#hes almost 30 and he didn't even save like a little bit of it.

[bruhstories]

sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k

a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.

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Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.

Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.

Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.

No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.

It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.

Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.

He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.

But finally, you were done.

It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.

You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.

Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.

"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.

"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.

"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"

Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.

"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."

But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.

You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.

"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.

He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.

"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"

You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.

"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.

How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.

"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."

The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.

You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.

"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.

"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.

"I don't know, kid-"

"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.

Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.

"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.

You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.

"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.

"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"

"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"I'm-"

"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.

"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.

"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.

"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.

"I don't like sweets, kid."

"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."

"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."

"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.

"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"

"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.

Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.

"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.

"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."

"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."

Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."

"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.

"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."

"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."

"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.

Caught red-handed.

"Educated guess."

"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"

Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.

"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"

"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"

"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.

"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"

Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.

"You never called me that."

"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.

"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.

"And I'll regenerate."

Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.

"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."

"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.

"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."

"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"

"She." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.

"Alright, that's enough."

"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.

"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.

"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"

The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.

Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.

"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.

"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"

Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.

"I had a hunch." He shrugged. 

"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."

"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."

"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.

Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.

You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.

"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."

The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.

"I'll let it cool off a bit."

"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.

"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.

"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."

"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.

"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.

Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.

The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.

"Shit."

"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.

"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"

You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.

"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."

"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.

"Is it good?"

"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"

"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.

Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.

Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.

"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.

Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.

"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"

"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.

"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."

"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.

"I think you found yourself a new customer."

"You're too nice."

"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.

"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."

"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.

Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.

"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.

His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.

With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.

Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.

"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.

"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.

"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.

With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.

Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.

"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

"Likewise. Now spread 'em."

"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.

He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.

"That desperate, hm?"

"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.

"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.

"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.

"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.

You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.

"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.

"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.

To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?

"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.

You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.

"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.

Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.

"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"

"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."

"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.

"Where are your manners?"

"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"

The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.

"Are you sure you can take it?"

"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"

Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.

"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.

"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.

Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.

"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.

"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.

You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.

"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."

"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."

"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.

You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I like you too, honey badger."

"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.

"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."

He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.

In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.

"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.

"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"

"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."

"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."

"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.

"Both. It's both."

You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.

He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.

Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.

"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.

"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."

You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."

"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."

"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"

"Yes."

"Dulce de leche?"

"Yep."

"Baklava?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"

"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"

"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."

"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.

"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."

"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"

"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.

Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.

[midwestprincesss]

PARTNERS IN CRIME | chapter 1

pairing: enemies to lovers patrick zweig x female!reader summer camp au

summary: after graduating highschool, both you and patrick look for a summer job. you, because you wanted to save some money before college. and him because he needed a place to sleep. you thought you finally got rid of him forever, after highschool. but it's patrick zweig, so c'mon.

a/n: it's a biiiit short i knoww but i'm tired so YEAH! sorry! loveu guys tho!!!!!!!!

contents: uh. some talk ab masturbation, patrick has a crusty cum sock but are we surprised, reader is literally patrick, they can't stand eachother but they also wanna fuck eachother, blahblahblah

taglist: @jackierose902109 @primlovesdilfs

prologue

''wake up.'' you heard a voice. a guy's voice. it took you a while to actually wake up and realize it was patrick, leaning against your door frame.

you groaned and threw your pillow at him. ''get the fuck out!''

he chuckled and picked up the pillow, throwing it back at you with more force. ''it's 8am. you have to get up, like, now.''

''ugh! why are you even in my room, zweig? have you been watching me or something? you fucking perv. go away!''you yelled, pulling the blanket over your head. and of course the fucker had to walk over to your bed and pull the blanket off of you.

''look, it's not my fault we got paired up in the same cabin. now if you stopped being a fucking bitch for once and got up, that would be great. we have to do the whole initiation bullshit with all those kids. get out of the fucking bed.'' he said and slammed the door.

it was an actual nightmare come true. patrick never had any concept of personal space, but you thought that maybe it was just a phase. turns out it wasn't. he looked almost ready to get into bed with you-but only so that he could push you off of it. not that you wished he would get into bed with you to do something else- no, ew. you'd sleep with anyone but patrick zweig.

but he did look good. and even though you didn't want to admit it, you knew it. he's tall, muscular and handsome. perhaps that contributes to your hatred for him. you couldn't stand it when he looked at you with those doe-like green eyes of his. or when he bit his lip at the most inappropiate times. or the way the muscles in his legs flexed when he was running. or how nice his freckles look.

but you were not attracted to patrick, god no. these were just little exceptions.

well, maybe this morning was an exception as well. the way he spoke to you turned you on, weirdly. he seemed so pissed off- he looks hot when he's angry. maybe that's why you get a kick out of annoying him.

you finally rolled out of bed with a groan, checking the time. it was, in fact, not 8 am, as patrick had told you, but 7:30. the fucker.

you decided on not going back to sleep anymore- mostly because you weren't that sleepy anymore but also because you didn't want to let your thoughts about patrick wander. the most ridiculous and embarassing thing would be to jerk off while thinking about that smug little bitch. you would have good excuses though- it was morning, you were just horny, blah blah blah. but still, the aftermath of it all would have been the most humbling experience ever so you decided it was best to just skip all of it.

after doing no efforts in making your bed, you headed to the bathroom to brush your teeth and put on a bit of makeup, then you put on a pair of shorts and a stupid t-shirt with the name of the camp on it. and just when you were about to leave the cabin, you noticed patrick's door was slightly open. would it realyyy be that bad if you looked around his room a bit?

no, it wouldn't. he barged into your room while you were still in there, sleeping, without even knocking. so it can't be worse than that.

you opened the door and looked around. it smelt like axe body spray and cigarettes. you looked up at the smoke detector and obviously it was covered with a shower cap. it was such a patrick thing to do. then, you noticed the fact that he hadn't made his bed. also a very patrick thing. but then you remembered your bed looks exactly the same so you quickly found something else to focus on- the fucking sock next to his bed. just one, singular sock on the floor- gross. so. fucking. gross. to think he was jerking his shit in a room right next to yours- just straight up gross. not hot- not hot at all. it's actually disgusting to think about him slowly stroking his big, throbbing dick with pretty moans falling from his lips (such a shame you didn't hear them). what was he thinking about? about you, maybe. but you hope it wasn't you, 'cause that would definitely not be hot- not at all.

when you opened the door you found patrick in front of the cabin, checking his phone.

you sighed, loudly, so that he could hear you. he did not react. you did it again- but still, no reaction from him.

you decided to break the silence. '' why the fuck did you come here? did you know i was gonna be here? your parents are fucking rich. you're basically swimming in money there, at your house. why couldn't you stay there?'' you snapped at him, slightly surprising yourself. you did plan on having this conversation with him, but you didn't expect it to happen so soon. it was like you were speaking without actually wanting to.

''wouldn't you like to know.'' he deadpanned, then continued to type something on his phone.

you stared at him, tapping your foot. ''you checking if i replied to that text you sent me three days ago? 'cause i didn't. and just so you know, i was not smiling at you.''

''it looked like you were. i bet you missed me.'' he finally looked up from his phone but without making eye contact with you yet. he was smirking. again. you felt like punching him. again.

''zweig, i swear if you don't shut up-''

''make me shut up, then.'' he said. so fucking cheesy.

''your stupid pick-up lines don't work on me. you're not gonna turn me into one of your fangirls'' you warned him, inching closer and closer to him. ''and by the way, i'll get back at you for waking me up earlier. you're a fucking cunt.''

he didn't reply anything. he just looked directly into your eyes, with his eyebrows slightly raised. it was almost like his face was screaming, punch me! punch me!

you ignored your violent urges- you figured it would be better to put all that energy into something else- maybe, instead of punching him, you could flood his room- something of the sort.

but of course, that would be quite impossible given the fact that you would have to pay actual money for the damage. so, maybe punching was still an option, but not yet.

''i'm starving. i'll go get some breakfast.'' you said as you started walking away. ''-and don't try to sit next to me at the table. it's enough i have to sleep in the same cabin as you- i don't want to be reminded of your gross eating habits.'' pickles and peanut butter, disgusting. you remember how patrick used to eat that, in the school cafeteria- like actually. and with people around him. and still- he got girls. somehow.

he immediately came running after you, laughing a bit- ''oh come on, i don't eat that shit anymore, i was like 15 back then. and plus- i don't know anyone around here-'' he tried to make a point, but you cut him off with a loud and clear 'no.' he sighed and rolled his eyes at that, but ended up sitting on the opposite side of the table.

the whole time you were having breakfast you could feel his eyes on you. only this time, he wasn't smirking or grinning or anything of the sort- he just looked like a lost puppy.

it almost made you feel bad.

[mykmi]

gym himbo

summary: some guy at the gym keeps fooling around and showing off every time he sees you around, so you two make a bet. genre: crack, fluff pairing: gym himbo!beomgyu x gn!reader warnings: none? tell me if there's anything!! a/n: this is just a small very light fluff, just for fun ;))) AND i am so grateful for all the responses to my latest post (headcanons) so i want to thank everyone for the support! i'm trying to catch up and post as much as i can, i hope i don't make you wait :((

the gym was unusually full - it's the first time you've gone to the gym this lately, almost 10 p.m. too many things were going on, so today you couldn't go any earlier. the squeaks of trainers, the sound of bars falling to the floor, and the frequent screams of some bodybuilders lifting extreme weights were filling the gym, but it was all muffled through your earphones.

you were on a break, scrolling through your phone and listening to a playlist nonstop. and suddenly, you hear a muffled voice near you and notice someone in the corner of your eye. you look up and see beomgyu, with his sleeveless t-shirt and long dark hair. he's grinning at you, waiting for your reaction probably, but you haven't heard any word.

“what?” you take out your earphone, breathing heavily. he leans in a bit closer and repeats:

“i've won the bet today, so i've won your number as a prize”, he smiles once again.

beomgyu's been hitting on you for two weeks now, and it's not like you turned him down. you were sometimes flirting and staring back at him, just for fun. he's been trying to show off and make some stupid jokes to get your attention every time he's seen you around. but you weren't sure about how serious he was, so you didn't want to actually give him the green light to ask you out on a date.

but now as there was a pretty obvious chemistry between you two, you couldn't deny that you also felt attracted to him. he was tall, broad, and handsome. moreover, he made you laugh so often like he knew exactly what to say. so you decided to spice things up and after the latest try of him getting your number you offered to make a bet - if beomgyu does the bench press with 30 lbs more than usual, you would give him your number.

beomgyu was standing still, waiting patiently.

