.

"Come on, cum for me, angel." At her command, she gave her last thrusts, and you climaxed. Your whole body shook, and you moaned as your insides clenched against the strap.

She waited for you to finish, then released your wrists and dropped you onto the couch. You fell with all your weight, your back heaving as you calmed your breathing.

She took the shirt she’d taken off you earlier and, with it, cleaned up the mess you'd made.

"You won't speak to him again, is that clear?" She took your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to look at her.

You nodded weakly.

"Words."

"Y-yes, Ellie," you said agitatedly before she let go of you again.

She stood up from the couch, taking off his leash. She went to the kitchen and brought you a glass of water. She sat down next to you and made you drink.

You were exhausted.

"You're my angel. Only mine," she said softly, with that commanding tone that melted your heart.

HEYYY, sorry for being inactive. I’m busy with work and it was my birthday!! ;). Hope u like it and enjoy <33

I was listening to this song and i couldnt help but think about ellie. sorry not really sorry!!

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls - Part 19

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda is 8 months pregnant.

Word Count: 6,137

Warnings: fluff.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Wakanda

The surgery had gone better than anyone expected.

Shuri, brilliant as ever, removed the Mind Stone with precision and care—unraveling the neural lace of Vision’s consciousness without unraveling him. He was weakened afterward, pale in his own way, quieter and slower, but alive. And free.

The stone, now dormant, was placed in SHIELD’s custody for study and safekeeping, under strict surveillance.

As for Vision… he didn’t return to the compound.

He requested solitude.

A leave of absence.

Tony called it a vacation with a mechanical shrug, but the truth was, Vision wanted to see the world not through the digital lens of downloaded knowledge—but for real. To feel a breeze. To sit with strangers and ask them about their lives. He needed to understand what he had dismissed for so long: humanity, soulmates… love.

No one stopped him.

No one could.

---

The months passed fast.

And when they realized, Wanda was already 34 weeks pregnant.

Eight months in, her body was doing everything it could to carry two babies, and it was starting to take its toll.

Her back ached. Her ankles were swollen. Her moods swung like a metronome on steroids. And her belly now took up so much space that rolling over in bed had become a two-person operation.

But Y/N didn’t mind. Not even a little.

If Wanda was tired, Y/N let her nap on her chest for hours. If her feet hurt, Y/N massaged them with warm oil until she fell asleep. She did all the laundry, all the cooking, and all the baby-proofing—even the things Wanda insisted could wait.

And if Wanda so much as winced while walking down the hallway?

Y/N was there in a flash—kneeling, hands on her thighs.

“Want me to carry you?”

“No—wait—Y/N—!”

Too late.

Y/N had already scooped her up, bridal-style, grinning like an idiot as she spun them gently toward the couch.

“Detka!” Wanda huffed, cheeks pink. “I can walk!”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Y/N said, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she carefully lowered her onto the cushions. “Not when I’ve got all this super strength and an addiction to seeing you smile.”

Wanda tried to glare at her, but it melted into a sleepy grin as soon as Y/N knelt in front of her and kissed her bump—left and right like always.

“Good afternoon, my little gymnasts,” Y/N whispered to the twins. “You’ve been kicking Mommy all day. Be nice to her, okay? Mama will carry her anywhere she needs.”

Wanda blinked slowly, her eyes glassy with love and exhaustion. “You spoil me.”

Y/N looked up at her, voice soft. “I worship you.”

Wanda reached down, threading her fingers through Y/N’s hair. “Don’t stop.”

“Never.”

And so, Y/N stayed there for a while, kneeling in front of the woman she loved, her hands resting on her thighs, her cheek pressed against their babies—listening to their tiny kicks, their fluttering reminders that they were almost here.

Home had never felt fuller.

---

The backyard had never looked more alive.

Twinkling fairy lights were strung through the trees, soft pink and gold ribbons danced in the warm breeze, and two signs hung above the patio — one read “Welcome, Baby A & Baby B”, and the other, “Team Mama & Mommy.”

Wanda stood barefoot on the grass, one hand resting under her belly, the other gripping Y/N’s fingers tightly as guests trickled in. Her back ached and her ankles were slightly swollen, but the glow on her face had nothing to do with magic.

It was joy. Pure, overwhelming joy.

And a bit of hormonal chaos.

The first tears came when Morgan Stark ran up and gave Wanda a handmade card with scribbles of three people, which according to Morgan, it was the two babies and herself.

Wanda cried.

Pepper hugged her and whispered something only mothers understood, and Y/N—smiling softly—handed Wanda a napkin before kissing her forehead.

Everyone came.

Clint arrived with Laura and all three kids—Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel—who immediately begged Y/N to race them across the yard. Sam and Bucky brought matching onesies that read “Speedster in Training” and “Future Witch.” Bruce gifted a rattle that glowed faintly until someone told him to explain what it did (he couldn’t). And Nat and Maria made a low-key entrance, standing just close enough to touch and pretending they weren’t both glowing.

Y/N, naturally, had disappeared into chaos.

She was mid-race around the yard, holding Morgan on her back like a tiny backpack while Cooper and Nate chased after her, laughing hysterically. Lila stood with her hands on her hips, yelling, “Let her win, Y/N!”

From the patio, Wanda watched with a soft smile—one hand cradling her bump, the other holding a lemonade.

“Boys are going to have a blast with her,” Laura said, sliding up beside her with Pepper and Nat following behind.

“Twin boys,” Pepper added with a knowing grin. “You’re going to be so outnumbered.”

“I already am,” Wanda sighed dramatically, smiling.

“They kicking much today?” Nat asked, nodding toward her belly as they all took a seat.

“All the time,” Wanda murmured. “I think they’re arguing in there.”

“Mine did that too,” Laura said warmly. “And it never stopped.”

“Names yet?” Pepper asked.

Wanda shook her head. “We’ve narrowed it down… but nothing’s settled. Y/N wants something meaningful. I just want names that don’t rhyme,” she added, making all three women laugh.

“They’re going to be so loved,” Nat said quietly. “They already are.”

Wanda looked at her—at all of them—and something in her chest swelled. These women, so different, so strong, all mothers or protectors in their own way… they got it.

“I’m terrified,” Wanda admitted softly.

Laura smiled. “That means you’ll be great at it.”

From the yard, Y/N’s voice rang out: “Hey! Who threw a pretzel at me?!”

Morgan shouted, “It was the baby training exercise!”

Wanda laughed, wiping her eyes.

Pepper leaned in, touching her shoulder. “You’ve got a home. You’ve got her. And soon, you’ll have two wild, messy, perfect little boys who think the world begins and ends with their moms.”

Wanda smiled, but it faltered at the edges. “What if we screw it up?” she whispered. Then, even quieter—“Or what if they have our powers?”

For a moment, the laughter from the yard faded beneath the weight of her question.

Laura was the first to answer. “Then you teach them. Like we all do. You show them how to use what they have with kindness. With control. With love.”

Pepper nodded. “And if it gets too much, you lean on the people who love you. You don’t have to know everything—just how to be there for them. That’s what matters.”

Nat rested her elbow on the table, eyes steady. “And if they do have your powers, then maybe that’s a gift. Because they’ll never be alone. They’ll have you. And they’ll have Y/N—who would run through a mountain if it meant keeping them safe.”

Wanda’s throat tightened. Her hands came to rest on her belly again, almost protectively. The twins gave a soft flutter in response, as if answering her fears.

“I just want them to be okay,” she whispered.

“They will be,” Laura said gently. “Because they’ll be loved. Every second. Even when they mess up. Even when you’re scared. That kind of love? It changes everything.”

Wanda blinked back the tears, a slow, soft smile forming.

In the yard, Y/N caught her gaze—grinning wildly with a sleepy Morgan in one arm and a stolen cupcake in the other, already halfway through a new made-up game with Clint’s boys.

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh through her tears.

She looked back at the women around her. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Pepper said warmly.

Nat just nodded, her voice low and firm. “You’ve got this, Maximoff.”

And for the first time in a long time, Wanda truly started to believe it.

---

Later That Day 

The house was quiet again.

Twilight had settled in like a soft blanket, and the last of the fairy lights outside flickered gently in the breeze. The dishes had been cleared, the wrapping paper tucked into a corner, and the yard was still echoing with the ghosts of children’s laughter.

Wanda stood at the window in their bedroom, wrapped in one of Y/N’s oversized sweatshirts, both hands resting on the curve of her belly. The twins were moving again—slow, rhythmic rolls under her skin like they were stretching after the excitement of the day.

She felt a pair of warm arms slide around her from behind. Y/N pressed a kiss to her temple, her chin resting lightly on Wanda’s shoulder.

“You’re quiet,” Y/N murmured.

Wanda leaned into her, letting out a long, soft breath. “I’m just… taking it all in.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Today was a lot.”

“It was good,” Wanda said, then added after a pause, “Overwhelming. But good.”

They stood there for a moment, watching the dark yard lit only by the soft backyard lights and stars just beginning to appear.

Y/N’s hands slid down and settled over hers on her bump. “They were really active today.”

“They always are when you’re near,” Wanda whispered. “They know you.”

Y/N’s voice was thick with emotion. “They know us.”

Wanda turned then, slow and careful, until she was facing her. She reached up to touch Y/N’s cheek, her thumb brushing just below her eye. “Do you think we’ll be good moms?”

“I know we will,” Y/N said, without hesitation. “Because we already are.”

Wanda’s eyes welled with tears she didn’t try to blink away.

Y/N kissed her—soft, sweet, lingering. “You were amazing today. With everyone. With the babies. You’re amazing every day.”

“I felt safe,” Wanda whispered.

“You are safe.”

Y/N guided her toward the bed, helping her down gently before settling beside her. Wanda curled into her, head resting on Y/N’s chest, one hand tucked between them, the other resting protectively over her belly.

Y/N spoke to the bump like she did every night—two goodnight kisses, one for each baby, a gentle “Mama loves you,” and “Be kind to Mommy’s back tonight.”

Wanda chuckled quietly, already starting to drift.

“I don’t want to forget this,” she murmured.

Y/N tightened her arms around her. “We won’t. We’re building a whole life full of nights like this.”

And slowly, surrounded by quiet, the scent of home, and the steady beat of Y/N’s heart, Wanda fell asleep.

The twins moved once more, then settled.

As if they knew: they were almost ready.

And their moms would be ready too.

---

Few Days Later 

The house was unusually quiet.

Not the kind of heavy silence that meant something was wrong—just the kind that wrapped around the rooms like a soft blanket, like the house itself was holding its breath. Outside, late afternoon light filtered through the trees, golden and warm, dancing across the wooden floors.

Wanda stood in the doorway of the nursery, arms folded beneath her belly, just watching.

The room had become her favorite in the house.

The soft sage green walls, the floating stars charmed to twinkle gently overhead, the twin cribs side by side with tiny handmade name plaques still blank. She and Y/N hadn’t quite settled on names yet. Every time they thought they had, the boys would kick just a little harder—like they were holding out for something better.

Y/N entered behind her, barefoot, wearing an old t-shirt and sweats, carrying the final box. She paused at Wanda’s side and smiled at the sight of her just standing there, soaking it all in.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, setting the box down gently by the bookshelf.

Wanda nodded slowly. “I think… this is the first time it feels real. Like we’re not just preparing for something. Like it’s actually going to happen.”

Y/N stepped behind her and wrapped both arms around her middle, hands resting protectively over the bump.

They stood in silence, eyes on the soft-colored room, the glow of the low charmed lights making everything feel distant and dreamlike.

And then, Wanda said it.

Barely more than a whisper.

“Billy… and Tommy.”

Y/N stilled—then tightened her arms, just a little.

“That’s it?” she whispered against Wanda’s ear.

Wanda nodded slowly. “It just… feels right. Doesn’t it?”

Y/N kissed the side of her neck, her voice full of wonder. “It feels perfect.”

And then, something happened.

Nothing.

No flutter. No kick. No shifting or squirming.

The babies were still. Peaceful.

Y/N smiled against Wanda’s shoulder, eyes closed. “I think they heard you.”

Wanda tilted her head just slightly. “And they approve?”

“I think… they’re listening,” Y/N murmured. “And for the first time, they’re calm. Like they know they’re safe.”

Wanda’s eyes glistened.

And for a long moment, they just stood like that—holding each other, wrapped in the golden hush of the nursery, the quiet weight of their future pressing gently into the space around them.

Y/N bent down to press two soft kisses to the top of the bump.

“Goodnight, Billy,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

Still no movement.

Just peace.

And Y/N—heart full, arms full—loved every second of it.

---

The Day

It started in the early hours of the morning.

A shift in the air.

Y/N had been lightly dozing, her arm draped over Wanda’s waist, nose buried in her hair, when she felt her stir—not a dreamy stretch or sleepy sigh like usual, but a tense, sudden inhale.

“Wands?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. Her hand had flown to her belly, and she was completely still—too still.

Y/N sat up in an instant. “Hey. What is it?”

Wanda finally turned to look at her. Her face was pale, eyes wide. “I think… I think it’s time.”

Then the contraction hit, hard and sharp. She gasped, her hand flying to her bump as her whole body tensed.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but her body moved before her mind could catch up. She pressed a kiss to Wanda’s temple and whispered, “I’ve got you.”

In a blur of speed, Y/N zipped around the room—throwing the hospital bag over her shoulder, grabbing Wanda’s slippers, phone, her favorite cardigan.

When she returned, Wanda was trying to breathe through another contraction, gripping the sheets and muttering something in Sokovian that sounded like a creative death threat.

Y/N comes back to the room in a blur. “Okay. Okay. We’re good. We’re ready. You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay!” Wanda hissed, gripping the sheets. “There’s two of them trying to break out of me!”

Y/N was at her side in an instant, helping her sit up, brushing sweat-damp hair back from her face.

“You’re doing amazing,” Y/N said gently, heart pounding. “We’ve got time. We’ll go slow. Just breathe through it.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to breathe,” Wanda snapped, grabbing her arm in a death grip as another contraction hit. “You did this to me!”

Y/N bit back a smile. “I did. Guilty. But I also made pancakes and picked the nursery colors. It evens out.”

Wanda let out a pained laugh—half a groan, really—and clutched at her bump. “If I throw a hex at you, it’s not personal.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Y/N hooked her arms under Wanda, and scooped her up effortlessly.

“You are not walking,” Y/N said gently, already heading for the door. “I’m carrying you. Period.”

Wanda didn’t argue. Her arms wound tightly around Y/N’s shoulders, her face buried in her neck.

As they reached the car, another contraction hit—and this time, Wanda’s hand gripped tighter, not around Y/N’s shoulders, but around her wrist.

Right over her name.

The name glowing softly in soulmate script on Y/N’s skin.

Wanda clutched it, hard.

And just like that, the bond flared wide open.

Y/N felt the pain—sharp and burning, like her stomach was tearing from the inside out—but she gritted her teeth and kept her breathing steady.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t slow.

Because Wanda was whimpering against her, and nothing mattered more than getting her to safety.

“I’m okay,” Y/N whispered as she held her close. “Just hold on to me. Let me take some of it.”

“Y/N—” Wanda sobbed through the pain. “It’s too much, I—”

“No,” Y/N said, voice fierce and low. “You don’t get to do this alone. That’s not how this works.”

She set Wanda carefully into the passenger seat, buckled her in, then zoomed around the car to drive. The tires peeled slightly as she sped toward the compound’s med bay, heart pounding, every contraction Wanda had now laced through her veins as well, dulled but present, echoing in her soul.

By the time they arrived, Bruce and Helen Cho were waiting, along with the medical team—alerted by F.R.I.D.A.Y. the moment Wanda’s vitals spiked.

Wanda let out another pained cry, and Y/N was there instantly—opening the car door, lifting her again without asking.

She carried her straight through the doors, arms locked around her as the doors parted and staff scrambled to prepare.

“Vitals already syncing,” Helen said quickly. “We’ve got the twin monitors up. Wanda, you’re safe.”

Wanda could barely respond—sweating, eyes glazed from pain.

But her hand was still on Y/N’s wrist. Her grip on her name hadn’t loosened once.

And Y/N held her tighter because of it.

The contractions came faster, stronger. Wanda’s powers flickered in the lights above, the pain making the bond pulse wildly between them. Y/N could feel her suffering like it was her own, but she stayed calm—grounded—anchoring them both through every wave.

“You’re doing amazing,” Y/N whispered, pressing her forehead to Wanda’s between contractions. “We’re almost there. You’re not alone.”

