#there’s that sense of smallness as well. this feeling of being unable to escape this nebulous sense of ownership no matter where you are

[belladonnadawn]

Skinny Dipping

You wanted Isaac to unwind and rest, he agreed as long as he'd pick how. Isaac x Reader Content Warning: Semi NSFW. Minors dni!

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as Isaac confirmed that the case was finally solved.

Those weeks have been particularly harsh for both of you. During those, fatigue was evident on Isaac's; the dark circles under his eyes, his disheveled hair, and his wrinkly suit showed how much the case took a toll on him. He used to hide his exhaustion around you but during that case, he doesn't even bother to do so.

You can't recall when you had a proper sleep or ate on schedule as you both immersed yourself in the case. It was hellish, but once the pay hit your account, you can't help but feel another relief.

It was almost seven o'clock when you began preparing dinner. Isaac walked towards the table with his laptop. A sigh escaped your lips as you realized that he was about to take another case.

“Isaac, what's that?” You asked, trying to confirm your suspicion.

“I was just checking emails, why?”

“I thought we're off for a week. No cases this week, remember?”

“Well, I thought that break was just for you,” He gently closed the laptop as he turned to focus on you.

Walking towards him, you crossed your arms, “Aren't you letting yourself rest?” You scolded him, tired of his neglect towards himself.

“I can handle mysel–”

“Bullshit.” You interjected, causing him to tilt his head out of surprise. “You're a human being, Isaac. You deserve to take a break once in a while, especially after that case.”

Moving closer to him, you sat beside him at the table. “Please, Isaac? Just a little break?” You held his hand, squeezing it and hoping that he'd feel your desperation.

A soft smile appeared on his face as he caved in, unable to resist you. “Alright, in one condition.”

Tilting your head, your curiosity piqued at his statement. “What condition?” You asked, uncertain if this is another one of his schemes or if he'll express his desire to you genuinely.

“I'll choose how.”

You squint your eyes, skeptical on how this will end. You never thought of him as someone who's enthusiastic over not working, and the fact that he's suggesting a method right now is quite unusual to you.

His soft smile turned into a grin as he senses your skepticism, “Come, follow me.” Isaac intertwined his hand with yours, leading you to his idea of having a break.

The water in the pool reflected the lights and along with the soft hum of the night, it felt something out of a fairytale. The place was well maintained even if he's the only one who uses it. It was tranquil and inviting, you can already feel how this can relieve you from stress and fatigue.

“Have you ever thought of skinny dipping?” Isaac spoke, breaking the silence.

Your head turned to him quickly, surprised at his suggestion. “Skinny dipping?” You repeated, trying to confirm what you heard.

He nodded, “I heard it's relaxing and I figured that we should try it.”

You only gave him a small nod, still surprised at his suggestion. The idea of doing something so intimate and exposing with him felt like a fever dream. You glanced at the pool and him, then the pool again; seemingly in deep thought.

“We don't have to do it if you're not comfortable,” Isaac spoke, sensing your trouble.

“Oh, no. It's just– that thing is new to me, I never thought you'd suggest it.” You chuckled awkwardly, trying to compose yourself in front of him.

Skinny dipping with Isaac; the thought of doing it with him is thrilling and new, but not unwelcome. If you were being honest, experiencing it with Isaac seems interesting and exciting. And the fact that he's the one who suggested it amplifies your feelings even more.

He cupped your cheek, looking at you with sincerity, “I understand, but if you want to back out, you can at any moment. I don't want you to do something that you don't want to. Alright?”

You nodded, giving him an assuring smile. He rarely requests for something like this, so you figured to let him have it.

The sounds of your clothes ruffling as you both took them off made you realize that what's about to happen is not just a dream, but a reality. You tried to focus on removing your clothes, but the thought that he's doing the same thing lingered in your mind, drifting you from what is currently happening.

Isaac went in first, his clothes discarded on the floor. He slowly descended down the pool, you could hear his soft sighs as he immersed himself in the water. You can't help but look at him, a small blush crept on your cheeks as you admired him.

Isaac looked heavenly, as if the gods and goddesses decided to mold him to perfection. You can't help but admire his toned physique, his muscled biceps, along with his charming face.

His back turned to you as you continued to undress yourself. Isaac cupped some water on his hands, pouring it all over his body. You almost fainted at the view as the water cascaded from his shoulder blades. Oh god, his shoulder blades— focus!

The cold air hits your naked body, you slowly get in the pool, body shivering as water surrounds you. As you stood in it, Isaac slowly turned to you with a smile, slowly approaching you.

“You're here. I'm glad,” He sighed, closing his eyes. “You look beautiful, (Y/N). You always have this ability to take my breath away,” His voice low and sensual as he admired you.

“Thank you,” Your cheeks pink as you smiled at him.

“No, thank you for joining me,” He chuckled. Your heart swelled seeing him in this state; carefree and relaxed– a contrast to his state a few days ago.

“I'm glad we can do this,” You gave him a small smile, trying to look away from him. It felt unusual to be in this situation. Being naked in front of him is not new, but to engage in this activity where the distortion from the water is the only one keeping you and him from seeing each other completely naked feels vulnerable.

The soft waves from the pool kept reminding you that this is real, that you're skinny dipping with Isaac. You're naked in a pool with him vulnerable as ever, admiring– and getting admired by your own lover.

Isaac seems to sense your feelings, he lifts your chin up so you could look at him, “You're red as a tomato,” he chuckled.

“I just feel quite warm,” You said bashfully, trying to ignore a thousand butterflies in your stomach right now.

“Really? I believe it's quite cold. Why do you feel hot?” His eyebrows quirked, clearly teasing you.

You can't help but feel flustered as he saw through you. There’s no point of hiding it when you're exposed in front of him– literally and figuratively.

He leaned closer, your back hitting the edge of the pool. You felt caged in his arms, and it was the most exhilarating feeling you ever had. Isaac leaned as he gently kissed your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

He pulled away wearing a smirk, “Oh? What's that sound?” You blushed harder as he teased you.

“I-It's nothing!”

Isaac gently grabbed your shoulder, his thumb caressing your skin. A boyish grin plastered on his face as he observes you, “You seem flustered. It's not the first time that I'm seeing you in this state, but seeing that I still have that effect on you awakens something in me.”

He cupped your cheeks, his thumb caressed your lips before tapping it. “You're cute,” A chuckle escaped his lips.

Unable to resist your desire, you pulled him close, lips crashing into his. Isaac let out a soft gasp out of surprise, but he immediately kissed back. His hand on your waist and the other in your neck. The kiss was tender, meant for yearning lovers.

You didn't know how much the case took away that much time from you and Isaac until you felt him again; skin to skin, lips to lips. Eyes closed as you both immersed yourself with a kiss. Soft moans and sighs escaped your lips as his collided with yours in sweet harmony.

Isaac pushed you further at the edge, deepening the kiss. He groaned as you pulled him closer, feeling more of you, hands wandering on his shoulder and neck. The urge to explore each other amplifying every second.

The water crashing on both of you made it more sensual. He gently pulled away, trying to catch his breath. Isaac gazed at you with admiration in his eyes, “I love you and you deserve to know how deep my love can be.”

Divider: Cafekitsune

[karinyosa]

if i ever played jesus he would be the slimiest most decrepit doesn’t shower or sleep neurotic unwell emotional roller coaster dissociated from the human form motherfucker ever and if i ever played judas he would be a smarmy twink.

[loonylupinblack3]

Heyy! I absolutely adore your work and I was wondering if I could make a request? A Logan x reader fic where they’re out at a bar and the reader is on the shy side, so when Logan steps aside and a sleazy man tries to get handsy with her, she doesn’t really know what to do. Logan steps in though, protective and fuming. Hope this makes sense!

If not, no worries at all and I hope you have a wonderful day, love!! 💗💗

My Hero

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: sleazy man being sleazy, the blatant ignorance of consent, small amount of violence, swearing

Word count: 2k

A/N: hope you enjoy anon <3

You hated big social events. They were your worst nightmare. You hated the amount of people everywhere and the talking and the strangers and all of it. You much preferred one on one, with people you knew and trusted. 

Social events just made you uncomfortable. You couldn’t act like other people could. You weren’t easy to talk to or excited to meet strangers. You were awkward and your words came out stilted. You needed a script to follow when speaking to people, and any straying from that script left you vulnerable, confused and scared.

So safe to say these social outings the X men insisted on having weren’t your thing. They claimed it would improve team relationships by completing fun activities together, yet everyone had decided getting drunk at a club was the best fun activity.

You were strongly opposed but it was mandatory, so with incredible reluctance you let your boyfriend drag you to the club, promising to spend the whole night with you and not have a single drink.

Knowing Logan, that was a big promise, and also knowing him as your boyfriend, you knew he’d keep his word. He knew how uncomfortable you got in big groups of people, and he enjoyed the idea of helping you, of being the reason you could bear it.

When you arrived a feeling of dread washed over you, thudding music coming from the warehouse-looking building, and fractures of bright light escaping through the cracks of the door. Logan put his arm around your waist, pulling you close, and you revelled in the safety you felt from it, sticking close as you entered the club.

Loud noise immediately assaulted your senses, and you scrunched up your face as your ears screamed in protest. The music was blaring through speakers dotted all over the room, blasting you to near deafness.

You moved closer to Logan, the man tightening his grip on you. “You alright?”

His voice, barely heard over the loud music, was still a huge relief to you, your beating heart easing slightly. You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not dying.”

He laughed at your words, his body shaking in the process. You smiled, as you always did whenever you made Logan smile or laugh, a small sense of pride flaring inside you. The good feeling helped you push forward, finding a seat at the bar. Logan sat right next to you as he said he would, and when the bartender inquired what drinks you both wanted he settled for soft drinks for both of you.

You smiled into your hands, feeling slightly giddy that he kept his word even though you knew he was going to. It was something about him deciding not to drink on one of his only nights out because it would better comfort you that made you so delighted.

Logan gently pried your hands away from your face with a smirk. “If I’m not drinking tonight you may as well let me reap the rewards for it. I wanna see that pretty smile of yours.”

Of course those words only made your smile widened, heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment, and Logan stared with unwavering focus, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled, looking away.

Logan chuckled, hands snaking to your waist. “You know you love me.”

Unable to resist you turned to look at him, eyes gazing at his features, memorising every blemish on his skin. “Yeah, I do.”

Logan grinned widely at your confession, though you’ve said those words many times before. He just seemed to get a sense of satisfaction every time you spoke them, a reminder that you really did love him, and that you were his.

The sounds of commotion took your attention away, and you heard Scott’s raised voice but couldn’t spot him through the crowd, nor decipher what he was saying. Logan’s brows creased in concern and he looked like he wanted to go check it out, but loyalty to you and his promise to stay by your side stilled his restless body.

“Go,” you urged him, knowing he wanted to check up on his friend. “I’ll be fine here for a few minutes.”

He hesitated still, loyalty to two different people warring inside him. At your sincere expression, however, he leaned in close, pressing a kiss to your forehead and whispering a promise of returning soon before he disappeared into the crowd.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, turning back to the bar and staring at your brightly coloured fizzy drink, though you didn’t take a sip. You hoped Logan would be back soon, for though all your talk of being able to handle yourself you still felt vulnerable and alone, even in a room packed full of people.

“All alone there Missy?”

Your head whipped to the side to the source of the question, finding a man much older than you leaning on the bar, eyeing you appreciatively. 

You shifted about nervously, swallowing thickly. You hated talking to strangers. “Um, no, I have a few friends here.”

The man raised his eyebrows, making a show of looking around the bar before zeroing back on you. “So then where are they?”

You felt uncomfortable that he was still talking to you and pathetically shrugged your shoulders. “They said they’d be back soon.”

The man nodded, humming slightly before sidling closer to you. As you were seated you couldn’t very well move away, but you longed to when you smelt the alcoholic tang on the man’s breath.

“The name’s Hiram,” he spoke, using a hand to ruffle his hair slightly.

You thought he looked ridiculous.

“Y/n,” you murmured quietly instead, because you weren’t sure what else to say.

The man, Hiram, seemed to take that as an invitation to move closer, his breath in your face and hand on your shoulder. You tried to lightly shake it off but he had a vice grip, fingers uncomfortably digging into your skin.

“Why don’t we leave this place Y/n?” he offered, hand trailing to your lower back.

You were extremely uncomfortable as of this moment and was grasping for something to say to make the man leave you alone.

“Please let go of me,” was your meek response, feeling both foolish and defenceless.

The man scoffed, hand moving to hold your arm in a tight grip. “Listen Y/n, let’s just have some fun ‘kay? You don’t need to make it a big deal.”

You ignored him, tugging your arm out of his hand and sliding off the stool, intending to search for Logan. The man was fast though, his slimy arm wrapping around your waist and jerking you towards him. 

An icky, sickly feeling overtook you, the overwhelming sense of fear flooding your senses. You didn’t want this grimy man’s hands on you and certainly didn’t want his revolting breath in your face. You wanted to be home curled up on your bed with a book in hand, your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around you and his chin resting gently on your head as he read over your shoulder.

This was not what you wanted, but you’d told him that and he’d ignored it so you didn’t know what you were supposed to do now.

“Please, leave me alone-” you pleaded, desperately trying to tug yourself away from him.

He groaned like you were the one being difficult, tightening his grip on your waist to the point it was painful. “It won’t even be for that long-”

“She said leave her alone.”

Relief bloomed in your chest, even with the dirty man’s fingers still digging into your flesh. Hiram turned to look over his shoulder, eyes widened slightly at the sight of Logan towering over him, a white fury in his eyes.

He didn’t bow out immediately, however, which took guts, because a lesser man would have taken one glance at the fuming look on Logan’s face and bolted.

“C’mon man, just having some fun,” Hiram laughed, hand sliding lower down your waist.

Logan noted the movement, his jaw clicking as he stared at Hiram like he was his next meal. “You get the fuck away from her or I’ll make you.”

The man scoffed, taking a step forward, and then suddenly was on the floor, a cry of pain coming from his lips as he cradled his now broken nose. Logan moved forward, stepping on the man’s fingers as he did so, a sickening crack accompanying the action, before he was in front of you and wrapping you up in his arms.

“M’so sorry Bub,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You shook your head but was grateful he was here, burrowing your head into his chest in an attempt to escape it all. “Can we go home?”

Logan was already leading you to the exit. “Of course. The others’ll understand.”

You were grateful as Logan drove you home, but you couldn’t get the feeling of the man’s grimy hands off you. You felt dirty, tainted, like he’d wiped mud on you and you needed to clean it off. Logan noticed your unease as you entered your shared room, and inquired gently as to what the matter was.

When you confessed your feelings, describing the awful ickiness crawling up your arms, and the phantom touch of the man’s hands imprinted upon your skin, Logan gently took your hand and led you to the bathroom, where he started filling the bathtub full of warm water, adding the strawberry essence you liked so much. He beckoned you to get into the tub and you did gently, taking each piece of clothing off and feeling the man’s hold more deeply, like he was still touching you beneath your clothes. 

It made you want to cry as you sat in the tub, knees to your chest. That was until you felt Logan’s hands, marred from centuries of violence, rub your skin with the softest touch, soap coating his fingers. The realisation that he was washing you, delicately cleaning every spot of your skin with his hands, was too much to bear and the tears started falling, but Logan just kissed them all away as he continued cleaning you.

Bit by bit he cleaned you off, making sure no part of you was untouched, wiping the man away from your body. You felt relief and an undying amount of love and gratitude for the man before you. It was hard to imagine him as the formidable Wolverine, because right now he was caring for you with such gentleness you were putty in his hands.

Fully cleaned off, the man’s hold a distant memory, Logan dried you off and dressed you in one of his shirts, knowing you felt safe with your body swamped in his clothes. He then gently carried you bridal style into your bedroom, holding you with a softness you hadn’t known he possessed.

He tucked you in the sheets, made sure you were the utmost comfortable before sliding in beside you, immediately pulling you to him, your back to his chest, and just holding you. You couldn’t have asked for a better moment, and gratefully melted into his embrace, feeling the safest you had all night.

“I love you Sweatheart,” he murmured into your hair, pressing a kiss to prove his words.

A delightful shiver ran down your spine at the action and you sighed in contentment, moving further into his embrace. Things were now as they should be, the two of you wrapped up in each other as the night slowly crept by. In the morning you’d wake up to your head in the crook of Logan’s neck like it always ended up, your limbs tangled together and breathing in sync.

For now though you let your eyes droop, a smile on your lips as you whispered, “I love you too.”

Logan held you a bit tighter after the words, a desperate feeling of love and awe overcoming him, and gently brushed your hair as you fell asleep, before he eventually followed suit, with you in his arms like you were supposed to be.

[bumblesimagines]

Prayer

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader Summary: Alicent finds herself unable to escape her desire for a new face in court.