“i didn't see it though”

he chucked at your response, and after a short pause, continued:

“then let's go and i'll show you”, he insisted and went to another section with many barbells. you followed him, greeting his gym buddies - taehyun and yeonjun, with whom you exchanged some jokes and news occasionally.

beomgyu used some sports chalk and started to get ready to lift the bar. and after a while, he laid down on a bench, breathing with his chest, and placed his hands on a barbell. taehyun went to insure him and positioned himself next to beomgyu's head.

and he did the bench press. three times, actually, just to shock you even more. you were in awe, to say the least. so little time has passed, how could he catch up so fast? beomgyu stood up, energized as hell, sweat dripping from his forehead, and came right to you.

“are you convinced now?”, he laughed at your surprised expression. you gulped and said:

“yes”, and he smiled, panting heavily. “so, can i get your number, please?” he babbled, almost not getting the words right.

“yes, you can”, you chuckled at his misty-eyed gaze. “give me your phone”

he rushed to the side, took his phone, unlocked it, opened the contacts, and handed the device to you. he watched you with the biggest grin on his face as you saved your own number in his phone and turned to his friends, silently throwing his fists to the air as a way of celebration. they quietly hyped him up.

“here, take it”, you give his phone back and smile at him.

as you were ready to leave, beomgyu blurted out:

“can we go on a date tomorrow?”

and that's where the fun started.

✉ thank you for reading ✉

[mrsparrasblog]

MAKAROV X PRICE DAUGHTER Pt. 1

I know John Price would be the best Dad on earth but please let the Plot , ploting

Part 2

Your dad loved you; you were really sure he did, just not as much as he loved Tina, your younger sibling. You were the result of a one-night stand he had when he was 16, while Tina was a love child of your dad's new wife. You liked both of them; you really did. They treated you with respect; you stayed in their house while your dad was on deployment. So you couldn't really complain; they even let you stay while you did your apprenticeship, despite that you were over 20 now and full of age, but they made it clear: finish your apprenticeship and you're gone.

Your dad didn't say anything. Well, how could he, since he was always on some kind of mission, to save the planet or world? He was like a real-life Avenger. It just hurts sometimes when he misses certain events like your ballet performance, your appendix operation, your 18th birthday, and your graduation ceremony—the best of the whole year. But who cares about that when you have no one in the crowd to cheer for you?

The worst part? He did make time for Tina. He was at her elementary school graduation, at every birthday, and at her fencing competition, claiming it's not because he likes Tina more; it's just that fencing is more interesting than ballet. You would understand that, right? You were a good, smart girl. Of course, you would understand how important his job is, right? You're not a selfish little lady, he said.

For years, you thought he despised you, maybe because you were the spitting image of your dead mother or because you had the same interests as her but not like Tina. Tina was cool; she did fencing, wanted to join the military, and even got caught smoking weed. Your dad only laughed about this, telling her he did this too when he was young.

You and your dad didn't share the same interest; you liked everything that was hyper-feminine: ballet, pink, makeup, Taylor Swift. And you were becoming a midwife instead of a cool, badass soldier. His only expression was, "Are you sure, sweetie?" Of course, you were sure, and you thought your job was even more badass than his. You helped bring babies into the world; what could be better?

One day, you noticed he did love you. In fact, it was just harder to love someone at 17 than at 30, he said. He cried while saying this, begging you on his knees to forgive him for being such a crappy dad, and of course, you did. His affection and attention were almost like a drug to you; you didn't need weed when hearing "I'm proud of you, sweetie" did so much more to you.

It wasn't a surprise when you started to sleep with older men, craving the care and affection they could provide you with. The same affection you begged your whole life for. When your stepmother found out you got intimate with 40-year-old men every weekend, she told your dad, of course, that she did. And he was furious—more than furious. Giving you a lesson about safe sex—a bit too late for that, innit? And then he told you that he was disappointed in you, and it hurt even more than the neglect you needed to endure your whole life.

You were walking through the streets of Cardiff, enjoying the sight of your hometown; it was beautiful, especially at night. Suddenly, a man bumped into you—correct: the most handsome man you've ever seen in your life. He was tall with dark hair, mesmerizing eyes, tattoos and pale skin, and he was definitely old enough to be your type. Maybe that was the fairytale love story you ever dreamed of.

"I'm sorry, sir; my eyes aren't so strong in the dark."

He kissed your hand like you were some kind of royalty and smiled with the most charming smile. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't have to apologize," he said with a thick, beautiful Russian accent.

"Thank you, sir."

"Call me Vlad, princess," he said, and you told him your name, to which he replied that it was the most beautiful name he ever heard.

"Let me walk you home, princess. It's dangerous for a beautiful girl like you to walk on her own," he said with a cheeky grin.

"So you're from Russia? How is it there?"

"Beautiful; the nature is stunning. I live in Moscow, and you would love the architecture."

"I bet I would love it. If I have the opportunity to travel someday, I definitely will."

"Where would you go first, princess?"

"Hm, New York or maybe Sydney. No wait, the Alps. Ah, it's hard to decide, you?"

You mumbled while walking on the sidewalk; you didn't know why, but you felt safe like never before. Not even the dogs barked at him; he had this dark presence about him, but how he talked and behaved, letting you walk further away from the sidewalk, lending you his jacket, and caressing your finger with his thumb, made you feel safe and appreciated.

"I was almost everywhere in the world, but if I could decide, I'd say Moscow."

"Doesn't count; you live there." You pointed your tongue at him and threw a giggling fit.

"And who are you to decide this?"

"Like you said, a princess."

"And what does your Highness want?"

"Hm, ice cream."

You went to an ice cream place, both of you picking out an ice cream flavor; he insisted that he pay for your £2 ice like a gentleman, and you laughed.

"You're weird; chocolate-mint ice is a disgrace."

"It is good; taste it?"

"I won't."

You smeared the ice around your plump lips. "You sure don't want a taste now," you said, hinting at a kiss. He smirked and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were gentle, but there was so much passion behind the kiss and so much longing that you immediately moaned, making a fool of yourself. After what felt like hours, you split, trying to catch your breath.

"that was-"

"Intense"

You nodded before pulling into another kiss. The 10-minute walk home took 3 hours since you stopped every second, demanding his attention, and he gave it to you so willingly. You arrived at your door.

"So this is my door."

He kissed you one last time, "Sorry Princess," and then he pulled you into him, holding something against your nose, but before you could react, you were already far gone.

You brought him to your place, Price's house, with what he wanted; he wanted to kill every three of you, make a massacre, and then leave them for Price to see. But you were confusing him; he liked your presence; sure, he was just a man, and he knew you were the type of woman he watched when beating his meat, but normally attractiveness wouldn't affect him, especially not with Price's daughter. But you were nice to him even though you didn't know he was fucking Vladimir Makarov, so his plan changed; he needed to break you or have you and then rub it under Price's face that you were his now.

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Promptcation. two fills in one day wooooo that's how much i hate my job lolol]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) 24: imperfect (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

The silence that greets John as he walks up the seventeen steps, bags of groceries in hand, is perfectly ominous. He's only been gone two hours, for God's sake.

… but he's kidding himself if he thinks Rosie & Sherlock can't do a significant amount of damage in twenty minutes, let alone two hours.

He resigns himself to a huge repair bill and/or an angry Mrs Hudson, and opens the door.

Sherlock is stood in front of the sitting room table, holding a squirmy Rosie. 'Hello, John.'

'Hi Daddyyyyy.'

John raises an eyebrow. 'She's very excited about something.'

Sherlock clears his throat and looks down momentarily. 'Yes. Well. We may have had an exciting…incident.'

John sets the bags down on the kitchen table then walks back to face them. He runs his eyes over his daughter, but doesn't see any obvious damage. 'Any blood?' 

'Absolutely not,' Sherlock says immediately.

'On either of you?' John amends.

Sherlock shifts Rosie in his arms. 'Not important.'

'Alright, I'll bite. What is important, then?'

'Well, first we need to apologise, because we may have--'

'Broke bowl,' Rosie interrupts him firmly.

John shakes his head. 'We break bowls all the time, I don't--'

Sherlock moves aside, and John sees what's on the sitting room desk behind him.

'Oh,' he says shortly, his heart plummeting somewhere into his belly. On the table sits a sad pile of ceramic shards where once a handmade bowl had stood.

His eyes start to sting. John has very little left of his mum, and she'd been especially proud of that bowl. He can feel his heart rate increase as anger begins singing through him.

'I'm so sorry, John.' Sherlock's voice is low, and John's gaze snaps to him. His cool eyes are muddled with worry, and that's enough to jolt John into action.

'Need a minute, thanks,' he says, enunciating clearly, and Sherlock doesn't hesitate to nod, then reaches for a toy with which to distract Rosie.

John closes his eyes and doesn't count to ten; instead he forces air into his lungs, pictures his baby girl, and begins to count her toes and fingers. This he does, over and over and over again, until he can breathe, until he feels the anger slip and slide on its way, transforming into resignation and maybe even a glimmer of acceptance.

It is what it is.

He opens his eyes and breathes out. His body feels loose, almost depleted, but the red haze is gone. 'What happened?' he asks, throat a bit rough, as he approaches the table. Part of the bowl is actually intact, though there are a few small cracks running along it like wrinkles.

'We were playing aeroplane,' Sherlock explains, 'and her feet made an unexpected landing, one could say.'

John's lips twitch. 'And you're all right? You didn't try to heroically save the shards and end up slicing your hand open?'

Sherlock's face-- John's not sure what to make of it, exactly, but he has the feeling that as soon as they've settled in for the night he's going to have the living daylights kissed out of him. He is very much on board.

'It's just a little cut,' Sherlock says. 'And I already have a plaster on it.' He shifts Rosie and holds up the wounded finger in evidence.

It's a Sesame Street plaster, and that for some reason breaks John. He feels laughter shake through his limbs. 'Oh, Christ,' he says, wiping his eyes and looking up at Sherlock. A final chuckle escapes him, then he nods. 'You know what we're going to do?'

'What are we going to do?'