Wanda choked on a breath, her voice hoarse. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I know, baby,” Y/N said, tears burning behind her eyes. “I love you more. Now let’s bring our boys into the world.”

And then, Helen looked up from the monitor with a focused smile.

“Wanda… it’s time to push.”

Y/N kissed her fiercely, her hands still steady, her name still glowing under Wanda’s grip.

“With you,” Wanda whispered, “always.”

---

The room held its breath.

Wanda’s body tensed as another wave of pain crashed through her. Her hands gripped Y/N’s tightly, the soulmate bond glowing like a lifeline between them.

“Push, Wanda,” Helen urged gently but firmly. “You’re doing so well.”

Wanda’s eyes squeezed shut. Her magic flared—crimson sparks flickering around her like a living flame, illuminating the dim med bay.

Y/N leaned close, whispering, “You’re stronger than you know. I’m right here.”

With a fierce cry, Wanda pushed, the magic bursting around her like a storm unleashed. The air shimmered with power, crackling and humming in time with her breath.

A soft, urgent wail filled the room.

Helen smiled through her mask. “It’s a boy.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears as she brushed a gentle hand through Wanda’s sweat-damp hair. “Our boy. Tommy.”

Wanda’s breathing was ragged but steadying as the medical team quickly tended to Tommy—wrapping him in soft blankets and placing him against Wanda’s chest.

His tiny fingers curled around hers, a perfect, fragile miracle.

Before the moment could settle, Wanda’s body tensed again.

“It’s time,” Helen said. “Another push.”

Again, Wanda’s magic flared—brighter this time, swirling gold and crimson around the room.

Y/N held her steady, feeling the pull of the bond—like the two of them were tethered by threads of light and love, unbreakable.

With a final, exhausted push, another sharp cry broke through the air.

Helen smiled wider. “And here’s Billy.”

Helen gently placed Billy on Wanda’s chest alongside Tommy. Both tiny boys instinctively snuggled close to their mother’s warm skin, their soft breaths mingling.

Y/N carefully wrapped her arms around the three of them—Wanda and the newborn twins—holding them all close, a circle of love and life.

Wanda’s tears spilled freely now, her voice barely a whisper. “They’re perfect.”

Y/N kissed her temple, heart swelling. “They’re ours.”

The room seemed to glow softly with the magic of the moment—the fierce love and unbreakable bond of their new family, finally whole.

---

The med bay room was softly lit, filled with the quiet hum of monitors and the faint scent of lavender from a diffuser Y/N had brought.

Wanda lay peacefully on the bed, exhausted beyond words, finally asleep. Her breaths were slow and steady, a fragile calm after the storm.

Y/N sat beside her in the chair, both babies cradled gently in her arms—Tommy and Billy nestled close, their tiny chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

The weight of them was light, but the feeling of holding their lives, their futures, was immense.

An hour later, Wanda’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion but softened by a peaceful calm. The dim glow of the nightlight bathed the room in gentle warmth, and the soft coos from the crib beside her whispered reassurance.

Y/N was there—always there—sitting quietly in the chair, her eyes full of love and quiet awe as she watched over their sleeping sons.

Wanda’s voice was barely more than a breath. “Are they... okay?”

Y/N’s smile was soft, tender. She reached out, gently brushing a stray curl from Wanda’s damp forehead. “They’re perfect. Both of them... sleeping so peacefully.”

Slowly, Wanda reached out, trembling fingers finding Y/N’s cheek. The warmth of her touch sent a comforting ripple through Y/N, who closed her eyes briefly, savoring the connection.

Y/N leaned down gently, her lips brushing softly against Wanda’s—light, tender, full of everything words couldn’t say.

When they pulled apart, Y/N rested her forehead against Wanda’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet stillness.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Wanda smiled through the tears gathering again, her heart swelling. “I love you too… more than anything.”

Y/N’s thumb traced small circles against Wanda’s cheek as she pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.

“Hey,” she whispered softly, “how are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”

Wanda blinked slowly, the exhaustion still heavy in her gaze. She gave a faint shake of her head.

“A little sore… but nothing I can’t handle.”

Y/N smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear.

“I’m right here. Whatever you need, okay?”

Wanda’s lips curled into a tired but grateful smile.

“Thank you… for being here.”

“Do you want to see them?” Y/N asked softly, her eyes warm and inviting.

Wanda nodded almost immediately, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes… please.”

With gentle care, Y/N rose from the chair and moved toward the crib beside the bed. She lifted Tommy first, cradling him tenderly in her arms. His tiny body was fragile and perfect, his little hands curled into delicate fists, his chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm.

Y/N settled back beside Wanda and carefully handed Tommy over. Wanda’s arms instinctively wrapped around the baby, holding him close to her heart. She stared down at his peaceful face, a soft smile spreading across her lips despite her weariness. “He’s so small… and so perfect.”

Y/N’s gaze softened as she watched Wanda connect with Tommy, the love between them palpable in the quiet room. After a moment, she quietly moved back toward the crib and lifted Billy, equally precious in his delicate newness.

Carrying Billy carefully, Y/N returned to Wanda’s side and gently guided the baby into her arms. Wanda’s eyes shone as she shifted, cradling both boys now—Tommy nestled against one side, Billy on the other. Their warmth radiated through Wanda’s tired body, filling the space with a serene sense of completeness.

“I can’t believe they’re really here,” Wanda murmured, her voice trembling with awe. “Our boys.”

Y/N reached out, resting a hand lightly on Wanda’s, the bond between them deepening in that quiet, perfect moment. “They are. And they’re ours. We made this family together.”

Wanda looked up, tears glistening in her eyes, and met Y/N’s gaze. “Thank you… for everything. For holding us, for being here.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with love. “Always. I’m not going anywhere.”

They sat there, wrapped in the quiet magic of new life, the steady breaths of their babies the sweetest melody either of them had ever known.

A soft knock echoed gently at the door, breaking the peaceful silence of the room.

Y/N glanced toward the sound, then turned her eyes back to Wanda with a quiet question.

“Do you think you’re ready for the team to come in?” she asked softly, her voice gentle and patient.

Wanda took a slow, steadying breath, still cradling Tommy and Billy close. Her eyes met Y/N’s, filled with a mix of exhaustion and vulnerability.

“Not sure… but maybe. I want them to meet the boys,” she whispered.

Y/N nodded, brushing a loving hand over Wanda’s arm.

“I’ll stay right here with you. When you’re ready, just say the word.”

Wanda squeezed Y/N’s hand, a faint smile breaking through her tiredness.

“Okay. Let them come in.”

Y/N rose and opened the door a crack, her smile warm as the team quietly filed inside, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the new family.

Wanda’s heart fluttered, surrounded by love and support, her hand tightening gently around her soulmate’s.

“We’re ready.”

The team entered the room with Tony leading the way, arms wide and grin bigger than ever.

“Alright, the rest of the chaos brigade has arrived,” he announced—quieter than usual, but still unmistakably Tony.

The others followed behind—Steve, Bruce, Sam, Bucky, Clint with Laura and their kids, and Pepper carrying little Morgan on her hip. The toddler peeked around with big curious eyes, her face lighting up as soon as she spotted Wanda in bed.

“There’s babies!” Morgan squealed, wriggling in Pepper’s arms. “Mommy, look! Two babies!”

Y/N stood beside the bed, her hand resting lightly on Wanda’s shoulder, eyes brimming with pride as she glanced down at their family. Wanda, now more awake and propped up with pillows, cradled both boys against her chest—Tommy in one arm, Billy in the other—her expression glowing with tired joy.

Laura stepped forward first, her smile soft and motherly. “You look amazing.”

“She says that to everyone after birth,” Clint teased, nudging her lightly.

“She means it,” Y/N chimed in, leaning in to press a kiss to Wanda’s hair. “Because it’s true.”

Wanda blushed, eyes fluttering shyly as she looked around at the people who had become their family—her family.

Steve approached, his arms crossed gently over his chest, his face lit up with genuine warmth. “They’ve got strong lungs. Heard them all the way down the hall.”

“Yeah,” Sam added with a smirk, “they’ve already got the superhero scream down.”

Bruce stepped closer, his gaze full of awe as he looked at the babies nestled safely against Wanda. “This is… kind of incredible. They’re perfect.”

“They’re ours,” Y/N said softly, the weight of those words settling into the room like a warm blanket.

Morgan wiggled in Pepper’s arms again, her small hands reaching. “I see? I see baby?”

Wanda chuckled gently, adjusting Tommy against her chest. “Maybe when they’re a little bigger, sweetheart.”

Morgan’s lip poked out in a pout. “But I be nice! I hold soft.”

Everyone chuckled at that, and Y/N lift the girl up closer Wanda and the boys to give her a closer look.

“See this one?” Y/N said gently, pointing to the baby in Wanda’s left arm. “That’s Tommy.”

Morgan’s eyes went wide. “Tommy!”

“And this is Billy,” Y/N added, motioning to the other twin.

Morgan leaned in close, whispering in awe, “So tiny…”

She reached out and softly stroked the back of Billy’s hand with one finger. “They sleepin’?”

“Not for long, probably,” Clint joked under his breath.

Morgan giggled and then turned her head toward Wanda. “They got magic like you?”

Wanda raised her brows with a playful smile. “Hmm… maybe. We’ll see.”

Laughter bubbled through the room—warm and easy—until a sharp, high-pitched wail suddenly cut through the joy.

Tommy’s tiny face scrunched red, his cry filling the room. A moment later, Billy followed suit, as if in protest at being left out of the attention.

Wanda instinctively shifted in the bed, murmuring soothing sounds as she gently rocked them both, but the effort made her wince—her body still sore and trembling with fatigue.

Y/N stepped in immediately, adjusting the pillows around Wanda and easing one arm to support Billy better while Wanda focused on calming Tommy.

“Alright, everyone,” Laura said with a knowing smile, clapping her hands together gently. “Let’s give Mama and the boys some space, yeah?”

There were a few soft laughs and warm farewells. Pepper scooped Morgan into her arms, the little girl blowing exaggerated kisses toward the twins. Tony made a quiet joke about starting a Stark-funded babysitting academy. Clint gave Y/N a thumbs-up as he herded his kids out.

The door clicked quietly shut behind them.

But Laura lingered.

Wanda looked up at her, the wailing now soft whimpers as she tried to calm both babies, her arms full, her body aching, her heart racing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said breathlessly, a hint of panic flickering in her eyes. “I can’t tell if they’re hungry or tired or just overwhelmed. What if I—”

“Mind if I stay a minute?” Laura interrupted gently, already stepping closer.

Wanda nodded quickly, relief washing over her features.

Laura crouched beside the bed, her voice low and calming. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just new. Let’s start with one at a time, okay?”

Y/N stepped in again, carefully lifting Billy from Wanda’s arms while Laura guided her.

“Here,” Laura said, softly and patiently, “pull Tommy in a little closer… yeah, like that. Let his cheek brush your chest—perfect. Now tilt him just a bit more… there.”

Wanda followed every word, focused and quiet, until—suddenly—Tommy latched.

She froze.

Her breath caught as she stared down at him, the room suddenly filled with nothing but the gentle rhythm of his sucking and the fragile, powerful warmth of the moment.

Her voice cracked. “He’s really… feeding.”

Laura smiled, brushing a hand over Wanda’s arm. “You did it. You’re doing it.”

Tears welled in Wanda’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Laura squeezed her shoulder and stood slowly. “You’ve got this, mama.”

She gave Y/N a small wink and quietly slipped out, giving them their moment.

Y/N moved closer again, Billy peacefully asleep in her arms now. She sat at the edge of the bed, watching Wanda with nothing but love in her eyes.

“You’re incredible,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss Wanda’s hair.

Wanda let her head rest lightly against Y/N’s shoulder, her body finally starting to ease. The fear, the doubt, the ache—it was still there, but so was something stronger.

“One down,” she murmured tiredly, looking at Billy.

Y/N smiled, gazing at the tiny boy in her arms. “One more to go.”

And in the soft glow of that quiet room, amidst gentle breaths and whispered reassurance, their little family settled—together, whole, and already stronger than they knew.

---

The car ride home was quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with two newborns in the backseat.

Y/N drove slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching back every so often to check on the twins’ carriers. Wanda sat in the passenger seat, still a bit sore, but glowing in that tired, dreamy way new mothers often did. Her hand rested protectively over her lap, where the hospital bracelet still clung loosely to her wrist.

The moment they pulled into the driveway of their home—the house they’d chosen together, built with laughter and dreams and paint samples—Wanda exhaled a deep breath.

“We’re home,” she whispered.

Y/N smiled, cutting the engine. “Yeah, baby. We made it.”

Inside, the house had been quietly prepped by Laura and Pepper while they were still in the med bay. Fresh sheets on the bed. Bottles lined up on the counter. Diapers stacked neatly in the basket beside the crib. A few soft balloons floated in the corner that read Welcome Home, Twins!

Wanda walked in slowly, Y/N carrying both babies in their carriers with ease, her speedster reflexes keeping them perfectly stable with every step.

They set everything down in the nursery first. Wanda lingered at the doorway, leaning against the frame as she stared into the peaceful room, breathing in the scent of fresh linen, baby powder, and quiet magic.

The two cribs stood side by side, already holding soft blankets and tiny plush toys. Above them, the names Tommy and Billy had been painted on the wall in elegant, hand-lettered strokes by Nat herself.

Wanda stood quietly at the doorway, leaning against the frame with misty eyes, her fingers gently rubbing over the soft fabric of her cardigan stretched around her still-sore middle. She hadn't said a word since they’d walked in—just stared, taking it all in.

Y/N came up behind her, brushing a hand lightly down her back. Then, without warning, she hooked an arm behind Wanda’s knees and the other around her back, lifting her up effortlessly.

“Y/N!” Wanda gasped, though her arms immediately looped around her neck.

“You shouldn't be standing this long,” Y/N said gently, her tone more teasing than scolding. “Doctor’s orders—and mine.”

“I’m fine.”

“You just gave birth yesterday. You’re not supposed to be ‘fine’ yet.”

Wanda sighed but let her head fall onto Y/N’s shoulder, secretly loving it. “You just like carrying me around.”

Y/N smirked. “Absolutely. And I will abuse that privilege until you’re sick of me.”

“Never gonna happen.”

Y/N carried her carefully and sat down on the cushioned rocker by the window in the nursery, cradling Wanda on her lap like she was made of glass. Wanda settled easily against her, one hand on her chest, the other resting over her own belly as they both looked at the sleeping twins.

Tommy shifted a little in his crib, a sleepy grunt escaping him. Billy, on the other hand, remained still—his mouth slightly open, his little fists curled by his cheeks.

“They’re really ours,” Wanda murmured.

Y/N kissed her temple. “They always were.”

They stayed like that in the nursery for a while—rocking slowly, wrapped in each other, hearts still catching up to the reality that the twins were here, that this was their life now.

The soft sound of the babies breathing filled the room like music. A lullaby made of love.

Eventually, Wanda’s eyelids began to flutter closed, her head heavy on Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N looked down at her with a soft smile, brushing her nose against Wanda’s temple. “Time to get you into bed, my love.”

Wanda didn’t argue—just hummed quietly, her hand sliding up to rest over Y/N’s heart.

Carefully, Y/N stood, lifting Wanda back into her arms like she weighed nothing at all.

“You know,” Wanda mumbled drowsily, “you don’t have to carry me everywhere.”

“I know,” Y/N said, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she carried her down the hall. “But I want to. Let me take care of you.”

Wanda didn’t fight it—only sighed, content, as Y/N pushed open the door to their room and gently laid her down on the freshly made bed. She helped Wanda settle in against the pillows, pulling the blanket over her legs before sliding in beside her.

The night was quiet. Safe. Their home now filled with more love than either of them had ever known.

Y/N turned to her, propping herself on one elbow as she looked over Wanda’s face, brushed her fingers lightly along her cheek.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked softly.

Wanda blinked slowly, then gave a tired little smile. “A bit… but nothing I can’t handle.”

Y/N frowned, brushing her hand gently down to Wanda’s side, not pushing, just grounding. “You don’t have to handle it alone.”

“I’m not,” Wanda whispered, her fingers finding Y/N’s wrist—where her name still glowed faintly in the dark. “You’re here.”

Y/N leaned in, pressing a kiss to Wanda’s lips, slow and reverent.

“Always.”

They laid there in silence for a few moments, foreheads touching, breaths mingling in the dark.

