#the memory when i was a kid and not such a fucking disappointment
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While I don't mind the "poor reading comprehension" jokes and there is something to be said about the reading comprehension overall dropping. I really dislike how it also became almost like an insult. I think an unintended side effect of "people on tumblr/the Internet have poor reading comprehension"/"piss on the poor" jokes is it emboldened some people to just be casually ableist and mock people with learning and intellectual disabilities.
I know the vast majority of these statements are either made as a joke or aren't ableist at all. But some of ya sound like you're one step away from mocking somebody for being "slow" and dropping the r slur.
#thylacines can talk#sorry if this is not very comprehensive my memory and reading comprehension get Especially bad when im tired. some of my sentences might get#completely fucked because i literally forget what i wrote earlier in the exact same sentence.#anyway yeah majority of what i see is fine. but some of the shit i read on here sounds like word for word shit ive heard from other kids#whenever they mocked my disability. but its not new people on tumblr very often pretend to be disability allies and then mock disabled#people. so im disappointed but not surprised.#(also if this god forbid breaks containment watch somebody talk to me as if im stupid with 0 irony)
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I've seen Nothing to Fear perhaps too many times because of course I have, and of course nobody deserves to be subjected to fear toxin (without enthusiastic consent), but in terms of asshole victim trope my GOD, what was up with Dr. Long? Tells Bruce unprovoked he's glad his father didn't live to see what a slut his son is because he'd have died of shame (knowing Thomas was murdered in front of him when he was eight??). I know they didn't put that much thought into mean teacher characters because 90s kids cartoon, but jeez!
#bat-tag#doylist reading of course is that he's there to set up bruce's fear/insecurity of disappointing his parents' memory but in-universe like#even as a kid I was going 'what the FUCK' and never felt too bad when crane murks him#cranerot#sorta
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#oh I am straight up not having a good time rn#long story short I got in a big ducking fight with my mom yesterday over something dumb#it’s complicated and I don’t want to talk about it#but it was my fault and I did apologize#there’s some shit she did in the past that’s related that I know I’m never getting a fucking apology for but whatever#but I can tell she’s pissed and my apology wasn’t enough#and I know her well enough to know that she’s going to let it sit and stew#and in sometime in the near future when we’re both alone she’s gonna explode at me#very much not in a good mental place for that and not looking forward to it#in the mean time I feel like I gotta walk on eggshells and my anxiety is fucked cause I’m just waiting to be exploded at#I’m disappointed in myself because I feel like I acted like she does which is something I try very hard not to do#but also like I did apologize which is something she never does#which also has me upset#this was over something small and stupid and she’ll turn it into the biggest shit and how I’m a terrible daughter and all that#meanwhile I went through so much shit from her as a kid included getting disowned multiple times#for really stupid reasons (didn’t like that I was a tomboy - was personally insulted that I was depressed)#and Ive never gotten an apology for any of those and know I never will#and additionally know not to talk about them because she’ll just twist things and play the victim#so I guess the gist of it is I’m mad at her and I’m mad at myself for how I acted but also that this is#bringing back a lot of bad memories I’d rather not remember right now#also it was inventory today so I had to be up at 2am and I only got like an hour and a half of sleep#so I’m dying physically mentally and emotionally atm#I am straight up having a bad time#it’s the not knowing when I’m going to get screamed at that’s getting to me rn#my anxiety is so bad#I need to get out of here
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the first time after they have sex buck tries not to be too clingy. holds onto the following moments post orgasm where tommy's still on top of him, inside of him, and they trade slow, soft kisses, panting into each others mouths. lets himself run his hands across tommy's skin, down his back, over his sides, memorising. but bites back his whine when tommy finally pulls away. he hums softly when tommy kisses his cheek and murmurs, "i'll be right back," and ignores the urge to grab his hand and beg him to stay. lets him leave the bed and tries to focus on something else other than the way his skin immediately feels cold. tries not to feel disappointed. reminds himself that everybody has different needs, it's not all about him. instead, tries to summon the energy to get his own legs working again so he can get up, too.
and then tommy's back. there's a cloth, damp with warm water, swiping gently across his stomach, down his thighs, cleaning him. he can't help the sound that escapes him this time when tommy wipes over his hole, still sensitive, even with as careful as tommy is. tommy runs a hand along his thigh, soothing, apologetic, says, "sorry, kid. you'll regret it in about five minutes if we don't clean up now though, trust me," his voice is raspy, still sounding as thoroughly fucked as when he was in the process of actually fucking buck. buck tries not to preen.
and then tommy's throwing the cloth across the room and buck hears the gentle thump of it landing in the laundry basket. thinks, stupidly, 'score'. and then there's a kiss being placed on buck's inner thigh, and then his stomach, and then tommy's making his way back up buck's body, kissing his mouth. buck sighs, melts into the kiss. doesn't grab onto tommy's shoulder, the back of his head, like he so desperately wants to. lets tommy pull away again, though he doesn't go far this time, hovering over buck.
"s'okay. you- you didn't have to do that, though. i- i would've-" and tommy shuts him up with another kiss. he's smiling oh so softly when he pulls away, has his 'evan' expression on his face, as everyone else has deemed it. flicks his eyes over buck's face, searching, says, "evan. i wanted to, okay? i like looking after you. makes my hindbrain happy."
buck laughs, feels warm in the way he's come accustomed to feeling when he's with tommy, and tommy's smile widens, like he's accomplished exactly what he wanted to and then he's flopping down next to buck, close, so close that their shoulders, arms, thighs are touching, pressed lightly against each other, but he doesn't move to do anything else. a minute ticks by and buck wants to shuffle closer, curl his body around his boyfriends and have tommy's arms wrap around him, engulf him in that way that always makes him feel safe, loved. knows if he asked, tommy would absolutely oblige because he's so good, so amazing like that. doesn't ask. doesn't want to put tommy out. stays where he is, settles for the points of contact they're already sharing despite the ways his skin screams-
"evan," buck startles, doesn't think it's the first time tommy's said his name. rolls his head on his pillow and finds tommy already looking at him, eyes crinkled in amusement. wants to reach out and run his fingers along the lines, ingrain them into his memory. doesn't, but tommy does. reaches out with both hands, pulls at him, gently but firmly, "come on, get over here, i wanna cuddle," he manhandles and rearranges buck how he wants him, until buck's lying half on top of him. head tucked under his chin, one of his thighs thrown across his legs and buck has to remind his dick that they've just had sex and to calm the fuck down because fuck- that's hot, but now's really not the time. one of tommy's arms falls across his waist, tugging buck impossibly closer, like he'd tuck buck inside his skin if he could. buck wouldn't stop him. tommy's other hand comes to rest against buck's head, fingers occasionally moving to pet at his mess of curls.
and buck tucks his face further into tommy's neck, takes a breathe, and another, surrounds his senses with his boyfriend. clings, because he thinks it's okay this time. tommy's clinging, too. lips press to the top of his head, dropping a kiss there. hears tommy's soft, "you okay?"
"yeah. yeah, i'm okay. just- this- this is nice. i- i really like being close to you."
"yeah? good. i really like being close to you, too, evan."
#911#911 abc#evan buckley#tommy kinard#bucktommy#buck x tommy#mine: post#mine: 911#mine: text#this got so much longer than i expected and the ending absolutely sucks#wanted the conversation at the end to go a little differently. a little angstier. but i couldn't make it work but i think this is okay#also i don't really consider these little tidbits to be fics bc i literally just start typing out the thoughts that are constantly attackin#my brain at all hours and they just end up spiralling into posts like this?#but i guess they kinda are fic-ish? fic adjacent? idk. i'm just having fun
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Underneath the hum of the RV, Steve asks Eddie for directions to The War Zone.
Steve does not need directions. Eddie knows this, because when he’d shown it on the map, drumming his fingers restlessly, Steve had leant over his shoulder and muttered, “Got it,” with such confidence, like he’d committed it to memory within seconds.
Eddie slides into the passenger seat anyway.
“Isn’t this kinda… stupid?” he says hesitantly, gesturing to himself and the front window. Sure, the roads are quiet now, but…
“Don’t worry, I’ll push you off if anyone gets too close,” Steve says with mock gravity.
It makes Eddie laugh. “Thanks, very gallant of you.”
He still hasn’t given a single direction.
“You’re not, by the way,” Steve says casually, as he makes another turn.
“Uh, not what?”