AHEM.

~~~

Her long, forest-green gown dragged along the cold floor, picking up the dust-caked along the stones. Her hands remained curled around each other in front of her, her head held high as she approached her typical prayer area. Those in the sept bowed to her and scurried away once she passed them, for the last thing they wanted was to disrupt the Dowager Queen's prayer time. It reminded her of the loneliness that plagued her, looming over her like a dark storm cloud. She'd been a lonely child, a lonely mother, a lonely queen. Nobody truly understood her, nor did they bother trying. 

With a soft sigh, she carefully lowered herself down onto her knees and lit one of the many candles, careful not to get hot wax on herself or the sleeve of her gown. Alicent swallowed and spared a glance around her. Ser Criston and another knight stood by the entrance where she'd entered and two handmaidens lingered by them. Enough distance for her to speak of her sins without worry of rumors spreading. Alicent turned back to the candles and stared at the flames, her fingers lacing together. 

Alicent had many things to feel guilty about; her unsalvageable friendship with Rhaenyra, her crumbling relationship with her own children, the pain in which her husband had been in for much time before passing, the self-pity that filled her veins whenever she looked upon her daughter. She thought about it all constantly. But the thing that'd led her to seek out the Seven that day... had not been among the things she truly felt guilty about. Sure, there'd been a prickle of guilt, but primarily felt because of her husband who hadn't passed that long ago. 

Her eyes fluttered shut and she bowed her head, whispering her apologies into the quiet, chilly air filling the sept. She apologized to Rhaenyra for failing her, to her children for being thrusted into duty before they could mourn their father, and to Viserys for not being there in his final moments. But her voice faltered when she thought of him. Her fingers squeezed tightly around each other as heat enveloped her face and traveled down the rest of her body, making her itch for a quick return to the castle so she could plunge herself in a bath. 

The Small Council's newest Master of Ships: (Y/N) Roxton, younger brother to Jon Roxton the Bold. Alicent had been uneasy the day he'd arrived at King's Landing with his devilish eyes and smirky mouth but Aegon had been delighted with him when they met, cementing his spot amongst the council despite merely being a few years older than Aegon and by far the youngest council member they'd thus yet had. Alicent attempted to keep her worries in check but they soon soothed when (Y/N) proved to be rather well-mannered despite the bloody reputation he and his brother had garnered throughout the years, although his youth showed through his flirtatious nature. 

Alicent found the attention pleasing, surprisingly enough. Her father had deprived her of the chance of a love-filled marriage and King Viserys had hardly given her the attention she would've wanted from a husband as he only paid her attention to fulfil his own desires. She enjoyed the flirting, even if she dismissed him with shakes of her head or gentle scolding, but the smile that toyed on her lips only led him to continue. Dreams plagued her sleep and bitter jealousy began filling her veins whenever she noticed him flirting with someone else. 

Her eyes snapped open and she inhaled sharply, the heavy scent of smoke and incense filling her senses. Despite how badly she fought against the thoughts circulating her mind. She was a devoted woman of the Seven who ought to still be mourning her husband instead of thinking of such impurities. Alicent rose unsteadily to her feet and turned swiftly, retreating from the sept and toward the awaiting carriage. She refused to meet the eyes of her handmaidens as they returned to the castle and ignored Ser Criston's questioning stare when she entered the castle and moved down the halls until she stopped before the doors to his bedchambers. 

"(Y/N) and I will be discussing some pressing matters at hand, Ser Criston. I do not wish to be interrupted." She told her Sworn Shield. Ser Criston's lips pressed into a thin line, head bobbing in a small nod before he opened the door, letting her step inside before shutting it and standing guard outside. 

(Y/N) lifted his gaze from a letter in hand, nursing a cup of wine in the other. "Your Grace," His lips curled pleasantly. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence?" 

"I must... speak with you about... things."

"Things? There are many things we could speak of, Your Grace. You'll have to be more specific." (Y/N) grinned at her and a heat bubbled in her stomach. She cleared her throat and strode across the room, managing to keep her composure under his piercing stare. Her eyes slid around the tidy room, the only sign of mess coming in the form of a table with papers scattered across it. Plans for new ships and other things Alicent had little interest in. 

"I believe you know." She spoke gently once she stopped at his side, trailing her stare away from the papers and raising it to look at him. He huffed a quiet laugh and finished what was left of his wine, his lips darting out to swipe over his lips. (Y/N) raised his hand toward her face, calloused fingers brushing over the soft skin of her cheek. His knuckles bumped against her earring, fingers dipping slightly into her auburn hair and curling, palm pressed to her cheek. 

There was a sweet warmth to his touch that had Alicent leaning into his hand, relishing the idea of being touched so gently for the first time in a long while. Her eyes fluttered shut when his head leaned toward hers, their lips locking together and sending a jolt down her spine. Her hands raised, planting themselves against his chest and curling around the fabric to pull him closer. She sighed softly against the kiss, her parted lips giving him leeway to explore uncharted territory. Her skin flushed immediately, only pulling away to release a soft gasp and take in some air when he effortlessly raised her up and onto the table. 

She felt giddy again, pleased as she used to be back when she and Rhaenyra would spend every waking moment together. Her heart hammered in her chest, both nervous and thrilled. Finally, she could take matters into her own hands. Finally, she could choose who she wanted to be with without someone else deciding for her. Alicent gently pulled him back in, rolling her eyes at the snicker he released before pressing their lips together again. His fingers balled up the fabric of her skirt and tugged it upwards past her knees until it pooled at her lap. The cool air nipped at the exposed skin and Alicent resisted the instinct to tug the fabric back down, her mind drifting elsewhere when his hand grasped the flesh of her thighs and squeezed. 

"How long until someone requires our presence?" He murmured against her. 

"We have plenty of time."

So there Alicent remained in his bedchambers; Ser Criston stationed outside dismissing any maids and such who wished to enter for whatever reason.

Much time had passed, nearly a full hour, but there she remained, her long loose curls sticking to her glistening, sweat-covered skin. Her dress had long been abandoned on the floor by the bed, discarded rapidly before it could be torn to shreds. His arms were wrapped loosely around her waist, keeping her flush against his bare chest and pressed down on his lap. Her nails dug into his shoulder, her hazy mind attempting to catch up while her body recovered, her hips and sticky thighs aching.

She'd have to drink moon tea, the rational part of her realized, but she merely slumped against him.

A breathy squeak escaped her when he moved them, her back meeting the silk sheets beneath. He chuckled into her throat, teeth dragging lightly across her skin and making her shudder against him. (Y/N) leaned back with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm not finished with you yet, My Queen."

[mikichko]

pairing: tf141 x reader cw: mentions of past trauma, mentions of body image issues a/n: no clue what this is. i just suddenly remembered that I can't fall asleep in open spaces, especially with other people around and this spawned. as always a massive thank you to xavi, @buttdumplin , for his wonderful encouragement. 💕

you'd forgotten what a safe cozy home felt like. it'd been stripped from you long ago.

had lost sense of how pliant a body without tension could become, how slowly a heart could beat. or how the edges of a home were meant to be warm, not cold and constrictive. you'd even had the sense of comfort stripped from clothing you loved so much, outfits stuck on a looping cycle so that you could walk past mirrors without cringing. even in an empty house, you'd been unable to sleep with your door open. always fighting an impending sense of doom until you firmly closed it shut. it'd been your reality for so long that you'd resigned yourself from the idea that it could ever change.

and yet, here you are, eyes fighting to stay open as your head rests in kyle's lap. his fingers trace patterns absentmindedly on the exposed skin of your hip, your oversized sleep pants sagging just enough for his fingers to gain access. in the background, a soft melody flows out of the kitchen, intermixed with john and johnny's ongoing dinner discussion as they prep together. it blends nicely with the soft noise of the tv and the sound of thread being pulled through fabric as simon works diligently on his stitches. kyle murmurs softly to simon, who hums back a response too low for your fuzzy brain to make out.

you don't remember ever feeling like this before. sleepiness overtaking your body the same way your body soaks the heat up in the room, at a slow and gradual pace. the quiet conversation right above your head, the white noise of the tv, the clinking of plates, and occasional deep laughter that floats from the kitchen lulls you into a state of tranquility that your body's unfamiliar with. it's like your body becomes aware in that moment that there's no need to hold the tension any longer, there's nothing to be guarding against. at least not when you have four guards of your own surrounding you. so the tension leaks out of you, anxiety going with it, as your body becomes warmer and your body sinks into both kyle and the couch just a little more.

it's not long before the noise muffles and you're washed away into a dreamless sleep.

who knows how long you float in that state of warm blissful rest. at times you feel slight brushes against your skin, nothing alarming enough for your body to jolt awake but the whisper of something. maybe you dream it. soft, loving fingers on your skin to comfort you into a deeper state of relaxation. real or not, it helps as your body becomes soft and pliant against kyle.

sometime later, you'll wake up with your legs on john's lap, his warm hand wrapped around your ankle and rubbing the skin there in slow circles. kyle hand's is still on your hip, resting there as his fingers make small indents into the soft skin there while his thumb strokes your skin soothingly. simon continues to stitch, the sound of his pulls much shorter now as his thread has changed not just in color but length as well. johnny sits on the floor in front of the couch, legs outstretched under the coffee table murmuring softly at the tv as the truth seekers find alfie's soul trapped in the number station.

you're still fuzzy around the edges and can't help the laugh that escapes you at alfie's reaction to the creation of prawn cocktail crisps. you watch johnny's head turn to you as kyle huffs out a laugh above you, john squeezes your ankle, and simon looks up from his work to smile softly at you.

"have a good nap love?" johnny's cheek smushes into the cushion as he grins at you. he looks so soft you can't help but reach a hand out to confirm he's as soft as he looks. his grin widens, nuzzling into your hand and you hum back in approval.

john chuckles, fingers work their way up your leg rubbing at the muscle there, "plate in the kitchen for you sprout. ready whenever you want it."

simon doesn't let you answer. he's already traced the lines of your body, inspected the way you blink slowly as you fight to stay in this small moment of consciousness. "still needs more lie-down cap. barely keeping those eyes open."

john and johnny chuckle at your valiant attempt to look more awake but it only accentuates the sleepiness in your blinks. you feel kyle's hand lift off your hip, whining at its absence and turning your face into his thigh seeking more warmth.

his hand finds your cheek, fingers stroking the skin softly as he murmurs down to you, "go on sweetheart, we got you."

you turn your cheek towards his touch, humming happily as your eyes flutter shut. the soft sounds of truth seekers lull you back into your sleepy state, your breath evening out once again. the last thing you feel before slipping back into a blissful state of rest is the press of soft lips and a scratchy beard against your forehead.

[yawnderu]

CW: groping/chikan, dubcon, fingering.

Sweat beads on your forehead, your fingers tightly wrapped around your phone, the loud, roaring engine of the bus masking your sounds of discomfort. You can feel a man’s rough, calloused hand grope your inner thigh beneath your short skirt, the scent of cigarettes and hard liquor hit your nose, only grounding your senses even more, making you aware of your situation. 

Amidst the chaos around you and the sense of dread bubbling in your stomach, you force yourself to look at the man. A mask conceals his lower face, a cap pulled down to cover most of his features, except his hair and eyes. You can see danger dancing with anxiety in that dark gaze, his thin brows slightly furrow, daring himself to feel you up more. 

Simon Riley is a broken, disgusting bastard. That’s something he’s very well aware of, and yet he can’t help the sense of excitement that comes from touching you, from blocking your only way out with his burly body, such a monument when you’re small. Unable to tear his gaze from yours, his hand works in tandem with his disturbed brain, cupping your cunt through your underwear. 

“Shh, shh.” It’s not a threat, yet his presence is enough to quiet you down despite the way you want to protest, to ask for help from the bus driver, who seems to be blissfully unaware of what’s going on in the back of the nearly empty bus. You swallow thickly, the sensation of his thick fingers squeezing and stimulating your cunt is making your body react despite the unwanted attention. Your grip tightens around your phone, freezing and unable to control the deep, heavy breaths escaping through your parted lips. 

Simon runs his middle and ring finger to run up and down your clothed slit, the feeling of dampness coating his digits drags a muffled grunt out of him, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths that match your own. His hand trails the outline of your cunt through the thin fabric before moving up, easily sneaking through the waistband of your panties, biting his thin lower lip beneath his face mask to prevent himself from making any noise the moment his fingers are able to touch your wetness. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” He mutters, being as quiet as possible to not get the driver’s attention. Your back arches into his touch despite your clear hesitation, your body acting purely on its own. A shiver runs up your spine as he rubs circles over your erect, sensitive clit with his fingers, spreading your slick all over, not minding the mess he’s making out of you. 

You can hear his breath hitch the moment your legs part voluntarily to give him better access, looking away from him just to make sure no one is looking at you. Completely alone in the back of the bus, a sense of security starts to settle despite the rather unwanted situation at the fact that Simon doesn’t seem to be aggressive, just… a pervert. 

His fingers keep stimulating your clit for a few seconds before moving up and down your slit, his free hand grasping the thin string of fabric you have the nerve to wear beneath a miniskirt. He pulls your tiny panties up, the friction and pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves almost makes you gasp, forcing your hand up to your lips just to bite on your own skin, trying your best to stay quiet. 

Simon’s lips tilt up into a knowing smirk, the way you’re giving yourself up to such a dog is nearly pure ecstasy for his fragmented mind. His stop is near, and so he doesn’t waste any time. His long, thick fingers sink into your needy cunt, your tight walls wrapping around them, clenching and nearly begging him to fuck you deeper— and like the proper lad he is, he obeys. 

Your walls pulsate around Simon’s fingers, your leg lazily draped over his lap, his hard, neglected cock pressing against your thigh, yet all he cares is how tight your pussy is. He has half a mind to bend you over and fuck you right there and then, though he decides to refrain for now, so have some self-control despite how abhorrently disgusting he is. 

The sounds of your squelching cunt are muffled by the loud engine of the bus, his fingers thrust in and out of your needy walls, forcing your breath to quicken the moment his thumb joins in his sin, rubbing your clit in circles. Your head is thrown back against the headrest, eyes fluttering shut and your lower lip captured between your teeth, biting hard to stop the filthy noises threatening to escape. 

Your hips buck up to meet the thrusts of his thick fingers, so long and rough, yet so good. Your body arches into his touch, a warm palm resting over your mouth to quiet you down as you cum over his fingers, tight walls pulsating as he helps you ride out your orgasm, his large frame hovering over yours almost protectively. 

His hand stops its motions after a few seconds, pulling out slowly and moving your leg off his lap gently, wiping your cum off of his fingers on the supple skin of your shaky thighs, just to leave a personal mark. He has the decency to pull your skirt down, covering you up before he gets up from his seat once the bus reaches his stop. His deep, brown eyes give you one last glance before he leaves without saying a word.

[021894s]

— 20 complicated [0.7k w]

MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

PAIRING: brothers bsf! sunghoon x f!reader

WARNINGS: cussing, mentions of jealousy, betrayal

AUTHORS NOTE: thanks for your patience babies!! hope you enjoy.

The night air feels cool and crisp as you and Sunghoon stroll down the quiet street, the stars twinkling above you. The only sound is the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and your footsteps echoing on the pavement.

"Sunghoon, can I ask you something?"

He looks at you, sensing the seriousness in your tone. "Of course, anything."

You take a deep breath. "It's about Ningning. I need to understand... why her? After everything that happened between us, why did you turn to her?"

Sunghoon's expression shifts, a mix of guilt and regret. He runs a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. "I know it’s fucked up. I really do. But after that night we spent together, I was so confused. My feelings were all over the place, and I didn't know how to deal with them."

You listen quietly, your heart aching at his words.

He continues, "Ningning... she was a distraction. I thought being with her would help me forget about you, about how much I wanted to be with you. It was stupid and selfish. I was trying to escape my own feelings, and in the process, I ended up complicating things even more."

You nod slowly, processing his confession. "So, you never had real feelings for her?"

Sunghoon shakes his head. "No. It was never about her. It was always about you. Being with Ningning was just a way to avoid facing the truth of how I felt about you. But it didn’t work. It only made things worse."

"I’m so sorry, Y/N. For everything. I never wanted to hurt you or anyone else."

"If I'm being honest, the only reason I called Jaemin was to make you jealous," you confess, your voice trembling slightly.

His eyes widen in shock, "You did what?"

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I know it was childish, but I couldn't help it. I needed you to feel the same way I did when I saw you with her."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration and confusion battling in his expression. "Why didn't you just talk to me? Why go through all this?"

You look down, unable to meet his gaze. "Because I was scared. Scared that you didn't feel the same way. Scared that I had lost our friendship.

He steps closer, his voice softening. "You never lost me. I was always here, waiting for you to realize that."

You finally look up, tears brimming in your eyes. "I didn't know... I thought it didn’t mean anything to you."

He reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands. "you have no idea how hard I tried to get that night out of my head”

Your breath catches in your throat as his words sink in. "Really?"

"Really," he whispers, leaning in to press a tender kiss on your forehead. "Next time, just talk to me, okay? No more games."

You nod, a small smile breaking throughx

"Sunghoon," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "this... this thing between us. It's complicated, isn't it?"

Sunghoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, it is. I mean, I really like you. But Heeseung... he’s always been protective of you. I don't think he'd understand."

You nod, your heart aching at the thought. "I know. Heeseung means well, but I don't want to hurt him. And I don't want to lose what we have either."

Sunghoon stops walking and turns to face you, his eyes intense. "What if we kept it between us for now? Just until we’re both ready to tell Heeseung. We could figure things out together, without any pressure."

You look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of doubt. But all you see is sincerity. "You really think that could work?"