And down the hall, two soft sighs came from the nursery.

Wanda turned her head just slightly, resting her lips against Y/N’s pulse. “It was always you,” she breathed. “Even before I knew your name.”

Their marks pulsed in quiet harmony—no longer just symbols, but living proof of everything they’d endured, everything they’d chosen. Through heartbreak, through silence, through war and fire and longing. And now, at last, peace.

This was what fate had written in their souls.

Not just a meeting.

Not just survival.

But a life—woven together, one breath, one heartbeat, one forever at a time.

As moonlight poured into their room, painting soft silver over the bed, over their joined hands and quiet promises, their little family rested—whole, safe, and finally complete.

And in the dark, their soulmarks glowed softly in unison.

Eternal.

Unbreakable.

Home.

---

The End

---

The next part is the epilogue everybody!

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

You stared up at the ceiling as you soaked in the tub. It felt like you were screaming in your head, but the volume was turned down to the point where you couldn’t even hear yourself. You weren’t sure if you were still angry from Bucky breaking ties with your parents or if you were resolute in what would happen going forward. Or maybe you were still tired from everything.

Probably both tbh

Natasha’s face shimmered in your mind since you now had some unexpected time off. “Self defense lessons later this week? Please and thanks. I hope you’re doing okay.”

She's a gem 🫰🏻

You wondered if you should tell her about your plans to help other women. Bucky gave you the green light and wanted to help how he could, but she would have insight and perspective that he didn’t. Would he be jealous if you sought out her opinion? Too bad if he did. This project would be yours with your rules.

Period 👏🏻

You felt his penetrating gaze. He wanted to see you, touch you. “Bucky, what if I never sleep with you? Would you still want me in your life?” you asked curiously. His obsession ran deep and he said he would never force you, but what if you never gave in? What then? A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Yes, I would.”

Oh 👀

He nodded slowly. “I haven't made it a secret that I want you physically. I dream of all the ways I’ll make you say my name and I think of how perfect you'll feel when I'm inside you. The thought of having you haunts my every waking moment in the best way,” he answered, your breath hitching when he crossed the distance to you. “But I want your heart and love. That’s what I want the most.”

That is actually really sweet

Because love wasn't easy or a passive feeling. It was a choice. Love was about choosing someone over and over, even when it was difficult. As he chose you, didn't he realize you had to choose him in return?

I guess we will see what will happen in the future

Your hands shook when you selected the undergarments. You had to admit they were sexy and would look good on you, which was exactly what you wanted. He’d be on his knees begging for a glimpse while you’d be lost in the world of friendship and letting loose.

🙂‍↕️👏🏻

“You said you’d never make me give up work,” you reminded him, and you wouldn’t. “I only asked because if your new passion project takes off it may take a lot of your time and energy,” he said softly. “You’re worried that doing both will take my time away from you,” you guessed. He’d want your attention too much and wouldn’t want to share with everyone else.

She instantly clocked it

He chuckled. “We’ll make time for each other. Meals together, dates, talking to each other in bed before we go to sleep,” he said. He made it sound like a dream. “Time isn't the issue. I don’t want you spread too thin.”

Of course he puts it in a sweet and caring way

“Will you really let me dance with you if I behave?” he asked, sounding strained. He wanted your love and heart, but it had to be pure agony having you just out of his reach. 

Someone has to put him in his place sometimes 🤷🏻‍♀️

You met his eyes in the mirror when he came up behind you and slipped the necklace on. Elegant, expensive. “Yes, I am,” you said. The second she saw you at the club, even when you’d smile, she’d sense something was off. She was your best friend and knew you too well. You owed it to her and yourself to give her at least a part of the truth of your life. “There’s already enough secrets and I don’t need to carry one more.” Even then, you couldn’t tell her what happened to your attacker since you still didn’t know. 

She is so realy for that! Also not telling your bestie? Yeah right, he can kiss her goodbye right then and there

His lips parted, but he didn’t look too surprised. “I imagine she’ll want to speak with me,” he said, his fingers moving along your skin. That gave you a reason to pause. How would Bucky react when faced with her? “She will,” you agreed. She wouldn’t just want to, she’d insist. “Because she cares about me.” If the roles were reversed, you’d demand to speak to Brady and make sure Addison was safe and cared for. 

That's just the true best friends actually, seems like Bucky doesnt know a lot about that 👀

There was a crack in his expression. “It isn’t a contest, but I still feel like I’ve won because I have you.” He didn’t say it like you were a prize, but you felt like a shiny trophy anyway. “You won because you rigged the system in your favor,” you said.

“I would’ve given it to you and would’ve looked forward to hearing from you,” you told him, his head lifting to gaze at you. “But that’s not what happened,” you whispered. As much as you wish things would’ve worked out that way, that wasn’t your reality. 

One hit after the other, she's on fire lol👏🏻

“Your friends arrived,” Bucky said, chuckling at his phone as you checked yours. Bucky had wanted you to arrive minutes after them, maybe so he could have a bit more time with you to himself. “And apparently Dana asked if Hal could be their personal bartender.” You didn’t mean to laugh, but it came out anyway. You had a feeling Hal would eat that up. Not to mention Dana was harmless since she’d never cheat. She just appreciated a good looking man when she saw one. “Since I’m in charge tonight, I’d love for Hal to be our personal bartender.”

Hahah what a start to the evening

You tugged the strands and received a pleased groan in response. “You will not dock his pay,” you said. Bucky said he gave Hal a raise after the John incident, but you weren’t sure what his paycheck was and you understood the struggle of budgeting and being careful with your funds.

She's so right for this 👏🏻 I have a feeling Buclys employees might like her a lot more than Bucky real soon, because his temper is a liability as a boss in a workspace lol

Curtis didn’t flinch, but something passed over his eyes. You felt the need to defend him because Bucky’s hands were far from clean and it wasn’t his story to tell. “My blood isn’t on his hands and that’s what matters, so leave him alone.” The silence that followed cut like a knife. Curtis’s exhale was audible, shaky, but he gave you a single nod. One of respect and thanks. 

“Curtis? You’ll stay close, right?” you called out when the partition rolled down. You put a hand on Bucky’s thigh when he growled and tried not to feel worried that he may fire him. Did Bucky fire people or did he make them disappear?

Valid question

Love her bond and alliance with Curtis!

Hold You Tight - Part 29

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 28 | Series Masterlist | Part 30

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4k

Chapter Summary: You have a heart-to-heart with Bucky before going to the club, and you hope he keeps his word.

Chapter Warnings: Kissing, jealousy, tension, bonding of sorts, inner turmoil, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 and @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stared up at the ceiling as you soaked in the tub. It felt like you were screaming in your head, but the volume was turned down to the point where you couldn’t even hear yourself. You weren’t sure if you were still angry from Bucky breaking ties with your parents or if you were resolute in what would happen going forward. Or maybe you were still tired from everything.

It didn’t make sense. You should’ve been happy since tonight was going to be a night to take back control, something you desperately wanted. So why weren’t you smiling? Why weren’t you holding yourself high since Bucky agreed to your terms? Was the apprehension from the fact that the night was young and he hadn’t proven anything yet? The only thing he continued to prove was that he wasn’t letting you go, and he would hurt or destroy anyone who disrespected you�� except for himself.

You dragged yourself from the tub after a while and checked your phone. A smile crossed your face when you saw how excited the girls were to go to the club. This night wasn’t just about you, but them, too. “The family I chose,” you whispered. The family you’d do anything to protect.

You frowned when you saw a message from Mrs. Crandle. “I know you're going through some things, so I arranged for you to have the week off. Don't worry about pay or your schedule. I have it sorted. You just let me know if you need anything.”

Your heart sank. A whole week off? You had the money, thankfully, but you wanted to do your job. You appreciated that she was looking out for you the way a good boss should. “Thank you so much. I’ll reach out if I need anything.”

Natasha’s face shimmered in your mind since you now had some unexpected time off. “Self defense lessons later this week? Please and thanks. I hope you’re doing okay.”

You wondered if you should tell her about your plans to help other women. Bucky gave you the green light and wanted to help how he could, but she would have insight and perspective that he didn’t. Would he be jealous if you sought out her opinion? Too bad if he did. This project would be yours with your rules.

“Barnes said you’d be reaching out. Send me your schedule and we’ll set up a time. And don’t worry about my well-being. I’m more concerned about you. Take care of yourself.”

You sighed, not wanting her to worry about you either. You had enough to think about. Lois, arranging the flowers for Bucky’s mom, Thor's party, the double date with Steve, the wedding, and-

“Enjoy your bath?”

You were lucky you didn't drop your phone or fall when you spun around to face Bucky. He had a smug smirk on his face as he leaned against the door. “Jesus,” you whispered, tugging the robe tighter around yourself. How long had he been standing there? “I swear you enjoy scaring me.”

“I wasn't trying to scare you. I was just watching you.”

You shivered. Bucky was always watching you in some capacity. “And you were tired of watching and wanted my attention… while I’m naked.”

His eyes flashed with lust. “You're not completely naked since you're wearing a robe.”

You felt his penetrating gaze. He wanted to see you, touch you. “Bucky, what if I never sleep with you? Would you still want me in your life?” you asked curiously. His obsession ran deep and he said he would never force you, but what if you never gave in? What then?

A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Yes, I would.”

You didn't blink. “Really?” That wasn't the answer you were expecting. 

He nodded slowly. “I haven't made it a secret that I want you physically. I dream of all the ways I’ll make you say my name and I think of how perfect you'll feel when I'm inside you. The thought of having you haunts my every waking moment in the best way,” he answered, your breath hitching when he crossed the distance to you. “But I want your heart and love. That’s what I want the most.”

He looked at your mouth only for a moment before looking into your eyes. You didn't move. Didn't speak. No matter the question, no matter the path, the man was going to choose you every time.

Because love wasn't easy or a passive feeling. It was a choice. Love was about choosing someone over and over, even when it was difficult. As he chose you, didn't he realize you had to choose him in return?

“Will you really keep your distance tonight?” you asked. 

You held your breath when his hand went to the tie of your robe, but made no move to undo it. “It’ll be very difficult, but I’m determined to prove my worth to you and that I’m a man of my word,” he replied. 

Was that his intention, or was he playing the game of luring you into a false sense of comfort? You hated it. You hated how his manipulations, his gaslighting, made you continue to question every single thing. It wasn't a way to live. 

“We both need help,” you whispered. 

“What?” he asked, but you shook your head and pulled away. The weight of everything felt heavy once again and you didn't want to face it tonight. 

“Nothing. I should get dressed,” you said. Tonight was for fun and reclaiming a part of yourself. Tomorrow you could continue to pick up the pieces of the wreckage. 

“Let me help, please,” he said, taking your hand before you could leave. “At the very least, let me put your necklace and shoes on while we talk.”

If he helped you get dressed, there was a chance he may try something. It could be another way to prove his worth and word if he behaved. “You can help with the necklace and shoes.”

He smiled and kissed the top of your hand. “You’ll be the envy of everyone at the club.”

“That’s not the point,” you said, following him to the bedroom. You wondered how far away Curtis and Ray were. “I don’t want people to envy me.” Especially when there was nothing to envy. 

He paused to gaze at you. “But they will.”

“Because I’m ‘your girl’,” you said. That made sense if people there knew you were with him.

“Because you’re you and you're beautiful,” he corrected you, staying back while you went into the closet. “I’m not looking.”

“But I know you want to,” you muttered, going through the dresses. You chose a sleek black dress, your heart weeping. A black dress was what you wore the night Bucky first spotted you in his club and led him to carving his twisted path. 

“You sure you want to be out late tonight? You have work tomorrow,” Bucky said from outside of the door. 

“Mrs. Crandle gave me the week off,” you replied. 

“That was kind of her,” he said casually, respectfully. If he had a hand in it, he covered it up well. “Would you ever consider quitting the shop?”

Your hands shook when you selected the undergarments. You had to admit they were sexy and would look good on you, which was exactly what you wanted. He’d be on his knees begging for a glimpse while you’d be lost in the world of friendship and letting loose. “You said you’d never make me give up work,” you reminded him, and you wouldn’t. 

“I only asked because if your new passion project takes off it may take a lot of your time and energy,” he said softly. 

“You’re worried that doing both will take my time away from you,” you guessed. He’d want your attention too much and wouldn’t want to share with everyone else.

He chuckled. “We’ll make time for each other. Meals together, dates, talking to each other in bed before we go to sleep,” he said. He made it sound like a dream. “Time isn't the issue. I don’t want you spread too thin.”

You almost smiled at his genuine concern. “I’ll be okay. I know my limits,” you said, stepping out once you were dressed. 

Bucky blocked your path before you could walk to the vanity. “Fuck,” he whispered, giving you a thorough look. It was the look you predicted he’d have, except hungrier when he attempted to close the difference. You felt powerful and untouchable when you held a hand up to stop him. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“That word,” you whispered. He had you back on the pedestal. He never brought you down from it. “But thank you.”

“Will you really let me dance with you if I behave?” he asked, sounding strained. He wanted your love and heart, but it had to be pure agony having you just out of his reach. 

You shrugged and walked around him. “Maybe,” you replied, running a finger along one of the expensive bottles as you sat down. “Depends on how much fun I’m having with my friends.” 

How many of Bucky’s men would watch you tonight? At that moment you didn’t care. Let them look. Let them see that you weren’t broken. 

He groaned and went to pick out a necklace for you. “You’re going to tell Addison, aren’t you?” 

“Tell her what exactly?” you asked, taking a moment to look at your reflection. At least you didn’t look as exhausted as you previously felt.

“About your attack and the fact that you’re living with me now,” he replied.

You met his eyes in the mirror when he came up behind you and slipped the necklace on. Elegant, expensive. “Yes, I am,” you said. The second she saw you at the club, even when you’d smile, she’d sense something was off. She was your best friend and knew you too well. You owed it to her and yourself to give her at least a part of the truth of your life. “There’s already enough secrets and I don’t need to carry one more.” Even then, you couldn’t tell her what happened to your attacker since you still didn’t know. 

His lips parted, but he didn’t look too surprised. “I imagine she’ll want to speak with me,” he said, his fingers moving along your skin.

That gave you a reason to pause. How would Bucky react when faced with her? “She will,” you agreed. She wouldn’t just want to, she’d insist. “Because she cares about me.” If the roles were reversed, you’d demand to speak to Brady and make sure Addison was safe and cared for. 

“She does care about you.” He maintained eye contact when he leaned down and kissed your neck. “But no one cares about you more than I do,” he said. Sharp. Protective.

“It isn’t a contest,” you whispered. 

There was a crack in his expression. “It isn’t a contest, but I still feel like I’ve won because I have you.”

He didn’t say it like you were a prize, but you felt like a shiny trophy anyway. “You won because you rigged the system in your favor,” you said.

His jaw tightened, but his eyes remained soft. “I guess I did,” he said, turning your chair so you were no longer looking in the mirror and dropping to his knees. You remembered the reverse in your old apartment, him on his knees taking your shoes off. It seemed like so long ago. “But I haven’t really won yet since the race isn’t over.”

“What race?”

“To win your heart,” he whispered, grasping your ankle to help put your shoe on. He did so carefully like you were a work of art he was carving with his own hands. “Bookstore.”

You refused to melt under his touch. “Bookstore?” you repeated, confused. 

“In another life, I imagine us meeting in a bookstore instead of me doing what I did. I’d walk in, probably having an off day and needing something familiar and comforting, and I’d see you- smiling, beautiful, enough to make my heart stop before it started beating again,” he explained, bringing your foot up to kiss it. You shivered involuntarily. “I’d offer to buy you a book and maybe a treat to go with it. You’d say I didn’t have to do that for you, but I’d insist and you’d thank me before asking me to join you in the cafe area.”

“Us sitting and talking about our favorite books.” You didn’t want to picture it, but you could see it clearly in your mind. Bucky would’ve been dressed down instead of wearing a suit, a blue shirt to go with his eyes.  His hair would’ve been a bit of a mess and he’d offer a soft smile when he bought the book. You wouldn’t have been able to resist. 

“Yeah,” he smiled sadly, setting your foot down to grab the other. “I wouldn’t have left without getting your number and would’ve tried to wait a reasonable amount of time before reaching out.”

“I would’ve given it to you and would’ve looked forward to hearing from you,” you told him, his head lifting to gaze at you. “But that’s not what happened,” you whispered. As much as you wish things would’ve worked out that way, that wasn’t your reality. 