“Living up to a name.”
Eddie looks away. “That was a joke.”
“Right.”
“It was.”
“I know,” Steve says quietly. “Just…” He shrugs with one shoulder. “Just so you know.”
“I do,” Eddie says, clipped. Bites his tongue—hates that he gets like this whenever…
“Okay,” Steve says, still so patient; Eddie can’t understand it. “You’re not really living up to the whole freak thing either.”
Something in Eddie’s stomach relaxes: this, at least, is slightly safer territory.
“Sorry to disappoint, Steve.”
“Yeah.” Steve heaves a huge sigh like it’s an actual problem. He’s smiling through it. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re painfully normal.”
Eddie scoffs. “S’not what others would say.”
“Fuck them,” Steve says cheerfully.
Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that. Just sits in silence as they get closer and closer to The War Zone. Feels inadequate.
He wants to say something, at least—wants to speak through the nerves that keep surging back, wants to stumble through an apology, look, I’m sorry I’m such a mess when you’re so—
“Hey,” Steve says like it’s an ordinary day, like he’s asking to borrow a pencil in class. “Wanna talk when we’re not, like, terrified out of our minds?”
But you’re, Eddie starts to think.
Then he sees Steve’s hands on the wheel, gripping tight. Recalls the sharpness in his eyes as he read the map. How he said, “Got it,” like a vow.
“Please?” Eddie says. Can’t stop the word from going up in question, you can take it back, I won’t—
Steve nods.
They’re swinging into the parking lot, and instead of him pushing Eddie off the seat, it’s more of a gentle nudge.
Eddie hides round the back of the driver’s seat, one knee to his chest.
Steve catches his eye halfway out the door. He winks. “Great navigating.”
And as Eddie waits for his return, he thinks about it. All of it. Middle school and everything that came before; dropping his plate in the cafeteria and feeling all those eyes on him, the anxiety suffocating, that they could read it on his face somehow, yeah his dad’s in jail, kid’s a mess…
Maybe Eddie will tell Steve Harrington everything.
#have a tiny little RV scene rewrite#pre steddie#steddie ficlet#steddie fic#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie
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trouble's coming for you
a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader
words: 3.7k
summary: (established relationship) suggestive banter lol The one where Percy meets his two favorite counselors at Camp Half-Blood. Also known as the three times Percy is completely oblivious about you two, plus the time he learns what L-O-V-E looks like for two teen demigods. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)
a/n: PERCY POV!!! maybe the real enemy was the blue balls Luke got from a clueless 12-year-old. you’re gonna tell me you wouldn’t overthrow the gods too? scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)
(posted 2/29/24, edited!!! i think!!! four hours of sleep later and a big kiss to @hotchfiles miss lari as always for inspo mwah)
—
What’s in a name?
One of the last defining memories Percy Jackson had with his mother before arriving at Camp Half-Blood was her reminder that names have power. He’s held fast to that belief, treading carefully with his words in this unfamiliar place that he’s supposed to call home so soon after losing his own.
Being the new kid for the hundredth time in his life means that he’s accustomed to change, much less introducing himself as Percy Jackson, whatever that means at this point—but then becoming known simply as the kid who causes trouble. What then, is he supposed to do, when his first friend at camp introduces him to a girl who embodies the name trouble?
To Luke, through Percy’s actions, it seems as if he’s trying to reclaim a crown that currently belongs to the beloved head counselor of Camp Half-Blood.
—
The dining pavilion is filled with mouth-watering scents and the sound of chattering campers to the point that it’s a bit overstimulating if he thinks too hard about it. Mr. Brunn—er, Chiron told him to take it easy after the events from yesterday, but he feels a bit tough on luck after making Luke run circles around camp trying to find what he’s good at.
“Is there a Greek god of disappointment? Maybe someone should ask if he’s missing a kid,” Percy says glumly, pushing the mac and cheese around on his plate. Luke sighs, letting the boy to his right speak.
“Oizys,” Chris mumbles through full cheeks before he cocks his head at the 12-year-old, “but she’s a goddess, and her whole thing isn’t really disappointment, it’s more like failure.”
Luke looks to Chris with a half smile before looking back at the kid and saying, “We’re gonna find the thing you’re good at. I know it.” He looks like he’s going to say something else before something, or someone catches his attention and it’s almost like the older boy is transfixed, eyes shining with mischief or something deeper that Percy’s young brain couldn’t comprehend just yet.
“And here comes trouble…” Luke says with a smirk, eyes following your figure until your feet take you to their table. The sandy-haired boy twists around, expecting to see a goddess of some sort until he sees you, violet eyes and a lilt of something sinister—giving off the energy of someone who holds power but also likes to fuck with it. You cross your arms over your chest, gaze floating over the three boys and at the tip of your chin, Luke takes his plate off the table, prompting you to hop up and slide onto the smooth surface in front of him.
“You look like someone kicked your puppy, so you must be the new kid. Peter, right?”
A snort of laughter comes from behind your slouched form, Luke partially concealed but body obviously shaking with amusement as he looks at you.
“He might just turn out to be a puppy kicker one day,” the son of Hermes jokes, “Meet Percy Jackson.”
“That’s not…”
You sigh at Luke’s idea of a joke, face incredulous as you lean over and conjure strawberries onto Percy’s plate. He’d never seen anything like that before, someone so casual about their abilities, but he didn’t have much of a reference past yesterday. This camp keeps surprising him in ways he’s never imagined possible.
“Heard D gave you a hard time earlier, sorry about him—I’d blame it on withdrawals but he’s just an asshole,” you offer with a smile and a handshake as you introduce yourself, watching the boy’s eyes widen with wonder.
“It’s not your fault…I’m used to being the new kid.”
Eyebrows furrowing at his tone, you lean in closer, voice turning serious. You’re a lot like Mr. D in the sense that it’s easy for you to poke at the kids who come through here for a reaction to make sure they’re okay mentally. When they don’t react is usually the call for help.
“Well, new kid, if anyone gives you a problem here at camp, you let me know. Even if it’s these two hooligans, or if it’s my dad.”
“You’re talking to our lovely head counselor, Percy. She calls the shots around here,” Chris chimes in jest. But only one part of your sentence sticks in his mind as he whips his head up from munching on a berry.
“He’s your dad?”
“Yeah, unfortunately,” you giggle, “and though you’re sweet and I would love to have you as a sibling, he kind of has a rule on having too many kids at once, unlike other gods.”
“A rule he’s already broken,” Luke drones, hand fidgeting with the black bandana tied around your thigh, “but who knows? If Percy ends up to be one of you, well…may the gods have mercy on us all.”
A deadpan stare is directed at the scarred boy, and you swipe at his curls like a feral cat, making him wince and laugh all the same as he bats you away.
“Tough shit, 11. Do you know how many hellions inhibit your cabin? Your dad inflicts agony on me personally every time another one of your siblings walks past the boundaries.”
The petty squabble is interrupted by the chime of the bell over your heads, but you two are still in a world of your own. It reminds Percy of the time he watched two subway rats fight over a pizza slice on the 6—he didn’t really know who to root for then either. Chris sighs and gets up, nudging Luke to follow, which he does begrudgingly as he claps his large hand on your leg. You hiss.
“Our turn!” Luke says with a hint of sarcasm.
“Our turn for what?”
“Burnt offerings,” you explain as you chomp on a strawberry, “the gods like the smell, so it gets their attention before you say a prayer.” You notice Percy stay in his seat, which makes a smile pull at your lips, “Think you’re off the hook for today though, bud. Or you can be just like me.”
“Don’t give him any ideas, trouble. I’ll throw in a few for Hestia.” Luke chews at his lip as he leans over you to grab a few berries off of Percy’s plate to toss into the fire for you.
“You don’t pray?”
“I’m not really the religious type. I’ve got what I need,” you concede, leaning back on your palms as you watch the son of Hermes stand for a few extra seconds at the hearth. “Besides, my godrent is right over there, and Luke worries enough for me. It’s more his thing,” you say with a lazy smile. The campers filing out of the dining hall wave at you and you enthusiastically greet everyone with dancing fingers. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone that…happy to be on the job, but things work differently around here, so he doesn’t think much of your upbeat attitude.
“Eat up. Some of that strength has to go to you. Gonna need it.” You say ruffling Percy’s hair, and when Luke comes back, he tugs at the shoelaces of your boots until you kick his hands away. You both share a smile like people do a secret, even here in the open air.