'We're going to declare that what was once a bowl is now an ashtray. In its final form, like.'

Sherlock lets out a surprised huff of laughter. 'An ashtray, you say?'

Rosie is not to be left out. 'What's ash tray?'

John and Sherlock exchange a look, but Sherlock speaks first. 'Something that will sit on our shelf, right here--' He walks over to the bookshelf by the fireplace. '--right next to the one that we s--'

John clears his throat.

'--acquired from the Palace.'

Rosie perks up, no longer interested in the ashtrays one little bit. 'Palace?'

Sherlock realises he's landed into some Prince & Princess Time a split second too late to do anything about it. 'Yes, palace,' he ad libs. 'In the sky!'

Rosie's eyes go wide, and the corner of John's mouth turns up. 'Well done.' He walks over to where they're standing and kisses them both. 'I'm going to put away the groceries and see about tea, all right?'

Sherlock leans in and kisses him again before he can move away. 'Thank you,' he says quietly while shifting Rosie to his other side. 'I know that's difficult for you.'

John nods in acknowledgement, and picks up the newly-christened ashtray one more time. 'Looks a little… rough, but should work fine.'

'It has character,' Sherlock replies.

'Personality.'

'An origin story.'

'A palace!' Rosie interjects, throwing her hands up in the air.

John's grin matches Sherlock's smirk. 'Close enough.'

[ <3 ]

And we get a little further from perfection Each year on the road / I think that's called 'character'; I think that's Just the way it goes

[inspired by 'Imperfectly' by Ani Difranco, from the album Imperfectly, which I have been listening to obsessively bc of this, and it's been a marvellous, self-indulgent time.]

[ronearoundblindly]

Ro, darling

A and Q for Hideout Steve (I thought about requesting Z and then realised, for him, it’s everywhere 😂

For this ask game, and they are dirtayyyyyy.

Little different than general solo steve and I'll elaborate on when he's soft-spoken vs. loud (Low key hilarious that Hideout!Steve is soooooo sensitive and Fools!Steve is the polar opposite.)

MINORS DNI. I know you're sick of me saying it, but this is not for youngsters. I will not hesitate to let you know when a fic is all-age friendly!

A - Alone Time

Let's start from the beginning. When 'Grant' first starting visiting the motel, he really didn't have any dreams/delusions/fantasies about having a love life, and since Steve always imagined he'd only have sex with someone he was able to court and know pretty well, he resigned himself to never finding someone until his exile ended. (Considering in canon, it never really ended, we see he had a point.)

Once something does develop between you, despite all odds, he gets to hope, and hope is a drug to Steve Rogers.

He doesn't have a lot of time where he's truly alone while bunking with Natasha and Sam--sometimes Wanda and Viz, too--so I feel like Steve has mastered the art of innocent imagination. When he thinks of you it's not graphic, not unless he can be in a separate room or, preferably, building than the rest of his group.

They all understand though. Each of them clammers for some distance as often as is safe.

Bathing marks the only real and consistent time Steve has alone, meaning you helping wash his hair in the tub counts as a double whammy to his fantasies.

There was a lot of crossover in his dreams that night since the association is too strong. He touches himself in the shower, you were in the bathroom with him, and thus, he dreamt of you touching him in the shower. He woke up to that being almost the reality, too, so that wet dream has been pretty consistently on repeat.

From that point on, the urge to imagine what could happen gets much worse. The group doesn't have a routine. They bounce from place to place and spend wildly different amounts of time in each location. To date, the motel is only one of three places they've stayed two times, and it is the only place they've gone back to more than twice. It's not fucking rocket science to understand what's so appealing to Steve that he nudges and hints at returning as often as is strategically plausible.

If by chance Steve actually gets a room to himself and is truly alone for a few hours, it's difficult not to take advantage, spread out, and sleep, however, but he sleeps even better after writhing around as a horny mess for about twenty minutes, working himself up, humping the mattress and his hand, moaning into the pillows like a whore (at least he thinks he sounds like those 'painted' women back in the '30s and '40s), and coming hard on his abs. He vaguely knows he's a glutton for punishment by how long he tries to milk his orgasm. It works though. He can last a bit longer now--even with the vivid memory of what it feels like to be inside you--yet he doesn't really need to last when his alone time is so limited. Should he...practice that? Should he be trying to hold out longer?

Dillema!

Q - Quiet Please

sjdbviuarb;viubsnlvk

oops, sorry, got lost in my thots about how loud Steve can get while fucking you. Honestly, if you two have enough privacy, he's even goddamn noisy while eating you out.

As I hope I've established many times, Steve Rogers in any universe can't talk dirty to save his life. He can lie better than he can say words like 'fuck,' or 'cunt,' and will never ever say the word 'pussy' in reference to your body or a cat (now that he knows what some people use the term for). I have no clue why 'cunt' would be better than 'pussy,' but 🤷🏻‍♀️ this is my headcanon so here we go. He uses any curse words so seldom that it doesn't really matter. He'd have to be pretty surprised by the intensity of something or at peak possessiveness to utter stuff like that. (If he has to reference it, usually he just says "you're so wet," "you're squeezing me so tight," or "do you need me?" Very general, no bad words required.)

ANYWHO: volume.

As much as I ::melts:: love the idea of Steve getting louder when he's tired, he has grown to enjoy the thrill of being quiet and sneaky.

He's got to get his kicks somewhere, right? So he's almost trained himself to be completely silent (to the point of holding his breath, which is a whole other kink for way later) while he imagines that you can travel with them for some reason. It's a fantasy; he hasn't worked out the details. He'd still want to be buried inside you or fingering you till you come if you had to share a room with the group for a night. He'll be quiet if you will. They'll never know. He promises. Please, Tops. Please. He wants to touch you, to hold you, to feel you everywhere...

Yup, Steve can be silent as the grave or hitting opera notes; it's all good as long as he gets to be with you.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Hideout Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

One more cowboy cat for the road!

[majestick-posts-op]

My personal rating and ranking of Luffy's father figures from worst to best

7) Garp (-100000/10)

Yeah, I don't even need to elaborate on this at all. Cause like... we all know how much Garp sucks. We all know how he valued his job and loyalty to the marines more than the actual safety of his family. How he says that he cares... but he truly doesn't do anything at all. AND THAT'S BARELY SCRATCHING THE SURFACE!!! Because in all of Luffy's childhood... I don't think there was a single moment where he was just... kind? Canonically at least. It was always launching your 3 year old in the jungle, in a ravine, in the fucking air tied to baloons just so you can fuck off and do what YOU want. It was awlays ignoring every single one of his dreams. And not only that because while thinking that a life as a pirate isn't ideal is fair, forcing your own phisosophies on your kid and forcefully msking them choose the carrer YOU want isn't. No wonder Dragon is the way he is! And he made Luffy's abbandonment issues WORSE by leaving him in another random place with other random people. And this is only the stuff we saw about Garp... we never saw a house where he lived in any flashback. Did Garp stay in the marine's headquarters? Did Luffy fucking sleep outside in the forest? Luffy looked so exited when Makino got him a shirt. Did Garp never get Luffy clothes? Did he just used random rags he had laying around? When Luffy only got a bowl of rice and a cup of water to eat he said that it was better than what Garp gave him. Did he fucking starve Luffy by making him hunt for all he ever ate since he was a fucking toddler? IS THAT WHY LUFFY IS HALF OF GARP'S SIZE???

But worst of all... he was never there! Not when he got kidnapped, not when they almost burned him alive, not when Ace died, and he never will.

Garp truly did not care enough. And that is what hurts the most.

I'm removing all of his ppint and shoving him into the void.

6) Shanks (6.5/10)

Okay so I'm a little conflicted about Shanks. He has many good things about him. He inspired Luffy and supported his dream, and has shown to be very caring and affectionate. He taught him that some fights are not worth it and that he shouldn't be too hung up on certain things. That's good. But he also indirectely caused him to commit self harm, took a crying bleeding 7 year old in a bar full of alchool, lied to him about what happenned to his best friend, and then he just... dissappeared. I don't fully blame him since he isn't Luffy's primary caretaker, that was GARP and Shanks is already infinitely better since he supported his dream. But Shanks does have this theme where he is bad at communication and doesn't fully commit to certain things. We saw it with Buggy. But hey, at least he gave Luffy that really good advice that its okay to cry but you have to move on. Expect that he never said it directely to his face (or out loud for what matters) and he was only at marineford for 30 seconds.

I'm removing one ppint for him being an idiot, another for abbandonment, and another and a half points for general flaws.

5) Dragon (7/10)

I think people tend to be a bit too hard on Dragon. He was starting a revolution, of course he couldn't have taken care of him for his own safety. And he sadly had no other choice so sadly GARP raised Luffy. I can't rate him any higher tho because we just never really saw him parent Luffy... apart from that one time when he saved him, but then he dissappeared. Still can't believe he raised Sabo instead of him honestly.

I'll remove one point for abbandonment, another point for giving him to his father and a last one for bad eyebrows and bigass forehead genes.

4) Crocodile (adding him because I said so) (7.5/10)

All things considered, Croc didn't exatcly have the best starting point. (He arguably had the worst) But he was 100% one of the most helpful people to Luffy during marineford.

Not only did he save Ace despide hating Whitebeard, but he also blocked Doflamingo's attack and helped him break out. HE WAS MORE HELPFUL THAT GARP GODDAMMIT!!! So maybe Croc's heart isn't exatcly in the right place... but he seems to do much better now.

I'm removing one point for abbandonment and one and a half points for almost killing him.

3) Franky (8.5/10)

Much like croc, Franky didn't have the best start with Luffy, and we don't really see much of just the two of them since he is closer with Usopp, but the few scenes they have togheter paint a pretty good picture. Firstly both Luffy and Franky share an interents in stuff like beams and robots, and Franky is willing to show off for him so in return Luffy does admire this side of him. Franky also tries to avoid toxic masculinity, and never forces Luffy into anything while supporting him unlike GARP. In Dressrosa Franky really looked after and accompanied Luffy to assist him in retrieving Ace's fruit, which Franky understands was very hard for him. He is rensponsable and doesn't let Luffy do anything stupid (like revealing his name) and later that arc there's that one super cute scene where Luffy is just sleeping and Franky is there looking at him while smiling/crying and...

Look at him!!! He's so dad material!!!

Removing one point for hurting Usopp and half a point for mildly enabaling him.