“Our story is… different. Unique. Messy. Because I’m a monster disguised as a king,” he said, kissing your inner ankle. “You said so yourself that I’m a monster.”

You inhaled sharply. “Bucky, I…” How could you argue with that when you had called him that? 

“A monster who has you trapped in an expensive tower, refusing to ever let you go, but hoping you’ll still flourish by my side,” he continued, kissing higher and breathing against your skin. You clenched, you ached, you couldn’t help yourself. “Maybe I can never be completely redeemed, but I can be… rewritten. Reshaped.”

You looked down at him, your eyes raw. The silence was tense as he placed another kiss on your skin, this time on your inner thigh. He touched you like he had the right, breathed your name like he owned it. “And what if you can’t?” you asked. 

There wasn’t doubt in your tone, but Bucky was surrounded by people who fed the monster within and encouraged him to be the worst version of himself. Curtis and Natasha weren’t as bad as the others as they only gave him scraps and Ray did what he could, but you were the only one who seemed to soothe the beast. Was that power or just an unhealthy reliance?

His mouth didn’t move any higher, but you put your foot to his chest anyway to push him back. “If anyone has the capacity to love a monster, it’s you.”

“You think too much of me,” you said. He asked too much of you, too. “I’m trying to heal,” you added. From Clark, from Bucky, too. All of it. 

He didn’t appear deterred. “Thinking too much of you doesn’t mean you won’t love me. And you heal as loudly or quietly as you need to. No one can tell you how to process it, especially me.”

Something in your chest twisted when he got to his feet. “I just wish you didn’t have to crawl into the cracks of my life to bring us here,” you told him. He shouldn’t have had to rearrange your world to get you.

His breath caught when he opened his mouth. “But you crawled into the cracks of my life and made me whole. How can I go back to who I was before that?”

He left, leaving something hollow in his absence. The necklace and dress suddenly felt too tight. You felt like you’d burst out of your skin. You refused because you wouldn’t let yourself shatter. He wouldn’t have control over you. 

Not tonight.

The drive to the club passed in quiet solitude. Ray and Curtis hardly spoke a word to you once you left the bedroom, but you felt their focus on you just the same. Bucky didn’t say much either, but he didn’t need to. His presence would linger long after he let you be. 

He had given you an olive branch on the way out the door- He set up a visit for you and Lois tomorrow. You hadn’t expected him to arrange it, but you shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew how much you wanted to see with your own eyes what condition she was in. You also wanted to assure her that Clark would never harm her again. Could you do that without revealing Bucky’s hand in it?

“Your friends arrived,” Bucky said, chuckling at his phone as you checked yours. Bucky had wanted you to arrive minutes after them, maybe so he could have a bit more time with you to himself. “And apparently Dana asked if Hal could be their personal bartender.”

You didn’t mean to laugh, but it came out anyway. You had a feeling Hal would eat that up. Not to mention Dana was harmless since she’d never cheat. She just appreciated a good looking man when she saw one. “Since I’m in charge tonight, I’d love for Hal to be our personal bartender.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, but that stopped the moment you ran your fingers through his hair. “Kotyonok, that’s not fair. I know the bastard will flirt with you.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” you teased, watching him close his eyes and breathe deeply. “Hal won’t flirt,” you said, not believing your own lie. “Plus I trust him to take care of my friends and me.”

Hal had defended you when John snapped at you at the bar and took his job seriously. He seemed decent. Well, as decent as anyone working for Bucky could be.

“Fine, but I’m docking his pay if he throws his shirt at you,” he said, a small smirk on his face.

You tugged the strands and received a pleased groan in response. “You will not dock his pay,” you said. Bucky said he gave Hal a raise after the John incident, but you weren’t sure what his paycheck was and you understood the struggle of budgeting and being careful with your funds.

“Fine,” he said again. You were relieved at that. “Only because you said so.” 

The bass thrummed through the car when it stopped in front of the club, a living and breathing entity. It was a bit ironic that you were willingly going there to take back control when you wanted nothing to do with the place the first time he brought you there. You had wanted to be invisible, to not be noticed. This time you painted the target on yourself for the man beside you.

“Curtis? You’ll stay close, right?” you called out when the partition rolled down. You put a hand on Bucky’s thigh when he growled and tried not to feel worried that he may fire him. Did Bucky fire people or did he make them disappear?

Curtis looked behind him and paid Bucky no mind. “I’ll keep handsy guys away if that’s what you’re asking for.”

“Jax and Ari can handle that,” Bucky said, his voice icy. 

“And so can Curtis,” you said. What was he jealous of? You were fond of Ray and the reactions were nothing like this. “He’s my bodyguard. Don’t forget that.”

Bucky forced a smile, cruel and bitter. “He may be your bodyguard and I may have been the one to suggest it, but I know he has blood on his hands that won't ever go away.”

Curtis didn’t flinch, but something passed over his eyes. You felt the need to defend him because Bucky’s hands were far from clean and it wasn’t his story to tell. “My blood isn’t on his hands and that’s what matters, so leave him alone.”

The silence that followed cut like a knife. Curtis’s exhale was audible, shaky, but he gave you a single nod. One of respect and thanks. 

Bucky’s breath out was shaky, too, but he gazed at you with respect, too, when he turned your face away from your bodyguard. “You’re right,” he whispered, kissing you softly. Not forceful, but certain. Gentle and assured. “I’m sorry I let jealousy get the better of me.”

So he admitted that he's jealous of Curtis. “It’s easier said than done, but there’s nothing to be jealous of,” you said in the space between you. It wasn’t like Curtis wanted you. Even if he did, nothing would come about with him or any other man for that matter. “Trust me.”

His mouth was on yours again, deeper but slow. “I do trust you,” he said once he pulled away. “I just… hate that he gets to be close to you tonight while I’m out of reach.”

Reverence and desire showed in Bucky’s eyes. He wanted so desperately to be in your orbit and he’d be tested once you walked through the doors. “You’ll only be out of reach until I offer my hand,” you said. 

He sighed, but nodded. “And I’ll be waiting to take it,” he said, helping you out.

As Bucky led you inside with Curtis not too far behind, the vibrant chaos of the lights, laughter, and sin washed over you. Bucky kept a hand on your lower back, his grip a bit looser than usual. It was almost respectful. Almost. 

Jax spotted you immediately and winked. You winked back and walked with purpose, carrying your invisible wounds and previous insecurities like badges of honor. Bucky held himself like a man who had everything. And he did, didn’t he?

“I still can’t meet her yet?” you asked when Bucky swept you past the coat check. Or maybe Steve’s girl had the night off. 

“Double date,” he reminded you. 

“That’s right,” you muttered. Another piece in the jagged price of his love. 

Bucky nodded and smiled at a few people, keeping you tucked in at his side. “Go to your friends,” he encouraged, his lips grazing yours when you faced him. “If they ask why I haven’t stopped by, you can tell them I have business to attend to first.”

You craned your head toward the VIP section and smiled when the girls spotted you and waved excitedly. “And you’ll only join when I say so?” You met Bucky's gaze and a silent challenge passed between you before he smiled. 

“You said ‘when’ and not ‘if’,” he said. 

You faltered. Did you mean to say that? “Don’t get cocky just yet,” you warned. Depending on how the night went, he may not have a chance. “Keep your word and watch.”

There was reluctant submission from the man who never bowed to anyone. But he nodded, a king ceding his crown and part of his kingdom for the night. “I'll be watching and waiting, Kotyonok,” he promised, his gaze and aura still overwhelming even as he reluctantly released you. “But if anyone touches you, I’ll ruin them. I swear to fucking God, I’ll-”

You cut him off with a tender kiss, like he had done to you in the car earlier that day. His hands found your hips and he moved closer like the pull of gravity, but you turned your head before it could become too heated. Your rules tonight, not his. “If someone tries to touch me, someone will stop it,” you soothed him, pulling out of his grasp.

His fingers twitched, but he didn't reach out to touch you again. “Go,” he breathed, a warning to walk away so he could keep his promise. 

There was a sway in your hips as you went to join your friends. You weren’t worried. He'd be your watchful shadow while you reigned.

But shadows had ways of wrapping around the light, and you'd be in his arms before the night was over. 

I don't want to spoil things, lovelies, but things may heat up a bit in the next chapter. What do you think will happen? And the blood on Curtis's hands, what is that story? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[danitcx]

La bondad en sus ojos (Parte 2)

Part 1 - The Way He Waits for You

Thank you for your sweet comments on part 1 — I love you all! 💗 Here’s part 2 (finally)! Hope it makes you smile a little

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Clark Kent x shy!female reader

Synopsis: A quiet walk home, a bowl of ramen, and the realization that Clark Kent might know more about you than you expected. You didn’t want to believe it. But his nervous smile… and the way he remembered your favorite dish… made your heart wonder: was this really just kindness?

Warnings: Fluff, slow burn, soft tension, jealous!reader moment, nervous!Clark, implied date, lots of eye contact, shy!reader

WC: 2,720 aprox

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If happiness could take human form, then surely, it would bear the name Clark Kent.

That same Clark who had followed you silently after leaving the bar, without even saying goodbye to the others, just to make sure you were okay. He didn’t say it directly, of course, but there was concern in his eyes. And in his voice, softness. He was the one who encouraged you to go with him to buy ramen.

Only when you got home did you realize something that made you stop in your tracks: how did he know you liked ramen? You hadn’t mentioned it.

And then you remembered.

“One ramen with carbonara and spice, and another carbonara with cheese, but mild. That’s her favorite,” Clark had said as he looked at the man at the counter.

You hadn’t even reacted. You were still so distracted by the situation around you that you didn’t notice his immediate blush when he realized what he had revealed. He covered it up quickly, asking what drink you wanted with a slightly shaky voice. And even if you didn’t say anything, you noticed.

Since that night, the question lingered in your mind: What if Clark… was interested in you?

It was hard to believe. Clark was kind, yes. But not just with you. He was the kind of man who apologized even when he didn’t need to. The one who said sorry for bumping into you even though you had been the distracted one. His sweetness felt almost… unreal. And yet, it seemed so genuine.

“Excellent, this one’s much better,” Perry said, flipping through your article with an approving look.

The meeting had already gone over an hour, and everyone looked tired. But hearing your work was approved gave you an unexpected surge of energy. You smiled in relief and nodded, taking the article in your hands. When you looked up, you saw him. Clark.

He was looking at you from across the room with a calm smile. But the moment his eyes met yours, his expression changed. He blushed. And you, with a small internal jolt, quickly looked away.

But it was too late. Your stomach had started to flutter.

“All right, everyone has their assignment,” Perry announced. “You may go. Get some rest.”

Chairs scraped as everyone stood. You were the first to leave, as always, avoiding any invitation to hallway chats or impromptu meetings that might put you in the same situation as last time. You grabbed your things without looking back.

But you stopped halfway down the hall.

The silence of the building after a long meeting was almost comforting. You stood still, hand clutching your bag strap, hesitating. Despite avoiding those situations, you wanted to talk to Clark again.

You remembered clearly: he spoke with flushed cheeks and a nervous laugh that made him even sweeter. He didn’t say anything personal, just things about university, his job, or Perry… but you felt comfortable. Really comfortable. For the first time, you could look at him for more than two seconds. Up to fifteen. And when his eyes found yours, something in your chest calmed. At least for a few seconds. Then the nerves would return and you’d look away, trembling. But it didn’t matter. Because with him… you felt safe.

You hesitated, moved to the side of the hallway, pretending to check something in your bag. You waited for everyone to leave, even Perry. But Clark didn’t. And that seemed strange to you. He was always quick to leave. Maybe… was fate giving you a chance?

Your breath caught for a moment, overcome by nerves. But even so, you took a step toward the meeting room. You approached slowly and just as you were about to enter, you heard voices.

"Then, Clark… who are you going to choose to help you with what Perry asked for?" said a feminine voice.

It was Adelle. One of the lead analysts on the team, just like Clark, although she'd been at the office longer. She was standing, leaning against one of the desks next to him, laughing freely. Her voice was soft, confident. And her hands rested with a suspicious familiarity over her own chest, just as she leaned toward him.

Clark was smiling, though his cheeks were blushing.

Your heart sped up. Literally.

And as if he had felt it —as if that heart of yours made more noise than your footsteps— he looked up. His eyes found yours with an intensity that made you shiver.

Adelle turned too, raising an eyebrow when she saw you, without wiping the smile from her face.

You blushed instantly.

"I… hi…" you said, stepping into the space as if you were looking for something. "Just… thought I forgot something," you murmured to yourself, pretending to check the desk.

"Don't go," Clark's voice stopped you with gentle firmness.

You turned to him, surprised.

"Actually…" he added, stepping slightly away from Adelle, "I was going to ask if you could help me with… what Perry asked for. I'm sorry, Adelle, I must leave."

He said it so quickly that Adelle barely had time to react. Clark was already beside you, his presence warm, close.

"Shall we talk outside?" he asked, lowering his voice a bit.

You nodded with a small motion.

Before leaving, he turned to Adelle politely.

"Good night," he said with courtesy, then gestured for you to follow him.

You walked out behind him in silence, not daring to say anything.

You couldn’t be jealous. You weren’t his girlfriend. You couldn’t even say for sure that you liked him. He was just… Clark. Kind, considerate, sweet. And you knew he was like that with everyone. Even so, that slight blush on his face when he saw you, that way he rushed out just to catch up to you… made you think that maybe, just maybe… you weren’t imagining things. “So… can you help me?” Clark asked after a while, when the elevator opened and they walked in silence until they stepped out onto the street.

“Yes,” you said without looking at him, and he nodded gently.

A few more seconds passed, and just when you thought you’d say goodbye and go your separate ways, his voice reached you again:

“Do you want to have dinner?”

You looked at him with some surprise, stopping in your tracks. The night air brushed your face like a whisper you couldn’t quite interpret.

“There’s no need for you to give me something so I’ll agree,” you replied, not a hint of a smile, eyes lowered and voice firm, though trembling. “It’s work. I’ll help you.”

Clark frowned slightly, still looking at you.

“Give something?” he repeated. “No… actually, I just—”

“I interrupted, didn’t I?” you cut in, suddenly, with a forced bravery that made your pulse race. You held your ground, even though everything inside you was shaking. “You were going to ask Adelle. Go to her and tell her instead. Don’t pity me, Clark. You don’t have to be kind to everyone.”

Your cheeks were burning. The knot in your throat tightened.

Clark looked at you in silence for a second that felt eternal. And when you took a step back, ready to flee again, he gently held your arm. Not with force. Just enough so you wouldn’t walk away without hearing him.

“I’m kind because… I don’t really know,” he let out a nervous laugh and looked down at his own hand, still on your arm. He pulled it back right away. “Sorry,” he muttered, embarrassed. Then he smiled—that smile of his that always seemed to disarm the chaos.

“You’re an excellent writer. And journalist. Your articles are among the best at the Daily Planet. You adapt easily to any topic. Yes, your strengths are politics and food, but you still help Jimmy with sports, Cat with culture… everyone says the same. That you help without expecting anything in return. That you make others feel safe.”

You looked at him, surprised. It felt like he was undressing you with words you’d never been able to say to yourself.

“And of course,” he continued, a bit more slowly, “the dinner isn’t for work. It’s… a date.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Literally.

—Oh was all you managed to say.

Your eyes were shining. Your heart was pounding. But you didn’t say anything else. You didn’t know how. You didn’t know what to do with that feeling filling your chest. It wasn’t that you felt small… it was something else. As if suddenly you saw a version of yourself you had forgotten. As if the way he looked at you… made you want to believe in yourself again.

Clark noticed your silence and rushed to speak:

"But if you're uncomfortable… we can do the same as last time. I talk. You listen. And when you're ready… you talk. I’ll adapt to you. I just want to get to know you more. Understand you."

You looked at him. You breathed. It was hard. But you did it.

"Where are we going?" you asked softly.

He smiled instantly, with that bright expression that made him look younger.

"There's a restaurant nearby," said Clark, starting to walk. You followed him without thinking much.

"Italian?" you asked curiously.

"Uh-huh. Very popular according to the reviews. But I’m sure you know it… you wrote one. I read it," he added with a slightly guilty smile, as if he had just confessed a secret.

"Trattoria di Fiore?" you said, surprised. "Famous for its pasta and wood-fired pizzas. You read it?"

Your heart skipped a little. Had Clark really read something of yours just because he wanted to?