“Do they like the smell of burnt mac and cheese?” Percy says curiously, eating another spoonful of the meal. His head hurts at another thing to consider in this brand-new world he’s walked into.
“They like the smell of begging,” Luke grins, and you laugh like a firework going off, making Percy’s lips pull up into a smile.
“I’m not much of a beggar though, if you ask me.”
The son of Hermes hums at you like he wants to say otherwise, and you slap his chest as you suck air through your teeth. Beneath the wood top of the table and with Percy being none the wiser, your fingers intertwine with Luke’s like it’s second nature.
“You burn what you’ll miss the most. Then they know you really mean what you’re about to say, so they listen.”
Luke takes a breath after explaining how things work for the nth time to the kid, knowing Percy’s quite persistent about making his dad notice him. He remembers being jaded too—striving to be the best for a lick of his dad’s attention and all of his efforts were done in vain. Even though the kid’s arrival at camp was a bit unexpected, Luke doesn’t mind showing him around.
Hopefully, less work on your end means that he can spend more time with you once this is over with— but by the looks of how the day is going so far, he’s not so sure. He hopes his offerings reach the gods and they grant him extra patience for his good deeds. Watching you laugh at something Percy says as you all walk out of the dining pavilion, Luke wonders if you know that every offering he burns for the goddess of the hearth and home is so that she’ll protect you.
—-
“Lights out in 10 minutes, cabin 11! Everyone ready for bed?”
The sound of your voice jolts Percy awake from his post-dinner nap and he blinks slowly until he sees you walking towards him with extra blankets and pillows in your grasp. The other campers were kind of stand-offish, and after praying to his mom he was overwhelmed with the feeling of missing her, so much so that it drained the rest of his energy.
“Long day, huh bud?”
Drowsy with sleep, for a moment, Percy forgets where he is—the unfamiliar walls of the cabin making him shift with unease as he rubs at his eyes. The blurry version of you makes his chest go warm and for a second, it’s like—
“Mom?”
He blinks again, his pale face turning red when he realizes his slip-up. Percy’s shoulders drop when he hears giggles from somewhere in the big cabin and you reach out to smooth his hair away from his face with a gentle smile.
“Don’t worry about it. Everyone who first comes to 11 gets nightmares. For some of them, they don’t leave,” you mutter. Percy notices your eyes flicker over to Luke’s bed, where he’s zipping up his hoodie and chatting with one of his half-siblings. Cabin 11 is finally quieting down for the night—children scrambling into their bunks, doing nighttime routines, and having quiet conversations. It’s all so weird, this being everyone’s normal.
“You’re not alone though. Saw you earlier, outside. I still pray to my mom sometimes. She's quite the listener,” you say with a sad twinkle in your eye. The kid sniffs as you hand him the pillows and blankets, finally meeting your gaze.
“Did your mom…” Die too? The words feel like lead in his throat, feeling heavy as he swallows it down. He doesn’t want to cry in front of the pretty counselor, much less speak the truth, because if he says it out loud, it means his mom dying must have been real. Also since you’ve seen him sit in the dark of the forest burning blue jelly beans like a freak. What he didn’t know is that you pride yourself on being one. It takes one to know one, after all.
“Yeah. Makes for one hell of an origin story, but I found my place here, and people who care. I know you will too, when you’re rea—” Your words trail off when you see Luke walk past the both of you with a cool expression before he nods towards the door, and you squeeze Percy’s shoulder before getting up.
“Night guys! It’s getting late so we’ll have to do a story next time, okay?” You walk down the aisle patting heads and tucking in smaller campers, and he hears you whack the younger Stoll brother when he teasingly says, “It’s not fair that Luke gets a bedtime story and we don’t…”
“Connor, enough. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up and called me mom, so save it for tomorrow.” He must have been the one laughing earlier.
“Everyone say goodnight trouble!” Luke calls out with a coy expression, making you roll your eyes as you flick the light off to a symphony of jeers. It’s finally quiet as Percy is propped up against some pillows that smell like raspberries and soft cotton before he realizes he has to pee.
But Chris said harpies hunt kids after curfew… he thinks.
In a moment of sheer panic, Percy looks around in the darkness of the cabin before the sound of your cackling pierces through the dim light from the outside. He hops up from the makeshift cot and tugs his shoes back on, slowly creeping past the long row of bunks to not disturb other campers before he gets to the door. Your head turns quickly to the intrusion as you spring away from Luke, stubbing a cigarette underneath the wood panel out of sight when Percy steps through the doorway.
“Sorry, I need to use the bathroom,” he says sheepishly as Luke nods, scratching his neck and leaning a far distance away from you. Under the low burning lamps, Percy notices Luke’s cheeks redden and he wonders if he is interrupting something, but the urge to go increases as he steps between you two.
“Right. I’ll walk you to yours?” Luke blurts in one breath. With a wordless smile on your lips, you nod before Percy purposely interrupts this time.
“I can walk her, it’s on the way to the bathrooms, right?”
If only this poor kid knew he was being the cockblock of the century.
“Yeah, Percy’s got me. The harpies won’t like you missing curfew, Castellan,” you tease, stepping around him with a shit-eating grin. Your hair almost floats in the gentle breeze, and Luke rolls his eyes.
“Stay out of trouble. I mean it,’ he sighs, before shoving you off the porch, and you laugh at the irony of his words. Looking back at Luke, Percy noticed his eyes were on you like he wanted to live in your skin, which was equal parts disgusting and confusing to the 12-year-old. His steps double in pace as you both walk down the path and a brief side glance at your stifled smile quickly makes the kid wonder if you’d let him. Pushing the sleeves of Luke’s hoodie past your elbows, you wave at Percy’s rushing figure as he almost bolts to the bathroom and you lean against the doorway of your empty cabin. You turn the light on and look across the way to see your boyfriend still leaning against his door, so you flip him off. Of course, he takes that as his cue to saunter over.
But then the loud clanging sound of pipes bursting reaches both of your ears and toilet water floods the dirt near the back end of your cabin.
So close.
“I’m gonna go check on Annie to see if she’s still on duty. Tough luck, babe,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek before walking in the direction that Percy went, sending the son of Hermes to drag his feet towards your cabin, alone (he didn’t expect to fall asleep propped over your covers waiting up for you, but a lot happened in that damn bathroom).
—
“Hey, today feel like a winning kind of day to you?” Annabeth smirks at the son of Hermes. Next to them, Percy feels a hand clap him on the shoulder and all three of them turn to see you donning red.
“Didn’t you three hear the conch? Wouldn’t want you to fall behind,” you say with a grin as Luke steps up to you and whistles lowly.
“Didn’t know you were playing today. It’s a shame you look that good in red.”
Annabeth fake gags as she crosses her arms to say, “You’re also currently on enemy territory if you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, you wound me. I’m not a threat. Percy, I obviously don’t have the flag, right?”
He nods a bit dumbly, still worried about the mechanics of the game and the part he has to play for the blue team, but no one else seems to share his concerns.
“Anyways, sorry I’m not on your team, Perce. The Ares kids snatched me up as soon as my name was on the roster, so I came to wish you all luck.”
“This better not be a diversion tactic, trouble,” Luke simpers, playfully tugging at your staff, which you use for leverage to step up onto a rock to meet him at eye level.
“Nah. You know I like the competition, angelface,” you whisper, almost daring him to do something.
“Bite me, trouble.”
There’s a fire in his eyes you’d love to stoke, but now’s not the time or place. You can’t help but indulge though—the both of you enjoy the reactions you can pull from each other.
“You’d like it too much.”
“Alright now,” Annabeth groans, calling your name, rolling her eyes as she pulls at Luke’s arm, “Gotta remember he’s your enemy!”
“I’M TRYING!” You laugh, shaking your head and walking back towards your team as you shoot them a fake salute. It all happens too quickly as Percy’s unable to catch the spitfire words between the two of you, thinking further about how he might get maimed during this game (which in the grand scheme of things, he almost does. Thanks Clarisse).
“Those two are hopeless! Walk faster, sunshine—we lost too much time watching whatever that was.” Percy stumbles along the forest path as he follows Annabeth, the both of them leaving Luke smirking to himself as he follows the rest of their team.