2) Rayleigh (9/10)

Like many others, Rayleigh was also very helpful during the summit war saga, specifically the post war arc. He was with Luffy during his worst time and helped him get through them. Not only that, but he also trained him. Execpt that unlike GARP who would just launch Luffy into a ravine and exept him to get out by himself so he can leave and fuck off where he wants, Rayleigh stuck around and not only gave him useful advice and lessons, but also prevented him from doing things that would have hurt his body like using to much haki. It didn't work but still, he mastered the art of being hard but still very much caring and being present. Plus it was so heart warming seeing him helping Luffy and how much he reminds him of Roger.... Uncle Rayray I love you!!! Give me your wife!!!

Removing one point for... lack of screentime? I guess, I'm not sure.

1) Jimbei (15/10)

We all know that fishdad is the best period, but I really wanna analize him. Jimbei was possibly the one who helped Luffy the most when he came to... everything? I mean he saved him from Akainu, stood by his side when he was still unconscious from his operation, stopped him from committing self harm or worse, comforted him trough his grief and tears, gave him his blood thus saving his life and showing just how much he loved him, offrred to guide him in accomplishing his dream, came back each and every time he was needed, because Luffy needs somebody like him that can ground him and make him reflect but also respect and love him, he believed in Luffy so much to go againsts a Yonko TWICE, and one of these times it was literally a face to face with the scariest person on Earth.

But the best part? Jimbei truly cares about all the young. The new generation that should be hate free and happy. The new generation he fought for multiple times. He knows Luffy can be a major figure in that, but he also just cares for him. He loves Luffy. Unconditionally. I know I may be repeating myself but he is 100% what Luffy needed when he needed it. And I will not shut up about this. Ever.

Bonus:

Trademark dad hawaian shirt.

Adding 5 point for being handsome.

[sadakorosee]

Friends fight too

all turtles x fem!reader (platonic, best friend relationships)

summary: friends fight all the time and sometimes it gets a bit too far

A/N: this is probably my, like, 5th angst fanfic of these turtles. told ya im the expert when it's angst; i like to break people's hearts ;)

"the best fights don't occur between strangers. they occur between friends who trust each other." - chuck palahniuk

It was a cool simple Tuesday night when the turtles and you went out for your patrol. You're a still in training to become part of their team as a female ninja - a kunoichi. You've trained under their watch and Splinter's but mostly Splinter. The turtles, when not occupied to save the city under Chief Vincent's order, would train you.

Even Mikey. Yes. His classes aren't easy to catch up especially when he's hyped about you joining their team. He makes sure you eat enough so you can build a muscle.

"Don't be as bad as Raph, though." He said one time and with sharp ears, Raph threw a spare shoe at Mikey's head and knocked him over.

Almost 9 months into training, you were 87% ready according to Donnie's statistics. A week or two and you'll be 100% ready depending on your confidence.

Whoever said ninjutsu was easy, they're nuts. Here you are in your early 20s learning extensive martial arts, you are sure your legs are going to give out the moment you're in real combat.

Which is happening right now - Donnie's monitors picked up movements from a factory 10 minutes from their whereabouts and Casey Jones, who is now the NYPD's lead detective, contacted them that there was a gang infiltrated the place. The turtles responded.

"We'll be there by truck." Leo informed Casey and turned to you, "Head back to the lair."

"Wait, I'm not going with you? I'm almost full-on kunoichi."

"It's too dangerous, y/n. You're not ready for this combat yet."

"So I head straight to the lair after my 9-5 job to do my training despite being in my 20s and busted my ass doing the training and you're benching me? What the fuck, Leo?" You were pissed. What's the point of training so hard if he's pushing you away from real combat?

"Guys, we have to go." Donnie called. Without further arguments, you ended up following them to their mission.

Part of you was excited but deep down, you were nervous. Perhaps Leo was right; maybe you weren't 100% ready and into the mission.

"You okay, angel?" Mikey interrupted your thoughts and nudged your knee. "It's alright, I'll protect you! Just stay behind my back and fight as many bad people as you can!"

Oh, that much you could do and it was easy bringing down human fighters. There were 30 of them against 5 of you. It was a piece of cake until-

Whatever these gang wanted to retrieve, it was important to them as they're willing to hold down 4 large turtles and cut their skin with their blades while you stood there with a grey suitcase in your hand, threatening to throw it into a pit of fire below you. Above you was a gap to the rooftop, a chance for you to escape with the suitcase to your reinforcements outside waiting for you; Casey.

You were about to escape until you see their leader taking out a shotgun that brings down large animals and you knew it was enough to kill the turtles with one shot. Their shells may be bulletproof but their physical bodies weren't.

"Give us the suitcase, little girl, or your mutant friend's head will explode in pieces." The gun pointed at Mikey's head and he exclaimed, trying to struggle his way out but there were more than 5 men holding him down.

"Run, y/n! Get out of here!" Raph shouted but all you heard was ringing in your ears. You froze. You started wheezing at the thought of your friends getting taken down by a shotgun.

You made a huge mistake.

You didn't remember a thing - as soon as your mind was clear, you were outside the now burnt down factory but the suitcase you thought you were holding was gone. Your fists formed into a ball and repeatedly hitting yourself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The ride back to the lair was dead silent, even Mikey didn't look too happy. The truck abruptly stopped at an empty undercross bridge, away from the main lights and city. The turtles stepped outside and this was it; you knew they were furious at something- or rather, someone.

"What the heck were you thinking, y/n? You had that suitcase with you and you had that chance to escape to Casey." Leo started, calm on the outside but pissed on the inside. He towered over you as he speaks, "If you didn't play hero, this case would've been closed."

"Why the heck did you stay up there?" Raph's critic came after.

"Now the suitcase is gone. It was our only source to ever find these gangs. They're tougher than the foot clan." Donnie remained calm but his arms were crossed staring at you. "All evidence of them existing, just gone."

"y/n.." no, not Mikey too. "You could've ran and save yourself. We'd be totally okay."

"They were gonna shoot you, Mike. I can't--"

"Didn't I say you weren't ready for this? And what did you do then? Full-on kunoichi, you say? Not even close to our level," Leo went up to your face, scaring you for the first time. "You screwed up our plans all because you were too cocky to admit you can't be like us. Master Splinter was wrong about you being the addition to our team."

Strike one: to the heart.

"If you weren't stupid enough to freeze like a deer caught in headlights, the cops wouldn't look at us like we're a joke. Thanks to you, by the way." Raph scoffed, eyes glaring at your shaking figure.

Strike two.

"If only you had stayed behind." You couldn't believe your ears when Donnie mumbled that but you caught on, tears pooling down your cheeks.

Strike three.

Mikey stayed silent the whole time they criticized you and went inside the truck. The 4 of them got so caught up in their own feelings and disappointment, they drove off back to the lair not realizing they left you behind in the streets all by yourself.

Just like that - something in you snapped and as the last tear dropped to the wet ground, so does your body.

The beautiful April O'Neil entered the lair 5 days after the accident happened with Chinese food takeouts and Casey walking in behind her with boxes of pizzas. "Hey, guys! Food's here!" Casey called out and immediately all 4 turtles rushed towards their human friends. Mikey practically hogged two pizza boxes but Casey smacked his hand away. "Excuse you. Ladies first." He winked at April.

After the turtles thanked them, Leo broke the ice, "How's everything at the precinct, Case?"

"Actually, we got a lead on the gang's movement. We have our spy with them."

"That was quick." Donnie commented.

"Uh, have you heard from y/n lately?" Raph asked, causing tension in the air. While the turtles looked at each other guiltily, they failed to realize Casey and April sharing looks.

"Have you?" Donnie realized his human friends weren't answering. He turned to April this time. "April?"

"Wait-" Casey pulled April aside, far enough so the turtles don't hear them whispering, "We were instructed not to tell them, April. She said-"

"I know.. she said not to tell but--"

"Guys!" Raph's voice boomed the lair, flinching at how loud he was being. "Sorry but are you hiding something from us? Did something happen to y/n?"

All April could do right now was shaking her head, her facial expression gloomed.

Both April and Casey's phone dinged at the same time. Looking at each other curiously, they looked down their phones. Slowly, the message registered in their heads and without saying anything, they rushed out of the lair leaving the turtles bewildered.

The turtles haven't heard from April and Casey for 2 hours. Whatever the message they received, it was involving their 5th member; you.

Unable to sit still, the 4 of them followed Casey's GPS.

"Casey's at the PD?" Leo frowned. "Then there's nothing to worry about, right?" When Donnie didn't answer and looked as if he's concentrating on something, Leo caught on. "You hacked into Casey's phone and listening to the conversation?"

"What-- uhh yeah," Donnie chuckled guiltily. "But nothing's happening. He's just catching up with another case that's-- hey, it's April's voice!" Donnie put on a speaker for the rest to hear.

"Hey, how's everything going?" Casey asked her.

"It doesn't look good, Case.. They called me at 2am saying her heartbeat stopped from the toxins and managed to revive her back to life but then she had a seizure." April's voice trembled, followed by sniffing. "She was fine when we picked her up that night and told me the turtles were mad at her. They left her when she was dying, Case. I never thought--"

"It's okay."

"Wait, dying?" Mikey stepped back. "y/n's dying?"

"We don't know for sure it's y/n.. m-maybe it's--"

"y/n is a tough girl. She lasted long in that mission. I didn't even know she was stabbed and injured badly. She-- she's good at hiding her pain, April. At least we found her on time."

"T-They're talking about y/n!" Mikey was already sobbing.

"Toxins? Stabbed? Their blades were poisoned," Donnie barely whispered, stepping back in disbelief by what they just overhead. Raph was pacing in the background; Leo had his head down. They will always recall the night they criticize you - yes, they were disappointed they failed the mission but half of them feared for your life that night.

They nearly lost April to Shredder throwing her off Sacks building and they didn't want to repeat that mistake again but history repeats itself.

The PD had built a secret entry for the turtles' transportation to go through and that's where they're headed immediately after finding out what happened to you.

"Chief Vincent." The brothers walked into the PD, their tall forms towering over all the cops and staffs there. They were told to keep their existence a secrecy and they came over a lot for complicated missions so they're used to the turtles bursting into their department.

"Leonardo," Vincent greeted. "I don't remember calling you over about a case."