He takes your hands in his, squeezing them gently. "I do. We’ll take it one step at a time, and when the moment is right, we’ll tell Heeseung. But for now, it’s just you and me."

A small smile tugs at your lips. "Okay. Let's do it. Just you and me."

Sunghoon leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Just you and me," he echoes, your secret bond solidifying in the quiet night.

taglist: @cornenhapovs @myjaeyuns @magssu @leeknowsgfsblog @jentlecoeur @heeslut4life @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @jaeyungxrl @rapmonie2047 @anormieee @nishislcve @leesura @en-happiness @kimsunoops @heelariously @rikiwaify-blog @ihrtgyuuu @purennn @hoonharem @g0niki @hearts4itoshi i @yongbokified @shuichi-sama @xiaoderrrr @hongshuaknow @skylalyla @yzzyhee @jwnghyuns @seokseokjinkim @syzavxy @xrvrqs @soulvrrs @velvetkisscs @ak-aa-li @eneiyri @starlvcieszsq @meowmeowjang @hanhaeji @moonlighthoon @gaylilseokie @seunghancore @heelovesmeknot @nyfwyeonjun @kookify @jayhoonvroom @heesminee3 @charlizefaye @mooniikay @ccrriiied @nikiswifiee @heemilktea @yorukoshii i @sumzysworld @glxzillx

[clerc16]

sleepless nights

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: who knew the lack of sleep could bring two people together?

warnings: none, just a brief description of not being able to sleep due to “stress” but nothing too major.

Your eyes opened for the umpteenth time this night. You seriously had lost count.

Your chest heaved as you sighed and turned around, grabbing your phone again to check the time.

02:51, it read. Another sigh escaped your lips as you placed down your phone on your nightstand again. You have been tossing and turning in bed for the past few hours, your body simply just unable to rest. The only active feeling you felt at the moment was stress ─ not even tiredness or exhaustion. Just stress. And it made you want to rip your hair out.

Truth be told, you couldn’t exactly figure out what was making you feel like this. Too much has happened recently for you to be able to pinpoint one exact thing.

You let out a huff as you tossed around in bed once more, your restless body unable to stop moving.

After a few more minutes of the same thing over and over, you decided to get out of bed. You found yourself grabbing a coat, car keys, your phone and leaving your house. You weren’t even half aware of what you were doing; it just happened.

The cold breeze of the Monaco air hit your cheeks once you stepped outside, making you feel at peace, slightly. The tree leaves rustled quietly, like a kind gesture, in the gentle breeze.

You unlocked your car and entered, playing a random Spotify playlist of yours, driving off to nowhere. You hummed along with the song as some of the soft wind escaped your half-opened window, making your car slightly chilly. Not that you minded it, actually.

You decided to stop at a casual gas station, one that was open 24 hours ─ might as well get yourself some gum, or a snack, if you won’t be getting any proper sleep at that time. While you were parking your car, you noticed someone else walking into the station.

It made you laugh a little, and was somewhat comforting. At least someone else was not asleep and roaming the city right now, not just you.

You locked your car as you walked inside the station, the lady by the cashier shooting you a small smile. You smiled back as you walked through the aisles; it wasn’t roomy, but it had a variety of products.

You found your go-to gum packet, just one left ─ your luck was perfect.

“Sorry, could you pass me that?” A voice said from behind you. You turned around slightly, unsure if they were talking to you.

They were. He was.

“Pardon?” You say, unfocused.

“The gum packet, well, unless you want it.” He replies, chuckling a little.

You wanted to protest, but you opted against it. You could get another type, anyway. But before you could hand him the packet, he sensed your hesitation.

“Nevermind, you have it. I’ll get another,” he smiles as he reaches for another random packet behind you. He was dangerously close, and you even had to admit he was a little good-looking.

“It’s fine, I don’t really mind,” you say, but he brushes it off.

“No worries. You can have it.”

You smile sweetly for a few moments, quite unsure of what to do or say. As if he heard your thoughts, he talks again.

“I’m Charles,” he introduces himself, smiling again, his dimples very clear.

“I’m Y/N,” you respond, returning the smile. Not many more words were shared after that as you both paid and made your way back out, gum acquired.

“So... why are you awake this late?” He asks you.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you laugh as you open your pack of gum and pop one into your mouth.

“It’s a long story,” he sighs. You look up at him, and for a split-second, you want to tell him to go ahead. Talk about it, because, well... you couldn’t sleep, you had nowhere to be, so what was the point? Then again, he was a total stranger you just met.

You didn’t care though.

“Well, I have all night.” You say. He smiles a little at your response as you both subconsciously walked off, your cars being left behind in the parking lot.

“Well ... I don’t want to go into much detail so I don’t bore you. Itʼs just work stuff. I stay up very late at night, seeing my mistakes, working on them, then the engineers mess everything up,” he explains, sighing.

“I don’t really mind details. Also, that sucks, I’m sorry. It’s really discouraging ... I hate wasted potential,” you mutter as you placed a loose hair behind your ear to prevent it from going into your eyes.

“I really do hate it too. Really drains all your motivation. And no need to apologise, not your fault. It’s really stupid, actually.” He breathes. There is a moment of silence between you two before you talk again.

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” You say quietly.

He pauses and looks at you, his cheeks turning a slight shade of crimson as the corners of his mouth turned upwards into a small smile again.

“Thank you. It’s nice knowing someone else cares. At least a little.” He stated. “And, what about you? Why are you awake this late?” He questions.

“Well... I don’t know, actually. Been stressed out about a few things recently. Don’t know what exactly, though, but it sure is annoying.” You laugh.

He gestures at you to go on, continue speaking. He’s here to listen, he has all night too.

“I don’t really... know. The dreadful feeling of... dread, I guess. Takes over you. Doesn’t want to let go. It sucks.” You breathe.

“At times, it just... it feels like it is the strongest thing in the universe. The biggest, the most dangerous. Similar to the sun, actually.” You continue, your heart feeling slightly heavy after letting it out.

“At other times though, it will feel like the weakest. The smallest, the tiniest. Like it can never cause you harm. Like just a measly pair of shades can block it out. Which they might, just for a ridiculously small amount of time, until they no longer serve a purpose. And then, it begins to gain its strength yet once again. And you just... don’t have any control over anything,” you ramble. If this wasn’t a stranger you just met, you would have been bawling by now.

He doesn’t respond, and for a second, you think he’s already tired of you.

“But... sometimes, you just have to remember the sun isnʼt, and never will be, the biggest and strongest thing in the universe. And so, that is this feeling. It can haunt you for a while. And that is okay. But... reach out to others, you know? Don’t go through it alone.” He replies.

You properly turn your head around and look at him. His watercolour eyes were twinkling in the moonlight, his face flushed from the cold. Yet he had this genuine look on his face that made your heart warm up to him so much. You knew him for less than a few hours, but it feels like ages.

“Thank you. I never actually thought of it that way. So... thank you.” You mumble, looking back down at your feet as you walked.

The rest of the night was like this. You walked for a while to a random area where all the shops were closed, then turned back around and walked to the gas station again, talking about random nonsense. That random nonsense also included you finding out that he is a very famous F1 driver, which made you feel stupid ─ but it didn’t make you treat him any differently. Which he was really thankful about.

The sun had already began to rise as you both bid your goodbyes, back at the gas station.

“Thanks for this. It truly was quite calming,” he says, smiling gratefully at you.

“It really was. Thank you, too,” you say, returning the smile.

He wanted to ask for your number, but he chickened out last minute; not really his proudest moment. As you both began to drive off, you just hoped you could both somehow get in touch again.

To each other, you were both a breath of fresh air.

[girlrotterr]

HEADLINES☆

Bodyguard!ellie x Model!reader  Summary: After gaining more popularity in the public eye, your manager decided to hire you a bodyguard. Usually, you wouldn’t care, but this particular bodyguard, Ellie, is a cold and stubborn one, always controlling your decisions. Tonight, a big party is being thrown, but knowing Ellie, she won’t let you go. You can persuade her...right? a/n: hello angelss!! I wanted to try something different for this fic! lmk what you angels think! Had sm fun with this one <3 (especially with the dynamic!)

You sighed, frustrated with Ellie's determination. It wasn't the first time you had tried to convince her to let you attend social events. Leaning against the wall, you crossed your arms.

"Ellie, come onn! I get it, you're here to protect me, but I can take care of myself too. This party is crucial for my image, and you know how important that is in my line of work," you argued, attempting to convince her. 

She narrowed her eyes, "Your image won't matter if something happens to you. You can't trust those people, and I won't let you jeopardize your safety just for the sake of appearances."

You tried a different tactic, softening your tone. "Look, I appreciate what you do, I really do!. But I need to live a little, experience things.! Besides, it's not healthy to be cooped up all the time. Let me go, Ellie, just this once!” 

Her expression remained serious, and she shook her head. "No, it's not happening. I've seen how these events turn out, and I won't let you become another headline. My responsibility is to protect you, even from yourself."

You threw your hands up in frustration. "I'm not a child. I can make my own decisions, even if they turn out mistakes."

She stayed silent for a moment, her gaze intense. "I can't let you take unnecessary risks. It's my job to keep you safe, and I won't compromise on that."

"But I got all dolled up!" you say, gesturing towards your outfit.

A smirk crept onto Ellie's face as she looked you up and down. She admired the effort you had put into your appearance, her gaze lingering for a moment. 

You had come to know Ellie's strict professionalism quite well, but there was another side to her that occasionally surfaced — a genuine appreciation for your presence. You had caught her stealing glances, subtly tracing the lines of your figure. She silently acknowledged the aura you radiated. 

When she got lost in those moments, captivated by you, it didn't escape your notice. You had become a distraction from her duties, something that seemed to drive her fucking crazy. The protector allowing herself a vulnerable moment, drawn in by you.

"Hmm... Well, I might allow it," she finally accepted, a hint of amusement in her voice, "Only if you behave well."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine, fine. I'll be on my best behavior, I promise!”

Ellie maintained her composed demeanor, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Don't make me regret this. I'll be watching, and if anything seems off, you're out of there."

You nodded, pleased with the compromise. "Deal!"

Heading towards the door, you couldn't help but feel a sense of victory. Stepping out of the house, ellie followed closely, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a hint of nervousness, ensuring your safety remained her top priority.

fuck. The sight of Ellie in her sleek suit sent shivers down your spine, it always gave her a menacing look. 

"Hey~, with that black suit, you look like my date," you said cheekily, a playful glint in your eyes as you teased her. You loved getting under her skin. 

Ellie looked at you suspiciously, a faint blush tinting her cheeks "I'm not your date," she stated firmly, attempting to brush off your comment.

"Aww man," you exclaimed, unable to contain your giggles at her seriousness.

She rolled her eyes, hiding a hint of happiness behind her sternness. "Keep acting like that, and I'll forget the deal," she replied, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. It was her turn to be the tease now.

"Harsh!" you exclaimed, grinning as you playfully moved closer to her. 

"You're such a brat, you know that?" she said with a playful smirk.

You gasped, exaggerating your shock. "Am not!"

"Then stop acting like one," she shot back, her eyes scanning your body.

You grinned, playfully striding towards your baby pink beetle. "Not until you drop the bossy act."

Opening the car door, you hopped inside. The seats plush and adorned with soft pink cushions, the air filled with the sweet scent of strawberries.

You started the car and began driving, the engine humming as the vehicle glided through the streets. Ellie stared out the window, lost in her thoughts and taking in the passing neighborhood. The quietness of the car started feeling a bit awkward.

Sensing the silence, you reached into your purse, rummaging around until you found your favorite CD. With a grin, you popped it into the player, and your favorite song immediately filled the car with noise.

"AHH!! LOVEE THIS SONG!!" you shrieked and laughed with excitement. The energy of the music lifted the mood, filling the car with a sense of liveliness. Ellie couldn't help but crack a small smile, finding your genuine joy contagious. She smirked as she listened to the music, not exactly to her taste but enjoying the rhythm.

You started dancing in your seat, unable to contain your excitement. With a grin, you rolled down the windows, letting the wind whip through the car as you drove a little faster, caught up in the euphoria of the moment.

Ellie chuckled at your antics, but her enjoyment turned to mild concern when she noticed the speed increasing.

"C-calm down. There's no need to drive so fast," she warned, her tone laced with caution.

"Ughh!! You’re a buzzkill!" you exclaimed, sticking your head out of the window, the music blaring even louder now, practically vibrating the entire car. 

"Hey! Enough seriously! " Ellie started to protest, but her words were lost in the rush of the wind and the pulsating beat of the music. 

"Ellie! Take the fucking wheel!" you suddenly exclaimed, thrusting your hands out of the window along with your head, bending your body over the window ledge. You were sexy and unstoppable, the wind blowing perfectly against your face and hair.

Ellie, although taken aback, tried not to panic. In a swift move, she grabbed the wheel, taking control of the car and attempting to steer it. The rush of wind and the blaring music was chaotic yet exhilarating. This wasn't an unusual occurrence for her; she was used to your careless and rebellious behavior. However, it always managed to take her by surprise.

You stopped and took the wheel once again, closing the windows and slowing down as Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. "We're here!" you giggled excitedly, undoing your seatbelt and hopping out of the car, with Ellie following behind you.

Approaching the grand mansion, you marveled at its luxury. It stood tall and stunning, illuminated by soft lights against the night sky. Beautiful gardens surrounded it completely.

You walked towards the entrance, excitement building with each step. As you opened the door, you were suddenly greeted by a woman.

"You made it!" she exclaimed.

“I wouldn't have missed it for the world!" you responded.

The lady, still smiling, welcomed you inside with a gesture. “Come on in!” she exclaimed, holding the door open.

As you entered, you turned and waved for Ellie to come along.

Ellie followed behind you. As she looked around, her amazement grew. The party inside was anything but average. The upbeat music filled the air as people danced energetically, drinks flowed freely, and couples were intimately occupied on couches and stairs. She even noticed some people snorting drugs in the bathroom.

Turning towards Ellie, you leaned in and whispered, "Psst, a secret! I didn't even know that lady..."

Ellie laughed softly at your secret. "Really? She seemed to know you, though," she replied.

“I mean, my face is practically everywhere!”

"It must be weird, though. Having people recognizing you and praising you for your beauty. It's quite a big responsibility, isn't it?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Do you sometimes feel overwhelmed by the attention?"

“No, I get the fascination,” you replied, walking over to grab a soda.

"It's pretty funny how unfazed you are," she replied with a smile. “I have to admit, it’s fucking admirable.”

“Aw, don't flirt with me so obviously now,” you teased, grinning as you took a sip of your soda.

Ellie felt her cheeks flush at your remark, catching her off guard. "It's fucking hard not to," she replied, unable to take her gaze away from yours.

“You listen well; you dropped the bossy act,” you teased, playfully bumping your shoulder into hers.

“Fucking try me,” Ellie scoffed, leaning into your ear.

"I'm too busy dancing!" you said, playfully walking away from Ellie.

Approaching a woman who had clearly been checking you out since you entered. With a confident smile, you asked her if she wanted to dance, and she eagerly agreed. Taking her hand, you led her to the dance floor.

As Ellie observed, jealousy played across her face. She had never seen you dance, and she had to admit, she fucking loved it. It was hard for her not to envy the woman dancing with you. Despite being your bodyguard, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away. She wanted to fucking savor it.

The woman continued to get closer to you, too close for Ellie. She felt her anger rise, clenching her fists tightly, nails digging into her palms. She turned her head from side to side, attempting to release the tension building up. Suddenly you pulled the woman in for a kiss, a smile spreading across your face.

Ellie's jaw tightened.

You handed the woman a piece of paper containing your phone number before walking away, heading towards Ellie with exhaustion in your steps.

“Ugh, I need water!!” you exclaimed, your legs giving out from dancing.

"You seem pretty tired," she remarked, a hint of jealousy in her voice.

“Hm? Oh! Yeah, she's been eyeing me the moment I walked in!” you exclaimed, taking a seat on a nearby stool. “I thought I'd give her a chance, and she did not disappoint.”

"Do you just give anyone a chance when they look at you with desire?" she questioned sternly, her tone cold. The jealousy was consuming her, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check.

“Why does it matter to you?” you asked, genuinely surprised that she cared.

Ellie had to admit, you were right. She was just your bodyguard; it shouldn’t matter to her.

Suddenly, the woman approached you, handing you a beer. "Sorry for exhausting you, princess," she said, only fueling Ellie's jealousy further.

"Princess...? What the fuck," Ellie replied, her anger building up.

The woman looked at Ellie with confusion and scoffed. "And you are..?"

Ellie felt her stomach sink as she met the woman's gaze with a cold, sharp glare. "I'm her bodyguard," she stated firmly, her tone conveying her authority. "It's my job to make sure nothing happens to her. And from what I've seen, you're getting way too close for my liking."

The woman chuckled arrogantly. "Yeah? Well, I don't give a fuck," she replied, smirking as she put her arm around your shoulder.

Ellie had reached her limit. The audacity of this fucking woman,

"Don’t fucking touch my client," Ellie threatened coldly, maintaining a sharp look.

Unfazed, the woman put her beer down aggressively. "What're you going to do?!?" she challenged, now getting closer to Ellie. She was testing limits and crossing lines, pushing Ellie to the edge.

"Hey! Stop it!" you exclaimed, stepping in between Ellie and the woman. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Causing unnecessary shit."

Bothered, the woman picked up her beer and threw it at you, the liquid soaking your hair and dress. "Fucking bitch.." she muttered angrily, beginning to walk away. 

You stood there, now with beer dripping from you, frustration and disbelief on your face. 

You let out a scoff, your frustration boiling as you lunged at the woman. Your anger fueled your movements as you tackled her to the ground, pinning her beneath you. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you unleashed a blow of punches, each blow landing with force on her face. The sound of your fists meeting her bloodied nose, the woman grunting in pain. She had no fucking chance. 

Ellie watched the scene before her, her eyes widening as she witnessed. 

The people at the party even began crowding around, watching and recording with excitement. The situation had spiraled out of control. With the woman's face bloodied and bruised, her right eye swollen shut, you smudged your face with hers, rubbing the beer she had thrown at you onto her face.

“cunt.”  You muttered, finally standing up, your knuckles completely stained in red.

You began walking towards the door, the crowd following right behind you. Ellie, still standing near the door, was fucking stunned. Completely speechless. 

You opened the door and headed towards your car. Fastening your seatbelt, you yelled out the window, "ELLIE, GET THE FUCK IN HERE!!" 