Hours later, at Clarisse’s muddy feet and holding her broken spear, Percy hears cheering in the distance as he watches the blue team led by Luke waving the red flag in one hand and your legs supported by his other. You’re in a fireman’s hold across his shoulders and everyone watches as the son of Hermes spins you around like a Tilt-a-Whirl until the sound of your shrieks is audible from the shoreline. He sets you down gently, dominant hand still around your waist as he snickers, “Got my win and my girl. Must be time to celebrate.” You laugh at his absurdity, pulling his helmet off and wiping the sweat off his forehead with your bandana.
“You’re always going to be a loser in my eyes.”
Slapping the plush of your hip, the sound echoes in the air—suddenly quiet as you gasp. But you’re not looking at Luke anymore, but rather the gleaming trident above Percy’s head as it’s revealed he’s a forbidden child. His jaw tightens at the sight, and there are a lot of emotions running through him, remembering Thalia and knowing that his plans will have to be altered once more because of Percy Jackson. You squeeze his hand before walking away from him to follow your dad and Chiron to the Big House, shooting him a nervous glance.
Damn.
—
The boys have been sparring for hours, and just as you think Percy’s getting the hang of it, Luke thrusts forward with an energy no one should have towards a 12-year-old. Although a bit concerning, he does have a lot to catch up on how to fight like a demigod before his quest in a few days.
“Take a break or else you’ll be crawling away from camp by the end of the week,” you joke, handing Percy and Luke bottles of cold water. Your boyfriend takes big gulps before pouring the rest over his head, leaving you gaping and a little hot under his stare as he nudges your chin and winks.
“You’re doing that on purpose!”
Luke shrugs slyly, and the both of you watch Percy catch his breath. He leans over your shoulder, the tone of his voice sultry as it tickles your ear, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.”
You bite your lip, before bursting with laughter—which isn’t exactly the reaction he thought you’d have. Maybe he should’ve finished reading the sonnet before falling asleep, but you always take too long with your nighttime skincare routine.
“That doesn’t mean what you think it means, but you’re cute for trying,” you coo, leaning closer so that your cheek touches his. Luke’s whole face is warm from exertion and now embarrassment, but he smiles nonetheless at the proximity. He can’t believe he still misses you, even when you’re skin-to-skin like this.
“That stanza…Isn’t it about names being meaningless?” Percy says between gasps of air before he pours the rest of the water bottle over his head like Luke did. He’s looking up at the both of you as he leans against a tree, instantly feeling more rejuvenated.
You jerk up from your seated position on the large rocks, excited to talk about Shakespeare, and Luke almost pouts at the loss of your attention.
“Yeah! Good job, bud. I forget you went to a hoity-toity charter school,” you say tongue-in-cheek, before turning back to your boy.
“So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and, for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself. You’re gonna have to interpret that one yourself, angelface.”
“Trust I have no fucking clue but you sound really hot when you talk dirty to me,” Luke says with a shrug. Percy laughs at that, before finally bringing up the question that’s been on his mind since Luke introduced you to him.
“Why do you call her trouble? She seems okay to me.”
“Thanks,” you say dryly, but the older boy leans on his arm with a lovestruck expression as he gazes at you. Oh…Percy thinks, brain feeling freshly washed. How did he miss that?
“She used to get in trouble a lot,” he says, before you elbow him hard, “I mean, we used to get in trouble, she’d always drag me into it.”
“You always offered! Don’t twist the fucking story,” you shriek, and the boys laugh at your exasperation.
“Yeah anyways, she’d always find me. Still does, my partner in crime. Trouble always comes for me,” Luke murmurs, waggling his eyebrows and intertwining your fingers together. Your jaw drops and cheeks flush and Percy thinks he understands better now, but gets confused again with what you do next.
You almost slap the goddamn scar off that boy’s face.
—
It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world. -Sylvia Plath
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luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings @silver007 @sunny747 @huang-the-geek
#luke castellan x reader#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo x reader#luke castellan fluff#trouble!verse#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x dionysus!reader#percy series#thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
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Waiting room
Joel Miller x f! reader
summary: A few years ago, Joel saved your life and you have loved him ever since but he didn't reciprocate your feelings or that's what you thought.
word count: 2,5k
a/n: I didn't write a chapter for "The Not so Invisible String" series but wrote this. I would appreciate receiving reblogs and comments. Happy reading!
Dividers by @/cafekitsune
"What happened to me?" you questioned, your curiosity seeking answers.
"I found you," the stranger replied. "You had slept for two days."
In two days, you changed the rules of the game.
In two days, Joel came across with his humanity when he found you laying on the ground after being beaten up by some smugglers.
And what a plot twist you were.
You were so young and naïve when the world broke into a mess, and the reminisces of your old life before were just fogging memories threatened to be erased completely by the clouds of your head. You had forgotten your mother’s voice, the taste of the cookies she baked on Sunday’s afternoons, and the essence of her perfume enveloping you in embraces you were never going to get back.
You still craved a lingering, real sort of comfort that hadn’t come. In this world, emotions make you weak, and being weak means you die.
The closest thing to caring you received from someone was from Joel. The day he found you, he treated your wounds, he prevented you from dying by starving himself, and he fed you with his food.
“I broke my rules for you.” He peeped once you recovered, but still, he let you stay.
Through the months and years, you had become accustomed to the idea of him and Tess being the only people you could trust; they were older and wiser than you, a perk but also a source of constant disappointment over the idea of you being seen as the foolish, weak kid.
You felt a burden. You were a constant troublemaker, getting into trouble with everyone who seemed to mess with you, but under some eyes, you were still Joel’s girl, just that you really weren’t. You just idealize the idea of it.
Because every time somebody hit you, he was there, and if that wasn’t love, what the fuck was it?
You knew that there was something between them beyond a simple partner-in-crime relationship. They weren’t what you would call lovers, but there was unspoken language between them you couldn’t decipher, not because you were a fool but because you weren’t a part of them.
Because you weren’t important,
You didn’t know if Joel cared about you coming back.
You were just someone Joel found almost dying.
Whereas for you, he was the closest thing you felt to home.
"Where were you?" his voice called out in the middle of the dark room, breaking the silence of the eerie night.
“God, you scared me,” you answered. "I thought you were asleep."
"You know I don't go to sleep unless I know you're here." His voice was so sharp it could cut in half.
Liar.
“You are asleep other times,” you acknowledged, trying to remove your boots without whimpering as the pain settled in your bones. “And I'm here. You can go to sleep now," you hissed, out of frustration but also from the pain emanating from cuts.
"No."
"Well, I'll go then," you replied.
“Come here, show me,” he demanded.
“No.”
“Come here,” he repeated, frustrated this time.
“I said, “
“Now!” the raised tone sent shivers down your spine, forming a lump in your throat.
You were there, not moving, and he was closer. The dim light in the room cast eerie shadows as he examined your face, his fingertips tracing the evidence of the scars painted on your skin.
The cut on your bottom lip throbbed with each breath. A bruise, vividly purple, marred the skin around your eye, testimony to the violence that had been part of it and the cut on your nose, which seemed to be broken.
Not only do you face hurt, but all your body is carrying the consequences of a beating you didn’t think you deserved. Your bones felt crushed under the pressure of the emotional turbulence going on in your head.
And Joel’s touch, his gentle touch, so delicate yet full of fury, not towards you but at the merciless people that forced such a wound on you. You winced as his fingers grazed the tender skin; his silence was so loud.
“Who did this to you?” he muttered, frustration lacing his voice. The sharpness of his earlier tone softened under your teary stare.
“It doesn’t matter,” you replied.
“It does to me,” he retorted.
“No. Joel, let me be alone. It hurts; my body was hit, and I would be dead if it weren’t for you,“you sobbed.
“For what?”
"For you," you admitted through a shaky breath, the weight of the truth bearing down on you. The room seemed to shrink as you uttered those words, exposing a vulnerability that had remained buried beneath the facade of strength.
Joel's eyes softened, and the fury in his touch transformed into a gentleness that contrasted with the brutality of reality outside. In that fleeting moment, it was just the two of you, suspended in a fragile moment.
His voice, now a whisper, carried a mix of concern and disbelief. "For me?"
“The only reason I’m not dead is because of you. Can you believe it?” You chuckled. “One of the men there recognized me as Joel’s girl, who I am not, and then they stopped. Not even because I’m a person, but because I am associated with a man.”
Joel's expression tightened at the revelation, a flicker of anger passing through his eyes.
“Let me clean your wounds, “Joel began, his voice a gentle plea to attend to your wounds.