"We're not here for a case. We need your help with something." Leo started, then Donnie moved to the front handing her a canister with a blue chemical inside.

"This is for y/n.. we know what happened to her so I made an antidote for the toxin in her body. She'd feel more pain but this would detoxify her internal organs. She'll be in good shape after 1 week of bed rest." Donnie swallowed trying not to cry.

Don't cry, Don. Be strong.. for y/n.

"I will." Chief Vincent smiled in encouragement and put a hand on Donnie's large ones, "Don't worry. We have the best doctors to treat her. Keep her in your prayers," she flinched, "if you believe in those, though."

The antidote Donnie created worked, much to the doctors' surprise. They asked the genius behind the creation. After 1 painful week of your body detoxing, you finally opened your eyes to bright lights and the holter monitor annoying you. You finally recall the past events and your body shot up, forgetting the sharp pain on your lower abdomen. You hissed by the excruciating feeling.

"y/n, hey hey hey, it's me April." April held you back from moving so much. As if your reaction says it all, she sighed, "You got poisoned on your last mission. Did you remember?"

Oh yeah, you remember - when your body hit the ground, you were conscious for a while and pressed the emergency button to whoever's responding. The turtles didn't have their own personal phone, except Donnie's communication device, so it was April that came to the rescue. All you remember was being brought to the emergency room and doctors asking you questions. You blacked out after that.

"Yeah." you responded, voice half gone. April handed her water. "How long was I out?"

"15 days."

"Feels like centuries." You grumbled.

April laughed, "Actually, you died like twice and the hospital couldn't find other solutions to help you. Luckily, our friend created an antidote for you after they found out." You frowned. "I know you said not to tell them but Donnie hacked Casey's phone when they overheard me talking. He actually thought I didn't know." She winked at the end.

You finally got discharged and went straight to the Chief Vincent, who helped with your treatment.

"Chief, I'm sorry I screwed up on our last mission. Don't blame the turtles; they were trapped and I was the one holding the suitcase that night. I should've ran and hand it to you."

"Well, sometimes things don't go our way. But the good news, our medical team managed to track down the poison that came from your body and traced it to a well-known dealer in (F/C/N). Thanks to you, our team is already there apprehending them." She put a hand on your shoulder. "Good job, l/n."

"Good job but at the cost of my life." You grumbled.

April chuckled and put her arms around you. "Wanna see our turtle friends? They've been waiting for your return."

It felt like years since you last walked into the lair, when it's only been 15 days. Even though you missed the turtles, you were anxious. If they weren't so concerned about looking good infront of the humans and paid attention to your injury, none of this would have happened.

But you were at fault too and you accepted that.

"Guys!! Guess who's home!" April yelled out, surprising you a bit cause you were deep in your thoughts.

You heard loud footsteps running towards you and without warning, Mikey landed infront of you making you scream in surprise.

"Whoa whoa whoa! Chill, it's me Mikey! We're cool!" he stepped back after seeing your terrified expression.

The rest huddled up infront of you asking questions here and there until April pushed them away. "Guys, she just got discharged; go back a bit. And no Mikey, she did not see Rihanna at the hospital."

You waved meekly. "Hey, guys."

Raph couldn't help himself and hauled you up in a gentle hug, his chin over your shoulder. "You dumbass. Don't you ever do that again." He forgets about his dignity and sobbed after finally hugging you. Feeling your flesh against his. You were alive. You're in his arms.

Donnie came next and hugged you gently, your arms around his neck. Of course, you didn't miss him sniffing. "Thank goodness the antidote worked. I-I was desperate to make it for you a-and if it didn't work, y-y-y--"

"Okay, braniac." You pulled away laughing, wiping his overflowing tears from his cheek. "It worked and it was hell for me but my body is healthy, thanks to you." You kissed his forehead.

"And you--" you turned around to see Mikey waiting for his hug and you jumped into his arms. "If I die, who's going to finish our hip hop Christmas album?"

"I'm not finishing it without you, angel." Mikey sobbed.

Then finally, Leo. Man, he was getting antsy waiting for his turn to properly welcome you home. And apologize to you earnestly. When you turned around to hug Leo, he was bowing 90 degrees at you. Your eyes widened.

"I'm sorry for what I said to you," Leo remained still in his position. "I was angry and blinded by my pride that I overlooked my own team member and sister who was injured badly to the brink of death. For that, I'm truly sorry and I'm willing to accept any punishment you're giving me."

"Any punishment, you say?"

"Yes." His fists shaped into a ball.

"Buy me Baskin Robbins, choco mint flavoured and--" Leo looked up when you paused and thought he'd be seeing you angry or upset but instead sees you forming tears in your eyes, "--a hug from you. I haven't gotten a hug from you ever since I started my training."

Leo reacted and hugged you so tight you might suffocate to death but you didn't care.

[muffin-man-marq-lynch]

So you're MJF...

You're the up and coming prodigy, the future of wrestling in the company that's going to save wrestling, the 5'8" bullied ADHD riddled Jewish kid from Long Island who's going to prove them all wrong, except... You're 28 now, and your name doesn't show up in the '30 under 30' and hot new talent lists any more. The company you work for and tied your name to as a pillar gets talked about more as a joke of wasted potential and mismanagement these days than the shining beacon of the future, and 'the bidding war of 2024' is over. You won, you guess. (This is what winning feels like, right?)

You have no mentor, no friends, (stable, bodyguards, backup) just a long line of people you didn't let get close and people you let get too close that proved you right. You get asked about your legacy in a scrum that already feels like a lifetime ago, and say you don't need to build it: You've built it. Longest AEW world championship title reign (it is real it's real) Best dog collar match. Best iron man match. Best feuds.

But you're here. And you don't care what anyone says- ("I think Max is a very talented individual... but the grass is greener where you water it, and I think Max likes to shit where he eats") But you're here, for now.

And yeah, you might be a little... Uninspired. But you can be Useful. You've always been good at being Useful. You're a draw, love you or not, people come to see you (AEW Dynamite viewership hits all time low June 2024) and that's valuable. You can still carry this company on your shoulders, all by yourself.

So you go out, and you shill, every show and every promo and you even fight on a Wednesday night as a first card again and goddamn but you have to work for it harder than you remember (you're 28 now, are things going to be like this forever?) And you say good things about the company and generous shit about the assholes you work with and your patter might be a bit rote these days but you still talk up every legend you work with to pay them respect and let the rubes in the audience know they should too, but maybe you start trying to do it more often with the younger guys too. It's nice, a couple mention you in interviews as being good in the locker rooms among a short list of other names, and you've never been one for just placing, but it's not that kind of competition.

But then Danny Garcia stands up in the middle of a show in New York (Buffalo, but still), and says... All of that. And it's the first time someone's acknowledged you're trying out here (Besides Caster, even when you weren't really Caster thought that) And just when you're feeling like maybe you haven't just made the wrong choices (You could have at least opened the letter from the other company to make sure it was an offer) Will Fucking Ospreay comes bouncing out on stage to stomp all over your moment.

And you stand in the corner of the ring in the three inch boots you have to wear now while dropping lines about 'both being little guys' (it's just for the camera Max the height disparity doesn't play well on screen thanks for being a team player) and wonder how this happened.

There was a moment you had it all, you're almost sure of it. You've tried to be Good, to be Better Than You Were every day before in appreciation of that fact because that's what you have to do, right? That's what you're supposed to do, Get Better. Better at wrestling, at shilling, at mentoring the guys in the locker room, at opening yourself up to get stomped on again... And you have. You've matured, you keep your mouth shut, you congratulate Danny, leave to let the show get going (already running behind now thanks Bruv ) and for just a moment you let yourself wonder what prize you're really fighting for now.

You Grew, You Got Better, but no one cared, (Adam Never Cared) because at a certain point you weren't competing against any of them anymore. At some point you realize, you were just doing it because the only competition staredown that felt worth having was the one that happened every morning looking in the mirror.

Watching Ospreay flit around and interrupt you, promising a shot at a belt he doesn't even have yet (Your belt) feeling Garcia and the attention of every other Buffalo hick turn for whatever piece of glitz floats their way though?

You're MJF.

You're Better Than Them.

You Always Have Been.

It's time to make them Remember that fact.

[smytherines]

Hey, I saw that you were bored, and I am also bored, so have an ask! Your Owen headcanons are great, so I was wondering if you have any about Owen's interest in acting/theatre?

It's one of the things that's really interesting to me about his character, even though it only gets a brief mention in canon.

Sorry if you've answered something like this already!

Ooooooooo this is such a good ask

It's weird, because despite being a hardcore theatre kid myself (I spent ages 8-18 in a community theatre program doing 2 plays and a musical every year), I always tend to see Owen's interest in acting in relation to my autistic Owen headcanon, as allegorical instead of literal acting/theatre.

Although in my experience, masked autistic people make excellent actors because it's what we do all the time anyways- every social interaction is a performance. We finesse ways to deliver lines, body language, tone of voice. I have to physically stop myself from rocking or swaying. I say combinations of words I've memorized from TV, delivered in the style of whatever actor's delivery is most appealing to me. Before I was diagnosed I used to joke that I built my public personality around Lauren Graham's line deliveries in Gilmore Girls. (I also routinely quote that show in social interactions)

It's exhausting, but I can more or less be at a social event for a few hours and seem ~normal~ and then come home and fall apart. The only time I feel like I can really unmask is when I'm totally alone, and the more time I spend with others (even people I love and adore!) The more irritated I get, the more quickly I melt down, the less I'm able to keep up the "I'm totally normal" facade I've constructed.

Obviously I'm 1000% projecting onto this character, but that's kinda how I see Owen and how I write him. I mean he literally is masked for most of the show, the acting, the way he speaks and his body language changing based on who he's around and what he's doing, him putting on personas and playing characters, the specific way he speaks with his hands, the way he seems to fixate on certain interests and ideas and ideological positions, the way they emphasize his interest in details, just so much of that feels familiar to me.

I do think he probably would've enjoyed acting. It saved my life. I wouldn't have survived without learning how to be someone else, someone other people don't immediately reject. For a second I thought maybe he could've been involved in vaudeville as a teenager, like Cary Grant, but vaudeville was on its way out by the early 30s so that doesn't seem likely. He'd be too young for it.