Ellie jolted as she quickly made her way to the car. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment from the crowd's whispers and stares. You swerved, aligning the passenger seat with the main entrance. Lowering the window, it allowed ellie to jump into the seat through it. However, not giving her time to fully get in, you accelerated quickly with half of her body still hanging outside. 

“wait, wait, wait!!” Ellie exclaimed loudly, her eyes shut tight as she desperately gripped onto the seat. “You’re fucking crazy!!” she yelled. 

You were definitely making the headlines again. 

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the things that come with (body harm, priests, etc). images all have alt texts.

A/N: if you're familiar with the format of BuzzFeed unsolved videos, the pictures in this chapter make more sense. anyway we're starting small to warm up but i assure u there's like actual paranormal shit from next chapter onward <3 thank u for the chaotic response to chapter 1 ily guys sm ! as usual, please send me things you'd like to see in the series! it always make me so happy

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky loves the compound. The sentiment carries a lot, considering he’s made it a non-negotiable part of his personal brand to hate everything. 

The lush landscape is quiet, spacious enough that he isn’t forced to run into anyone he’s actively avoiding, and has state-of-the art security that lets him sleep soundly, assured that no one will be able to get to his floor in an assassination attempt. 

All of his deep love and fond admiration disappears when it’s the crackass of dawn and his oakwood door receives the beat down of a lifetime. 

He snaps awake instantly, unsure of whether there was someone actually trying to kick the shit out of his door or it was just another nightmare that often blurred lines with reality. 

But after the third deafeningly loud knock confirms it, he scrambles for a pair of pants just so that he isn’t caught entirely vulnerable. 

The thrashing doesn’t cease, and by the time he makes his way to the door and yanks it open– 

There’s no one on the other side. 

Except a coffee cup on the ground and a note scribbled haphazardly on the side.

Shoot day. See you at the studio!

He stares wordlessly at the cup, unable to differentiate whether the feeling coursing through the very fibres of his being currently is pure blinding rage, or confusion that you apparently knew his coffee order. 

The studio is fucking empty. If Bucky wasn’t still reeling from the effects of being startled awake by a fake intrusion at 5am, he’d have been over the damn moon.

He does his part as a man of honour and righteousness– calls out a very quiet ‘Hello?’ and then doesn’t bother feeling guilt when his heart explodes in joy at the lack of response.  

He spins on his heel to march out, only to come to an abrupt stop when he almost runs into you. He didn’t even fucking hear you come in. 

“Oh, hey.” You look at him, hand on a bagel. “You actually showed.”

Bucky’s smile falters, and he returns to his default Grinchian state. 

“You made sure I fuckin’ did,” he grumbles. “How’d you get on my floor?”

“I have my ways.”

Bucky’s glare presses hard into you almost like a palpable entity. 

“I did a gig as an escape artist for a while. Paid super well,” you dismiss. 

He doesn’t blink once, trying to decipher whether you’re telling him the truth or not. 

You offer him a bite from your bagel in return, seemingly having moved on from the conversation already. 

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, turning away from you.   

“Maya didn’t actually think you’d show up on time so she told everyone to come an hour later.” You speak through a mostly full mouth. “I figured you could use the company.” 

Bucky immediately feels defensive, as if that wasn’t exactly what he tried to do. 

He grumbled all through the morning when he saw fifteen text reminders sent to him through the night telling him he had to shoot a video that day. He grumbled when he couldn’t use traffic as an excuse to not show up because the studio is two streets away from the compound. He grumbled when the toaster actually works for once. Everything is right in the world. This was, of course, devastating to him. 

He finally shuts up when Sam gives him a piece of gum. Then he just glowers, but his jaw is otherwise occupied. 

“She set you on me this morning?” Bucky questions, tone on the verge of being ticked. 

You shake your head, swallowing before taking another bite. “No, that was social service.”

Bucky’s eye twitches. 

“I’ll come back in an hour,” he mumbles, arms crossed over his chest. 

You give him a look that lets him know you’re entirely unconvinced. “Will you?”

Well. No.

“I’m gonna look around the studio. You’re welcome to join,” you say instead, looking past him. “We’ll need to know where we’re working for the next few months.”

Few months? No no– few hours at max, if this were to go exactly his way. 

“Video’s not gonna do numbers,” he reminds you in a dull utterance.

“With an enthusiasm like that, it’s hard to see why you’re not universally beloved, Barnes,” you comment seriously, before clapping his shoulder. “Come on. You ever look at yourself in a mirror? You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

Bucky, in his current chosen avatar, looks less 'man of the world' and more 'reject of the jungle’. 

But the sentiment is appreciated.

The studio is moderately big. 

You find joy in messing around with set pieces of the other Avengers video series that were being shot there. Bucky finds joy in locating every possible escape route within a three foot vicinity. 

He’s admittedly surprised by learning how much actually goes into making a simple video. He just figured they’d stick a camera in his face and teleprompt him and get it over it. 

You chat animatedly about the use of gimbals and different camera gear, lighting setups and sound quality.

“You into this stuff?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, I just did a stunt as a wedding videographer once,” you wave off, “It was great. You could always tell which couples were gonna get divorced within a year.”

Something unrecognisable flashes in his eyes. 

“Escape artist and wedding videographer,” he repeats.

You stop talking to look at him.

“Yes,” you say simply and go on to provide no further explanation. 

If the morning’s antics weren’t enough, now he’s convinced you’re fucking with him.

“Anyway, they’ll probably stick us in makeup before we go on camera because it–”  

“Makeup?”

“Well– yeah. For the video.” Your eyes dart toward him, sizing him up in a quick glance. “If you look any paler, you’d basically be translucent.”

Bucky can’t even debate it. His skin looks like it hasn't felt the gentle touch of a sunray in millennia.  

“Just say it’s part of the theme.”

You snort. “The first ghost I hunt cannot be one who sits beside me.” 

So Bucky gets his makeup done. 

By the time the studio fills in, he’s already drunk two cups of the shitty breakroom coffee and found fifteen innocuous things to fashion into weaponry if things were to go awry.

The large bright lights force him to keep wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead. Everything exists in a contrarian state of frenzy, and coordinated down to the second as if it were a damn rocket launch. He’s already had three staff members dart about him cross checking if he’s hydrated and if he’s signed the right forms. 

“Oh, you actually showed,” he hears for the second time from Maya, who doesn’t even make an attempt to hide the earnest surprise from her voice.

Bucky wants to scream.

“The team’s picked a really simple case since it’s the first video. You just need to read it out,” she explains breezily, switching from you to him, “and you need to react.” 

You flash her a thumbs up. Bucky doesn’t move an inch. He’s convinced it’ll trigger another round of people meddling with his hair until it looks ‘sufficiently casual but not artificial’. 

 Maya hurriedly leaves after wishing you good luck, probably to fix the walking PR disaster that was Clint, who unceremoniously went live on his Instagram the night before after consuming something he procured from some guy in an alleyway, who described it as ‘carbonated milk’. Bucky watched it for a few seconds and immediately shut down the app when Clint offered to take one article of clothing off for every million people that tuned in.

“I asked for there to be as few people in the room as possible,” you whisper to him. 

“Still a lot,” he replies under his breath, watching them buzz around him, still brushing up his face and dabbing at his hairline with a napkin. 

Someone hands you a folder full of papers. “We lose any more and we’re filming this video ourselves.” 

“All ready!” The camera guy, Shane, announces. 

“Copy that,” you call back, before leaning forward in your chair, grinning. “Chill. I’m gonna do the talking. All you gotta do is say a few words and look pretty.” 

That sounds…doable. 

“Make it fast,” Bucky mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Whether he was talking about the video or his death is still up for debate. 

“Recording in three…two…one–”

The whole studio waits with bated breath, but Bucky stares right ahead. 

“When I said a ‘few words’, I did mean one or two, possibly more,” you talk through your smile.  

Bucky continues looking into the camera like it stole his ancestral property.

You exhale, soldiering on, lips still upturned. 

You look at Bucky, hopeful that he will at least answer a question. He doesn’t offer the same kindness, and now you understand why Maya reached out to you for this. 

So you do what needs to be done, as a person with a responsibility to all these fine and tired souls gathered here on a weekend.

You kick him under the table. 

The crew waits for Bucky to say more. He very pointedly doesn’t. 

At least one sound has been procured from him, which is more than what they can say for some other videos.

You continue, “Our story takes place in 1954, in the quaint, rural town of Ravenswood. Irene–”

Bucky scoffs. “You made that up.”

Would now be a good time for him to bring up your previous job experiences you  had dropped so casually or was this enough to let you know he was onto you? 

Your eyebrows pull together, scanning over the sentence. “I haven't even said anything yet.”

“A horror story. Taking place in Raven’s Woods,” Bucky emphasises. “Really.”

Bitch.

“First of all, it’s Ravenswood, not Raven’s Woods,” you shoot back. “And it exists.”

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t know– fuckin’ West Virginia?” You shuffle through the papers. “Does it matter? You wanna move there?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything further. 

You observe him for a moment before deciding to continue. 

“In the quiet town of Ravenswood,” you side eye him but he doesn’t look affected. “Irene Wendelin, a 35-year-old woman moved into a house on the outskirts to save up money. She lived alone, had no immediate relatives and worked as a secretary at the local press.”

Bucky continues chewing his gum. You’re not even sure he’s listening, but everyone got paid by the hour regardless of whether he did, so who gives a shit. 

“Within a few weeks of moving in, strange incidents started to take place. Irene’s friend Thelma, who also worked as a secretary at the press, recalled how Irene developed a persistent cough, was constantly fatigued, and had issues sleeping due to her skin itching. Thelma suggested solutions from ointments to medication, but not one remedy that she provided seemed to work. As time went by, Irene’s symptoms escalated into severe respiratory problems, leaving her breathless just from climbing up a flight of stairs. She even reportedly started having hallucinations of people crawling around in her house in the dark, but she was never able to catch them in their entirety.”

“How long did this take?” Bucky questions out of the blue, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“I think within a couple of weeks of moving in.” You try not to look too surprised. “Further, Thelma recalls Irene saying she heard strange sounds at night which kept her up. The only time the woman felt normal was when she left her house to stay with her cousins for a month.”

Bucky’s head snaps to you, eyes narrowing.  

“What?” you challenge.

“Nothin’,” he says instead. “Go on.”

You cast a look at the crew, who look just as confused as you, but you continue regardless. 

“Things escalated when one day, Irene showed up to work in complete disarray. Thelma says that upon a closer look, Irene had bite marks over her hands and legs. Thelma, a devout Christian, insisted on getting the place checked out by the church since all else had failed. Father Gabriel, a local priest, agreed to visit the house, but upon setting foot inside, claimed it was haunted by ‘forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’. This was the last straw for Thelma, who had Irene move into her house until she found a new place to stay. Within a few weeks, Irene was back to normal, and the house is still considered one of the most haunted places in the country to this place, with no one allowed to enter.” 

Bucky looks at his arms, jaw tightening. 

Your eyebrow twitches.

You could see Maya shaking her head from across the room, entirely fucking defeated. 

You wait a few seconds but receive no response. Bucky’s gaze doesn’t shift from the table top. 

You start gathering the folder with the story in it, getting ready to read out your conclusion. 

You stare at him, but he doesn’t look up at you.

Collectively, every spine in the room straightens. 

“Asbestos?” you echo.

“Or mold. Could be either.” Bucky shrugs, chewing on the same stupid piece of gum that had lost its flavour hours ago. 

You look at him in bewilderment, partly because you weren’t expecting him to say anything at all, much less this. 

“Had an aunt once who thought she was possessed. Turns out her walls were full of mold.” 

You stare at him. “You’re lying.”

He finally turns to you, no traces of humour on his face. “She got remarried and moved out. Good as new.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s asbestos.”

“Had the same symptoms an’ everything. Itchy skin, breathing problems, fatigue.” 

“Hallucinations?”

“Stress. Being poisoned twenty-four hours a day’ll do a number on anyone.”

“And the bite marks?” 

“You never had an itch so bad you just bit it?”

“On her legs?” you ask incredulously. “She bit her legs? Is that what you’re saying?”

Bucky shrugs. 

You look like you’re going to lose your mind. 

You clear your throat. “What about the priest?

Bucky snorts. “What ‘bout him?” 

“'Forces of evil whose reality existed beyond mortal comprehension’?” 

“Maybe it was her,” he fires back. “Maybe that's just how she was, how would you know?”

“You’re saying the forces of evil are just… her bad vibes?” you say it slowly, as if that would make it better. 

“Maybe.” Bucky’s shoulders rise and drop again. “My aunt was a real stick in the mud too. I coulda called her a force’a evil when she didn’t let me fire a bottle rocket into the tree.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Bucky looks back innocently.

“You’re bullshitting.”

“About my aunt?” he scoffs. “I would never. Rest her soul. Made some damn good cranberry pie.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not asbestos.”

“Then why was she fine every time she moved out?”

“Because the house was haunted.”

“By mold.”

Maya clears her throat, pointing to her watch. 

You look back at her and clear your throat as well, shuffling around your papers. 

“Right. So that’s it for this episode.”

The camera guy yells “Cut!’ and you turn to look at Bucky.

But he’s already gone. 

The video goes up that weekend. 

It takes a considerable amount of time to edit, considering they had to bleep out  the steady stream of expletives that you didn’t even know Bucky was muttering under his breath, but got picked up by the mic anyway.

To Barnes (Work):

are you ready for your influencer era

He leaves you on seen. You think you’ll send him more memes of his stupid face.

To Barnes (Work):

influenza

Five hours since the video has gone up, and your phone starts buzzing more than usual. Nat’s already sent you a clearly AI generated article titled ‘Everything We Know About the Latest Avenger’, full of incorrect information and straight up lies. 

The first reviews are promising. Sort of. The newest generation of kids on Twitter are saying shit and using terms that are beyond you, but it looks good. You think.

And then somewhere close to midnight, your phone chimes with a text from a number you hadn’t yet saved. 

From unknown

Hey. Steve Rogers here. Great job on the video.

Your eyebrows shoot up, discarding your refreshing of the Subreddit that has popped up in your name. 

From unknown

Just letting you know though– he was lying.

From unknown

He doesn’t have an aunt. 

Motherfucker.

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Next part

[letsgetrowdy43]

The Greatest (Rowan’s Version)—

Quinn Hughes x Honey Hughes

Warnings: Quinn is a dick in this, a little blurb on being physically intimate but no details, a lot of angst and crying… lmk if there is anything I missed!!

Inspired by “The Greatest” by Billie Eilish

Au Masterlist!!

"I'm trying my best to keep you satisfied Let you get your rest, while I stayed up all night"

Honey tiptoed down the dimly lit hallway, her slippers brushing against hardwood as she neared her daughter's door, warm milk in hand as she rounded the corner. The soft glow from Hayden’s nightlight seeped out from under her bedroom door, casting a gentle light that barely reached the hall. She paused, her hand hovering over the door handle, listening to the faint, rhythmic breathing from inside. Finally, it seemed Hayden was asleep.

It had been a long and tiresome evening. Hayden had been restless, unable to settle down no matter what Honey tried. There were lullabies, stories, and even a glass of warm milk that now remained untouched in Honey's hands as she let out a content sigh. Nothing seemed to work and Honey could feel her patience fraying with each passing hour, but she kept her voice soothing and her movements gentle, knowing her daughter needed her calm presence more than anything else.

The woman took a deep breath and slowly opened the door, peeking around the corner to ensure Hayden was indeed asleep. Her daughter lay curled up under the covers, clutching her favourite stuffed orca, its worn material peeked out from the blanket. Honey's heart ached with a mixture of love and exhaustion at the sight, quietly rejoicing at the fact she could finally crawl back into her own bed after nearly an hour of restless crying.

She tiptoed inside, gently adjusting the blanket around Hayden’s small frame, then placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Sweet dreams, my love,” she whispered as her fingers flattened out her messy curls before slipping out of the room.

She made her way to the master bedroom, her body feeling heavy with fatigue. The door creaked as she pushed it open, revealing the familiar silhouette of Quinn already in bed. His back was turned to her, his breathing deep and steady, indicating he was fast asleep.

Honey sighed, her shoulders slumping as she quietly closed the door behind her. She changed into one of Quinn’s old shirts and a pair of shorts, her movements slow and deliberate, the weight of the day pressing down on her as she examined her tired eyes in the mirror.

Climbing into bed, she reached out to touch Quinn, seeking comfort in his warmth, “Quinn?” she whispered, her voice barely audible as her fingers raked through his bed head. He mumbled something incoherent, rolling over to the other side, his body curling away from her touch. Honey's hand fell limply onto the mattress. The rejection, however unintentional, stung more than she expected. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back.

She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. The room was enveloped in darkness, the only sound the gentle hum of the fan above their bed. The tears she'd been holding in began to spill over, sliding silently down her cheeks. She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling the cries that threatened to escape.

Honey's mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other in a chaotic swirl. She felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, despite Quinn's presence just inches away. The day’s events replayed in her mind: Hayden’s sleeplessness, the unending chores, hockey filling every aspect of her life, and the constant demands of motherhood. And now this—the coldness of the night, the silence between her and Quinn.

She turned her head to look at him, his form just a dark outline against the cream-coloured sheets, his face turned away from her so she couldn't admire the man she loved the most. She remembered the early days of their marriage, when they couldn't wait to be close to each other, when even a goodnight kiss felt like a cherished ritual. Now, it seemed like a distant memory, replaced by exhaustion.

★★★★

"And you don't wanna know how alone I've been Let you come and go, whatever I state I'm in"

Honey sat in the stands, the metal was cold and unforgiving beneath her legging-covered legs, stinging her skin as she listened to the sounds of sticks on ice and skates cutting the ice. She adjusted her position, tucking a blanket around her legs for warmth, and glanced at her watch for what felt like the hundredth time.

Where was Quinn?

Warren’s hockey game was well underway, it was the biggest game of the year, the tryouts for the BC Junior Canucks team for the Brick Tournament Invitational. The players glided across the ice with practiced precision, the sound of hockey echoing through the arena as they all worked to get a spot of the team for one of the biggest tournaments for the children of Vancouver.

She could see Hayden a few rows down, playing among the other kids, their faces lit with excitement as they rang the tiny cowbells in their hands and cheered on their siblings, friends, and family members on the ice. Honey smiled despite herself, the sight of her daughter’s joy lighting her mood as Hayd looked over to her and grinned as she sent her mom an excited wave. She turned her attention back to the ice, cheering loudly as Warren made a skillful pass to a teammate.