"No. I don't need your fucking help," you interrupted, frustration lacing your words, tired of being the dog at Joel’s door waiting for him to notice your loyalty and devotion.
"Yes, you need it because you're a fucking naive baby acting restless and so careless." Joel retorted, frustrated.
“"I have no one. My life is just a waste of air for this damn world, so why should I care about my well-being?" you shot back bitterly, the pain in your voice mirroring the bruises on your body.
"Because I care about you," Joel admitted, his words a brief glimmer of hope. However, before you could fully grasp the weight of his confession, he extinguished any expectations. "You have Tess and me; we share our roof with you."
"Exactly. Your place, not mine," you argued, a stark reminder of the boundaries that confined your sense of belonging.
"Your point?" Joel challenged.
"You found me once and brought me here, okay? Thanks for it. But that doesn't mean I have your respect," you asserted, the frustration bubbling to the surface.
"My protection is not enough." Joel questioned, his patience wearing thin.
"It's not," you replied with conviction.
"Then you can go and find your own fucking place."
"That's what I'm doing. I'm leaving the QZ. There may be a place that fits for me," you declared, the decision firm in your voice.
Joel's silence echoed through the room, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. But you offered none, maintaining a stoic resolve as you walked away from the confrontation.
"What? Where?" he finally managed to utter, a mixture of confusion and concern etched on his face.
"Goodnight," you replied tersely, your voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. The darkness of the hallway enveloped you as you retreated towards the bedroom. The door creaked shut behind you, leaving Joel standing in the dimly lit room, grappling with the echoes of your departure.
The room was shrouded in darkness, and you lay on the bed, the events of the night replaying in your mind like a relentless loop making fun of you for being so foolish, but despite the physical exhaustion, sleep eluded you, and your thoughts continued to wander through the tangled maze of emotions.
And Joel, of course, whom you were leaving behind tomorrow morning before he could even notice you were going to disappear.
As you lay there, the door creaked open, and Joel entered, carrying a small bottle and a cloth. The soft glow of a flashlight in his hand illuminated his face, revealing concern and remorse for his previous attitude.
"I brought something for the pain," he muttered, his gruff voice softened by a vulnerability you rarely could see. You remained silent, acknowledging his presence with a nod.
Joel approached, his movements deliberate as he poured a few pills onto his weathered palm. "Take these. They'll help with the pain and help you sleep."
You reluctantly accepted the medicine, swallowing it down with a sip of water from a nearby bottle. The bitterness lingered on your tongue.
Joel then reached for the cloth, dampening it with water. Gently, he began to clean the wounds on your face, his touch surprisingly tender. The initial sting of contact faded, replaced by a strange mix of relief and discomfort.
"Joel,” you said, but he didn’t answer and focused on tending to your injuries.
"Joel," you repeated, a little more assertive this time. His name hung in the air, yet he remained silent, his attention fixed on the task at hand. The rhythmic motions of cleaning your wounds seemed to be his sole purpose.
You took a deep breath, the weight of unspoken words settling heavily in the room. "Joel," you said once more, this time with an edge of urgency, attempting to draw him out of his concentrated silence.
He finally looked up, meeting your gaze. "What is it?"
The room felt hot with tension as you hesitated before finding the words. "I appreciate this—the medicine, cleaning my wounds. But it doesn't change my mind about leaving.”
His gaze held yours, an unspoken plea for understanding. "You're hurt; you can't go so far in your state," he replied, a touch of concern in his voice.
"So what?" you retorted, frustration bubbling to the surface. "If I have to die outside, I will. I don't care. I'm just tired of this life."
Joel's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from anger to concern. "What would make that thought go away?" he asked, his question cutting through the defiance in your tone.
"What?" you responded, caught off guard by the unexpected question.
"What would make life worth living?" he repeated, his gaze unwavering. The weight of his inquiry settled in the room, demanding introspection.
The silence that followed was heavy, the question lingering in the air as you grappled with the complexities of your own desires and the harsh realities of the world outside that broke any chance of achieving the dreams you had when you were a child.
The silence stretched, becoming a tangible force in the room, until Joel's desperation cut through it like a blade. "I'm waiting," he said, his tone laden with urgency.
"To have someone," you confessed, your voice carrying the weight of unspoken longings.
"How?" he pressed, searching for clarity in your cryptic words.
"To have someone that cares for me," you explained, the vulnerability in your voice laying bare a deep-seated yearning, a yearning you had been carrying for years.
"You have me," Joel insisted, his desperation now tinged with frustration.
"You're not mine; you're hers," you said, invoking Tess. "Do you think I don't hear you both having sex?”
His eyes widened, realization dawning on him as the unspoken truth reverberated in the room.
"Maybe my body was hers, but inside, it's here." Joel took your hand and placed it over his chest, just above his heart. "I'm craving for you."
A tense silence enveloped the room as your words hung in the air, and Joel's eyes reflected all the sincerity of his feelings slipping from his lips. Your skepticism pierced through the charged atmosphere, casting a shadow over the vulnerability that had been exposed.
"I don't believe you," you declared, a note of disbelief in your voice.
Joel's expression tightened, a blend of irritation and determination etched on his face. "You don't?"
"You're just saying those things out of pity," you accused, the walls of defense rising once more.
He shook his head, a flicker of frustration evident in his eyes. "You are whiny, a pain in the ass, arrogant, naive..."
"Stop!" you exclaimed, the litany of criticism hitting you harder than expected.
"Yet, despite it all," Joel continued, his voice a mixture of exasperation and something deeper, "you make me go crazy, and still, I want to break every single finger that has been laid against you."
The weight of Joel's words hung in the air, a revelation that cut through the tension and laid bare the depth of his emotions. His eyes, always filled with exasperation, now held a raw vulnerability.
"You don't realize that you brought sense back to my life!" he exclaimed, the urgency in his voice echoing through the room. "If you go and you die, there's nothing left for me to fight for."
"I want to be the last one you love," he spoke, his hands cupping your face, fingers tracing delicate patterns over the scars that adorned your skin. His gaze, dark and intense, held a promise that lingered in the air. "I want to be your ending."
"And I want you to be my ending," he added, referring to the weight of the words hanging between you.
A profound silence settled, punctuated only by the erratic beats of your heart against your ribs, In that moment, you felt that the confession of love coming from Joel was the last source of breath you needed to become a person again.
And then, he kissed you. With a warning written on his dark eyes, yet you didn't see it coming. He kissed you because there wasn't anything else to do. He wanted to claim your lips as them because they were his.
Joel's lips lingered against yours, the warmth of his kiss irradiated foreign feelings for you. You had never felt so loved for someone before, and as the kiss deepened, a subtle smile played on his lips, a rare expression coming from him.
He pulled away slightly, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of resistance. His hands, calloused and weathered, gently caressed your face, tracing the contours of the scars on your face.
"You're not leaving," he spoke against your lips, with another gentle peck on them.
A shy smile played on your lips in response. "Whatever,” you replied.
Joel's confession had acted as a healing salve, mending not just the physical scars but also the emotional ones that had marked your journey through this world.
Joel's eyes softened as he caught the playful glint in your smile, and a warmth seemed to spread through the room. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. The strength in his arms felt like a shield against the harshness of the world outside.
"You can be stubborn as hell, you know that?" he teased, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
As he held you in his arms, the world outside faded away, and all that remained was the warmth of the embrace and the quiet assurance of shared moments.
"Get some rest," he murmured, his voice a soothing whisper. "I'll be right here."
With Joel's arms wrapped around you, the weariness of the day and the weight of the past seemed to dissolve.
In the arms of Joel, the night embraced you, and as you closed your eyes, you found life worth living because of him.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#pedro pascal character fanfiction#joel miller series#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller imagine#joel miller angst#tlou fanfiction#joel the last of us#joel x reader#Joel Miller#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#the last of us#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascar character imagine#pedro pascal
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Hi! :)
I’m craving some Logan Howlett angsty fluff and I really like your writing style… Do you think you could maybe do a fic where either Logan and reader are in the heat of the moment and his claws come out and he scratches her. Or where Logan has a nightmare and the same thing happens. Either way the reader ends up comforting him.
Thank you! 🩷 :)
Hi!! So sorry for getting to this so late 🥹 loved the idea btw :) ended up doing a bit of a mix of both? If that makes sense.
/
"Out with it."