But I imagine he really liked to read plays, even if he didn't necessarily have a way to act or to see theatre as a kid/young adult. I think in the chwm epilogue I wrote about him buying a used copy of Pygmalion (unless I deleted that in editing, I can't remember). I think he probably read a lot and listened to radio plays and listened to BBC News to perfect his respectable posh accent.

I've had a headcanon for awhile now that Curt and Owen used to have sneaky little late night movie dates, because they just both love movies so much. Curt loves the action and the fantasy, the heroics of 1950s cinema, probably westerns, war films, musicals. Owen likes noir, and sci-fi, and british kitchen sink social dramas (those might be a *bit* late for him but the precursors for that), and is fascinated with the mechanics of acting, picking things apart, like he almost sees it as research for their jobs.

That's mostly just because I love classic films from the 30s-60s and now any time I watch something that came out during their time period I find myself wondering how those characters would react to it.

To me, in my little headcanon, Owen Carvour meticulously built this image of the perfect dashing confident charming British spy. And eventually he meets Curt and he trusts Curt, he sees that they have these similar rough edges that they hide with arrogance and vanity, that they are both playing a role. Curt is the first person who more or less experiences the world the way Owen does- filtering out the unacceptable parts of themselves to get by.

Curt is the only person he ever feels safe even partially letting the act drop with. Not all the way, they could never be 100% vulnerable with each other like that. But enough that Owen feels... safe with Curt. Not just about their secret (although yes also that), but Curt is the only person Owen allows to see any vulnerability, any trace of who he really is. It's part of why what Curt does feels like such a betrayal, why Owen can't move past it. Because he had a relative safe harbor, one person on earth he trusted, and it nearly got him killed.

[rodolfoparras]

Oh no!!

That sucks. I haven't been able to get much sleep either honestly, I've really been focusing on school. I want to find a college before my birthday but I can't find one for my career so far. Plus daylight savings time just started so my internal clocks all thrown off especially since I wake up at 5:30 for work, today I woke up at 5 and really didn't want to get up, I went back to sleep and slept in, almost got to work late

Anyways, hope you get some sleep.

Here, have a thought

Imagine having use to be in the military but having left. But then Price wants you back so he goes to your cozy little home to try and persuade you to rejoin only to find you don't want to (though I don't know why you'd ever not want to be with him) so he rides you, making you wear a cock ring so you can't cum, and when you beg him to take it off, to let you fill him to the brim with your fluids. But he doesn't let you, saying "Only good boys who join the military get to cum."

Food for thought ☺️

- ❓

Sugar I wish you the utmost best in your college searching! I know it can be stressful but keep in mind that you’re young you have plenty of time to make a decision to regret your choices and to start over again

Make it juicer. You left because of price. The two of you had been enlisted together for as long as you can remember, you’d even told price that you wanted to retire with him and he agreed to it but when the time came around he didn’t want to retire, felt that he could go a few more years for whatever reason and of course you were hurt partially because he went back on his promise and partially because those few more years might mean permanently losing him and that scared the living daylight out of you.

However you’d never tell him that so you packed your bags and stormed out of base leaving your past and price along with it.

Years later 141 end up with a mission in their hands that requires someone a bit more skilled and price has the perfect candidate in mind doesn’t even bother explaining what he’s doing as he’s swiftly packing his bags and hopping into his car.

Days later you hear a knock on the door, and when you open it you see a tired looking price standing there.

“May I come in?” He says and shuffles around awkwardly when you don’t respond immediately

You shouldn’t let him in, should slam the door in his face and forget this entire interaction happened but instead you move to the side , and silently gesture for him to walk in.

He doesn’t say anything either instead he sits down on your sofa and throws a stack of paper onto the table.

“What’s this?” You say, brows furrowed in confusion.

Price doesn’t respond so you decide to get your answer by taking a paper out of the stack and scanning over the contents.

“I’m not doing-“ you try to say but stop when you feel his hand gently claps your wrist.

“Please,” price says looks up at you beneath long black lashes, cheeks sporting the same color as his lips

“Why should I?” You say secretly hating yourself for giving in so easily to him

“I need- we need you” he says and looks away.

“Why are you here John?” You say, sounding almost a bit desperate for the truth he’s withholding from you.

Price takes a sharp breath before he turns to face you again “I’d like for you to come back- back to me again”



[max1u3]

Blackwatch timeline

Ok, so, bear with me, this is going to take a lot of little points for me to peace together to make the bigger picture here.

So, we know that Gabriel Reyes worked as a police officer and was know for arresting lots of criminals, but then he didn't find his work having any sort of impact of the criminal rate and figured that to destroy crime he had to cut it off at the source, correct?

And he was born in 2018, making his 58 in the current (Overwatch) year of 2076. We also know the Omnic crisis started exactly 30 years ago, when he was 28.

Then (If we're going with the earliest years possible for everything) Overwatch was founded a year later and he was put in charge of Overwatch as Strike Commander when he was 29.

If we're approximating that the Omnic Crisis lasted about 3 ish years, then he was 32 when it ended and his Command was switched to Blackwatch.

He was 32 when Blackwatch was created!

The sting operation that resulted in Jesse McCree (or Cole Cassidy whatever you want to call him) joining Blackwatch took place when McCree was 17. Which leads me to the question of who was Gabriel Reyes even working with on missions before hand? Did he have a strike squad before he picked up Jesse McCree?

We also know there's about ten years age difference between Gabriel Reyes and Jesse McCree, which means McCree was 12 when Blackwatch was formed.

And Genji joined Blackwatch in 2066, which is only 10 years prior. Making Gabriel Reyes 48 and Jesse McCree 38. That is a huge age gap and what do we even know about what happened during that time?

Roughly a year or so later we know that Gabriel Reyes invites Moira into Blackwatch and she starts her experiments on him? But like, we know nothing about these experiments, only what they did. And if the short story 'Code of Violence' is being added into the mix, then we're led to believe that the initial experiments that Moira conducted on him did not have as dramatic effect. I don't really know what that entails, but it could mean that he could mist and move around a little bit, but was otherwise a full man. In the 'Code of Violence' short story it's mentioned that Moira is the one to find Gabriel Reyes after the explosion of the Overwatch facility, and to 'save' his life she pumped him full of the chemicals she used in her prior experiments, the results being Reaper. It meant his body became more mist like and he had to concentrate on being a full man almost every moment of the day, it also meant he was in constant pain and his anger was harder and harder to control. He also started to find gratification in the more gruelling and cruel acts. Or at least that was the impression I got from the story. But my point is, the most we have referencing the experiments Moira conducted on Gabriel Reyes are this picture:

And a paragraph or two in the story 'Code of Violence' which more focuses on his internal struggles immediately after the incident.

Then, (getting back on track, that was a bit of rant sorry) we know the Venice incident took place 8 years ago, when Gabriel Reyes kills Antonio Bartalotti and reveals Blackwatch to the world, and putting it under the investigation of Jack Morrison, Gérard Lacroix and Ana Amari. As seen in the end scenes of Retribution and in the photo below:

We also know that somewhere in between the next two years Genji moves from the Blackwatch divison to the Overwatch strike team including Tracer, Mercy and Winston. We also know that his cybernetics have been updated in this time. But, I'm not entirly confident on the idea that he was moved to Overwatch from Blackwatch, there's nothing that we know (or I've found) that supports that idea, other than him appearing in the Overwatch strike team during the Storm Rising archives mission and his updated cybernetics.

Then, 6 years ago the Overwatch Swiss HQ is blown up and Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison are presumed dead. The Petras act is ratified and Overwatch is disbanded.

A lot of investigation is put into Overwatch and Blackwatch's activities between the time period of the Retribution achieves mission and the Petras act's ratification. Which is a time period of roughly 2 years.

My point is, there are huge gaps in the timeline and not all the information is concrete, a lot of it is inferred from what we have. (Blizzard I beg give us more lore).

There's the 5 years between Blackwatch being founded and McCree being bought into the organisation, where we know next to nothing.

Then there's 21 years between McCree and Genji joining Blackwatch. What happened in those 21 years? Surely there are some important events to note in 21 years?

The later years of Blackwatch are less murky, but there's still no solid dates or years being handed to us by Blizzard and it's been 7 years! I mean come on! All the dates and ages I used in this are drawn from the Overwatch Timeline on the fandom Wiki, and those are only approximations that make sense with the ages we've been given for the current game.

Anyway, I just wanted to complain about this because I feel like I don't hear enough people complaining about it. It's probably the same for Overwatch, but at least we have more of an idea what the Overwatch organisation was like. We roughly know that there were a lot more foot soldiers than Blackwatch had, at least that's what I thought was implied every time it was bought up or featured. It's easier to fill in the gaps between the years as general peace keeping, but Blackwatch was supposed to handle the more rogue missions (Can't really think of a better word for it). There's only so much guessing and filling in we can do Blizzard!

If you read this far thank you, you're a real one.

[alilixx]

hihi this is a weird one but do u have any ideas for a platonic house&reader fic? like reader n house having a kind of familial bond maybe

Heyy sorry for the time, school just start again sadly soo, i didn't know what type of platonic like brother/Father relationship so i made it differently!

"If only you were my dad"

Dad! Gregory House x Daughter!FemReader

Your patient is in critical condition. The diagnosis is complicated: a rare infection that's rapidly worsening, and traditional treatments don't seem to be working. The symptoms are evolving too quickly, and you're faced with a difficult choice. The standard protocol recommends aggressive antibiotic treatment, but its effectiveness is uncertain in this specific case. Meanwhile, an experimental approach, inspired by House's unconventional methods, lingers in your mind. This treatment, much riskier, could potentially save the patient, but it could also cause severe complications, even death.

Faced with this dilemma, you feel lost. You've learned to follow the rules, to respect procedures, but you've also spent enough time with House to know that rules aren't always enough. You're still hesitating, so you decide to go see him. Maybe he can offer a different perspective, though he'll probably never tell you exactly what to do.

When you enter his office, he's lying on his couch, playing with his cane. He throws a sideways glance at you, then turns his eyes back to his puzzle. He already knows why you're there.

"Let me guess," he says without even looking at you. "You're wondering if you should listen to your little medical manual or your gut—your gut being the best doctor, of course?"

You sigh. "The patient has a serious infection, but the recommended treatment only has a 30% chance of working in cases like this. I'm considering a riskier intervention, a cocktail of antivirals and immunosuppressants, but it could make things worse if his immune system can't handle the shock."