The other moms were gathered in clusters around her, chatting and laughing, their voices a backdrop to the action on the ice. Honey tried to engage, nodding and smiling at the appropriate moments, but she had trouble meshing with the other women within the room, and besides her mind was elsewhere.

Quinn had promised to be here. He’d assured her he’d make it this time, that he wouldn’t let Warren down again, or make her create excuses for his absences.

As if on cue, she heard a familiar buzz ripple through the stands. Turning, she saw Quinn making his way down the aisle, offering sheepish smiles and waves to the guardians who greeted him warmly.

He was almost an hour late, but his arrival was met with an outpouring of praise.

Typical

“There he is!” one of the Dads exclaimed, clapping Quinn on the back as he made his way to his wife. “He's so supportive my god” a mother mumbled to another, "and so handsome."

Honey’s heart clenched, she watched as Quinn accepted the adoration, his face flushed from the cold or perhaps embarrassment. He caught her eye and gave her a small, apologetic smile before making his way over to her. She forced herself to smile back, though it felt like a big lie.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, Tocch was relentless today,” he said, sliding onto the bench next to her, his arm wrapping around her as he pulled her into his side, ruining the perfectly tucked blanket under her legs to be pressed up against him. “It’s okay,” Honey replied, her voice softer than she intended. “Warren’s been playing really well.” Quinn nodded, his attention shifting to the game. Honey could feel the eyes of the other moms on them, their whispered comments just loud enough to be heard.

“He’s such a good dad,” one woman said. “He must be so busy with work, but he always makes time for his family,” another chimed in.

Honey bit her lip, feeling the sting of their words. She wanted to confront them, let them in on the fact that it wasn’t the whole truth, that she was the one who shouldered most of the burdens at home, the one who stayed up late with Hayden, the one who made sure Warren got to his practices on time. But she stayed silent, the weight of her unspoken frustrations pressing down on her as she leaned into her husband's side, cheek pressed up against her shoulder as they watched their son as his hand held hers in his lap.

The game continued, and Quinn joined in the cheers and shouts, his enthusiasm contagious. Honey watched him, a mixture of love and resentment swirling in her chest. He had this effortless way of charming everyone, of making his rare appearances seem like grand gestures of devotion.

Meanwhile, her constant presence and her relentless efforts went unnoticed by all.

As the final buzzer sounded, Warren’s team erupted in cheers. They had won, and the stands were a flurry of excitement as the boys piled on top of each other, slipping all over the ice as they screamed with excitement. Warren skated over to the boards, his face flushed with pride as he slammed into the glass ingront of his family, Honey couldn’t help but smile at him.

Warren beamed at the sight of his dad, his eyes bright as he looked up at his parents, “did you see my goal?” he looked at his father with excited eyes as Quinn nodded. “You did awesome bud!” Quinn replied, completely ignoring Warren's question as he motioned for his son to go and join the rest of the team in the locker room Honey stood, gathering her things. “Come on, Hayden, let’s go get your brother,” she called, her voice steady as Hayd separated from her friends and ran over to her parents, jumping into Quinn's arms as they headed in the direction of the locker room.

They made their way down to the locker room, joining the crowd of parents and children waiting for the swarm of sweaty lost game kids. Honey hugged Warren tightly, her heart swelling with pride. She glanced at Quinn, who was chatting animatedly with the other dads and felt a pang of loneliness.

As they walked to the car, Warren and Hayden chattering excitedly about the game, Honey felt Quinn’s arm slip around her shoulders. She looked up at him, his face softened with a rare tenderness that she hadn't seen in a while. “I’m really sorry I was late,” he said quietly. “I’ll do better, I promise.” Honey nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, “I know you will,” she whispered.

Honey allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things would get better.

★★★★

"Man, am I the greatest? My congratulations. All my love and patience, all my admiration. All the times I waited for you to want me naked. Made it all look painless (painless), man, am I the greatest?"

Bedtime was Honey’s favourite time of the day.

She helped Hayden into her pyjamas and listened to the recounting of her playdate with her best friend Paige. After a few bedtime stories and a goodnight kiss, Hayden finally drifted off to sleep, the woman tucked the blankets around her daughter, smoothing the hair from her forehead before turning on her pink butterfly nightlight and off the big light.

In Warren’s room, Quinn was already saying goodnight. Honey joined them, pressing a kiss to Warren's temple and sat quietly as Quinn finished up his bedtime story. She lingered in the doorway, watching as Quinn gave their son a goodnight kiss and ruffled his hair.

“Love you,” Quinn said, his voice warm. “Night, Mom. Night, Dad,” Warren said, his eyes heavy with sleep. “Goodnight baby,” Honey replied softly.

They walked down the hallway together, and the house finally quieted. Honey’s heart beat faster as they approached the door to their bedroom. She longed for Quinn’s touch, for the intimacy that had become so rare. She needed to feel loved, to bridge the distance that seemed to grow wider each day.

As they entered their bedroom, Quinn went straight to their bathroom, starting his usual nighttime routine. Honey changed into a soft nightgown, choosing one she knew he liked, she looked at herself for a second, nitpicking her appearance and trying to shake the ugly feeling that had been brewing in her chest. She sat on the edge of the bed, nervously waiting for him to return.

When Quinn finally came out, face washed and changed he looked tired. He crossed the room and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up and lying back with a sigh. Honey took a deep breath and moved closer to him, reaching out to touch his arm.

“Quinn,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, embarrassed at the words about to leave her mouth, “can we... It’s been a while, and I miss you.” He turned his head to look at her, his eyes dull with exhaustion. “Honey, I’m really tired. It’s been a long day,” he mumbled, shifting slightly to put more distance between them as he pulled the comforter up to his chest.

“But,” she said, her voice cracking, “I just- I thought maybe- I miss being close to you.” Quinn sighed heavily, his frustration evident. “I know, Honey, but not tonight, okay? I just don’t have the energy.”

Honey’s heart sank.

She withdrew her hand, feeling the sting of rejection deep in her chest. She turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes filling with tears. She felt Quinn shift beside her, but he didn’t reach out, didn’t try to comfort her.

The silence between them was deafening.

She bit her lip, the darkness of the room seemed to press in on her, amplifying her loneliness, the coldness that occupied the space between them. She felt a profound sense of isolation, even with Quinn lying just inches away. She turned her head to look at Quinn, hoping for some sign that he still cared, that he still wanted her, not even intimately, just in general. But he lay still, his back turned, lost in his own world of exhaustion and detachment.

Honey closed her eyes, the ache in her chest growing unbearable. The rejection was too fresh, the pain too much as she silent tears soaking into the pillow. Reminiscing of a time when Quinn would look at her the way he once did, with love and desire in his eyes.

★★★★

"Doing what's right without a reward And we don't have to fight, when it's not worth fighting for (fighting for)"

The sun had set and tensions remained high between Quinn and Honey, the couple was now en route to the yearly Canucks for Kids charity ball.

The silence in the car was thick and uncomfortable, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Honey stared out the window, watching the street lights beginning to turn on as they sped down the highway, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her dress. Quinn’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw clenched as he tried to ignore the fraying ends of a very happy relationship.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Honey thought, her mind drifting to the previous night’s rejection and the growing abyss between them. She had hoped that tonight’s event might provide a chance to rekindle the growing disconnect, to be with the people closest to him and enjoy each other, but now, it felt like just another obligation, another performance.

“Can we talk about last night?” Honey finally asked, breaking the silence. Quinn sighed, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Honey, I’m really not in the mood for this right now. We have to be at this event in fifteen minutes, can’t we just focus on that?” “No, Quinn. We can’t keep ignoring this,” Honey insisted, her voice rising slightly. “We’re falling apart, and you don’t seem to care. I’m trying to reach out to you, but you keep pushing me away.”

“I do care, Honey, but I’m exhausted,” Quinn replied, frustration creeping into his tone, “I have a lot on my plate right now, with the team and home, and I can’t deal with everything at once.” “And I’m not exhausted? I’m not dealing with a lot?” Honey shot back, her anger roaring at his constant invalidation of her issues, “It’s not just about you, Quinn. We’re both in this, and we both need to make an effort.”

Quinn glanced at her, his expression a mix of weariness and annoyance, his grip on the wheel slightly tightening as he turned back to look at the road. “I know you’re tired too, but right now we need to get through this evening. Can we please just put on a smile and get through it, we can argue more later tonight if that's what you wanna do.” Honey swallowed hard, feeling the sting of his words, “Fine,” she said quietly, turning back to the window.

“Let’s just get through it.”

They pulled up to the venue, the grand entrance lit with lights and green and blue balloons creating a walkway for attendees. The valet took the car, and Quinn and Honey stepped out, their faces immediately transforming into practiced smiles. Honey looped her arm through Quinn’s, her grip tighter than necessary as he looked at her pointedly.

As they walked into the lavishly decorated ballroom, they were greeted with warm smiles and enthusiastic welcomes. Quinn’s colleagues and their spouses mingled, laughter and chatter filling the air. Honey plastered a bright smile on her face, the mask of contentment slipping into place.

“Honey, Captain Hughes! So glad you could make it!” one of the Canucks investors called out jokingly throwing the nickname to grab their attention, shaking Quinn’s hand and giving Honey a polite kiss on the cheek, “You both look wonderful.” “Thank you,” Honey replied, her voice sweet and soft, “they outdid themselves again this year” “Don't be modest Hun," Quinn said sincerely, "She's on the board, she helped with the planning." “Well then thank you for your hard work against this year!”

They made their way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and making small talk. Honey’s smile never wavered, even as her heart ached with the unresolved tension between her and Quinn. She watched him interact effortlessly, his charm and charisma on full display.

To everyone else, they were the perfect couple, a united front.

As the evening progressed, Honey found herself at the edge of the dance floor, watching couples sway to the music. She glanced over at Quinn, who was deep in conversation with a group of donors. He caught her eye and gave her a small, awkward smile, she could see his anticipation to get away from the networking and back at her side.

It was like a short moment of the old Quinn, awkward, in love with her, she missed it.

Taking a deep breath, Honey walked over to him, her steps deliberate and aching to save him and have her close once again. “Sorry guys, you wouldn't mind if I stole my husband for a dance would you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. He hesitated for a moment before nodding and excusing him. “Happy wife, Happy life,” he joked, excusing himself from the conversation and taking her hand.

They moved onto the dance floor, the music enveloping them. Quinn placed a hand on Honey’s waist, and she rested hers on his shoulder. They swayed to the rhythm, their movements stiff and mechanical at first. Gradually, the music loosened the tension.

“I’m sorry,” Honey whispered, her voice barely audible over the melody, “I don’t want to fight. I just want us to be okay.” “I know,” Quinn replied, his tone softer now as her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she melted into him slightly, “I’m sorry too. We’ll figure this out, Honey. We have to.”

★★★★

"And you don't wanna know what I would've done Anything at all, worse than anyone"

The warming morning sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the room. Honey poured herself a cup of coffee, savouring the brief moment of calm before the day’s chaos began.

Quinn’s mother, Ellen, had come for a short visit, and Honey was grateful for the company during this long stretch of away games.

Ellen entered the kitchen, her blonde hair neatly pulled back into a clip, a gentle smile on her face as she looked to her daughter in law through the glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“Morning, Honey. How did you sleep?” “Morning, it wasn't too bad,” Honey replied, though the truth was she had barely slept, she gestured to the coffee pot, “Can I get you a cup?” “Please,” Ellen said, taking a seat at the kitchen table across from where Honey's book lay open face down on the table.

Honey poured a second cup and handed it to her mother-in-law before sitting down across from her. They sipped their coffee in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds that occupied the air were the birds chirping outside and the distant buzz of people getting in their cars and heading to work.

“How are things, Hun?” Ellen asked, her eyes soft with concern, “you look tired.” Honey sighed, setting her cup down. “It’s been... well it's been challenging lately,” she admitted, “Quinn and I are struggling a bit and the kid's lives are starting to get busier. We’re both so occupied and exhausted, and it's been a lot.”

Ellen reached across the table, placing a comforting hand over Honey’s, “Marriage isn’t always easy, especially when life gets demanding.” “I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Honey said, her voice trembling, “I try to reach out to him, but he’s always so tired or preoccupied. And when I bring it up, we end up arguing,” the tears started as she quickly wiped them away and stared at her coffee cup.

“I just feel so lonely,” she admitted, a little weight lifting off of her chest as her free hand drummed on the table.

Ellen nodded, her expression thoughtful, “I can see how much you’re hurting. Clearly, you love Quinn and want to make things work.” “I do,” Honey said, tears welling up in her eyes, “I just don’t know how to get through to him.”

It felt weird admitting all of this to her husband's mother, but Ellen always listened, always advised, and she knew how to make things better.

Ellen squeezed her hand gently, “Quinn’s always been the type to shoulder burdens silently, thinking he’s protecting those he loves, you need to confront that Hun, he needs to know he's hurting you.”

If there was one thing Ellen felt deeply about it was accountability, and that belief did not fall blindly in her sons.

Honey wiped a tear from her cheek. “So, what do I do?” “Sometimes, it helps to approach these conversations when the tension is lower.” Honey nodded, “It’s hard to find a good moment with him lately,” she dryly laughed, such a bizarre thought to infer that Quinn was difficult when he had always been nothing less than perfect for the entirety of their marriage up until this point.

Ellen smiled kindly, “he’ll listen Hun, you just have to be honest with him and not hold back that you're hurting.

The older woman leaned back in her chair, her gaze distant for a moment. “You know, Honey, when Jim and I were your age, we went through something similar. There were times we barely spoke, he had coaching, and I had the boys and worked on top of it. It took a lot of patience, and we both had to learn to communicate better.” Honey looked at Ellen with a newfound level of respect, something so eye-opening about the vulnerability that occupied the space between them.

“How did you get through it?” “By remembering why we fell in love in the first place,” Ellen said softly, “We made an effort to fix it, we moved around so I wouldn't be the primary caregiver while he was off coaching, we started to make quality time a priority, and we sought help when we needed it. There’s no shame in asking for guidance, whether from a counsellor or someone else.”

Honey nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope. “Thank you, Ellen. I really needed to hear that.” Ellen smiled warmly. “You and Quinn have a strong relationship. Sometimes, it just takes a bit of work to clear away the aggravation and find the connection again.”

★★★★

"Man, am I the greatest? My congratulations. All my love and patience, all my admiration. All the times I waited for you to want me naked. Made it all look painless (painless), man, am I the greatest?"

Honey sat at the kitchen table, the house eerily quiet with Quinn away on a road trip. The kids were asleep, and the only sound was the ticking of the wall clock and the microwave that was reheating the dinner that she hadn't had the chance to eat until everything settled for the night.

She stared at her phone, the screen glowing softly in the dim light. She had been debating whether to call Quinn, wanting to bridge the gap between them, but fearing another argument. Taking a deep breath, she dialled his number.

It rang a few times before he answered, his voice crackling through the line. “Hey, Hun,” Quinn said, sounding tired but happy to hear from her. “How are things at home?”

“Hi, love,” Honey replied, her voice heavy with fatigue as she finally took a deep breath at the sound of his voice, “I just wanted to talk. I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed this trip.”

She could hear the concern in his voice, “I know, Honey. I’ve been thinking about you and the kids a lot. How’s Hayden? And Warren?” “They’re good,” Honey said, managing a small smile despite her exhaustion, “Hayden had trouble sleeping again last night, and Warren’s been busy with his big science project. It’s just... a lot to handle on my own.” Quinn sighed, “I wish I could be there to help more. I know it’s hard.”

“It’s not just about the help anymore Quinn. I miss you. I miss us.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Honey could almost hear him thinking, “Have you ever thought of quitting your job to have more time for them?” Honey’s grip tightened on the phone, her breath catching in her throat at such a stupid question on his end, “What did you just say?”

“I mean,” Quinn continued, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing on the other end, “if you weren’t so stressed with work, maybe things would be easier at home. You could focus on the kids more, and we wouldn’t be so—” “Are you being serious?” Honey interrupted, her voice rising with anger. "I just—"

“You think quitting my job is the solution? You think I should just give up my career, something I’ve worked so hard for, just to make things easier for you?” “That’s not what I meant, Honey,” Quinn said, his tone defensive, “I just thought it might help—” “Help who? You?” Honey’s voice shook with rage and hurt.

“You’re away playing hockey, doing what you love, and you think I should just abandon my dreams and ambitions to pick up the slack? I’ve supported you every step of the way, and now you want me to sacrifice my career for you?”

“Honey, please,” Quinn pleaded. “I didn’t mean it like that.” But it was too late. The words had already cut deep, and Honey felt a surge of betrayal

“You have no idea what it’s like to balance everything, to be there for the kids, to manage the house, and still try to hold onto a piece of myself, don't even get me started on the way you have torn apart our marriage with your 'tired because of the team' bullshit. You don’t get to tell me to give up my job.” “Honey, let’s not fight—” Quinn started, but Honey couldn’t listen anymore. “Goodbye, Quinn,” she said, her voice icy. She hung up the phone, her hands trembling with anger and frustration.

She sat there for a moment, staring at the phone, the weight of the conversation pressing down on her. Tears blurred her vision as she thought about all the sacrifices she had already made, the nights spent alone, and the unending juggling act of her responsibilities.

The silence of the house felt oppressive, and for the first time, she wondered how they would get through this. The gap between them seemed wider than ever, and she wasn’t sure how to bridge it.

★★★★

"The greatest"

Honey stared at her phone as it buzzed on the kitchen counter, Quinn’s name lighting up the screen. She let it ring, her heart heavy with the weight of their last conversation. She couldn’t bring herself to answer, not yet. The anger and hurt were still too fresh, the sting of his words too sharp.