Your voice rings out clearly among the X-Men, the throng of battle no longer around you all. It was a more exhausting battle than you would've thought, but nothing irks you more than knowing that Logan has been apparently thinking of you as someone to play babysitter to. He hadn't trusted you to make your final blow to the enemy, and instead scooped you away to safety before lashing out with his own claws.
Logan clearly has something to say to you, and you want to hear it. You're not going to let him escape again- the way he always does, nonchalantly, refusing to acknowledge how he treats you.
Charles stiffens next to you in the helicarrier. Watching the tension, feeling the palpable heart-wrenching sensation between you and Logan. He doesn't know how you got to this point.
"Listen. Just because you didn't have it doesn't mean you're not a good X-Man-" Logan starts dismissively.
"But I did! I did have it!" You shout back at him, and then inhale carefully. "Nobody told you to rescue me, Logan. If I was about to die, then I was. I wanted that to be on my own terms."
"Don't talk like you're a fucking martyr when you've never had the privilege, kid." Logan's unnecessarily harsh tone has you flinching. "Do you know how many people I've seen die, for no good reason? Do you really want a bunch of Pentagon psychos to be your last memory?"
"Shut up." You shift in your seat, feeling small. "We don't get to choose when we die. Not like you."
Logan becomes visibly angered with that, the little taunt you've made towards his immortality. "That doesn't mean you have to go seek it out, dumbass."
"Oh really? Don't tell me you're getting soft, Logan." You glare at him, and Charles and Jean and Scott look at each other uncertainly. "Just because your life is so long doesn't mean the rest of us have forgotten what it means to be alive."
There's an unspoken, sudden charge in the air, now that you've mentioned what everyone else has the good sense to shut up about- Logan having lived so long and not caring about the consequences of his actions. Logan's eyes narrow until you feel sure that you've pushed him too far this time- he looks more animal than human, more Wolverine than ever- and you feel yourself inching forward, letting the anger of not being understood push you to fighting him- and Charles suddenly raises his hand in protest.
"Please, you two. I'm not sure what has transpired today, but I know you are better than choosing to have a physical altercation on a helicarrier flight." His calm, soothing tone makes you feel a little disappointed in yourself, and you settle back in your seat, refusing to meet his or Jean's glances of concern.
/
All you really wanted was an apology. A "Sorry, I won't do that again." Or even an explanation for why Logan keeps tabs on you all the time, never letting you be a real part of the X-Men, always safely on the sidelines. Were you just too weak?
Should you even be here?
You feel guilty for what you said to him. It's not a bad thing, you know, that Logan doesn't want you to get hurt- it's just that you want to do your job. You're not a kid.
It almost, almost justifies how you treated him, but even you know that was too far. You can't act as if you know Logan's life story- not even Charles or Jean would claim to do that, and they've searched his mind for memories several times.
Like it or not, the man was mysterious. He kept to himself on a lot of things, citing past hurt as his reason why- and you should've respected that.
"Maybe I am weak." You mutter to yourself, wondering why you can't restrain your emotions around Logan.
You're practicing shooting small, psionic blasts towards the target in your room- it's a great way to pass the time when you can't sleep- when you hear a groan, a shudder, an angry, deep growl-
It sounds like Logan. His room is right above yours, and the sounds are definitely coming from there- you hear him yell, and before you can stop yourself, you're bounding up the stairs to the third floor of the X-Mansion, bursting through his room's door with a ready hand, in case you need to fight.
/
Logan watches as you berate him in his dream.
Actually, it's not quite you- it's some venomous, evil, witch wearing your face. You giggle at him- you call him old- you don't take him seriously.
With every taunt, you fire another bright purple blast at him- and for once, his body doesn't heal instantaneously. He is getting old, getting hurt, watching as blood pools out of him. It's agonizingly painful.
He's going to die this time, without making it right with you- he's afraid that you're right about him, that he's a washed up sad old man who can't ever let people in.
"We don't need you anymore, Logan..." The not-you whispers softly, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and Logan can't help but believe it.
His self preservation instincts kick in, and he launches forward, snarling, claws out with a sharp snikt sound. He feels that even though he'll regret your death, he'll miss you immensely, it's just one more tally mark to several others.
/
"Logan. Logan!"
You're leaning over Logan's sweaty, clammy body in his bed. You watch as his hands fist in the sheets, and he tosses and turns in agony- you breathe in hesitation, in fear that he's not going to be okay- he grunts suddenly, and you're reminded of how Rogue tells you about his nightmares. They're frequent.
How out of touch could you have been today?
You gently-yet-firmly grab Logan's arm, shaking, and his arms move forward in a self-defense mechanism that seems practiced, as if he's been attacked in his sleep before, and before you can move away, there's a sharp snikt sound, a quick wave of claws, and a searing pain in your side.
It all happens before you can even blink. You fall off to the side, on the floor, writhing in pain. Logan's claws just nicked your side, it's essentially a scratch- but the pain is so much worse than you're expecting, and you fall to the floor again as you try to get up.
You breathe in harshly, holding back a sob, as you feel wet blood pooling through the side of your night dress.
"Jesus Christ." Logan pounces off the bed, waking to blood all over his claws, and he's leaning over your body, as you blink up at him hesitantly. He immediately panics, lifting you up and resting you on his squatted thighs. "Kid! Hey, kid, don't close your eyes-"
"..." You're just barely hanging on, but you listen.
And Logan feels that same sense of shame he felt when he attacked Rogue, when Jean "died", every single time he had accidentally unsheathed his claws towards someone who didn't deserve it.
Doubly so, considering it's like his terrible nightmare has come to life. But you absolutely didn't do anything wrong- he can't believe he was so angry with you.
He calls for help, in a slightly broken tone, and no one seems to be coming.
"Just a scratch." You try, but Logan shakes his head.
"No, no, no." Logan spits out. "How could I- I never meant to-"
"I'm sorry, Logan." You cough, and Logan feels awful that you're apologizing while bleeding out due to his actions. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You're not some unreliable old man who doesn't care..."
You flinch at a sudden, sharp pain, and Logan motions for you to stop talking, but you keep going.
"If anything, you're the opposite. You're there for me. And I'm sorry that I got so... so angry at you for that." You mutter to yourself, not aware of how Logan hangs onto your words. "You're protecting me from making mistakes, and I'm grateful."
"No, kid. You had a point before." Logan interjects, but you shake your head.
"Did I? Or was I being a brat?" You grimace at yourself.
"You did have a point. I was being selfish," Logan shakes his head and then swallows that urge to push you away. "I don't always know how to leave people well enough alone. Sometimes I'm too much."
He hesitates, and then continues on. "Like, I treat you as if you're a nuisance, right? But I always... I always want you next to me. And I know I should just sort my shit out like an adult. But I'm scared."
"Scared?"
"Of what happens. What always happens." Logan sighs in defeat. "I fall in love, and they die. I find my people, and they leave me because I'm such a jackass. There's too much surrounding me that just... ruins everything."
"No, no. I won't leave." You tighten your hand around Logan's, and he, despite wanting to say that you're wounded because of him, believes you. He's so grateful to hear you say it- he had no idea that's what was weighing on him so badly.
He loves you, he knows he does. Logan has never been the best with feelings, but for once, he's glad he was honest.
The first thing Scott sees when he finally makes his way to Logan's room, from all the way across the X-Mansion, is Logan whispering "I'm sorry," and... he thinks (he's not 100% sure), "I love you," to your very forlorn, softly curved-around-him body.
It's a very tender moment, and Scott feels he should leave.
Then Logan presses a firm, shaky kiss on your forehead, and then your lips, and you, with your limited reserve of energy, kiss him back, and then Scott interjects with:
"Hey!...?"
He seems taken aback as you both look at him. "I heard screaming? What is this, some sort of weird cult sacrificial scenario?"
"Logan... had a... nightmare..." You wince, and Scott sees the red on your night gown. "I need... medical attention."
"On it." Scott glances at Logan for permission, and he's currently trying to push all these mushy feelings back into his chest where they belong, and he wants to be there to help you in the clinic, but he's flustered with everything that's happened and he can only hand you to Scott without looking at him.
Scott smirks to himself as he runs you to the clinic of the X-Mansion.
"You and Logan, huh? I knew there was something in that fight today." Scott remarks as you cling to him.
"It's taken an embarrassingly long time for me to figure it out, but yeah." You blush. "Has everyone else...?"
"Jean's been running a bet for the last year." Scott laughs. "She says you both are two sides of the same coin."