House finally looks up at you. "And you want my opinion?" He smiles, slightly mocking. "Following the rules is great for avoiding trouble. But if you want to avoid killing this guy, you already know what you need to do."

You stay silent for a moment. It's always like this with him. He'll never give you a direct answer, but he pushes you to think, to go off the beaten path. He looks at you in a way that no one else does. You know that beneath his detached demeanor, he sees you as someone special. It's almost as if, despite his sarcasm and cynicism, he plays a fatherly role, guiding you in the most critical moments.

"And what if it goes wrong?" you ask, seeking a bit of reassurance.

He sighs, sits up a bit. "It might. But the protocol is almost certain to fail in this case. Your patient has a weakened immune system already, and if you hit him with those high-dose antibiotics, you'll finish him off. Your approach, on the other hand, might work. Or it might not. But at least it's a chance."

You nod, reflecting on his words. You know he's right. As a doctor, he's always taught you that each patient is a puzzle, and sometimes you have to break pieces to see the whole picture.

"Are you ready to take risks, or do you just want to save your career?" he asks with a piercing look.

Those words hit you hard. It's not just about protocol or rules. It's about doing what’s necessary to save a life, even if it means stepping outside the lines. And House, with all his cynicism, has always encouraged you to be bold. He'll never say it outright, but you know you're more than just a colleague to him. In a way, he sees you almost like a daughter, wanting you to be capable of making tough decisions, as he does every day.

You head back to the treatment room, heart pounding but determined. You choose the risky treatment: a combination of powerful antivirals and low-dose immunosuppressants to avoid completely wiping out your patient's immune system. The first hours are critical. You monitor his vital signs closely, fearing every minute for a deterioration. But after a few tense hours, his condition starts to slowly improve. His immune system responds better than you had hoped.

Later, when everything stabilizes, you return to see House. He’s still in his office, looking as nonchalant as ever. You tell him that the treatment worked.

"I would have been surprised if it hadn’t," you say, a wry smile on your face. He raises an eyebrow, ever faithful to his sarcasm. "Congratulations, you chose not to be an idiot. Kudos."

But you know him too well now. Behind his harsh words, there’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. He’ll never tell you directly that he’s proud of you, but you can feel it. You’ve become a version of him, but with your own style, and he knows it.

"I learned from you, after all," you say.

He shakes his head, a small smile stretching his lips. "No, you learned to make tough decisions. Which, in your case, means you might almost resemble me. But not too much. One House is quite enough."

He looks at you again, this time longer, and without a word, he gives you a light pat on the shoulder. For anyone else, it would be insignificant, but coming from him, it’s almost a paternal gesture, his way of saying he's proud of you. You smile even though he’s gone. There were often moments like that; for example, once after a long day at the hospital, feeling exhausted, both mentally and physically, you ran into House in the corridors as you were leaving. He looked at you strangely, as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.

"You should go home," he said simply. Then, after a moment, he added, almost in a whisper, "You did a good job today."

Surprised, you realize that this kind of compliment is rare from him, but this time, he seems sincere. Without thinking, you lean in and give him a quick hug. He freezes for a moment, unaccustomed to displays of affection, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lightly pats your back, uncomfortable but not resisting.

"Okay, okay, that's enough. We’re not in a family sitcom here," he grumbles, but he gives a slight smile as you pull back.

"Shut up kiddo"

Big brother! Gregory House x Little Sis! FemReader

It’s your first night shift alone at the hospital, and the pressure is intense. You have a patient in crisis, and you’re unsure about the decision to make. House isn’t supposed to be there, but you know he often stays late, whether to work on his own cases or play games on his computer.

You head towards his office, secretly hoping he’s still there. And of course, he is, watching an episode of "General Hospital" with his headphones on.

"House, I need help," you say, a bit nervously.

He doesn’t even look up from his screen. "It’s your first night shift and you’re already ready to throw in the towel?"

"My patient has symptoms that don’t match anything I’ve learned. I’ve tried all the standard diagnoses, but nothing works."

He takes off his headphones, sighs loudly, and fixes you with his piercing gaze. "Are you a doctor or just playing doctor for Halloween? Trust yourself. You don’t need me to solve this."

You bite your lip, a bit frustrated. "I’m afraid of making a mistake."

He finally stands up and approaches you, his expression slightly more serious. "Welcome to the real world. That’s what it is. Tough choices, mistakes. And guess what? This won’t be your last mistake. But it’s by making them that you get better."

House gives a quick pat on your shoulder, a brief but meaningful gesture for him. "Go back out there. Show that patient why you’re here."

You take a deep breath, feeling both the weight of his words and a strange surge of courage. House isn’t the type to give compliments or encouragements, but somehow, this strange mix of cynicism and support has struck a chord.

"Okay," you reply in a voice more confident than you actually feel. You turn to leave his office, but one last thought crosses your mind. "And what if… what if I really make a serious mistake?"

House rolls his eyes, visible exasperation on his face. "If that happens, you’ll come back here, tell me how you completely screwed up, and we’ll fix it. Now, go."

You nod, this time more determined, and leave the room. As you head back to your patient’s room, House’s words still echo in your mind. Trust yourself. It won’t be your last mistake, but that’s how you learn.

When you enter the room, you notice the patient is becoming increasingly agitated. The heart monitor emits rapid, regular beeps. You grab the chart, quickly re-reading the medical history, searching for anything you might have missed. Nothing quite matches. It’s frustrating.

You approach the bed and observe closely. Something suddenly strikes you. A detail you had overlooked initially. The slight tremor in his fingers… not just a symptom of stress, but maybe a more subtle sign of a neurological condition. A rare disease, something you had vaguely studied in passing but had never seemed relevant… until now.

A wave of understanding washes over you. You pull out your phone, quickly jot down some notes, searching for confirmation. That’s it. Medication toxicity that the patient hadn’t mentioned. An old migraine medication, prescribed years ago, but never listed on his current list.

The appropriate treatment starts to form in your mind. You take a deep breath and call the nurse. “Prepare a flumazenil infusion.”

The nurse looks at you with a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Flumazenil? But he doesn’t have any sedatives in his history.”

You nod. “No recent sedatives, no. But there’s an old treatment that could be causing these symptoms, and it should work. Do it.”

The minutes that follow are tense. The drug slowly infuses into the patient’s veins, and you watch every sign, every movement. Then, finally, you see a difference. The tremors subside, the breathing becomes more regular, and the heart rate slows to a normal level.

You lean back against the wall, a wave of relief washing over you. You did it. You took a risky decision, trusted yourself. And it worked.

Deep down, you know it won’t always be this clear, not always this “easy.” But this moment, this feeling, gives you the strength to keep going, no matter the challenges ahead.

As you leave the room, you sense a presence a few meters away. Turning around, you see House leaning against the corridor wall. He looks at you with an unreadable expression, but his eyes gleam with a mischievous sparkle.

“Not bad for a first night.” You smile, a mix of pride and relief. “Thanks, House.”

He turns away, hands in pockets. “Next time, I’ll charge you for the advice.” Then, without another word, he walks off into the dark corridors of the hospital.

You stand there for a moment, savoring the victory. Before getting back to work. Because, as House said, this is the real world.

[angelphonia]

Okay, I've been binge watching the Stop!!Hibari-kun anime and I've got some thoughts I need to let out.

Firstly, watching the anime makes me appreciate the Manga a hundred times more. Sure, the Manga had its problems, mostly the racism and the casual homophobia jokes and transphobia, but you could save stuff from it, like that even though there were homophobic jokes there was a gay woman who wasn't mocked because of her attraction to Hibari, or that despite the transphobia Hibari was never outright shown as being wrong by being herself.

Now, the anime does a lot of things I dislike. Firstly they make Kosaku's reactions be way more negative than in the Manga. While yes, he reacts negatively he is also seen blushing a lot when Hibari flirts with him. I may need to read the Manga for fourth time, but I also don't remember Kosaku constantly mentioning Hibari is a "guy" everytime she did anything.

There is a lot much more racism in the anime. There were problems with this in the Manga but it just feels way more present in the anime.

This one doesn't bother me too much, but I'm pretty sure the chapters do not align with the Manga, but again, this doesn't bother me.

I also noticed way more incest jokes, I don't care about them. Also the Seiji chapter where he falls in love with one of Hibari's bullies when she's 15 and Seiji is around 25/30 is very questionable. Again, this is a work of fiction so while I was like "why isn't this seen wrong?" I wasn't really uncomfortable. I do gotta say that in the Manga when the Japanese mob grown manchild son asked for Hibari's hand in marriage, it was inmediatly said he was 28 and Hibari was super taken aback. This doesn't happen in the anime, his age is NEVER mentioned. I can't quite remember, but I am sure Hibari also doesn't go on a date with him.

Oof, but here we go with the thing that has bothered me the most. The REALLY bad erasure of Jun's story. They absolutely took away her lesbianism, making it seem as if she was only interested in Hibari because of her volleyball abilities. They also totally changed the episode and made Jun be deeply ashamed of her family, that while in the Manga she was a bit embarassed it wasn't a main focus. In the Anime it was, even making her leave the volleyball club, which is crazy to me. Oh, and I'm NOT forgetting that they made Hibari enjoy getting gropped in the bus, when in the Manga she was clearly just disgusted by it.

I haven't finished it yet, may edit this post with more complains. Positive things? I'm sure Seiji and Sabu didn't have names in the Manga, so now they have identities. They try and give them more backstory, even adding an eye scar to Sabu, which was appreciated. Hibari's voice is absolutely the cutest. I liked the wrestling episode. Oh, the episode with Hibari's mother and her father was a delight, she didn't express this much emotion in the Manga, so actually seeing how she feels was great, and her end interaction with her father was adorable.

Can't remember anything more rn. As a side note, I've developed a little crush on Sabu and I'm gonna draw him. Hope you enjoyed my rambling!

EDIT:

Remembered the Honda thing. In the Anime he almost reaches his 1000 girls flirted with, but with one it is half a girl. In the Manga this was because he looked at a 5 year old by accident and she fell in love, while in the anime they made it so he flirted with a new half. For those who don't know, new half is an old Japanese term for transgender people, mostly trans women who were post op. In the subtitles this is translated as crossdresser, which I don't like. This isn't the first time this term is mentioned, in the spartan son episode, he calls Hibari a new half, which Kosaku tells him to not do. In another chapter there is a trans woman, and she refers to herself as New half, which again is incorrectly translated to crossdresser for some reason.