Days passed, and Honey continued to ignore Quinn’s calls, burying herself in her work and the kids’ activities, sending short texts with breakdowns of the kid's days, and a few pictures, but not an ounce of love or forgiveness settling in the words. She knew she couldn’t avoid him forever, but she needed time to process, to find a way to articulate her feelings without exploding.

One evening, as she was putting Hayden to bed, she heard the front door open. Quinn was home.

“Mommy, is Daddy back?” Hayden asked, her eyes wide with excitement. Honey forced a smile. “Yes, baby, Daddy’s home," she tucked Hayden in, and kissed her goodnight, "he'll see you in the morning when you wake up okay?” she promised and headed downstairs, her stomach in knots.

Quinn stood in the living room, looking exhausted and worried, his eyes met hers, and she could see the desperation in them. “Honey,” he began, stepping towards her. “please, we need to talk,” his voice trembling, slightly pathetic from the days of worrying about the fate of their marriage and family.

She folded her arms, keeping her distance, “What is there to talk about, Quinn? You made it pretty clear how you feel.” Quinn ran a hand through his hair, frustration and regret etched on his face, “that’s not fair. I didn’t mean it the way it came out."

"I just want to find a way to make things easier for both of us.” Honey shook her head, her anger simmering just about to reach boiling point, “you think the solution is for me to give up my job, my dreams? Do you have any idea how insulting that is? I'm a great wife and a great mother, and you treat me so less than."

"I loved you, and I still do"

“I know, I know,” Quinn said, his voice pleading, “I was wrong. I didn’t think it through. But please, we can’t keep doing this. We need to figure it out together.”

She looked at him, the pain of their disconnect weighing heavily on her, “do you even think I’m attractive anymore, Quinn?” His eyes widened in shock. “What? Of course I do, why would you even ask that?” Honey’s voice wavered, her vulnerability laid bare, “Because you never touch me, you never look at me the way you used to. I feel invisible to you, I feel ugly.” Quinn took a step closer, his expression softening as he reached out to her but she moved away from his grasp, “Honey, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I’ve been so caught up in everything else, I’ve forgotten to show you that. But I do, I really do find you attractive. I love you.”

Tears welled up in Honey’s eyes, the words she had longed to hear both comforting and painful, “then why do I feel so alone? Quinn, we could be in the same room, the same bed even, and yet it feels like you're not even in the room.” “I loved you, Quinn. I still do,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I just want to feel like you love me back."

"Just wanted passion from you, just wanted what I gave you"

Quinn's hand finally found hers, his eyes pleading as she squeezed his hand and collapsed into his chest, “I know, Honey. I’ve been so wrapped up in everything else that I forgot about us. I’m sorry. I need you to know that I love you more than anything.” “I want to believe you, Quinn,” Honey said, tears streaming down her cheeks and she pulled away from his hold and wiped her tears, “but I’m worth so much more. I need time.”

Quinn nodded, his stare not leaving her frame as she met his intensity with hers, "I want to fix this hun." Honey looked away, feeling the weight of his words. She wanted to hold onto the hope that things could get better, but it all felt a little too fresh. “Okay,” she said softly, pulling her hands away, “We’ll see.”

"I've waited and waited"

Honey lay in bed alone after Quinn opted to sleep on the couch, her thoughts fuelled by emotions and the room felt heavy with the weight of their unresolved issues.

As the hours ticked by, Honey felt a sense of longing settles in her chest, a deep ache for the old them that they had lost. She thought about all the times she had waited, waited for Quinn to come home, waited for him to notice her, waited for him to understand the depth of her love.

But tonight, as she lay there in the darkness, she realized that she couldn’t wait any longer.

★★★★

"Man, am I the greatest? God, I hate it. All my love and patience, unappreciated You said your heart was jaded, you couldn't even break it I shouldn't have to say it You could have been the greatest"

The morning after the big blow-up felt comfortable like a weight was lifted from her conscience as she made her way downstairs, the familiar sounds of the house greeted her—the soft hum of the coffee maker, the faint laughter of her children playing in the living room. She smiled at the feeling of familiarity that lay in the simplicity of their little family.

Quinn sat at the kitchen table, sipping his morning coffee, his eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and hope as he looked up at her. “Honey, I’ve been thinking...” But before he could finish, Honey held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “Quinn, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking too.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed in confusion, but Honey could see the glimmer of understanding dawning in his eyes as she continued, what looked to be tears lined his eyes and he nodded and ducked his head down.

It's really over, he thought to himself

“I realized that I’ve been waiting for something that may never come,” she said, her voice steady and resolute, “I’ve waited for you to see me, to appreciate me, to love me the way I deserve. But I can’t wait any longer.” Quinn’s expression softened, his gaze searching hers for understanding. “Honey, I dont—”

But Honey interrupted him, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I’ve realized that I don’t need to wait for anyone to validate my worth. I am enough, just as I am. And I deserve someone who sees that, who appreciates all that I am.” Quinn’s eyes widened in realization, a regret crossing his face as his hand reached for hers, “I know I’ve taken you for granted, and I’ve made so many mistakes, but I hope you know that I love you, more than anything. I want to make it right.”

Honey's thumb ran over his knuckles, her heart overflowing with love and forgiveness. “I know you do, Quinn, and I love you too, I need to see It though, I need to see you showing up, and I expect you to make an effort for me and for our kids.” Quinn nodded, his eyes shining with determination. “I promise, Honey, I promise to be the partner you deserve.”

Honey smiled, feeling a sense of peace settle over her. “I believe you, Quinn,” her gaze travelled over to where their kids sat on the couch, and her gaze fell back onto him, a shy smile on his face as she settled in the seat next to his, thighs pressed against each other as they feel back into the comfort of one another. He pressed a sweet kiss to her lips as his hands found the sides of her face, he pulled away first, cheeks ablaze as she grinned at his sudden shyness.

Quinn was her greatest love, and they were imperfect and flawed, but infinitely beautiful. Together, they had weathered storms and overcome obstacles, their love stronger and more resilient with each passing day. And as they sat there, surrounded by the laughter and love of their family, Honey knew that they were exactly where they were meant to be—wrapped in each other’s arms, ready to face whatever the future held, together.

-

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Final notes: just re-read it, not as sad as I felt while writing it which is a let down :( but I still like it!!

Also, Warren would not be old enough to qualify for a brick invitational, I realized that after I wrote it, he's like 6ish here and he would need to be 9-10, so plz pretend it's correct for the sake of the fic :)))

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello! I hope you are having a lovely week! I always enjoy seeing your writings! (Lowkey I have notifs on for whenever you post)

But I was wondering if you could do a Donna X reader (gp or not if fine with me) where reader is very shy and timid but is very feral and lewd when they do make love? The first time it really throws Donna off but she ends up really loving this side of the reader

Yessss!!!! Thank you for your kind words, and for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))

Contradiction

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI

Word count: 5,969

Summary: You were supposed to be shy, were you?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours :))) I love you all!!!

The evening light illuminated the old hall in a cozy, almost romantic way. Your erratic steps interrupted the constant calm of the place that seemed abandoned, and, as of just a few weeks ago, would never be.

You were born as one more girl, one more pawn in the sinister games of that village. You were not worthy of being a maiden, you didn’t have enough charisma to trade, you were a lost soul, a wandering soul that spent time looking for its place.

In solitude, you grew larger, in the crowd you shrank, that was the perverse rhythm that destiny had established for you, even if, in your deep and inevitable shyness, you hid certain aspects that never saw the light, that remained hidden under blushes, under hoarse words and embarrassed laughter.

But that boring life, condemned to ostracism by your own personality, would soon undergo a change, one that in your sleepless nights, you projected into the darkness of your own isolation.

In your life there were duties that you could not ignore, worshipping Mother Miranda, the Black Gods, was one of them. Every week you went to the same church, you saw the same faces you didn’t want to meet. People, people overwhelmed you, as did those boring and apocalyptic sermons.

But there was something, a black shadow that attracted your attention and clouded the words of the priestess. It was not a shadow, or so you thought. No.

Very close to you, just in the right place for your eyes to wander, the four Lords of the village sat, waiting, silently worshipping the words of the bird woman.

Was it the owner of the castle that caused your eyes to wander? No.

 Maybe that deformed being that lived in the swamp? No, of course not.

Maybe the sardonic smile of Lord Heisenberg was making you unable to look away? Not at all.

No, among those four Lords, silent rulers of your boring lives, stood that black shadow, that woman in mourning who seemed to be nothing but a shadow among the candles: Donna Beneviento.

The most disturbing expression of what fear was for the villagers, doll maker, a silent woman, letting out her emotions through that sinister puppet.

Day after day, you searched for that shadow, that feeling that passed through your body when you believed your eyes matched hers. There was something about her that attracted you, attracted you very much.

Fantasies of a withdrawn young woman, or so you thought, you thought that somehow, her gaze hidden under that horrible black veil, also began to search for yours.

Everything else came unexpectedly: a shy approach, a few kind words in a hoarse voice, conversations that grew longer and longer…

After several months of playing at not escaping, of not fleeing from her lavender perfume when that dark figure stood in front of you, love arose, your loneliness ended, your lips knew hers and your eyes knew that hidden beauty you already sensed.

A deformity in her face, a change in her body. None of her cowardly warnings were enough to stop you from wanting to venture into an unexpected but desired romance.

A short time later, when the visits to the old estate became longer and longer, Donna, curiously being the one who managed to take small steps, the one who fought with your shyness as well as with her own, asked you to live with her.

And there you were days after that decision, the best decision of your life.

Your walk in the dark hallways was a balm for your body's trembling. It was a game of approach before seeing her beauty again, calm, sitting on the sofa, reading a book.

“Donna,” you said in a small voice, drawing the attention of the lady in black, giving you one of her wonderful smiles.

“Hello, tesoro, where have you been?” she asked, motioning for you to sit next to her. You, noticing that your cheeks had already taken on a pinkish tone, walked slowly, avoiding getting lost in her gaze.

“I was, I was walking,” you whispered, sitting next to her, with a smile that she returned before placing a soft caress on your lips, a soft kiss that always made you smile embarrassedly.

“Mm, were you running away from Angie again?” she asked amused, stealing another quick kiss from you to which you didn't have time to react to. Shaking your head softly, you laughed again, letting her hand drag yours closer, just a little bit closer.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!” the doll yelled, climbing onto the couch next to you. You recoiled at the puppet’s defiant stance.

If you were shy, and so was Donna, Angie was basically the opposite.

“I, I didn’t say you did anything, Angie,” you said quietly, stuttering, as you always did when you were overcome by the threat of a conversation with someone other than Donna.

“Shh, Angie, lasciala stare…” Donna murmured, pushing the doll away with a gentle flick of her wrist.

Donna was your savior. She was the only one who understood the limits of your innate shyness, well, almost all of them. Even Donna, the love of your life, the only person you were capable of loving, was unaware of some dark aspects of your personality, some that had not yet come to light.

“What...? What did you say to her?” you asked curiously, leaning a little closer to that black dress, playing with your trembling hands.

Donna laughed, looking away from the book and raising your chin with her fingers. She was always so soft, so delicate...

“I told her to leave you alone,” the lady whispered in a tender voice, capturing your lips again, causing the blush on your cheeks to be more evident.

“Oh, of course... I... I'm, I'm sorry,” you apologized, embarrassed by your clumsiness, by not understanding those melodic words that made you melt.

“Why are you sorry?” she asked, frowning and settling down on the couch, wrapping one hand around your waist, forcing your head to rest on her chest.

“I, I still can't understand you,” you admitted, closing your eyes, intoxicated by her perfume, by her soft caresses.

“Tesoro…” Donna said, laughing softly, touched by your sweetness. “Nobody asked you to understand me…”

“I, I know but… Well, you, you asked me to come to your house and… Well, I think, I think that I…” you stammered again, playing erratically with the buttons of her dress, almost without realizing it.

“(Y/N), don't worry about anything, okay?” she said, laughing tenderly again, lowering her lips to your hair. –Do you want to read with me?

You smiled and sighed in relief, embarrassed again by your shyness, by your clumsy words. Donna said she was shy but… You were the most shy one there.

“Su, sure, what are you reading?” you asked, clearing your throat and adjusting your position. Donna frowned, turning the book she was holding with an amused gesture.

“Plants from Northern Romania,” she said disinterestedly, turning a page where were hundreds of flowers.

“Oh, it’s… Interesting,” you sighed, trying to sound sincere.

From her nervous laugh and the return of her caresses to your body, you deduced that she obviously didn’t believe you.

“You little liar…” she said amused, caressing you more intensely, pulling your body so it was even closer to hers. “I know it’s boring.”

“Oh, I’m, I’m sorry,” you apologized again, focusing your gaze on the book and not on her amused expression.

“Stop apologizing, (Y/N), it was just a joke,” the lady in black whispered in a more serious tone. You nodded, closing your eyes, trying to breathe more calmly. You were a complete mess.

“I'm sorr…” you said, thinking coldly and falling silent before finishing the sentence under her mockingly raised eyebrow. “I didn't say anything.”

Donna laughed and shook her head, turning another page of the book, sighing, you supposed in a romantic way, as her hand went from your back to your hair, caressing it while she focused again on that boring essay.

Her soft hands caressing your skin, your neck, unintentionally awakened that part of you, that part hidden among blushes, among stammers and shy smiles. The part that constantly contradicted itself, that made you feel things you didn't think possible for someone like you.

You gasped, feeling an almost overwhelming pleasure in her soft caresses, in the intoxicating sensation of her company, of her beauty so impossibly close to you.

“Does it make you uncomfortable, tesoro?” she asked, noticing how you subtly squirmed every time her fingers ran over your skin, every time the heat of her body was close to yours.

“Oh, no, no, it's just that…” you said, moving away from those hot caresses, preventing them from adding fuel to the dark desires of your subconscious. “It's just that you’re tickling me.”

“Am I?” Donna asked, amused, pulling her hand away at the sight of your uncomfortable smile, which really wasn't that uncomfortable. “You're very sensitive, (Y/N).”

“Yes, I am,” you said, nodding, standing a bit away, biting your lip to suppress the things that were going through your head, those things you wanted to do for a long time.

“You're nervous, why?” she asked, closing the book and turning to face the blush on your cheeks again.

“No, I... Simply, I'm just, I'm cold,” you lied, pretending to shiver.

Donna nodded with a frown, looking at the lit fireplace, at that fire that crackled to calm the horrible cold of that place. You closed your eyes again at your clumsy answer.

“Something's worrying you,” she said, without looking at you, sighing confused and a bit nervous. “Please, tell me.”

“No, it's nothing, it's just that... Well, you're right, that, that book is a bit... Boring,” you said, laughing shyly, bringing out your best version of a lying young girl, one that you used only in cases of emergency, to hide your true thoughts, those that you didn't want to see the light.

“Okay,” the lady in black sighed suspiciously, patting her knees and walking towards one of the many bookshelves in that house. “Come, (Y/N).”

You, who already believed were free of that interrogation, obeyed slowly, with your gaze fixed on the wooden floor, until her hand extended towards yours in a loving manner.

“Choose the one you want,” she told you lovingly. “I'm sure you can do it better than me.”

“Mm…” you murmured, running your hands along the covers of those old books. You didn't understand most of them and there were others, others that simply weren't where they should be.

The lady in black frowned as she followed your hand wandering around the bookshelf. All the blood in your body froze, your legs trembled discreetly: she had noticed.

“Strano…” she murmured, getting a little closer to the gaps between several books. “Here, here there should be…”

“Maybe it was Angie,” you said abruptly, unintentionally showing that you were the one to blame for those gaps.

Donna looked at you with a half-smile, tilting her head comically.

“Angie?” she asked amused, shaking her head. “I don't think so. I doubt she's interested in those books.”

“Why?” you asked, with your best innocent girl face, one that you already had naturally, and could use in your defense.

“Well, it's just that… Those books are…” Donna answered, scratching the back of her neck, swallowing your absent-mindedness like a glass of water, ignoring your nervous signs. “A bit… Spicy, you know.”

“Wow,” you said with a shy smile, with your cheeks red as blood, with your hands shaking, trying to go unnoticed. “I, I didn't know you read that… Kind of books, Donna.”

She laughed a bit shy too, putting a hand on your shoulder and leaning closer to your ear.

“Why wouldn't I?” she whispered seductively.

“Well, because... Because...” you stammered, abruptly moving away from her sensual whispers, ones you already knew, that desperately asked to take the next step, although she never asked you directly.

“Sex is something natural, it's not a bad thing,” she said in a more serious tone, moving away when she saw your discomfort, closing her eye as if she had regretted her words. “Hey, I, I didn't mean...”

“I know,” you interrupted, shaking your head and gasping nervously, softly kissing her cheek to calm her nerves, and yours.

You had to run away, to avoid the conversation from going any further.

“Mm, what do you think of this one?” you said in a more natural voice, taking an old book from the shelf and handing it to the brunette, who looked at the title and then at you with a confused look.

“Il Nome della Rosa…” she read with a mocking smile. You nodded innocently, unaware of your mistake. “But, but this one is in Italian… You, you won't understand it, tesoro…”

“Oh, well, of course, I…” you murmured, nervous again, with your cheeks burning and your heart beating hard. “Well, but, but I want to learn… If it's not a bother for you, of course.”

“Of course it’s not, amore mio,” she said, coming closer to steal another kiss from you, a slower one, a comforting one.

What was the reason for that awkward moment? What evil act was hiding your nervousness? Well, it was time to explain what your mind was keeping so tightly.

Yes, you were born with a lack of charisma, with an innate lack of desire to express yourself with others, to interact with them. But, as if the Black Gods themselves had cursed you with that horrible contradiction, your thoughts were far from innocent or shy.

Sex, the ultimate expression of love between two people was always a topic that passed near you, which life's circumstances forced you to ignore. But ignorance or lack of knowledge was something you could not allow yourself.

Since you were old enough to think about such things, you became shamefully curious, listening to the little adventures of a group of young people whispering in church. Adventures that talked about making love, about that way of loving you began to be fascinated by.