You can't help but agree.
#logan x reader#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#logan howlett angst#logan howlett x you#wolverine x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine#old man logan#wolverine angst#james logan howlett x reader#marvel x reader#xmen x reader#x men x reader#x-men#x-men x reader#x-men angst#ask#requests
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I Need You To Listen - Steve Rogers
Summary: For @the-slumberparty 's Week 3 Something New Challenge, I went with the medium mode - sex pollen but with exes to lovers. This took alot of work I ended up rewriting it entirely, I hope you enjoy!
Word Count: 7.4k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics
Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader
Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, angst, smut, fluff, sex pollen, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, love bites, steve rogers dirty talking (this man), swearing, nipple play, past is in italics, sort of a post civil war rewrite so we're going completely off canon
Main Masterlist || AO3
Fate works in the most hilarious of ways, a stubbed toe over here and a broken heart still being nursed over there.
Tony Stark stands in front of your cell, staring at you through the glass. You don’t hold back your tears from him. Disappointment colours his features.
Broken pieces of trust lay scattered on the floor. The damage by him was done. Leaving you to bear the brunt. Leaving you to walk on the jagged edges of the broken family.
A family that shared jokes, laughed, drank and protected each other.
Won together.
Lost together.
In the past few days died together.
“How are you holding up?” His arc reactor gleams as he takes a seat on the stool. Unzipping the jacket he wears his arm in a sling. You close your eyes, more tears fall at the memory of the fight. An involuntary shiver as the chiling bite of the cold manifests itself from your memory.
The cell isn’t uncomfortable. There is a cot in the corner, the bathroom has a door. The sterile scent of the cleaning agent stopped giving you a headache hours ago.
“Why are you asking me?” You look at him, he should be mad, he should yell, call you a traitor.
“Contrary to what you all think and did to me, I trust you.” He shrugs, left eye twitching, he rolls his shoulder.
“How is the arm?” Your gaze falls to it.
“Seen better days. You know, heart troubles.” He looks at Wanda’s cell, “Kid, Vis is asking about you.”
She looks up at him, “Is Rhodes alright?”
Tony presses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head.
Wanda looks down at her hands.
“He tore us apart. That Baron Zemo. I know you have a lot to learn, alot to grieve. The accords may be dissolved. I’m working on it. At SI we’re preparing the bail documents.” He informs you all.
Sam scoffs, “What about Cap and Barnes?”
“James is in recovery as per my last conversation with T’Challa. Where Cap and Nat are I do not know nor does he.” Tony gazes back at you.
“I trusted him.” Is all you can say to him. You stare at your palms, you couldn’t get the blood off.
“I know, I did too.”
“Tony.” Your lips quiver another sob at the heartbreak Steve left you with to deal. All alone.
Bucky fights Tony, you don’t want to see your best friend hurt. The man who took you under his wing when you joined in, your steps halted by the blonde haired man who harbours your heart.
“Sign the accords.” Steve orders, you gape at him.
“Steve, do you fucking realise? We’re here because I didn’t sign them because I am siding with you?” You almost yell. The tempreture drops as the snow cascades into the facility from the now broken windows.
Bucky lands on the floor, a pained groan, his arm blasted off. He kneels, eyes widened at the implication. At the man he hurt irreparablely being the one to take away one of the curses HYDRA bestowed upon him.
“Shit!” Your eyes move to Tony, slowly he rises from the floor. The suit broken in several places.
“Y/N, you need to listen. You cannot go rogue with me.”
“Steve,” You push his arm away you had to intervene.
“It was good while it lasted.” He says and everything turns to static.
“Wh-what?”
“Look, I, we had a good run but I know your stance on the accords you’re just with me for the sole reason we’re together.” Steve says to you.
“Are you serious right now?” Anger courses through you, your grip on your pistol tightens.
“It's not even the accords. I, I didn’t think we would make it beyond this month. Look, I have to think about Bucky. Its all of this, it doesn’t, priorities.” He lunges over to defend Bucky leaving you defenceless. Your ears ringing, you watch as they fight, you can’t hear any of the clangs the groans.
You stand there dumbfounded.
As Steve throws Tony down the beam reflects off of his shield and hits you on the shoulder you’re thrown against the wall. Bucky meets your eyes, at least he seems apologetic.
Tony tries to get up to help you, “Rogers, she’s hurt—,” The shield slams against the arc reactor.
“I don’t care.” He says so easily.
You pant as the pain increases, both the burn and sting of his words as well as the physical injuries manifesting across you.
Steve helps Bucky up, you try to push yourself to your knees, crawling to Tony while keeping your arm close to your body.
Bucky looks back at you, his eyes convey his remorse. Tony breathes hard, you blink back tears at the glance Steve doesn’t spare towards you.
Eight months down the drain.
The morning kisses, cuddles, the random sketches of you he left as gifts all lose their importance. Remembrance only causes pain.
“Mr. Stark, you need to leave.”
Tony sighs, “I’ll visit, or I’ll have you guys out before that. Work some arrangement.”
“I’m so sorry, Tony.” You look at his arm and back at his face.
He gives you one of those sad smiles of his, the one where he pretends it's just another day, another common thing.
“Aren’t you foolish to trust us again?” Sam questions him as Tony passes by his cell.
“I just have to do my job. It’s the people who have to trust us.” Tony turns to face Sam.
“So the people trust the missile maker millionaire Stark?” Sam knows the jab is stinging, Tony hated
that about the company’s past.
The rift was ever present, your friend looks towards you.
“Y/N, let him know not to insult me, I’m a billionaire.” He grabs his glasses and moves away.
You resist the urge to laugh, everyone would resort to their coping mechanisms. You’d have to bide your time here. Usually getting black out drunk was how you solved your own problems.
True to his word Tony has you all released on various conditions. You, Scott and Wanda are released together.
When you reach the tower it isn’t surprising that there was a break in, you’d scoff that Steve didn’t come to break you out but he made his decision in Siberia.
The faint scent of his cologne lingers in your room. Hints of Patchouli and Bergamot. You stare at the box on your bed.
Opening it reveals a burner phone.
“I got a burner too, one number loaded upon it.” Tony stands at the door holding a glass of scotch for himself and your favourite Vodka in a bottle.
“Surprised he bothered.” You open the phone and it chimes an unread text upon it.
“I didn’t get that.” He observes, you take the bottle from him.
Opening the text.
SGR: I want to talk to you. Please let me explain.
You laugh bitterly, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. At least you can blame these tears on the alcohol.
“Are you going to? Call him I mean.” Tony settles on your desk chair.
“Nope.” You set your bottle down after three more sips, grabbing the edges of the opened flip phone you press. The phone snaps from its hinges and you place it back down in the box, “Did you track it?”
“Fake return address.” He twirls the ice in his drink.
The two of you bask in the silence. Drinking in tandem and out of sync.
“Were you going to sign the Accords?” You ask after a while staring at the setting sun.
“Nope,” He reaches for your bottle, pouring himself a peg, “I was having them redrafted. Steve only had to agree for them to shut up. My draft would have gotten approved.”
“So confident.” You raise your brows.
“Comes with the job title.” He rolls his eyes.
“Do you think anyone will trust anyone?” You tap the bottle neck.
Steve’s laughter reverberates against your chest. He reaches up to cup your face.
“Why is it so amusing?” You ask, not meeting his eyes.
“Because it is, Poppet. I wouldn’t break your heart.” He assures yet again.
You gnaw at your bottom lip trust was difficult to come by for you.
“You want to know why?” He whispers, making you meet his gaze. His nose brushing against your own.
“Because I have your heart and it's what is keeping me alive.”
You lean closer, pressing your lips to his, Steve kisses you back. Hands pulling you closer. You feel his smile between the kisses and you begin to retract knowing what he was upto but it’s too late.
Steve tickles your sides and laughter blubbers from your chest. He grins, cheeks flushed as you press against him. The thin sheet hides nothing from the way you feel.
“I love you.” He says, you stroke his cheek with your thumb.
“I loved him with everything in me.” You blubber out, tears falling down.
Tony sits next to you, your head rests on his good shoulder, “I know you did. It's a hard road ahead, kid. Not an undoable one.”
“I hate him.” You declare, “I hate him, he just, how could he be so selfish?”
“Sometimes we all are, he is in the wrong. He didn’t exactly reciprocate the trust.” Tony sighs, you look up at him.