"Yeah. Everyone reads your reviews," he replied calmly. "Every time you publish one, half the Daily Planet ends up going to try the place. Jimmy swears he discovered his favorite restaurant thanks to you… although I think he only goes because they serve double chocolate ice cream."

You chuckled quietly.

"I gave in too," he continued. "And I wanted to try it. And what better than to go with you?"

"Oh… I didn’t know," you murmured, still processing everything.

Clark shrugged with a shy smile.

"You're more famous at work than you think. And… among everyone, I’m your number one fan."

You looked at him, surprised and a little blushed. But he quickly added, in a playful voice:

"Although please, don’t see me now as Clark Clark."

"No? Like Joseph?" you asked, raising an eyebrow with a small smile, referring to his middle name.

Clark let out a genuine, slightly embarrassed laugh.

"No, no, please," he said, scratching his neck while trying to maintain eye contact. "If you call me Joseph, I feel like I’m in… I don’t know, a job interview or about to be arrested. ‘Clark Joseph Kent, is it true you ordered three pizzas in one night?’"

Your laugh came out before you could stop it. It was soft at first, then more open. You covered your mouth with your hand, but it was already too late: your dimples showed, your eyes sparkled like something inside you had suddenly been freed.

Clark looked at you, a bit overwhelmed by the tenderness of that moment.

"Wow…" he whispered, barely audible.

"What?" you asked, lowering your gaze in embarrassment, as if laughing was something you weren’t supposed to do.

He shook his head, nervous too.

"Nothing. Just… I’m glad I made you laugh. I thought I was going to say something stupid."

"You did," you said without thinking, then covered your mouth again. "But I liked it."

Clark laughed too, placing a hand on his chest as if pretending to be wounded.

"It hurts, but I accept it. I’ll make a fool of myself as many times as it takes if it means you’ll laugh like that."

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too much, but it was useless.

"So… you’re not Clark from work," you said softly.

"No, not at all," he said, more serious this time. "Today… I’m just Clark. The one hoping this will be a good date."

"I understood that before," you admitted, in a barely audible voice.

And he blushed again.

"Then I’ll pretend I didn’t read your review. Or that I don’t have the part where you recommend the dessert marked… although I did order it in advance just in case," he added with that sweet clumsiness so natural to him.

You walked by his side, and to your surprise, he didn’t stop making you laugh. Sometimes with absurd comments, other times with exaggerated observations about the signs on the way or the city lights. And even though some jokes were so silly you brought your hand to your face, you couldn’t help but smile. He liked making you laugh. He liked seeing you like that, free, light… being you.

As you walked, Clark glanced at you from the corner of his eye, as if trying to make sure everything was okay. And it was. It was more okay than he imagined.

In his pocket, almost like a secret, he carried a small folded sheet with a few handwritten notes. They were fragments of your review. Your favorite dishes. Your exact words about the atmosphere and the dessert you had loved. He had already decided what to order. He had already planned the moment.

Because he had already taken the first step. And he didn’t plan to stop.

[kaliuchisangel]

hiiii your malachi fics are so good. i was wondering if you could do one where like the reader is reading a book and malachi wants attention or smth and your like 5 more min and you keep saying it over and over and then he’s just done with waiting and kinda like takes matters into his own hands and starts kissing reader and stuff. it leads in to like a make out sesh or whatever you wanna do. thank you so much!!!!

Five More Minutes

Pairing: Malachi Barton x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Fluff, making out, teasing, Clingy Malachi but in a good way

Requests:open

A/N: Hey, pookie. Thanks, poookie. I do my best to keep yall entertained. I hope you like this, enjoy!

The sun poured through your bedroom window, casting golden stripes over your blanket and the open pages of your book. Your back was propped up against your headboard, legs tangled in a mess of pillows, completely absorbed in a fantasy world.

Malachi was lying horizontally across the foot of your bed, dramatically flopping around like a dying fish. His head hung slightly over the edge, curls wild and lips parted in exaggerated despair.

"You're ignoring me," he groaned, for the third time in fifteen minutes.

"Five more minutes," you mumbled without looking up.

Malachi sat up slowly, resting his chin on your ankle."That’s what you said five minutes ago.”

"Because I'm at a really good part."

"I am a really good part."

You bit back a smile.

Malachi pouted.

His fingers began tracing lazy circles on your leg.

“Y/N.”

“Malachi.”

“You’re obsessed with that book.”

“I’m obsessed with finishing it.”

He let out a noise between a sigh and a growl. “I’m literally here, in person, and you’re giving fictional people more attention than me. I might as well be a background character in your life right now.”

You chuckled softly. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic because I love you.”

That made you glance up, heart skipping slightly at the soft look in his eyes. He gave you a hopeful little smile, and you smiled back.

But then—like the traitor you were—you returned to your book.

“Just five more minutes,” you said again.

He blinked. Slowly sat up straighter.

You didn’t notice.

You were already back in another world. Your world.

Malachi stared at you. Then at your book. Then back at you. Something flickered behind his eyes—mischief. Determination.

“All right,” he muttered, crawling toward you like a cat. “You leave me no choice.”

You were too absorbed to catch it until he was kneeling between your legs, gently pulling the book right out of your hands.

“Hey!”

He tossed it over to the nightstand, then leaned in close, his voice low near your ear. “Five more minutes don’t exist when you look this pretty and keep ignoring me.”

“Mal—”

His mouth was already on yours.

Warm. Soft. Intentional.

You barely had time to register it before your fingers found his curls on instinct, tugging slightly as he deepened the kiss. It was a gentle kind of urgency—his lips slotting perfectly against yours, like he was trying to make up for all the attention you’d given to a story that wasn’t him.

You let out a soft gasp when his hands slid under your thighs, pulling you closer. His body settled between your legs like it belonged there.

“Still thinking about your book?” he mumbled against your lips.

“What book?”

He smirked, eyes glinting. “That’s what I thought.”

You kissed him again, harder this time. And he groaned, just a little, like he’d been waiting for that signal to let go.

His hands explored your waist, slipping under your shirt but not too far—just enough to send goosebumps crawling across your skin. He kissed you like he had a point to prove: that no character in your book could compare to this.

To him.

To the way his fingers trailed slowly down your spine, the way he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, to the quiet whisper of your name between each breath.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you.

You nodded, a little breathless. “You’re not so innocent either.”

He grinned and leaned back in, one hand cradling your cheek, the other gripping your hip. His kisses were slower now, but deeper. More possessive. He was claiming every second you hadn’t given him earlier.

One of your hands slid up under his hoodie, fingertips brushing over his warm skin. He tensed slightly, in a good way.

“Okay,” you whispered against his lips. “You win.”

He laughed softly, resting his forehead against yours. “I always do.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against his. “Five minutes is a scam.”

“Exactly,” he murmured. “Now shut up and kiss me again."

[rear-naked-chokehold]

Stallion

Islam spends so much time at the stables it's almost like he's forgotten you even exist. Well, if he loves those horses so much, maybe he wouldn't mind being one. cw: horseplay, breeding kink Sub!Devoted!Islam x Reader Reader is one hot, cruel femdom and is Islam's wife.

"Islam! Islam! Where are you?" You call throughout the house but your husband is nowhere to be seen. You check everywhere – the kitchen, the multiple sitting rooms and the home gym – to no avail.

Don't tell me that he's at the fucking stables again.

You knew that marrying a fighter would mean that he'd be away for months at a time, off at training camps or doing media tours. You didn't mind too much – you weren't one of those wives who just waited by the window for their husband to return – but it definitely didn't mean that Islam had free reign to just go off, frolicking without a care in the world.

You pull out your phone and text him.

40 minutes and no reply.

You already called your sister to cancel dinner with apologies, muttering something about an unexpected emergency. Your sister was understanding but there was something in her tone that let on that she definitely knew you were covering for your husband.

Who did Islam think he was? Making you come up with an embarrassing, half-baked lie like that??

Anger simmers through your veins and you consider packing a bag and going to your friend's house for the week. Maybe you'd even turn off your phone and give Islam a taste of his own medicine.

The last time you threatened to do that, Islam crawled on the ground to stop you from leaving. It was just after he had become champion against Oliveira and he was still riding high from all those stupid meet and greets with sheikhs in the UAE and Russian politicians.

You gave him a warning before you two got married that you weren't going to be one of those easy-going, permissive wives. He could be a UFC champion, greatest of all time, or whatever out there – but at home, he was your husband. And you weren't about to marry a плейбой. A man who behaved like some street dog.

Islam nodded his head excitedly. Of course! Whatever you wanted! He was just so happy you even agreed to meet with him.

It confused you at the time – why a professional fighter went out of his way to arrange a marriage meeting with you instead of just picking a simple, pretty girl that he or his family already knew. But something about his reaction was just so genuine, so cute, that you accepted his proposal.

Your birthday was two weeks after his championship fight.

You remember Islam's face slowly turning white as he walked through the door with the his lightweight belt in hand – just returning from a celebration event at his old high school. Your bags were packed and you coldly informed him that he had forgotten your birthday. He trailed behind you, fretting and stuttering lame excuses as you picked up your purse. When your hand touched the door, he dropped to his knees pathetically fast, holding onto your legs like a lost child.

You can't stop me from leaving, Islam.

You waited for him to let go but he just began crying instead. In the midst the broken sobs and him begging you to stay, to forgive him, you figured out that he thought you were divorcing him.

"I love you so much, y/n. I don't know what I'd do without you... Please... Please... I'd die first before I let you leave."

You let him continue grovelling until you got bored, which was a long time, to be honest. It was very entertaining. When you told him you weren't leaving him, you were just going to your parents' ("I guess I can stay if you make it up to me"), the look on his handsome face was full of pure relief and joy. Even if it was red and messy with tears.

What happened to that cute version of him?

You shake your head in disappointment. Some of your fury softens with the memory of Islam on his knees.

Islam has a problem with memory – you noticed that quickly in the first few months of being married. He's smart, but distractible, and when something catches his attention, he can become obsessed with it. Collecting motorcycles. Re-learning tae kwon do. And now, the horses.

Well, if he loves those horses so much, you decide he wouldn't mind being one.

-x-

It was past 9pm. Shit, Islam realises he must have lost track of time. After he had ridden on the beach and returned his new mare to the stable, he noticed there was sand in her coat that needed brushing out. She was a new purchase. So beautiful and strong and fast. Worth every penny.

Islam couldn't help but get lost in her glossy coat as he groomed her. Of course, he also had to make sure she had enough feed for the evening. And that she had taken her antibiotics. And that her stable was clean. And before he knew it, the Sun was down.

"Y/n? Are you home?"

No answer. Are you out? ... Or mad?

Islam needs to shower before he looks for you. Then, you'd sit together and have dinner, make love, then fall sleep in each other's arms.

Wait.

Dinner?

Shit. Wait. There was something he was meant to remember. What was it?

Were you two supposed to have dinner out today?

He pulls out his phone as he walks down the dark hallway, and swears under his breath when he realises it's still on Do Not Disturb from when he was still riding on the beach. 3 missed messages.

Don't panic.

The light at the end of the hallway turns on.

"There you are, Islam."

He looks up from his screen and almost chokes on his tongue. There you are. His beautiful wife standing in high heels with her hair down. You're in all black – black lace corset, black stockings, a tiny black thong. But your long nails are red, and so is your lipstick.

Islam is instantly hard. Embarrassingly so. His face feels hot but he knows that it's the wrong reaction when he looks and sees the coldness in your eyes.

Oh, your eyes. Your magnificent eyes. They're so icy and they stare at him like he's nothing.

Your gaze struck him like lightning when he saw you for the first time. You were visiting the gym with a friend who was working there. Your friend stood up straighter when he saw Islam and Khabib walk through the entrance, falling over himself to greet them.

But you just stood there, indifferent, and just stared at him. You didn't take your eyes off him when you introduced yourself. Didn't waver or bow your head in politeness. The most beautiful woman in the world just kept looking straight through him.

Doom fell upon him that day. He fell in love.

Of course, no one else is able to understand, nor did Islam expect them to. Destiny is only really understood by the person it belongs to. Destiny has a beautiful voice and cold eyes.

"You were at the stables again, weren't you?"

Islam nods silently. Shame flushes his face, but it's quickly overtaken by arousal and nervousness when you walk up to him and step in close, like you're examining him. You scrunch your nose in disgust, contempt in your face as Islam admires you.

You look so good like that, my love.

"I can smell it on you. You smell like horses. And sweat."

Before Islam could apologise, your hand was around his neck, nails scratching lightly against his skin.

"It's not fair that you spend all our money on those horses, Islam..." Your face is so close. You smell like incense; like what the Koran says heaven smells like.

"What if I want my own stallion?"

There's something in your voice tonight. It has that silky, smooth texture that you get after you two spend forever just kissing on the sofa... That moment when you pull away and tell him to meet you in the bedroom.

Your words feel heavy. They're putting him under.

They have power because when you tell him to take off all his clothes right there in the hallway, it never occurs to Islam that he even has the choice to say no.

He doesn't know what's happening, but he doesn't care. Not when you're trailing your long, red-tipped fingers across his shoulders, his chest, his abs. Like you're now the one admiring him.

You are. Islam's gotten so much bigger ever since he made the decision to move up a weight division. Everything is bigger. Meatier. 

His arms. His thighs. Even his tits.

But you don't feel the strength in all that new muscle when you push him down to his knees. There's no resistance there.

His eyes are bright and expectant as he waits to see what you plan to do. He looks so good like this, looking up at you...

You stroke the side of his face gently, and his mouth opens silently when you slide your thumb over his lips, moaning quietly when you press on his tongue, his eyelids fluttering. He's so soft for you. So sweet.

"You're my husband, Islam. But you can't remember that sometimes."

You take something out from behind your back, and Islam's eyes widen when he sees it, recognising it instantly. But you don't give him time to react before wrangling the horse bridle over his face. A wicked smile spreads across your lips when you work the horse bite into his mouth and clip it in place.

"Maybe you'll remember being my horse better."

Islam panics immediately. Jumping up as he hands fly to his face to undo the bridle.

Islam hears the slap before he feels it and stars explode across his vision. The impact sends him to his knees, and he feels a sharp heel drive into his chest and your hand pull his head back by his short hair.

"Don't you fucking dare. Since when do horses have hands or walk on two feet, Isu?"

There's a crazed look in your eyes. Islam has never seen you so furious before. He shivers. The urge to hold you close and push you away war inside of him, and he just wishes you would tell him you love him and let him make it all better. Islam let his arms go limp, his mind swimming, as you tie a leash to the bottom of his bridle.

You begin leading him to the living room, swaying your hips as you walk. But you feel a sharp tug and frown. Looking over your shoulder, you laugh at what you see: Islam on all fours, crawling.

"You can walk like a human when you follow me, Isu."

There's a new lounge chair in the middle of the living room. It's wide with high arms and a tall backrest, upholstered in dark red leather. You lead him next to it, as you take a seat on the armrest – his cock is still hard and ready next to your face.

Islam will never admit it, but you scare him sometimes. He understands that it's a secret he will never be able to tell anyone – especially none of his friends. He's the most famous man from his village, so what would everyone say if they knew that he loved being your plaything?

A guilty tendril of lust wriggles in Islam's gut as he wonders, in horror, what kind of questions he'd get at press conferences if everyone knew that his wife once fingered him while sucking his cock and he came so hard he cried.

His train of thought quickly snaps when he feels your hand grab his cock, your hands slick with lotion. He groans when he feels you slide something unbearably tight around his shaft.

Islam's dick is too hard, too thick for the black silicone cock ring to slip on without difficulty but he doesn't dare move when you patiently squeeze the ring down to the base of his erection.

It takes forever. And it hurts.

He can't stop himself from groaning and drooling around the bite in his mouth. You look at him sympathetically, and give his erection just a few strokes as you inch the cock ring down – just enough pleasure to help your poor husband through.

By the time you have it in place, Islam's dick looks massive in your hands. He's always been big down there. But with the cock ring, it looks monstrous. Veiny, dripping with pre-cum, and almost purple from being choked with so much blood.

You lick your lips, imagining it inside you, and rub yourself through your wet thong as your pussy pulses. You hear Islam's muffled whimper and look up. He's looking at you, staring at his cock. His forehead is drenched in sweat and you can see his vein straining in his neck from how hard he's biting down on the gag.

"Does my stallion want to fuck me?"

He nods desperately, huffing and puffing through his nose. You turn and kneel across the lounge chair, with Islam behind you. You have one leg raised on an arm rest, and you make sure to keep his leash in your hand.