Of course, you never had the chance to get out of that circle of lustful curiosity. You were still the shy and embarrassed (Y/N). But the interest increased and the conversations of those young women began to not be enough.

That passion, the heat, the heat of two naked and embracing bodies began to appear in your dreams, in the darkness of your sleepless nights.

When you met Donna you didn’t think about it, the love you were beginning to feel had clouded your senses and your own hidden thoughts. But, as time went by, you realized that the blurred images that appeared in your dreams began to take shape. It was no longer two naked, unknown bodies. It was you and Donna, immersed in a sea of ​​moans, caresses, scratches on a sweaty back.

Unfortunately, the visible part of your personality, that shyness of poor (Y/N), prevented your wishes, and surely, hers, from coming true.

She never pressured you. The few times she hinted with her kisses or soft caresses on your legs she wanted to merge with you, your nervous and scared expression had forced her to back away.

Yes, you wanted to know what it felt like to be loved like that, but at the same time you felt like you had to know more, that you had to be what Donna expected of you.

So, now, the confession: You picked up those books, those erotic stories that talked in all kinds of detail about that act of lust, the act that just thinking about it, turned your legs into soft, smooth butter.

When Donna was in her workshop and Angie didn't feel like bothering you, you immersed yourself in those stories, in those erotic phrases, in those fictional caresses that you wanted to make real. The wait was reaching an almost unbearable point, like a fight between angels and demons. One part of your conscience prevented you from acting, the other one almost forced you to do it.

Normally good won over evil, just like that same afternoon when her caresses stirred those feelings again. But that conversation, the revelation of your lascivious theft, pushed that lustful demon to make you tremble, to make the words come out of your mouth on their own.

“I took them,” you said in a choked voice, taking a breath before speaking, letting that wait recede and fade away with your embarrassing confession.

“Excuse me?” Donna asked, obviously confused as she leafed through the book you wanted her to read to you. “What are you talking about, tesoro?”

“The, the books, I took them,” you confessed once again, clenching your fists and looking away. Donna moved the book in her hands and shook her head, frowning.

“You…” she sighed incredulously, looking at you as if she didn’t trust you. You couldn’t blame her for that.

You had been waiting for too long, too long.

“Yes, I love reading those stories,” you said with a smile, ignoring the burning in your throat, the trembling in your legs and the red tone of your cheeks.

Donna laughed nervously, her mouth half open at that unexpected confession.

“I, I didn't know, (Y/N),” she stammered, blinking repeatedly, with a strange shine in her eye. “I thought you…”

The anxiety gave way to a slight anger. Yes, you were the shy and bashful (Y/N), but the demon that was dormant inside of you had just awakened.

“What did you think, Donna? That because I'm a shy and bashful girl I couldn't like sex, or be interested on it?” you asked with a dark look, approaching her, who slowly backed away until her back hit the bookshelf. Her look was worthy of portraying.

“No, I… No…” the lady stammered, watching your sensual walking as you approached, putting your hands on both sides of her body, cornering her by surprise. “(Y/N)… Are… Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Donna,” you said with a different voice, confident, with that lascivious demon controlling every part of your body. “What about you? You're shaking.”

“You, you’ve scared me, (Y/N),” she said, looking at you with distrust. “You're not normally that…”

You didn't let her finish the sentence.

 You quickly launched yourself at her lips, capturing them in a new, wild, passionate way. Donna was surprised by your attitude, but she accepted your kisses with pleasure, sighing relaxed by your lack of shyness.

“Do you like it?” you asked, brushing against her lips, with your hands traveling to her waist, pulling her so the fabrics of your dresses mixed together. “I like it.”

She, still impressed, nodded slowly, not resisting the temptation to kiss you again, to catch your lower lip gently with her teeth while your hands gripped her hips, pulling them, forcing her body to dance to yours.

“Wait, (Y/N),” the lady interrupted, shaking her head, as if she had suddenly woken up from a lucid dream. “Wait, tesoro…”

“I don't want to keep waiting,” you said, biting your lip, with your hands moving up her torso, pushing her chest so that her back hit the shelf again. “Donna, I want to make love.”

“Oh, um... Okay, um…” Lady Beneviento stammered, with a nervous laugh and the same blush as you on her cheeks.

“You don't want to?” you asked nervously about the doll maker's attitude.

How did you expect her to react? You had been running away from her advances for a long time.

“Yes, yes I… Sure, of course I want to but…” she said, stopping your caresses with her body, holding the book at the same time as your wrists “(Y/N), are you sure?”

“What do you think?” you said amused, with a completely changed look, dark, sinister, as if an evil spirit had possessed you.

“I, I don't know… It's just that… So, so suddenly I…” she said, with a frightened look, with her hands shaking, dropping the book irremediably on the wood.

When she nervously bent down to pick it up, you stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait, I pick it up,” you whispered, bending down slowly in front of the trembling lady, taking your time to get down to the floor, watching as her body passed before your eyes, as the fabric of her dress deformed in the place you wanted.

“What are you doing?” Donna asked with a frown, watching how your body refused to get up, how your wild head thought of a thousand ways to let out the lust that was in your mind.

“Taking the book,” you said jokingly, showing the object in your hand, but without getting up, with very dirty ideas forming in your mind.

“Of, of course,” she stammered, looking away because of that uncomfortable position, because of that sudden closeness of your body to hers, because of that closeness so not innocent, not typical of you.

“I can stay here if you want,” you whispered, running your hands over her legs, leaving the book on the floor and getting on your knees.

“Oh, no, I… (Y/N),” the lady said nervously, looking away as your hands went up relentlessly, as they pulled her trembling legs until they were too close to you. “What, what are you going to do?”

“What do you want me to do, Donna?” you asked back, earning another of her nervous laughs as she looked both ways, looking for a way out of your treacherous trap. There wasn't one, your demon was loose.

“(Y/N), what…?” she asked, when your fingers came together at her waist, when your curious caresses touched the bulge between her legs, the erection your strange behavior provoked.

“Mm,” you murmured, pleased by the response of her sensitive body. You had been imagining that reaction for a long time, that desire living in the brunette, and that she repressed so as not to make you feel uncomfortable, or pressured.

It was your turn to make her nervous, and you were starting to enjoy it.

“It's so hard...” you commented with a lascivious voice, without stopping touching that forbidden area, causing Donna to gasp nervously, putting her hands on your wrists.

“Uh, no, don't say... What?” she asked confused, shaking her head at your wild, unexpected comment. “(Y/N)…”

“I like it, Donna…” you purred, letting the lady's nerves release your wrists and your suddenly naughty fingers slip through the edge of the bottom of her dress. “I want to know if it feels as good as it looks…”

“Hey, what are you…?” Donna asked again, gasping in surprise when your hands sank into her skirt, slowly pulling it down to reveal her desire unfairly squeezed by her underwear.

“It's big, huh?” you asked amused, unable to take your eyes off her erection, her trembling and at the same time anxious body.

“Oh, but, what, what's wrong with you?” the lady in black questioned with a tone that dangerously vacillated between annoyance and surprise. “You, you were supposed to be shy…”

“Do you want me to be shy?” you murmured, lowering the fabric that imprisoned her desire, releasing her throbbing erection under your nervous hands, under soft experimental caresses that made the powerful Lord moan.

“No,” she answered abruptly, her voice dry and cold, when your hands began to massage her shaft slowly while you licked your lips, waiting for that sensation you had read so many times, and that you knew was unmatched.

“Well then…” you whispered, slowly approaching the tip while your hand surrounded it and moved with a constant rhythm, calm, without hurry, allowing you to also enjoy that pleasure that Donna was receiving. “Shut up,” you ordered with dangerous eyes.

She laughed, but before she could protest, you placed your lips softly on her erection, giving small kisses around it, leaving Lady Beneviento speechless, unable to do anything but moan.

You also moaned when your mouth sank into her body, when the taste of her arousal came together with your hands, with your tongue, with everything you could cover in those slow but firm movements.

“Hey, (Y/N), cal, calmati…” she asked you, writhing against the shelf, letting her instincts speak for her, her hand tangling in your hair while you absorbed, licked and kissed every part of her shaft.

“Mm, no, I don't want to,” you said childishly before surrounding her with your lips again, making the lady throw her head back, moaning subtly, matching the movements of your head with her hips, with her hand gripping your hair, keeping you in that place.

“(Y/N)…” Donna moaned, slowly losing control of her body, giving in to the soft caresses of your tongue on her erection.

She seemed completely overwhelmed by the pleasure she felt and that, that made you moan from the tickling you felt between your own legs.

You only responded with a gasp as you took a breath before caressing, only with your hands her penis shining by her own desire. A little nervous by that sudden attitude, you sought her gaze, which she granted you with a mixture of passion and comfort, letting you know with that bright eye that everything you did caused her an immense pleasure.

“Do you want me to continue?” you asked, with a calmer tone, trying to control the moisture you felt between your legs, that small discomfort that her soft moans, his incomprehensible whispers, caused you.

“I... Yes, (Y/N), please,” she said with a hoarse voice, guiding your head back to her erection, moaning when she regained contact, when she felt your mouth surrounding, kissing her body again.

You laughed inside, and out, grabbing her hips to gain some stability as your movements slowly became more complicated, going deeper, the obscene sounds of your actions matching your moans.

“Wait, wait, stop,” she said, pushing you away with the hand holding your head, with a nervous growl. You looked at her amused, knowing what the erratic movements of her hips and her hurried moans meant.

“Why? Are you going to…?” you asked, pouting, proud of the brunette's nervous situation, of being able to see on her cheeks the blush that always adorned yours.

Donna nodded, closing her eye in embarrassment and gesturing for you to get up.

“I don't want to do it, (Y/N), not like this,” she whispered, cupping your face in her hands, speaking in a complicated way when your wild kisses allowed it.

“How do you want to do it, my love?” you asked, with a knot in your stomach, with shyness slowly returning to your feelings, something you couldn't allow.

“I want to love you, tesoro, love you the way you deserve,” Donna said, separating from you, fleeing from your kisses and pulling you towards the old sofa. You smiled tenderly, your cheeks burning again in embarrassment.

That was you, the living image of contradiction.

“Please, lay down,” Donna asked you, pointing at the couch. You, frustrated at having lost control, sighed and obeyed, pulling her wrist so she could do the same.

“If you think you have control just by being on top…” you said, panting among more furious kisses, with the fabric of your dress threatening to tear with her caresses, with her hungry scratches. “…You're wrong, Donna.”

That phrase made the lady stop, looking at you with a half-smile, with a bright and confused eye, but that seemed pleased by your attitude.

“Who are you and what have you done with (Y/N)?” she asked amused, undoing one by one, the buttons on the top of her dress.

“Do you like the new me?” you asked nervously, helping the black fabric to reveal her pale skin, running your hand over the softness of her chest.

Donna, sighing, joining her hand with yours, joining in that curious exploration of her skin, shook her head.

“I like you, (Y/N),” she replied softly, leaning in to kiss you, only to be caught again in a tangle of kisses, of caresses.

Your breathing was intense, the sound of kisses bouncing off the old walls. The desperation of her hands forced them to quickly pull down your dress, not wanting to waste a second, wanting that poetic justice of having your body under hers, naked in the same way.

Her lips, trying to keep control over you, traveled over your exposed skin, her hands unclasped your bra, yours did the same.

The rest of the clothes disappeared as if it were a mist, as if a strange breeze had pushed the clothes away from your bodies.

Your hips burned against hers, her arousal brushing against your wetness. The kisses were messy, your teeth dominated her lips, her neck, the skin of her exposed breasts. There was nothing left that was not conquered by your mouth, by your anxiety, by that release of your shy and withdrawn being.

As much as she tried, fiercely squeezing your breasts, digging her nails into your back, she was not able to match your lustful hunger, your wet kisses that ran over her skin, the hands that scratched her hips, her buttocks, those hands that kept her close to you.

That uncoordinated dance of kisses and caresses led to a gentle stimulation between your legs. A soft finger ran through your wet folds, played with your clit. It was a preparation, the prelude to something wonderful, and you knew it you didn’t want to wait for.

“Donna, stop playing,” you said with a nervous gasp, betraying your desire, the desires of your lust, of your lascivious behavior. “Make me yours now.”

“But, but…” she protested, shaking her head, with a tender smile, as if she were warning you that it was not going to be pleasant.

You didn't care. It wasn't the first time something had made its way into your walls. You hadn't just read those books, your imagination wasn't just that, they were nights and moments of pleasure that you gave yourself.

Not wanting to give such a complicated answer like that, not wanting to acknowledge your hidden adventures, the journeys of your hands through your body, you took what you wanted with your hand, positioning it at your entrance, inevitably forcing it to slowly enter you.

“(Y/N),” Donna moaned, as the tip sank into your wetness, as your body embraced her erection in pleasure, letting it stretch, letting it slide smoothly, like a knife digging into butter. You just hoped you wouldn't melt.

“Yes, Donna, it's so... Big... So... Hard...” you murmured, shaking your head from side to side, unable to bear the pleasure you felt with her inside of you, the pleasure that caused cramps in your body when your walls stretched.

“You have such a dirty mouth,” she said with a sinister smile, her face changed, surely due to the pleasure of your body's embrace, a tight but soft, wet, warm embrace.

“You didn't know that?” you asked amused, making yourself more comfortable, moving your hips to see if hers dared to do the same. You didn't even pay attention to that brief pain.

No, the worried and scared (Y/N) had taken a vacation.

“Can I… Can I move?” the brunette asked, panting when she was completely inside of you, when her body trembled inside of yours. “Please…”

“You must,” you said, closing your eyes when her hips finally joined yours in a coordinated dance, in soft, careful, elegant thrusts. You knew that wouldn’t last long, that your anxious body would ask for more.

And so it was, your furious moans intensified at the same time as hers. The kisses, the caresses, the thrusts of Donna, everything formed a kind of paradise in your head, an ambrosia that you had just discovered and that you didn’t want to stop drinking.

Your body, lascivious but inexperienced, didn’t take long to give in to that divine pleasure, arching, forcing you to open your eyes and hug the brunette, to let her arms calming the intensity of your first orgasm, the first one shared, of course.

“Oh, Donna,” you moaned with a smile that she returned, relaxing her movements, not wanting to stimulate you too much. Once again she was wrong about you.

With a sigh, biting your lip in a playful way, you pushed her away from you, causing her to moan from the lack of contact, from the inability she had to release herself in the same way as you.

“Cosa fai?” she asked confused. “Te, tesoro, I was about to…”

A finger on her lips interrupted her complaints, followed by a wet kiss, one in which your tongue was the protagonist, as if it had tied hers, as if just with the caress of your lips, you were able to leave her speechless.

“I told you, that I… I was in control,” you whispered, pushing the lady with your hands on her chest, letting her fall back on the couch while you climbed up her hips, threatening like a predator stalking its prey.

Donna looked at you confused, but grabbed your hips with her hands, guiding you so your body sank into her erection again, causing a new wave of pleasure from that different position.

“Hands off,” you whispered in her ear, moving her nails away from your skin, grabbing her wrists so they rested on top of her head.

She blinked in confusion, nodding, breathing heavily as your body began to move subtly, slowly moving up and down and letting your walls play with her again.

“Do you like it that way?” you asked, picking up a comfortable rhythm, holding her wrists as your hips danced with hers.

“Yes, yes…” she replied in a whisper, before moaning at your soft internal caresses, going up to the limit and then coming back down slowly, experimenting, finding a way to make her moans less and less discreet.

Your own pleasure clouded your game of experimentation, making you move uncoordinatedly, noticing how her body trembled beneath yours, how her eye closed from the overwhelming pleasure you made her feel. The end was near and you were sure your back would arch again.

“(Y/N), sto… Sto per venire…” Donna whispered, releasing from the grip of her wrists and putting her hands on your hips, which let themselves be guided as she wanted.

 You had lost control.

“I don't understand you,” you mocked, stopping your movements on purpose, making her hands to do all the work, moving your body.

“Cazzo, (Y/N)!” the lady protested, about to explode with pleasure. “I'm, I'm telling you that I'm going… I'm going to…”

She didn't have time to finish the sentence. With a grunt, keeping your body motionless on hers, the heat of her release reached your insides, as if it were a spark that caused that tension in your muscles again, a cry much more desperate than the previous one.

The caresses of her heat on your body became a relaxing balm. The sound of your agitated breathing became calming, your eyes met, your smiles coincided.

“Wow… That was…” she said, helping you out, letting her warmth slide down your body. “(Y/N)…”

“What?” you said, leaning over, leaning on her, resting your head on her chest, with her hands lovingly playing with your hair.

“Unexpected,” Donna said, kissing your head, holding you tightly against her, as if deep down she knew you had never stopped being that shy girl.

“I… It's just that, I'm sick of being that way,” you confessed, sinking into her chest. Not sorry, but afraid of having lost which she adored, your apparent innocence.

“I like the way you are, (Y/N),” she whispered, with a calm voice, losing the lust she had minutes before.

“That lustful way? Or that shy way?” you asked.

“I like you either way, (Y/N)…”

[alluralater]

straddling her while she’s lying on the warm wood floor beneath me, my thighs on either side of her waist. tracing up the length of her arms and shoulders before allowing my hands to then meet in the hollow of her throat. her heart is beating quicker here. thumpthump thumpthump. wrapping the fingers of my right hand loosely around her neck and letting her squirm a little. you’re quite eager tonight, aren’t you? she doesn’t respond, instead crossing her arms just below her chest. that's perfectly fine. the flare in her cheeks is confirmation enough. leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on the corner of her jaw. tapping her artery with my middle finger and taking in the slightest of scents from her messy hair. she smells like nature come to life. deeper inhale, this time much closer to her and i feel her body tensing. she's bracing for a bite. silly darling. i bring my lips toward her ear and teasingly click my front teeth, an innocuous little question falling from between thereafter. exactly what gets you wet, princess?