Even then there was some sort of minimal knowledge of trans people, not only with this, but in the Manga the addition of Genkijirou being a canonical trans man in hormones. Eguchi was aware and while his first idea was to make Hibari a feminine man, it obviously end up with her being a trans woman.

[fluffykiddosstuff]

what is loves ? (nines x gn! reader part2)

Okay so in this story Connor and Gavin are a couple :3

L/n : last name

______

Nines pov :

As I sent the message to Connor, I waited a bit before getting a response

C : what do you mean?

N : it's for the case, maybe it was something love related so I need to gather more information, detective l/n left so I can't ask them.

It was half true actually, but Connor didn't needed to know what happened with his software earlier.

C : can't you research it?

N : I did but the definition is incomplete and doesn't help, why would humans have butterflies in the stomach? Can androids get them too?

C : it's an analogy - anyway, in some cases, love can make an another person do crazy things like kidnapping their lover so they can only see them, killing an "opponent" to keep them or even killing the loved one if they can't have them, do you understand?

N : yes I think so.. It's unpredictable like deviants right? But why people like love so much if it hurts?

C : well.. Nothing is all black or white in a relationship, it's more Grey, and sometimes it gets darker or lighter, for example, when hank found out I was dating Gavin, he got absolutely crazy and pursued him in all of the office, hank and I have a "father and son" relationship, he thought he meant well but ended up hurting my feelings, so he apologized and accepted Gavin, well sort off.

N : I think I understand better now, thank you

C : no problem, good night

Many days passed since this night but the "feelings" Nines was experiencing, we're getting bigger and bigger every time something happens between both of you. Even if it was something very little. On the good way, you all almost got the case clear, you all just needed to go to the suspects house and interrogate them, easy right?

Nines knocked on the door, Connor was on his left while you and Gavin were behind them, hank being at the station for something else and would come later.

"anybody home!?" screamed the Rk900, at first nothing, but you all heard shuffling inside, Gavin drew his pistol out and so did you, the androids broke the door and you all started to search the house after your suspect.

You got downstairs when Gavin searched at the kitchen, nines got into the rooms and Connor made sure the suspect couldn't get away, there was a 50/50 chance that the suspect would be armed, but oh nines was wrong to let you go down there alone. The three of them heard a loud scream and shuffling coming from the basement, the upgraded android was faster to get down and reach to you, there was no much light but with his advanced optics, he could see many pictures on a board, some crossed with a red X or a big circle also in red, all of them being android-human couples. The next one was a picture of you and him, going out in the park and talking about some personal stuff, when did that happened? Why didn't he noticed him take a picture?

But that wasn't the more alarming thing, he had you under his gun, yours being far away behind, he scanned you and saw you had a broken arm, due to fighting against this monster. His fists clenched and he lowly cursed.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE OR I'LL SHOOT THEM!"

Nines searched all the possibilities, you had a chance of survival of 20%, he had to save you. He couldn't lose you.

He contacted Connor to tell him to stay upstairs and call backups, as much as he despised this man, he tried to talk with him to gain more time.

"why do you do this, killing these couples?"

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUISNESS GOD DAMN MACHINE!"

Chance of survival : 10% ⬇️

"we aren't even a couple, juste coworkers, if you hate so much androids I'm the one you should kill not them."

"Nines no-"

Chance of survival 30% ⬆️

"yeah you are right, androids always fucks up everything! I had a wife, and kids! This bitch cheated on me with him! Heck even my kids doesn't speak to me anymore saying he is a better dad than I am!"

"I-I understand your hatred towards us but why do you kill the humans too? Don't you want to protect your own r-race?" you managed to say, even if it was hard to breathe with his arm around your throat.

"I-I guess I wanted to get rid of the people who thought they were alive, so no one would think like them anymore and see they were only machines.. Only big ass roombas doing the chores!"

Chance of surviving 50% ⬆️

you started to cry, having the man's arm under your throat and all the  stress was making you crazy, you  looked at nines with pleading eyes.

"i'll take their place as the hostage, let them go"

the man grinned and looked at nines 

" oh no they are more valuable than you, you can get easily replaced right ? they can't"

that's when a sound was heard behind the man's head, a pistol where you take the safety off, there  was hank, he appeard through the big window in the basement and stood behind the threat.

"hands where i can see them, no sudden moves" 

hank got upstairs with him so the other officers could take care of him. you dropped on your knees, crying, the rk900 came closer and stroked your cheeks, taking the tears away.

" are you alright ? no other injuries ?"

"no i'm okay..thank you nines, you saved me.."

the android's LED spinned yellow and red at your words, why did you thanked him, it's hank who saved you after all.

"i didn't do anything i-"

"no that's not true, you are the one who runned when i screamed, who gained more time and contacted the others, if you weren't there, i would either be dead or a threat to the others, so thank you for that"

you took his hands in yours, he then did the thing you didn't know he could do, he hugged you, tightly but not too tight to cause any discomfort to your broken arm. tears of joy started to make their way on your cheeks and you hugged back.

"why did you wanted to sacrifice yourself nines ? i want to know.." you looked at him in concern

"because..you are the most amazing human i know, i can't take it when you are hurt, and i can be easily replaced after all"

"no don't say that i..i don't want an another rk900 sent here i...i just want you"

you stroked his cheek and started to get closer, nines came closer and kissed you on the lips tenderly. you separated and connected your foreheads together.

"you broke protocol didn't you ?"

"yes, only for you"

that's when the basement opened to a worried connor who smiled when he saw both of you in each others arms, the funny part was when gavin poked his head to see what was going on and screamed at the top of his lungs :

"ARE YOU GUYS GONNA COMME OUTTA HERE OR FUCK ALREADY !?"

you both laughed as you got upstairs, nines putted you in the ambulance and waved as you got away to get taken care of, he turned to a smiling connor holding his boyfriend hand, who was muttering god knows what and was red as a tomato.

"i wish you to be happy nines"

both of the rk units smiled and the predecessor got in a car to go back to the dpd, making reports with his partner, the rk900 looked at his hands then at the sky, smiling

many adventures awaits both of you, hopefully for the best

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

(1314 words)

[merakiui]

Tw: dubcon, noncon, more incel!Idia, choking, attempt at running away, bdsm themes, etc.

Oh little kitten wants to take the lead? That's new, Idia obliges to let you take the lead to ride him, oh such an obedient little kitten you have become, you even want to pleasure him out of your own will!

You slowly sink on his dick in your stupidly slutty get up (a maid outfit that can spill your breasts, it doesn't matter big or small it will spill from how thin and small the coverage from the fabric is. Also a tiny skirt. Idia forbids you to wear underwear)

As you were pulsing on him, thinking he is almost climaxing, your hands grip on his neck, genuinely trying to choke him to his death, Idia passes out.

You took this chance with your wobbly legs and skimpy dress to run out of the dorm. Where should you go?

Octavinelle can provide protection but you would need to give something in return. Also there is no telling that they themselves wouldn't assault you too.

Heartslabyul would cause you to be collared and disciplined by Riddle though they can provide protection. But then again it's not worth the trouble.

Savannah Claw is the den of bullies, it would require a lot of strength to even reach out to Leona/Ruggie and they aren't even guaranteed to help you, Jack is most likely already asleep in this hour.

Pomefiore seems promising but that creepy stalker Rook is not up to any good.

Diasomnia sounds like the best choice, there is no way that Malleus would have any malicious intent against his favourite child of man right?

As darling finished pondering in which dorm to go to, you jumped into the mirror in which they end up in the hall of mirrors, they spotted teachers who would at least keep them safe until you reach a good dorm.

Flashes of horror can be seen in your eyes, not a single teacher cared nor did they want to help you, especially not in that get up,

"Isn't that the dumb mutt who ditched my class for the last 30 days? Why should I help you, from what I see, you were just busy goofing around being a slut." Crewel sneered.

A similar answer was what you got from the other teachers, as you were about to dip into the Diasomnia mirror, a long pale arm was holding your neck into a headlock.

"You think you can get away with choking me then attempting to flee?"

"How did you find me?"

"Are you stupid? I have a tracker planted somewhere on your body, you will never be able to find where, but wherever you go I will always take you back, there's no point in running. No one will ever help you."

"Let me go you disgusting creep, don't touch me!"

"You didn't change one bit, stupid slut. Just flaunting yourself to everyone in public, did you really want to be a communal cumdump? And I was being so generous to save you from these wolves."

Your body feels shivers, cold sweat all over. Why does Idia seem so scary now?

He brings you back to his dorm, this time he put a collar on you that you can't take off without his assistance, the collar electrocutes you (only enough to make you feel it but not actually hurt you fatally) when you run out of the "safe" zone. It also sets alarms all over the dorm.

He decided on actual mind break to punish this kitten. He starts by spanking you with his own hands, then an electric paddle. A vibrator taped on your nipples, clit, and a fuck machine of his exact size, no matter what he uses you still clamp uncomfortably.

It gets worse from there. You can't even talk properly, all you can do is slur his name by the time he was done, he truly has made you into his cumdump.

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I kinda wanted to write Azul too but I haven't had a clear image on what I should write huhuhu

IZUNA, I AM CLAWING AT THE WALLS OMG!!! this is so good... orz everyone really is against reader here. No one will bother helping, so now you're stuck with Idia forever. </3 Knowing Crowley, he wouldn't do anything because Idia's parents are rich and have probably helped the school like how the Asim family has made donations and such. And Crowley can't say no to lots of money generous donations!

Maybe the collar he puts on you has a little bell on it so you're more like a kitten. <3 by default, you have to wear cat ears and a tail plug. It would totally ruin the immersion if you didn't! He buys you lots of revealing outfits and cosplays to go with the cat look, and when you're finally, truly broken down and obedient then he can possibly trust you. Still, it's annoying you'd try to kill him and then run. Where else can you go? No one in any of the dorms is willing to help, the professors will mind their business because they're nowhere near as influential or wealthy as the Shroud family, and you're not very familiar with the town beyond NRC. Good luck trying to get off the island as well. You are, in all ways possible, trapped. And Idia knows this, and he uses it to his advantage.

His level difficulty really is that of a final boss. >:)