With your free hand, you reach back and pull your soaked thong aside. You position Islam's dripping erection right at your entrance but instead of pushing him deep inside you, you use him to tease your pussy, stroking the head up and down your wet slit, sighing in bliss when it rubs against your clit.

You hear Islam's choke behind you. It's his weakness – the promise of your tight wet hole.

Islam's cock is like a dangerous loaded gun in your hands, a gun that you know will never go off without your permission. You enjoy the sensation of it, bouncing gently on it so that just the head slips into you. And you do that for what feels like centuries.

When Islam steadies himself against the torture by holding onto your hips, you're forced to shoot him a hard look to remind him of the rules about his hands. He lets out a weak whimper and just braces against the chair's backrest as you continue play "just the tip" with his swollen cock.

Islam's eyes are stinging and he's almost grateful for the gag. Who knows what humiliating, unmanly things he'd say at this point. But it doesn't stop him from thinking them, repeating them like a prayer in his head.

O-oh God. Please, my love, please just fuck my hard, aching cock. Please. Please. Please.

Your pussy is dripping all over him and his dick's harder than it's ever been. It's so sensitive that he can feel it twitch whenever it thinks it's finally going to get to fuck you properly. Islam wants to beg for you. He remembers how the two of you fit so perfectly together, your tight pussy the perfect sleeve for him. Don't you want that, my love?

But he just has to stand here and watch you as you stretch your own pussy out agonisingly slowly, his eyes hypnotised by the sight of your ass sliding back on him. His body is sore from the strain of just fighting the urge to thrust. Islam knows he's not allowed to, even if you haven't told him.

The deep moan you let out when you finally bottom out is too much though. Too much. Islam hips jolt and he grinds his cock even deeper, eyes crossing from the pleasure.

Your hand instantly pulls him in tight by the leash, choking him and making him double over your body. His eyes meet yours. They're not cold now. Your eyes are all warm and glazed over and horny. Your voice is breathless, even sexier and more addictive to Islam from your inability to hide how much you want him.

"Do I need to teach my little horsey how to ride?"

Still holding Islam's leash tight, you begin fucking yourself up and down hard and fast, the way you need it. His cock is huge. You can feel it re-shaping your pussy as you fuck it against your G-spot and the delicious spot that's even deeper near your cervix.

Islam matches your rhythm, all that pent-up power in his legs and hips finally unleashed. He thrusts so hard that the force of just his hips jolt you forward and force out little gasps and moans.

You can feel the strength of the man fucking you each time his cock kisses your cervix just right. Islam groans like a wounded beast when you cum and you lock around him like a vice, but he doesn't stop fucking in the rhythm you set. Not even for a moment. It's exactly like being fucked by a wild animal.

By the time you've come twice, Islam can't tell if the wetness down his chin and chest is sweat or his own drool. He just knows he never wants to stop thrusting. His cock is so sensitive that it feels like he's coming non-stop but he can tell there's a high, high summit above him that he's approaching.

The sight of you writhing and moaning under him drives him insane but that leash in your hand stays taut – signalling to him that you're not done with him yet.

He's just nothing but a huge cock. A huge cock that his wife loves fucking herself with.

The dopamine and adrenaline hit to Islam's brain makes him feel like he's going to pass out. But he makes the mistake of imagining you continuing to ride him hard while he's unconscious on the ground. His loins clench so hard, he screams from the pain and tears well up in his eyes. But he just pushes it down, down, down so he can keep fucking you the way you want it.

Your pussy milking him for a third time breaks something deep inside him. The pained pleasure becoming too much.

He's an exposed wire. All his nerves are shot.

When you tell him to cum inside you, he doesn't think he can. He doesn't want to disappoint you again. He just wants to be good so bad but the cock ring is just too tight around him. Islam buries his head into the crook of your neck because he can't tell you what's wrong, and all he can do is pray you forgive him.

"I know you can do it, Isu. I know you can cum."

Islam shakes his head, the fatigue suddenly hitting him like a truck. The summit escapes even further away. His hips ache from the weight of denial.

Suddenly, he feels a kiss the side of his face. Soft and full of love. It envelops him like a warm glove.

Your voice like a song in the dark.

"Don't you want to give me a family, Isu?"

The world spins.

Yes.

Yes. I want to so bad.

He begins fucking you in earnest again, the picture of you, pregnant with his first child behind his eyes.

It's so beautiful, it makes him cry.

He wants that more than anything. Wants to fuck a family into you. Wants to pump you so full of cum you get pregnant with twins. Wants to stay hard so he can push his cum deeper into you.

You let go of the leash so you can rest your hands against his face as he chases the orgasm inside your well-worn pussy. "I'll stop the pill tomorrow. Let's have a baby." You kiss him. "Show me how you're going to breed me, Isu."

Your words tip him over the edge. Islam's vision goes white and he comes so hard and much that he can feel it spilling out of you while he's still buried inside.

He collapses on top of you. So exhausted that he doesn't even feel you undo the bridle until you pull the bit out of his mouth and hold him close. He's panting like he's just run up a mountain.

"Y-You really mean it? We can- we can have a baby?"

You smile and nod. "But you have to promise to not forgot about us for your horses."

He buries his face into your chest. "I didn't forget you! I promise. I bought a new horse just for you and I needed to make sure she was perfect."

He looks up. "You should see her – she's beautiful! Let's go to the stables tomorrow so you can ride her!"

You sigh in defeat. Okay. Let me see this horse, Islam.

[mstarcreates]

Higher State of Being

I hope you all enjoy my little fanart. I even wrote a little piece for it. I really wanted to do something for these three. I cannot explain why I think these three tragic men would make such a good thruple lol but it just does something for me.

I’ve decided to dub this thruple: Blackstar. When I reveal the other oneshot I’m writing it will make more sense why lol.

Enjoy!

Lodi simply cannot believe his luck. He answered a phone, was pulled through space and time…somehow managed to meet two of the hottest people he had ever laid eyes on. Through some miracle beyond his comprehension (hell maybe it was the Nine’s doing) they returned his affections.

If you’d asked him how he’d felt about men (before being pulled thousands of years into the future) he wouldn’t have given it much thought. But now? Oh, especially now…men excited him. Especially these two men.

He had Cayde on one side, leaving searing hot marks on his neck and chest, oh God it felt good. Was he into pain? Well, he was now for sure. Crow was on his other side, his hands and mouth leaving their own bruises. God in heaven, how was he expected to survive not one, but two insatiable Guardians?

To make matters even more interesting, they both had massive lengths compared to his own more average sized one. It was shorter than both of theirs, but thick at the base. Neither man had any complaints about his…erm..equipment. But then again he wasn’t the one doing most of the work.

No, instead Cayde and Crow liked to take their time with him, sometimes making bets or dares about how quickly or how often they could get Lodi to cum for them. Other times…it became a competition. Like right now.

“Come on, Joker…” Cayde whispered into his ear, his hot hand wrapping around Lodi’s cock, thumb teasing the already weeping tip. “You cum for me first…I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see the stars…”

Oh fuck, he wanted that. Wanted it so bad.

“No…cum for me instead…” Crow whispered into his ear, his fingers teasing the rim of Lodi’s hole soaked in some kind of lubricant.

“P-please…please can’t I…I cum for you b-both..?”

“You hear that Bright Eyes? Isn’t he sweet? He wants to cum for both of us…” Cayde doubled down his efforts, his hot hand stroking faster, harder. It makes Lodi’s mind go almost entirely blank. Until he feels Crow’s thick fingers push into him.

“Ah-ah! I-I can’t..!” He didn’t know which feeling to chase, trying to fuck into Cayde’s hand and spear himself on Crow’s fingers simultaneously. “Pleaspleaseplease!”

“He sounds so good when he begs…” Crow whispered, trailing more kisses down Lodi’s sensitive throat while he pounds his fingers into him.

“Finally, something we can agree on.” Cayde replied lowly. “Gettin close already aren’t you? Come on sweetheart…I know you want to. Won’t you be a good boy and cum?”

He was panting hard now, his thrusts all out of rhythm as he gets pushed closer and closer to the edge. “Ah..! Cayde…! Crow I-I’m..!” He doesn’t even get a chance to finish the sentence, Crow’s fingers push brushed up against his prostate sending him over the edge.

His vision went white as he came hard, spilling streams of hot seed all over his abdomen and Cayde’s fingers. It takes him a little while to cum back to earth. But when he does, Cayde and Crow are already (but not seriously) bickering about who made him cum first.

“Guys…” he groans out.

“Sorry love…” Crow was always the first to apologize, giving Lodi sweet kisses.

“Yeah…we just like making you feel good.”

“I know…” he gave them each a sweet kiss. “It’s why I love you…and why…I’m going to say let’s go for two out of three.” He grinned a little. Yeah sometimes he got caught up in their games too. But that’s what made their relationship work.

[underdaydreamsstuff]

My (extremely long) personal take on a specific part of Dick and Jason’s dynamic

Warning, this is a half discussion and half narrative I’ve written down when it comes to this topic, so if it’s not your cup of tea then scroll.

A bunch of times, from what I’ve seen in different medias, Dick and Jason’s relationship pre-death is seen almost in a black and white manner (if that makes sense). Some argued that Dick did not at all like Jason, that he borderline neglected his little brother back then and how they didn’t spend any time together. Another pointed out how Dick loves and cares for Jason so much that he was this close go kidnapping Jason to live with him in Titans Tower (insert a “omg I love my little brother so much he’s the light of my life look at how cute he is” conversation).

It’s always one or the other and barely in between. While I enjoy both representation in this case, my take on their dynamic is that they’re in a very awkward acquaintance-brothers position.

For context, I truly believe that the only people who truly know Jason back before he died was Bruce and Alfred. Obviously the other family members hadn’t appeared yet, hence they know of Jason’s robin days from stories only. Dick however, despite being a first generation bat-family member, wasn’t a constant presence in Jason’s life.

Yes, sure, Jason was his protege. Yes, Jason was his first little brother. Yes, Dick wanted to fix—arguably, just starting to build—their relationship, and even that chance was taken away from him.

And so, let me offer you my opinion; Jason came in after Dick had left, they have never met or interacted with one another beforehand. Jason, a scrawny 12 year old picked up from the literal street, meeting Dick. At that point, Dick was rightfully an angry bundle of emotions, borderline resented Bruce enough to move out of Gotham permanently. Their first and early meetings consists of arguments not between them, but between Dick and Bruce with Jason caught in the crossfire.

Dick had the rights to want freedom and space from Bruce, and had the rights to be angry the moment he knew Robin (the nickname his mother gave him) was forcefully taken and given to someone else, a stranger he didn’t even know. It also highlighted how kind and emotionally mature Dick (a teenager) is when he slowly began to accept Jason both as a family member and as robin. He really tried to treat Jason better, to open his arms and welcome Jason to his life even with how little they interacted with one another.

And then Jason died.

The difference between Dick and Bruce, despite both losing someone so dear in their life, is that Bruce had mourned over what Jason is while Dick mourned over what Jason could’ve been. Jason could’ve been the little brother in his life. Jason could’ve been the person who annoys him to no end but they’d make up after a bowl of ice cream. Jason could’ve been the person who calls him at 2 am because he finally had his first big fight with their dad. But they’d never made it to that point because Jason Todd died before Dick Grayson could properly embrace him.

Dick had mourned over Jason in a way that he’s mourning over what their relationship could’ve been. That sweet, witty, snarky but kind little brother he could’ve had.

When Jason returned four years after his death, worse than ever, I’d like to think that Dick was in the same state of denial as Bruce, maybe even worse because he had spent those four years playing “what could’ve been” in his head when it comes to Jason. Comparing the sweet little brother of his to this angry and borderline psychotic serial killer? Dick probably couldn’t wrap his head around it (This is my take on Jaybin if you’re interested).

So when Jason got “better” or so people say, starting to calm down a bit and slowly integrating himself back to the family, their relationship could get better right? Dick would finally be the big brother Jason needed and Jason would fit right back in that snarky but kind little brother image of his. Wrong.

Dick has always been an open person, reaching out to others like the lovable person he is. Being the original Wayne Brothers too, everyone (including Bruce) expected Jason to warm up to Dick first. Dick did try too, tried to bring back whatever shattered pieces was left of their relationship back then. And then he realized that none of those pieces fit, because Dick didn’t know Jason, and Jason didn’t know Dick.

Maybe the reveal wasn’t even a dramatic one, just a normal day where Dick and Jason found themselves alone in the manor’s kitchen, Dick joking about how Jason likes his coffee black. And to his horror, Jason merely scoffed (jokingly, but Dick couldn’t pick up on that) and replied with; “I always put milk in mine.”

It snowballed afterwards, with jokes that didn’t land and ended up with a few seconds of painfully awkward silence. Then it was their daily habits that always seem to clash with one another. Those habits slowly highlighted just how different their personalities really are, both struggling to reach a middle ground where they can actually interact without it being about missions and beating up goons or supervillains. It’s to the point where, sometimes, they both find themselves actively avoiding meeting each other alone.

The nail in the coffin however, would be when Dick finds Jason on the manor ground with a halfway lit cigarette between his index and middle finger. Despite being caught, Jason didn’t seem bothered by Dick’s sudden appearance.

“Smoking is bad for you,” Dick would joke, “how did Bruce even let you get away with smoking in the manor?”

Jason was smug. “He wasn’t able to pry this off of me when I was twelve, what makes you think he could now?”

And at that, Dick paused. “You started smoking when you were twelve?”

“No.” Jason looks genuinely thoughtful about his answer. “Even before that, I think.”

That might’ve been the end of the line for Dick, because he had seen Jason when Jason was twelve; a scrawny small kid who looked like he couldn’t be older than nine. He knew Jason when Jason was twelve, still hesitant to even talk to Dick on the rare days he’s in the manor. He should’ve known if his little brother had started smoking back then, he should’ve known all the hidden place where Jason would keep his stash, he should’ve known all the spots Jason would go when he needs a break. But he didn’t, because Dick didn’t know Jason, and Jason didn’t know Dick.

There’s no doubt that they’re close now, but only after accepting the fact that they had to get to know each other from scratch. Dick had to accept the fact that maybe the person he had spent at least four years mourning over had never existed in the first place, and that as much as he wanted it, he could never achieve all of his “what ifs” even when Jason is finally breathing, standing next to him in arm’s reach.

(Ironically enough, that version of Jason did exist at one point, but people change. Dick just wasn’t aware of it)

Jason? He just needs to accept that Dick couldn’t be that much of a big brother figure to him now, not when Dick knew more things about their other “siblings” than he knew about Jason, not when Jason—mentally stuck in that warehouse in Ethiopia—had grown up far too quickly to the point where the thought of depending on someone again makes him quench.

But they make it work, they try to.

[anxiousthoughts365]

Petrichor

~🗡️Bagginshield🛡️~

All audiences, no warnings apply

There was something rustling around the room. He woke slowly, unsure in the noise was part of a dream or if it were actually happening. But as he stirred, the rustling was interrupted by a dull thunk, followed by soft cursing. He was smiling as he finally cracked an eye open - there was no mistaking those soft tones. His bleary vision cleared enough for him to find his husband, standing at the edge of the bed and clutching his foot in his hands.

"Treasure?" Thorin rumbled, his voice thick as he rolled onto one elbow and scrubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes with one large fist. "What -"

"It's raining," Bilbo murmured as he pulled on a pair of trousers. He seemed to think that this explained everything sufficiently, but Thorin, who was none the wiser, frowned.

"Yes. But I do not understand why that means you need to get out of bed?" he lamented, already missing the small, warm body that he curled around every night, that helped him to drift off, even during the most stressful of times.

At that, Bilbo paused, and gave his husband a fond if somewhat exasperated look. He tossed a tunic onto the end of the bed, and was already leaving the room and heading for the hallway of their under mountain Hobbit hole as he threw over his shoulder, "Just ... Come with me."

Thorin had never been one to deny his husband's wishes, and it seemed that tonight would be no exception. Grumbling, he heaved himself out of bed, pulling on the tunic and stumbling after his Hobbit through the dark corridors of their home. His confusion deepened when he found Bilbo at the front door, his overcoat already on. Without another word, the smaller being slipped out of the door, and Thorin had no other option but to follow his love.