pulling slightly away, waiting for her to tell me. she's averting her gaze, lips pursed together. admittedly she looks far too cute like this. surely yes, the paragon of purity while i have my hand around her neck and her body trapped under me. no? mmm. okay. well, i wonder— bringing my thigh between her legs, firm pressure to her sex without movement, followed by a tighter grip around her throat. thumpthump thumpthump. bringing my lips close to hers without touching. i want her to writhe with need, embarrassment. unable to escape my inquiries. do you like this? shaking her head side to side, squeezing her eyes shut tight for several seconds. i can feel her swallowing under my palm, clenching her jaw. no? you don’t like being held this way underneath me? slower response, this time whispered. ...no. her small voice of uncertainty is pleasure to the senses. i cannot help the smile forming in the corners of my lips, nor can she help tightening her forearms in an attempt to keep my narrowing, suspicion-laden eyes at bay. she knows i'm watching her— closely. her breasts are pushed higher up now. it would be too easy too soon, to pull the top of her sweetheart-neckline dress down and roll her sensitive nipples in my fingers until she admits all of her disgusting wants. a challenge like this is better. sweeter to the ears as her taste is to the mouth. and speaking of.

okay, pretty. taking her bottom lip suddenly between my teeth and speaking around it. okay. quickening breath between. then, a tiny moan she didn’t mean to let me hear. warm and broken. sliding my tongue across her lower lip, one long sweeping motion as i curl my fluid muscle sideways and taste her. sucking it between my lips. letting go before she is ready. i'm licking my lips and smiling wider. her moan is blood in the water. shark-bait. delicious foreshadowing. there’s my sweetheart. at this tiny bit of praise she is rolling her hips up to my thigh now, searching for an ounce of reciprocation, friction. that didn’t take much, did it? no response, she's whining. pulling back and away from her desperate mouth, i'm displeased with her silence. bunny, i’m talking to you. whimper in her throat as she closes her eyes and rocks harder to my thigh. sigh.

removing my fingers from her throat and bringing a hand up to her cheek. you should be listening. slapping her. hard. her little gasp of surprise sends a delicious exhale working through my muscles. to feel her shock while i'm on top of her like this is much too thrilling. her eyes fly open and i am already caressing the blooming expanse of red hues on her soft skin. i hit her again. this time her crossed arms slacken and fall apart, gorgeous eyes rolling back. there's nothing to keep us separated now aside from her darling dress. i feel her fingers on my waist, nails digging into my skin. how precious. she's hard up for something to push this energy into. look at me, bunny. as if she had been lost somewhere, she's refocusing her gaze on me, blinking a few times. interlock your fingers and stretch your arms over your head. now. she's a good girl. she does exactly as she's told. very good. her breasts are pressed flush to mine. my thigh between her legs. i love this view. watching with diligent observation how her lips swell and become a deeper shade of red. her heartbeat is racing now. she's shifting back and forth a bit, shoulder blades digging into the floor in this position. arms outstretched and held together. holding hands all alone. i want to lick her. ducking my head low and nipping at the corner of her jaw as she groans aloud and grinds her pussy to my leg. tell me something worth hearing, princess. tell me what gets you wet. they are words spoken in low murmurs against her flesh.

she's breathing faster, halfway between a whine and a groan is when she decides. my lips are busy working away what area my fingers were covering earlier. soft soft soft. i like this. i like— she stutters when i take her skin between my teeth and bite down hard, kicking her legs at the endurance of pain. i don't release her neck, rocking my thigh into her to distract her from it. go on. her breasts push into mine with each harsh breath. —i like how it feels when you call me yours. i nearly laugh against her. of all the things my filthy darling would venture to say, it is this. she is still shy. much too sweet. for a moment, the smile on my face and warmth in my chest fills me with disgust, revulsion for my own swelling emotion. but then, with the scent of her filling my next breath, i do not mind nor care. softness with her is no faulting or failing matter. i leave her neck and prop myself up on my extended arms, forcing my thigh into her harder, feeling the fabric of her panties sliding more and more easily overtop her wet skin. you're such a romantic. she smiles and moans louder, spurred on by the unexpected praise. finally pulling completely away from her, i center myself quickly between her thighs, taking grip of her just below her knees and dragging her to me, spreading her legs over the tops of my parted thighs as i kneel on my calves. oh pet. some whispered plea from my lips that she shouldn't have heard. fuck she looks... beautiful. truly a wonder, my bunny. dress wrinkled and resting around the middle of her thighs. her arms still reaching toward horizontal heavens, chest rising and falling, breathlessly awaiting the next turn of events.

it is my hands, crawling up her thighs. pushing with them the hem of her dress. textured fabric over soft skin. high. higher. just over the swell of her hips, circling them with my thumbs, stretching my fingers around her. i ignore her drenched panties. in a small while i will be pulling them to the side but for now— god help me, what a vision she is —i need to take my time with her. i allow the grooves in the pads of my thumbprints to take in every tiny change in her skin. stretch marks. perfection. i think she sees what has become of me, utterly mesmerized. she bends one leg at the knee and nudges me with it. getting lost? i shake my head and my eyes flick up to hers, dimple next to my mouth going deep. mmm. more like savoring the view. that shuts her up. the delicately satisfied smile on her lips is fuel for fantasy itself. my hands continue. over the dipping inward curves of her waist, thumbs to her ribs. stopping just below her breasts. soft everywhere, my love. i think i am going to lose my mind if i do not pick up the pace. her dress cinches tight here. too tight for my fingers to easily slide underneath.

please. her voice is a bit restrained. desperate.

i smile fondly at her. she is impatient. lower lip held between her teeth, ragged breath caught there too. she closes her eyes, and upon reopening— there she is, finally. my darling bunny with all her disgusting wants. romantic heart. perfect balance of the two. pushed far enough with need that she will tell me exactly what she wants. i can see her heart pounding in the hollow of her throat. thumpthump thumpthump. one deep breath to collect herself and she is setting me with a look of such certain bloodlust. hissing her demand through gritted teeth.

fucking rip it off.

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Henry gets jealous because you spend time with Richard

The risk of jealousy - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Dearest anonymous, I hope you can forgive him and his denial of jealousy.

The sharp claw of jealousy finally scratches the untouchable Henry.

I’ve always been incredibly particular about whom I associate with. The people around me need to be worthy. Now, I am well aware that my choice of words may make me sound arrogant, so allow me to explain: I want them to have shared interests, to be able to hold late-night debates on esoteric topics, while giving me a sense of belonging and consequently not tiring me out socially. I do not ask for much, really. Alas, one cannot always get what one desires.

The little group of which I’m currently a part of is… pleasant. The twins regularly host dinners which are, of course, the birthplace of many fights and arguments regarding the most trivial subjects that usually end up with Henry winning. Francis unhesitatingly puts his aunt’s house at our disposal whenever desiderium naturae strikes us and amusingly complains about some disease or other the whole way there. I even consider some of Bunny’s jokes witty on the rare occasions when he stops being insufferable. Unfortunately, they all give me a shallow sense of belonging that only manages to make itself felt in transit moments. However, Henry is different. With him, I feel content reading in silence after a long day, waking up in the same bed, legs intertwined under the soft cotton sheets he insists on buying with Apolon tugging at our lazy eyelids or simply challenging one another’s knowledge on whatever topic interests us at a given moment. A continuous childlike rendez-vous.

I do not know why I have been so platonically attracted to Richard of late. When he first joined our Greek class, he did not strike me as someone who would manage to integrate his lowly self into our complexly layered group, or even more, someone who would enjoy my presence. He was and still is flawed and ordinary. However, this normality flowing through every habit, every movement, or expression is a strange refresh in an intangible web of meticulously tangled appearances and facades. Richard is not some ancient scholar buried in paradoxical ideals, Gods-praising rituals, and glorious beliefs, but a modern human. He is aware of the current world, unisolated, present, an active participant. Not only does he attend parties but he also drinks, kisses, and loves strangers. Though an exaggeration to the unknowing eye, he seems to me quite the Epicurean in a cult of Stoics (excluding Bunny).

Despite my writings above which one might foolishly mistake as praise on my part, I must now dive into Richard’s own tendency to fictitiousness. He throws, here and there, long, lavish fabrications (with the aid of which he becomes unconsciously arrogant) and slight inexactitudes he considers too small to pass unnoticed by the attentive ear. And according to my fate and against my trusted intuition, I found myself unable to stop listening whenever he started talking about his (fake) childhood in California filled with swimming pools and orange groves and dissolute, charming show-biz parents, teenage years with a new girlfriend every night, the newest dramas (if they truly do exist and are not yet other fictions) circling Hampden.

There is a quirk. I notice it now, when we’re all standing in the day room of Francis’, or rather his aunt’s, manor. Charles is playing the piano filling the room with gifts for ears, showing off as he always does, while Bunny comments on one rhythm or another, challenging him, fueling him further. Everything is normal, except for one detail that does not escape me. Henry grows more agitated with every single one of Richard’s grant histoires. Albeit, the so-called agitations are rather minuscule, but I pride myself in being able to distinguish them. A small frown, creasing his pale forehead just the right amount for it to disappear just as quickly and nonchalantly as it came, a constant rub of his hand against his limped leg, and a novel proneness to small physical gestures: touching knees, pressing shoulders, his hand on the small of my back or idly playing with my fingers. I settle on questioning him later since I know he will not show any truths of his mind in such large company. 

We share a room, since we stopped bothering to hide our relationship long ago from the others. Henry’s already in bed, his nose buried in a book, dressed in his pyjamas, his initials embroidered upon the left side of his chest; H.M.W. If I had been told years ago that I was to be sharing a bed or be in a relationship with the person I suffered the least, the one that I had to compete with in Julian’s classes, the one that knew how to push my buttons I would have died of agony. But now I’m content. I know of the infatuation rendering me blind. My life has become a continuous torture, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to live without him. Just like Zeus who vows to fulfil his promise with a single sacred nod of his head, so am I unable to change the basis of my passion. He is in all my plans. In all the joys the future holds. In the dead of night, in Julian’s lessons, in the summer by the lake, instead of my mind’s eye being fully focused on one specific task, it always switches without fail to him.

I lower myself onto the bed next to him. “You seemed troubled earlier, in the day room.” I ask casually an indirect question.

“You’ve been spending an awful time with Richard.” He responds swiftly, tonelessly, simply pointing out a fact. 

I consider my answer for a moment. “I suppose so.” I hum, just as my head hits the pillow. “Don’t you find him intriguing? He watches the news on television.”

“Intriguing?” He blurts out, closing his book and putting it on the bedside table. Clearly, I have his attention. He turns on his side to fully face me, his hair falling over his forehead and slightly over his glasses. “His intriguing part eludes me. You are wasting your time with him, listening to his rambles.” He says clearly irritated, not bothering to keep up his stoic facade. “I assure you, you would be much better spending your time wisely.”

I frown. This is unusual of him. “He is in our class, is he not? I cannot avoid him.”

“Of course not, that’s not what I am suggesting.” His eyebrows remain furrowed. “What I do mean is that he does not bring you any benefit.” He continues in a monotone. “Why must you listen to him with the same attention and interest as you listen to me?”

Ah, I see. Henry is jealous.

“Is this jealousy?” I ask attempting desperately to restrain the slight smile forming on my face. 

“You are mistaken.” He ‘corrects’ me sharply, raising his eyebrows.  “I am merely stating that I see no point in your interactions with Richard when you could gain much more from being in my presence.”

I raise a sceptical eyebrow. He acts as if I wouldn’t mourn his death in the same way Achilles mourned Patroclus’, with rage and violence.

Words are imperfect communication devices, so I pull him down by the back of his neck and press my lips against his in a pleasant normality. I feel him slightly relax against me, his hand resting on my neck.

“Henry,” I mumble as we part, forcefully stretching our souls apart. I remove his glasses and place them down next to us and his forehead naturally falls against mine “you know better than to have such doubts.”

“I do.” He mumbles back, not bothering to deny his feelings anymore. “However, it proves to be quite difficult to not have them when-” He stops considering his words. “When you plague me so. There is no day or night in which your existence takes mercy on me and does not destroy the little rationality I have left.” He lowers himself down on the bed next to me. “You inexplicably and absurdly manage to be and eradicate my sanity.” He sighs. “And it certainly does not help when you look at Richard with the same eyes you look at me.” Henry mutters.

My hand finds his and I chuckle. “I’d argue I look at him with entirely different eyes.” At my comment, Henry raises an amused eyebrow. “Perhaps you’ll stop seeing shadows where there are none.”

That is all he needs to defeat his insomnia in my arms once again and to fall prey to sleep’s vicious grasp his body indistinguishable from mine under the sheets, sharing one breath.

[disappointmentthemusical]

"Mainstream gender" as a system of oppression.

Imagine mainstream gender as a line. On one end of the line is "man," and on the other end is "woman" ��� this is the gender binary. The connecting line itself is representative, loosely, of "non-binary" gender. (I think this image is suitable, and if others disagree, I think that's more representative of how arbitrarily the binary is defined, rather than this image of it.)

This gender spectrum, dubbed "mainstream gender" because it's what the institutions of society use, only applies to certain groups – the group that controls it, really. White people.

Black people cannot access mainstream gender because they are barred from it via hyper-masculinization that borders on animalization. Black men are viewed as hyper-aggressive and predatory. To the white masses, the concept of "soft" Black masculinity is as real as the transatlantic slave trade (i.e., vague notions of it existing, but no personal experience with the implications, so it floats in the periphery until it's brought up again by a Black person). Black women, regardless of how much they lean into "traditional" femininity, will never be viewed as feminine. Black women will always be viewed as loud, aggressive and "man-ish," the latter contributing to transphobia that impacts both black trans women and black cis women.

By contrast, East Asians are hyper-feminized. East Asian men are stereotyped as soft and small and are portrayed as having little sexual appeal (and those who are viewed as sexually desirable are seen as exceptions to the mainstream; sexy despite their femininity). East Asian women are equally unable to escape femininity and are hyper-feminized to the point of infantilisation, both of which contribute to hyper-sexualization and fetishization. The hyper-femininization of East Asian people also lends itself to transphobia targeted at East Asian trans men (recall: the 2016/17 obsession with smol bois).

But not only is mainstream gender a tool of white supremacy, it also (obviously) is inherent to patriarchy (or, patriarchy is inherent to mainstream gender).

The binary is defined and propagated by men. So while all gender rules are arbitrary and constantly changing, "man" is always strictly defined, and the relief of "man" becomes "woman." This is evident both in masculinity being viewed as "gender neutral," as well as the sense of authority men feel over women's gender, commenting on makeup, how women dress, etc. As a result, the gender "woman" is inherently centered around "man."

In de-centering men, lesbians lack the rules to adhere to mainstream gender. That is why lesbianism is often described as a gender experience because lesbians operate on a new gender spectrum, specific to lesbians.

However, different from race, sexuality is not a visible barrier, and it can take work to exit from mainstream gender. Terf "lesbians" are not lesbians because they cling to the relief of "man" to define their gender; they're gay women. Similarly, white lesbians who prioritize their whiteness will continue to exist within mainstream gender. This also explains why white non-binary people are "like that." While they do not adhere to the binary of "man" and "woman," in participating in the system of whiteness, they remain within the confines of mainstream gender.

[strawb3rrystar]

A yandere! ROTTMNT request

TW: panic attack, pessimistic views, mention of SH

I’ve been looking for a fic or just a small short story abt the reader being completely not okay. Like they’re panic attack prone, they think that there’s no way out of their situation so they’re just sad and quiet most of the time, and they have self destructive tendencies. It’s a bit morbid, and feel free to ignore, but I’m allergic to happiness, and I really like your writing, so even if uts just once sentence, I’d be happy.

Kill me on the train tracks.

Pairing: Your favorite turtle x GN! Reader

Warnings: Panic attacks, reader having clear mental problems, implied depression, reader eventually likes being a shut-in

Word count: 539

✰Masterlist

✰ Life seemed terrible now. You didn't know where you were or how you got here.

✰ What you did know was that you were heading to grab snacks from the connivance store before everything went black.

✰ When you awoke, you appeared to be in a remodeled train car. It had a bed, a couch, TV, and even a small bathroom.

✰ For a split second, you thought it looked cool. But then the realization set in and you started to have a panic attack.

✰ The smallness of the train car didn't help as you felt the walls closing in on you.

✰ You instinctively rushed for the door. But try with all your might to pry it open, it was locked.

✰ A million questions ran through your head as your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to leap out.

✰ How could you escape? Was there an escape? Who kidnapped you? And what did they plan on doing to you?

✰ Well, you weren't spent wondering that third question long, as the door to the train car slide open. There in the door frame stood a giant turtle.

✰ Seeing it freaked you out. So you screamed and backed yourself into a corner.

✰ The turtle spoke to you in a gentle tone as they reassured that they weren't going to hurt you.

✰ In fact, they insisted that they loved you. And that they had to do this to keep you safe.

✰ They told you this fact a lot. Eventually, you got used to your small living quarters.

✰ It was well kept by your captor and looked nice. Your situation could've been worse obviously.

✰ You were physically comfortable. Nice clothes and well fed.

✰ But you were a wreak mentally. The frequency of your panic attacks heightened. You often woke up screaming from nightmares.

✰ You felt far more depressed, unable to get out of bed most days. Your captor tried to keep you happy, but they didn't want you leaving the train car.

✰ So you got familiar with those four walls. It's not like you could escape anyways.

✰ When your captor tried to make small talk with you, you stayed quiet. It felt like any sense of language left your brain. Sometimes, you wouldn't even be able to understand them.

✰ You just let them hold you and cuddle most of the times. They would snuggle into you and fall asleep for a nap, while you stare blankly at the wall.

✰ When your captor wasn't around, you would hear them with their family. Laughter and loud conversations bouncing off of the sewer walls.

✰ It made you long for the outside. To just talk to a human again.

✰ Sure, you had plenty of opportunities to escape. Many times when your captor left the train door unlocked.

✰ But what was the point? Your life was just as shitty as it was before.

✰ At least now you didn't have to worry about the stress of a job. Or being unhoused. Or even the anxiety of a conversation. You could just exist in your own little bubble. And share it with a giant mutant turtle. But whose counting that?

Star's notes -> This is definitely one of the more morbid fics I've written recently. But that's okay, I like writing dark things sometimes!

(Thank you, sweet anon, for requesting!) (Requests are open!)

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