He followed as Bilbo headed for the set of stairs that had been carved into the rock wall adjecent to the Hobbit hole that Thorin had built him as a final courting gift. He followed as Bilbo climbed those stairs, content to watch his husband's lovely behind as it swayed before him. He followed as they emerged out into the garden that had been excavated from the side of the mountain by a team of Dwarves not 6 months before, that Bilbo had been pain-stakingly planting up with flowers and vegetables of all varieties. He followed as Bilbo headed to the railed balcony that spanned the edge of the space, and watched the Hobbit take a slow, deep breath.

"Do you smell it?" Bilbo's voice was soft, but they'd been silent for long enough that it almost startled Thorin. But then his husband turned to face him, and his chest tightened at the sad smile on Bilbo's face as he went on, "No matter where you go, the rain always makes the ground smell the same. It reminds me of the Shire."

The note of longing in Bilbo's voice pushed Thorin forward, and he stepped in behind his husband, wrapping his arms around the Hobbit and nuzzling his face into the crook of Bilbo's neck. Bilbo leaned back into his hold, seeming grateful for the support, and for some time they stood like that, just breathing in the damp, earthy smell that surrounded them.

Finally, the thought that had been pressing at the back of his mind was impossible to ignore any longer, and Thorin murmured hesitantly against Bilbo's throat, "Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," Bilbo confessed. But before Thorin could even think to suggest that he might return to his homeland, Bilbo was turning in his arms, and the smile he gave the Dwarf this time was much more whole. The Hobbit stretched up on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around the King's neck as he added, "But I was never as happy in my 50 years there as I have been in the 5 years I've spent here in Erabor, with you. And while I might be prone to nostalgia at times, there is no place that I would rather be than right here, by your side."

Thorin rumbled gently as he dipped to press his lips to the Hobbit's, and surrounded by the scents of flowers and earth and rain, they kissed soft and slow, sleepy and warm. Thorin was smiling when he finally pulled back to rub his nose against his husband's, delighting in Bilbo's low chuckle when he purred, "While I would never keep you from returning home, you should know that I also prefer to have you right here, by my side. Just for the record."

[kumkaniudaku]

ooooooo I need a Terry reaction to Patrice tryna rush him….I smell a Terrance Richmond tantrum 👀🤭✨

By Patrice’s calculation, she and Terry had been at it far too long.

A breakfast date featuring three too many glasses of champagne masquerading as mimosas turned giggles and flirting into a meeting of bodies they both knew was coming but still allowed to knock the wind from their lungs as they fumbled through the front door and to the living room couch, landing clumsily on top of one another.

Patrice thought their theatrics were hot. Whimsical. Something a romantic drama lead might do if she met a cute man in the city and decided to test her luck.

Their deep dive into passionate fucking was supposed to be quick. After all, she had a mountain of baby clothes to clean, fold, and sort before their bundle of joy returned from a weekend at Maman’s. Then there was that stack of mail. It was starting to clutter up her dining table and Patrice despised a cluttered dining table. How else would she show off those chargers she bartered over at an estate sale? If she chose to skip the mail, she at least needed to knock out grading a round of pop quizzes. She knew the grades would come back unsatisfactory, but it was better to confront the failings of a subpar week of instruction than delay the inevitable.

All those thoughts and more rattle around a brain meant to be consumed with her lover. Terry, however, gave himself fully to the moment.

When the morning began, he found himself worried about signing day and spring training. Sure, they were a ways off with the first bite of fall requiring a light jacket in the morning and short sleeves by the afternoon, but it didn’t hurt to prepare. At the restaurant, he tried to stave off desires to text his mom about Nyla’s well-being and fought to remain focused on the conversation until alcohol dissolved tomorrow’s problems and reminding him of the treasure sitting across the table.

At the first squeeze of her walls around the part of him that required immediate relief, Terry knew he could stay like this with Patrice all day. And he intended to make it so.

With hips rolling in a precise yet languid rhythm, Terry pressed his lips to the pumping vein on Patrice’s neck and muttered high praise against her slick, hot skin.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” A prayer and offering to the goddess beneath him fell from Terry’s lips as he felt their bodies become one over and over.

Patrice closed her eyes and sighed out a response. “I know, baby. Come on. Let me feel you. I need it.”

“Slow down, Piggy,” Terry cautioned. His wife was prone to mentally wandering, sliding further and further away from present circumstances until she could no longer stand the notion of experiencing each second as they came. He lifted his head to make eye contact. Pleading. “Let me take my time.”

“Come on, Pooh. Do it for me?”

What Patrice meant as a sensual plea to feel her lover come to release inside her reached Terry as a slight – a selfish request to neglect something special and return to shit that would still exist later.

Miffed but undeterred, Terry buried himself deeper, drawing a long moan from Patrice’s beautiful lips. Rarely had he allowed his full capacity to fill her in that way for fear of injury. But rules were made for breaking. Especially on a Saturday evening when the luxury of time provided space to learn a new lesson from the Book of Terrence.

Terry’s strong hands and long fingers slowly pulled Patrice’s arms away from their position around his neck to pin both limbs above her head. He nipped at her bottom lip in a light show of dominance before touching her forehead with his.

“You need to be somewhere I don’t know about?” Terry watched Patrice’s thoughts go blank as her pupils changed size and she bit back a snarky response. “Do not rush me. Forget all that other shit keeping your head in the clouds and be here with me. Right here. Right now. I’m not gonna ask again.”

Even Terry’s stern redirection felt gentle to Patrice as she stared up at him with renewed fervor. The nearly unbearable heat of desire returned to warm her body from the inside, erasing worries about stupid tasks with arbitrary deadlines.

“Okay,” Patrice responded, her voice low and dreamy. “Take your time, baby. You have me all day.”

The mention of early afternoon transitioning into the hours just before dusk with them still in the clutches of lovemaking excited Terry into slow kisses growing hungrier by the second.

If he had all day, he intended to make use of every minute.

[rangarlamamicado]

Okay, as someone who looked forward to watching The Bad Guys, I was shocked to learn the sequel came out the day after my partner and I watched it. I know I've been knee deep in the furry gooner coal mines all my life, but I genuinely felt things from the sequel that are profound and need to be put on the hellsite for preservation. So, here's an honest review of The Bad Guys 2, and why it's one of the best sequels I've ever seen.

SPOILERS FOR BOTH MOVIES, PLEASE AVOID IF YOU HAVENT SEEN THEM.

To start, I want to lay out my honest to goodness impression of the film. I do not believe this film works as a sequel as much as it does a second part to the original. It's more of the same, but it's also a clever inversion of the original plot with very many interesting things to say about the nature of morality and innate/manmade good or evil. I also found the commentary it made on how we as society perceive this (or rather, fail to) very profound. Now, why do I feel this way? I'm gonna focus on a few different things and this is gonna seem scattered, so bear with me.

POINT 1: AN EXTENSION OF TBG1

When I finished the first movie blind before the second one, I found the fact that everything was fresh on my mind to be very helpful. The world, themes, characters, and relationships in no way change at the beginning of the sequel, but they don't dwell on it or explain it in ways that make it clear it's been years since the last one. For people like me, nods and eventual payoffs for characters like Diane, Professor M, and even Snake were satisfying... Yet, they give the hypothetical sequel-only viewer enough to go off of without requiring the whole story.

The strongest example of this is the entirety of The Bad Guys' good arc, starting them in a reasonable place for both new and old viewers. They dont dwell on why or how they got there, but Wolf's interactions with people like Diane or Chief/Commissioner cement the lack of need for much context to follow the plot and lives of these characters.

That said, the way the sequel expands on existing plotlines rather than simply referencing them is incredibly satisfying for those who viewed the first film. Professor M is shaped by his failure and has resentment for Diane, but the film doesn't have to explain why since it's clear he was framed for being The Crimson Paw when it's clearly explained she was them all along.

Diane and Wolf's relationship is acknowledged in the boxing scene in a way that doesn't rely on strong reiteration as much as it does reflection from the two. Even for those who didnt see the first, it brings something interesting to the table with the acknowledgement that there may be romantic chemistry between them (as if the first one didnt make it excruciatingly obvious). So, for those who DID see the first, it's all the more satisfying - we get something fresh from it to detract from the fact the well-disguised reminders is exposition. I'll touch on their relationship in another section.

The growth of character is obvious in the way The Bad Guys interface with life - struggling to find jobs due to their past, despite all their good they did. Its a realistic and raw look at how things arent as good as they seemed after the ending of the original, and I think that's a realistic inversion of the last movie's happy-go-lucky intro. Sure, they did the same this time, but only in a flashback - and a flashback that introduces a character that returns no less, so NOT a meaningless one.

Whereas in the first movie where Wolf is the first to go embrace his good side in a group of bad people, this expectation is turned in a bad way with the introduction of Kitty, Pigtail and Doom. Kitty is the antithesis of Wolf, someone who's bad for the sake of being bad, whereas Wolf took the chance he got to be good since being bad was a way of making ends meet. Their skills both lent to being good at heists and quick thinking, but Kitty never felt the taste of being loved and wanted that Diane gave Wolf - someone who believed in her, not out of necessity like Doom or Pigtail (who share the same ending as the gang in the first movie, funny enough). Wolf falls victim to getting a taste of badness again without consequence of anything other than blackmail against Diane, but that's a false sense of security. Rather, Wolf realizes that Kitty isn't like him when Kitty reveals her real perspective - that being a twisted version of Diane's. Everyone has two sides, but unlike Diane who has hope that the good in people can prevail (like herself), Kitty dwells on fear and security - the one thing she knows. Above all, Kitty desires control, and in the climax it's shown that she's even willing to do away with her only allies in order to maintain her status quo - safety and power. But she's alone, and will never open up. I find Kitty's motivations far more fascinating than Professor M's, and I think the existence of him as a third party that both sides turn to is a far more fitting role for a directionless free-radical like him.

Case and point, the message this time is about knowing you can turn to people to bring out the best in you - and support one another, even if everything and everyone hates you. That's the ultimate parallel to the first movie's theme about how anyone can be good regardless of their past or circumstances. The first movie tells you that anyone can change, and the second movie tells you that maintaining change means willing to trust others and yourself.

POINT 2: MY GOD I LOVE THEM ALL

The characters... Oh my god, the characters. Where do I begin? Tying into the themes of the scenario being an inverse of the first movie, it's fascinating seeing the introverted Bad Guys attempt to branch out as fish out of water. Like I said before, not only is this realistic, it also is realistically affecting them as Individuals no longer learning to trust... but now to trust *blindly*.

Wolf as the group's leader all this time has to have done his best to give the others comfort... But in a world where he knows he cant promise it now, he's humbled. He trusts out of desire for security in the form of acceptance, of which there's no guarantee of it. Kitty as his foil finds security in fear, which is the life the gang intentionally tries to get away from. Siding with Kitty and signing his soul away is a representation of Wolf grappling with his tendencies, his old ways... But he has to learn not to waver, lest he lose the one he loves. The conflict that stems from this helps mold Wolf into someone who can have hope, and people like Diane are there on the sidelines to reassure him in his time of doubt.

Speaking of Diane, her role in this movie was the one I was most looking forward to. Seeing that the majority of the movie's dilemmas and deep moral quandries relied on Diane's true identity and trust, I'd be lying if I said that her role as a 'side character' is far more important than even the directors must've first imagined.

This movie also seeks to test Diane's resolve, mainly in the form of her position as governor and Wolf's past putting distance between them. Kitty utilized that wedge to bend Wolf to her will, ultimately leading to a fixed outcome via the uploaded video. This reality-check is what truly reassures Wolf and allows him the confidence to win back Diane's trust. She threw away everything and was okay with it, because it meant that she could finally be with Wolf without shame. The kiss was easily the best part of the film for me, aside from them climbing the rocket. Amazing cinematography and cohesion to the principles of good animation.

Even characters like Snake and the rest of the gang underwent reasonable growth based on the last movie. They all in some way learned to loosen up and try new things, but artifacts of their old characters still shine through. Snake has embraced a zen lifestyle, but is lost in his rose-tinted glasses towards Doom (though this fake love eventually blooms into real love, not to mention Snake's stubbornness is reflected in his unwavering love for her despite her betrayals). Shark all across the movie struggles with impulse and acting out of anxiety, but his talent saves everyone when it comes time to open the airlock by brute force - ultimately showing that Shark can both be working on his impulses and live a good life, unlike what his interviewers at the beginning of the movie told him. Tarantula struggled with the fact that she's full of talent, and that everyone relies on her. Her past following her affects her the most, because it shows that even the most qualified person can be turned away if their past doesn't suit their needs. Tarantula holds fast and does what she always does, being useful to her team as best as she can and even finding friends in people like Pigtail, who have common/adjacent interests (engineering). Piranha most of all has to learn to mask his erratic and unpredictable behavior. His wild side is one that scares people more than anything, reassuring them that their biases and beliefs that he's still bad are true. He's the ultimate example of not judging a book by it's cover, and even despite his relatively unfunny fart humor being a character trait of his, he still finds ways for his bizarre self to be useful (saving Snake's life in the final act, for example).

Furthermore, every character in this film in my mind, old or new, all serve meaningful purposes to forward the plot and mystery of the grandest caper DreamWorks has ever put together.

POINT 3: PERSONAL PRAISES

As a lifelong LittleBigPlanet fan, seeing the Daniel Pemberton Orchestra having composed for the film's score was a massive shock to me once the credits rolled. (For those who dont know, they also score for The Spiderverse films). Even with my personal bias aside, the music they used for every scene felt fitting - from the emotional to the dramatic to the comedic. The snappy style and animation of the first film is back and better than ever, with all kinds of expressive emotions and squash/stretch in play. Everything in the film's presentation felt reasonable, and creative uses of perspective (I'm looking at you, Pigtail Luchador scene) made the sense of movement/action far more reasonable while still being exaggerated for greater effect.

Every car chase or escape had a sense of both speed and grandeur, what with their impressive sense of mounting pressure. The literal tidal waves of people made the sense of imposing all the more palpable while still making the comedic tone follow. It was crazy to the point of ridiculousness, and that all played in the film's favor. This same grandeur ties back in during the satellite magnet scene, where all the gold gathers all in one place.

The combat and action in this film also takes perfect advantage of each of the characters skill-sets. Wolf during his fight against Kitty uses moves that mirror what Diane taught him during the boxing scene, and Diane's fight against the three on the rocket's entryway also perfectly utilized her already-established quick and strong moves. Even characters who don't directly fight like Snake or Pirahna use their unique skills to aid the rest in combat. Snake is long and stretchy, and Pirhana is able to distract/stun people with his gaseous attacks.

The fact that none of the character arcs or relationships from the first movie are forgotten is a major indicator to me of continuity and care for each character and their story. Chief/Commissioner gets such a vast increase in characterization, which I really liked. Her acknowledging the fact that the gang keeps flipping from bad to good is an indicator that she, like the audience, is aware that the ending of the first movie wasn't perfect. With Professor M framed as The Crimson Paw, one could say that what happened to The Bad Guys involving the McGuffinite robberies via the other three is another clever inversion. Everyone learns to be honest with themselves and their crimes, which I really like.

The ending of the film, while at first I believed was a light cop-out, is actually a naturally bittersweet conclusion to the storyline that were established. One could first believe that the ending is the antithesis to the idea of everyone owing up to and being honest about who they truly are, but the act of faking their deaths is in itself representative of a new beginning. For their good deeds, they're given a chance to remove all their baggage and past in exchange for true freedom. They get to live their best lives as who they want to be finally, albeit achieving the status of how Diane was at the end of the first movie. They discard their past and get to work a job that works with their skillset without the history they carry behind them. As melancholy as it is that they can't return to their lives, the hope exists for them that things will be fine, despite everything - hence the final speech Wolf gives during the crash landing. The hope that Doom and Pigtail get to go down the path they went down exists, leading to the hope that they could also escape their pasts tied to Kitty and maybe even join them.

Personally, I'm of the mind that Doom and Snake will one day reunite and stay together, even if it's not. I'm also of the mind that Diane and Wolf's relationship is so cute that it may as well be gay, though, so what do I know, lol. /lh

FINAL THOUGHTS

The Bad Guys 2 is genuinely an amazing film as both a furry who loves all of these characters and someone who loves good storytelling. So much care went into these characters and their storylines, it's honestly really refreshing to see an actually good sequel with hype moments, aura, AND good writing.

Have a picture of my chud child I bought at the theater with my partner Faira. He has autism and I will protect him and his wife he pulled by being autistic.

[shangsclaws]

Snake Oil

Shang Tsung returns to an old — but once achingly close — friend after his first few months working for Empress Sindel. When he'd left the village he was nothing more than a poor boy. Now, he comes dressed in robes as rich as his pride.

hey folks!!! long time no see…oops 😅 found this VERY OLD thing while i was cleaning out my notes app and thought i should share. unfortunately this is not a revival of this blog, you all have probably noticed my inactivity and i apologize for that but as we all know, hyperfixations can sometimes come and go :(

cheers to 1.2k followers nonetheless!! love u guys loads!

- vvie

—

"Why haven't you told them to leave? It's late. They must be trying to rob us of our crops again."

"He said he knew you. He gave me this as proof."

In their father's hand was a small rat's skull, yellowed and cracked in places. Upon inspection y/n had nearly tossed it out the window, which overlooked the steps this person stood patiently at the bottom of, but the initials inscribed at the back of the rat's skull were no lie — initials that did not belong to y/n.

"Do you know who they are?" Y/n's father prodded, noting the spark of recognition in their eyes.

Y/n looked at him, then out the window to the figure. Their eyes met.

"I might," responded y/n, setting the skull on the table before heading out the door.

Y/n stood at the top of the steps now, wasting no time to reassure their father that they'd be careful with the stranger. Because no sooner were they darting down the steps, not looking at their feet but rather training their eyes on the figure's face. It could not have been him.

"Introduce yourself." Y/n motioned their head to the man curtly, who was grinning warmly for reasons unknown to them, "why did you have that skull with you? Did you steal it?"

His dark eyes, even darker in the late evening light, brightened in curiosity. Y/n bit their tongue at the contortion of his face, watched as it twisted into an expression they'd mulled over thousands of times in their head.

"Have I changed so much that you no longer recognize me, my friend?" He beamed, his dimples only adding to that familiar charm. "Perhaps it's shocking to see me dressed like this. I left you about as filthy as my travelling cart, didn't I?"

Shang Tsung.

Y/n darted down the final steps, erupting in shrill laughter, pulling the man they thought they'd never see again into an embrace. He returned it, laughing nearly as loud, and not without a little amusement on y/n's end — his arms were firmer than what they'd remembered. Warmer, somehow.

To damn y/n further , he smelt tantalizingly foreign, not like any herb or spice y/n had come across in all their years working the fields. They took a deep sigh as their laughs began to subside, basking in the man's warmth and scent, forgetting they had things to say.

"I take it you missed me," he teased, his voice vibrating against y/n's chest, "I hope you know that I've been awfully busy."

"Clearly!" Y/n chirped. "Look at you! I thought you were a guard sent to detain me for stealing our neighbor's crops!"

Our neighbors, Shang Tsung thought as he recollected the memory, your neighbors were once ours.

Y/n pulled away at last, looking Shang Tsung up and down. "How in the gods' names have you been?"

"The empress has need of my skills, y/n. She has hired me as her private herbalist." A lie.

"The empress?! "

"She's brought me great fortune. I sleep in a bed with pillows now. Not in my cart."

Y/n was ecstatic, even this late into the night. Their voice didn't seem to lower despite knowing they'd wake the rest of the house as they spoke. Shang was not one to protest, eyeing them with a fond smile plastered across his hardened features. It was almost painful how much his cheeks strained in all his happiness.

It felt awfully grim too, standing so close to the one he'd secretly vowed to return to. They seemed to not have changed in his absence, and that they could recall the stories of their childhood about as vividly as the sorcerer was proof. But it was not that they had changed that pained the man. It was that he'd changed. And too much.

Shang Tsung was hesitant to lay a fond hand on them as they spoke. Even as a boy he was afraid to push his luck, knowing full well he respected y/n too much to ruin their bond then. But now on his hands were too much blood. They were the only person that had not been perverted by his greed, and worse yet, perhaps the only being that he had not considered simply murdering to his advantage. To lay a hand on them now would soil them, he feared, just as he'd feared that everything he knew now, he was bound to deface.

"Would it be too much to ask you to come back more often?" Y/n asked, ripping the sorcerer from his thoughts.

Shang Tsung feigned a contented grin. Y/n was none the wiser. "I make no promises."

They returned with a frown. "I know that already. You said you'd come back in a year and you never did until now. We're much, much older."

"That we are it seems."

To think he'd wanted to start a family with them. Even after slaughtering that Zaterran's beloved wife and child, he slept fantasizing about coming home on a day like that day's. How they screamed and thrashed before him as they died. He woke up the morning after the murders feeling more proud of himself than ever. Proud and alive.

What had he become, really?

Thoroughly disgusted with where his thoughts had taken him, Shang Tsung turned his head to face y/n. He hadn't realized how abrupt his motions were, nor how ravenous his eyes had suddenly become. Something in him had shifted.

"Shang?"

"Mmm?"

His voice had stooped low, grown raspier. Never in y/n's life had his expression been so indescribable, so beyond them that it had gone so far as to frighten y/n. But it had been years. They could not have seen the desperate pleas in the sorcerer's eyes for their forgiveness, not for his wrongdoings, but that he could never be the man y/n would come to want -- not now, not even then.

"What are you doing, Shang?"

He was drawing close. They were sat on a large stone just a ways down from where they used to talk as kids, situated thigh-to-thigh under the bright Outworld moons. The sorcerer's breath ran hot against their lips as he inched closer, and Shang was too familiar with people — dead or alive — to not have noticed y/n shiver in delight.

"I missed you too much, y/n," cooed the sorcerer, practically kissing his words onto y/n's lips, "I should have never left."

At last did their kiss begin, warm and breathless. The sorcerer had cupped a hand around y/n's cheek, running hot from the anticipation of his lips. It was just as they'd imagined it thousands of times over, but this time real, and electrifyingly wet.

Pulling back only to catch breaths of air, the sound and sensation of their lips clashing, tongues slick and mingling, proved almost too much for either of them to handle. The sorcerer committed to memory the sound of y/n groaning into his mouth, even shaking him to a near confession of his crimes. It had only driven him to probe deeper with his tongue, a gesture y/n met with equal determination. Their mouths were slick with years worth of neglected desire.

In all his excitement, however, the hand cupping y/n's face had become far too tight for comfort.

Pulling away for good this time, y/n hissed, sucking in the cold air through their teeth as they recoiled.

Shang Tsung was quick to apologize.

"No...don't be."

"But-"

"I'm sorry, Shang."

"Sorry? For what?"

"I'm already spoken for. We married a few years after you left.” Y/n looked away.

“This was…we made a mistake. I’m so sorry.”

—

It had been only weeks since that day.

Shang Tsung was sitting silently in his study, recording the ingredients to a potion he'd recently invented on scrolls of paper. General Shao's second in command had barged in, then.

"Next time, don't ask for my men to do your dirty work." Reiko scoffed. "This could've been done on your own."

"The court would have me beheaded if they found out it was me.” A lie Shang Tsung told himself — he could have very well shapeshifted to do the deed. But he wanted no blood on his hands. At least, not this blood.

Tsung cleared his throat to speak, gently setting a heavy cloth bag of coins and gems on his table. “So?"

"You ordered my men to pose as the constabulary and kill a defenseless farmer in the south. Did you really think my people were necessary? The poor man hardly fought back!" The general's second in command hissed, silver eyes catching fire. Reiko snatched the hefty sum of pay from the sorcerer's desk. "I should demand more compensation for wasting our time."

"If that is what you'd like."

"It is."

Shang Tsung huffed in irritation, pulling a drawer open in search for a wad of extra funds. He could feel Reiko's eyes scrutinizing his every move.

When he'd finally fished around in the drawer for far more than what the warrior had expected, Shang Tsung could only sigh at the look of self content on his face.

But he would not hand it over yet.

"Do you know what became of their spouse?" Asked the sorcerer, sounding uncharacteristically concerned. Reiko's brows tied into a knot.

"Why should you care? Give me my pay and be done with this."

"Answer my question."

He sounded grave now, and the warrior almost wanted to laugh at this. But only because he had little else to do than to spar with his battalion for the rest of the day, Reiko opted to humour the sorcerer.

"My men told me they were devastated. And whatever was in that note you sent only made it worse," he revealed. "What did you send anyway? Some sort of recompense? I never took you for a kind man."

Shang Tsung felt anger boil in his chest at his colleague’s remarks. But he knew he was right. Right enough not to fight it.

“It was none of the sort, Reiko. Not entirely.”

“Then? Hurry up and tell me. I’m busy.”

“I’d written an apology.”

A pointless one.

[avatarofthearchives]

Some Random Magnus Archive Headcanon's

A: Michael Shelley had visual snow syndrome, which is a condition that makes you see static. It got worse when he became The Distortion.

B: After the apocalypse Rosie Zampano tries to use her limited (but still more than most) knowledge on Elias and The Institute to help people make sense of things. Any time she comes cross someone that's frazzled she tells me as much as she can...and before long it becomes widely know that Rosie Zampano was the apocalypses secretary. This actually launches her into a bit of a fame and she get's quite a few "tell all" offers in the form of book deals and interview offers. Though she's very hesitant on whether she wants to take any of them.

C: The Admiral is a manx. And I headcanon this because the manx breed was popular as ship cat due to their skilled hunting abilities...So that adds another layer to his name.

D: Gerard Keay has missing and chipped teeth on the side of his mouth from running straight into a wall while chasing someone with a Leitner.

E: Agnes Montague didn't even like coffee, but she was so unsure of as a person that she wasn't totally sure what drinks she liked. Most of her life was a performance, just doing she thought others wanted her to be doing, and her food and drink "preferences" were one of those things. She would loved hot chocolate.

F: Melanie's style takes a lot of inspiration from the 80's grunge aesthetic. She also really likes 80's new wave music.

G: Gertrude Robinson has massive burn scars all over her body from The Desolation ritual. And bonus headcanon about The Desolation ritual: It gave her fire resistance. She can still still get burned but it takes more to burn her than the usual person.

H: Jon's hands are chronically cold. Martin's hands are chronically warm.

I: Danny Stoker still made mix tapes. He made a lot of them on his travels and when he returned home he would give some personally crafted ones to his friends and family. Tim keeps his in a box on his dresser.

J: Anabelle Cane was the one responsible for posting the tapes to YouTube in-universe. It wasn't necessarily her who posted it, but she had...contingency plans to make sure the new universe knew what they were getting into.

[saltynsassy31]

Actually, how would Rodimus get back onto the Lost Light? Because if Ratchet and Drift came in their shuttle then it’s just those two while the LL is who knows where bc they’re in the process of returning to it. And since Rodimus is much bigger now, I imagine heavier too, is he going to fit on the shuttle at all? Or even be allowed on it because of weight limits?

I have to wonder if he has to be in alt mode bc as a dragon he can squeeze himself into places maybe. Or at least his neck can

Speaking of the LL though, how does his return go for him and everyone else? If he struggles to fit in the shuttle I imagine the other two come out and there’s a bunch of clanking before Rod manages to squeeze himself out. Do you think he’d take a the opportunity to surprise everyone by using the intercom to announce his very much not dead existence, thank you very much.

Megs would probably be relieved to see him at least (once he’s confirmed to be real) bc the last months have been helllll for him with a crew that hates him

Actually, this was something I discussed with my friend pretty early on XD. Mostly if he'd fit on the shuttle or not. And the answer was no and they'd probably have to get a bigger one for the longer trip.

However, before they did this was their solution:

And it made Roddy feel somewhat at ease too, because he HATES being in small, cramped placed (thanks to being locked up tight for months in the facilities, but also because he's now got the instinct to fly even though he doesn't know how to yet, and he just overall gets more easily claustrophobic if he can't stretch his wings)

Even after they got a bigger shuttle, he liked to sit outside. So if they weren't traveling at light speed, they'd allow him out.

However, he would have to stay in root-mode for the most part, because although he's more flexible as a dragon and can squeeze himself into smaller spaces, he is actually slightly shorter than his dragon form, and things end up more compact too. He doesn't have his tail out, for example, and his neck actually gives most of his height and that also gets chopped off during his transformation. His wings get tightly compact (though they CAN open in root-mode).

Though he still ends up getting his head smacked everywhere, he's bigger than Ultra Magnus now (like WAY bigger, I think about a head taller in root-mode?) It's definetly an adjustment period. And that image you gave of him struggling to get out of the shuttle is SO FUNNY I love it, it probably happened before they changed their shuttle to a bigger one😂. 

As for actually getting back to the LL... well We (me and my friend I first shared this au to) discussed it somewhat? But I kinda just wanted to focus on just Drift, Ratchet and Rodimus for the most part. We briefly touched on how it would go, and about where he'd return (a bit before when the mutiny actually happaned. Maybe before Sunder? Or while he's on the prowl? Idk yet). I just know he'd make a grand entrance, for sure XD

Every time I think of his return, I think of this clip:

But yes, Megatron would be VERY relieved, for sure. Considering all the conspiracies against him, everyone putting the blame on him that Rodimus died, thinking this was his way to gain full captaincy (though some people hated him just to hate and find something to blame him for and not exactly because they cared for Rodimus lol). It was horrible. There was a short snippet that I'm too lazy to go scowering my dms for where Megatron simply bows his head to Rodimus as he greats him, "welcome back, Captain." Fully acknowledging his role, basically.

And, tbh, did get me and my friend discussing about how Rodimus is the one to initiate a lot of the positive changes Megatron goes through, as well as the whole crew in general. For all his faults, his absence actually leaves a HUGE negative impact, more than I initially thought, and his return is definetly a big one. He's a captain that cares a lot for his crew, and his absence was noticed.

[pienchann]

Hi! I have a request for Demon slayer! Where the reader (female) is a Hashira and she has a panic attack infront of Giyuu and he calms her down? I understand if you don’t want to do this request!

GIYUU TOMIOKA X FEM!HASHIRA!READER

Genre: hurt comfort

Writer's note: i hope you enjoy this fic!! I hope its accurate enough ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა

WARNINGS: spoilers for final arc, panic attack, grief, PTSD(survivor's guilt), canon-typical violence referenced

You cant shake off that feeling of self blame, so Giyuu takes it upon himself to take you out of that dark place

She had just come back from a battle against Douma, having lost her friend Shinobu during the fight. She felt horrible--she had survived, and Shinobu hadn’t. "I could’ve protected her..." she whispered quietly, limping into the Butterfly Mansion for treatment. When she arrived and was guided into a bed, Giyuu was with her. He and Y/N had been dating for a while now, so he immediately noticed the sadness in her expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

She didn’t answer--her mind was trapped in memories. Shinobu’s wide eyes, the sudden slash to her chest, Douma’s twisted smile. It was all so vivid. Her throat began to tighten, and her breathing quickened. The noise around her became muffled, and her eyes stung with tears. A wave of nausea rolled through her--the guilt was crushing. Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Giyuu beside her, his eyes soft with understanding. He knew it was about Shinobu. He hadn’t been close to her, but he knew how much Y/N had loved her. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly, not really sure what else to say--emotional comfort wasn’t exactly his strength.

Inside, Giyuu silently scolded himself. Why am I so bad at this? He felt useless. Awful. Like a terrible boyfriend. All he could do was try--try not to make things worse, try to say something that wouldn’t push her further into panic. His jaw clenched. He hated seeing her like this--unraveling in front of him, blaming herself. It hurt him more than he could say.

“I could’ve protected her…” Y/N sobbed, the tears now streaming freely down her face as she struggled to breathe. Her heart was racing. Then, suddenly, warm arms wrapped around her--steady and strong. She buried her face in his chest and cried openly as Giyuu held her close. “She would’ve wanted you to survive, you know…” he whispered. “Would she forgive me…?” she asked softly. Giyuu sighed, then gently placed both hands on her shoulders, guiding her to look up at him. “You helped defeat Douma. You survived. Of course she’d forgive you.”

Then, leaning in, he kissed her forehead--a rare, tender gesture that surprised her. “She’s with her sister now,” he added. “Think of it like that.” The thought brought a small wave of comfort. She knew how much Shinobu had missed Kanae. Giyuu wasn’t good with words, but Y/N could tell he meant every one of them. Even though he didn’t smile, she saw the quiet adoration in his eyes. She hugged him suddenly, and his eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t big on physical affection, and she never pushed it on him--but every once in a while, in moments like these, he didn’t mind. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, too.

“Thank you, Giyuu,” she murmured as her breathing slowly returned to normal. A small smile formed on her lips as she looked up at him. He blushed slightly and gave a short nod. He’d do anything to make her smile. She yawned, exhaustion settling in, and Giyuu gently helped her lie back down on the bed. He pulled the blanket over her and sat nearby, watching over her as she finally drifted into peaceful sleep.