“I’m sorry about your parents.” You watch him give you those sad smiles, he flexes and extends the fingers of his left hand.
“He could have told me, I trusted him enough that he could.” He whispers then shakes his head.
“Steve Rogers is an asshole.” You declare raising your bottle to his assholery. Then you giggle.
“You just thought of the word assholery didn’t you?” Tony giggles as well.
Both of you burst out laughing.
“Hey Tone?” You ask mid laughter.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for being here, also can I get a box?”
“Sure.” He stands, FRIDAY has the box led by one of his tinkered bots to the room.
“I need to check on Rhodey.” He says, “I’m a call away okay?”
You nod, he leaves. The box stays on your bed and then you stare at the sketches hung around your room. With a delicateness that Steve didn’t spare towards you, you pack up the papers. Sealing the box with plastic wrap and head down to the safety deposit lockers.
Your steps are misjudged and you drop your box of trinkets several times. The stupid ceramic mug from that couples pottery class probably shattered.
You giggle thinking how it resembles your heart.
Locking the box leaves you in silence. Your room is void of all things Steve except the one shirt he gave you on your first mission together where the two of you fell into the muddled waters that left the two of you in need to change out of clothes.
The shirt smells like him, you curl up with it on your pillow.
“This is the last time you gave your heart away.” You tell yourself.
“This is the last time you cry over him.” You promise yourself.
Eight months pass and you all sit in the conference room. The accords are abolished. They reinstate Natasha, Sharon, James, Sam and him. Tony holds his flip phone. Resorting to texting rather than speaking to him.
A reply comes when you all are back at the tower. They’d be there tomorrow. Rooms are prepared with favourite foods stocked up. You had requested your room be shifted away to another level.
Heart ache didn’t manifest beyond those few nights.
Your walls that Steve Rogers broke down were built back stronger. Impenetrable. His shirt was placed in his room by you a month into getting over him.
You don’t pass by the floor, you’re a level above. Thankfully the elevators divide the levels they service and you won’t ever be on the same floor as him.
The night is restless despite your indifference to all of them. They were the family you chose and yet you were abandoned by them.
Dreams are but a loop of memories you have buried.
After your morning laps you head to Tony’s lab.
“They will be dropping in at SHIELD first. Fury wants to discuss some things and then they come back here.” He stifles a yawn.
“You need caffeine my friend.” You hold up the coffees, “Luckily I come bearing gifts.”
“I love you.” He whispers gingerly while taking the cup.
“Are you talking to the coffee or me?” You ask, taking a sip of your own.
“I can love both.” He defends, whispering to the coffee he loves it more.
You throw one of his discarded paper balls on him. It doesn’t phase him.
“Are you sure you want to come along?” He asks for the umpteenth time on the drive to SHIELD.
“Tony, I will leave you behind if you ask me again.” You glare at him.
“I think you will be fine.” Vision assures a gentle smile on his face and he laces his fingers with Wanda. She smiles at him, her own mind filled with thoughts.
“See we’ll be okay.” You declare.
Minutes later you’re seated on one side of the conference room. Tony on the first seat, you on the second. Vision opts to stand behind Wanda as she sits.
Fury sits at the head of the table. The door opens and Natasha, Sam and Steve step into the room. A thick silence settles over. You look at each of them and then back at Fury.
Natasha’s hair is shorter and blond, Sam seems to have gotten leaner. Steve was sporting a beard and longer hair.
You wondered if the post break up look was something you should have gone for, maybe dyed your hair blue.
“Well, as you know you all have been reinstated. The Avengers operate without any Accords binding them but they must be mindful of their poweress and the possible damage they may cause. A country has full discretion to forbid the Avengers from subduing threats that may lead them there and you must honour that no matter the cost.” Fury gazes at you all.
“What if they need help?” Steve questions, you scoff.
Cold blues flash to you. You roll your eyes.
“The dissolution of the Accords was done keeping this one rule in mind. I suggest you make peace with it. You will not be able to save everyone from damage and hurt, it is better than causing it.” Tony adds.
Steve’s jaw tightens. He nods.
“Now since this is done and dusted. Official missions may resume.” Fury places down a manila folder.
“Official?” Sam questions, raising a brow.
“Agent Y/L/N here was liasoning with us for recon purposes. Kept under wraps. We have identified HYRA bases. Once the plans are sanctioned you all will be back on duty.” Nick sighs, “I suggest you all train together to get a sense of your skill sets and moves again.”
No one nods.
Nick shakes his head leaving the room.
“Your old rooms have been cleaned at the tower. Access is via FRIDAY, food is stocked. Layout’s almost the same. Few changes here and there. Oh and there are new succulents in the living room.” Tony fiddles with the folder.
“We can conduct a meeting about these missions tonight or tomorrow. You all settle in, there is a car outside and your vehicles are in pristine condition at the garage.” He informs them further.
“No welcome back party?” Nat muses, you laugh.
“I drank all the liquor so unfortunately no parties.” You deadpan.
Nat and Sam stare at you.
“It has been a difficult few months. I understand everyone will take time to return to a semblance of previous normalcy.” Vision’s words are both reassuring but also farfetched.
Wanda grasps his hand and gives it a squeeze.
Steve’s brows furrow in worry. He observes you trying to find any hints but you give him none. You learned to school yourself. An agent well versed in hiding her intent, emotions and aim. Your skillset is what brought you to the team and it is what you have. It's what you could trust.
Sam nods, “Well best we head back.”
“Yes we could use some sleep.” Natasha says, you flash her a smile.
“Yep, well I have a few things to discuss with Fury.” You push away from the table first. Tony follows your lead.
“Should you not include us in the conversation?” Steve says in his authoritative baritone.
“Unfortunately, Captain, it isn’t an Avengers matter but a personal one. Which you aren’t entitled to know.” You spit back.
His mouth opens again to speak.
Tony beats him to it, “Where’s our Manchurian candidate?”
“Bucky’s in the UK for a bit, after Wakanda we were there for a while. He stayed back for personal reasons.” Steve explains and you slip out.
Steve stares at your room door, knocking on it yet again. Two weeks since his return and you had avoided him in every capacity.
He had worked up the courage to knock on your door today. But there was no response as it was over the past fifteen minutes. He requests FRIDAY to check in and all the AI says is that you’re fine.
You had gotten back from a mission yesterday morning. You had to have been resting.
“Why won’t she open her door then?” He mutters, pressing his forehead to your door, “Poppet, I just want to speak to you. Please.”
“Captain.” Vision greets floating out of Wanda’s room.
“Vision.” He acknowledges.
“Why are you knocking on an empty room’s door?” Vision tilts his head.
Steve blinks at him, “This is Y/N’s room.” he states as if obvious.
“It isn’t, she switched rooms about three months ago.” Vision says
Before Steve can ask anything further, Wanda opens her door, “Vis.” She gestures with her hand for him to return.
“Wanda.” He walks to her this time.
“FRIDAY, where is Y/N’s new room?” Steve questions walking to the elevators.
“She’s on the twenty-fifth floor.” The AI responds, he switches to the other elevator.
“Captain, you will have to go to the ground floor to switch elevators.” FRIDAY informs him.
Steve sighs moving back in front of the original elevator. It stops at every single floor; he almost misses the elevator as you’re getting on, luckily a Stark Industries employee holds the door for him.
You bite the inside of your cheek. Looking away.
“I want to talk.” He says over the all too silent but crowded elevator.
Everyone looks at him except you. They follow his gaze to you.
“I don’t.” You answer while staring at the numbers.
“Poppet.” He says and you shoot him a glare before looking away again.
People trickle in and out.
Steve’s gaze is trained upon you. He nods politely at those greeting him but his gaze nerver strays from you.
You look into your phone pulling up a forgotten game loaded into the device. Anything. Any stupid thing to avoid him.
Finally it's just the two of you.
The automated air freshener hisses filling the space with the scent of lavender.
“Poppet I just want to explain—,” Steve steps closer, his hand outstretched.
“No. I don’t fucking want to hear a word.” You seethe, you move forward pressing the button to your floor if it makes you reach quicker.
“Poppet.” He grabs your hand, turning you towards him.
“Y/N. Use my damn name.” You spit out, finally meeting his eyes.
There is a tick in his jaw, he nods, “Y/N. Just five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it—,”
“You don’t deserve to even ask for a minute of my time. You never saw us work beyond that month correct? Well guess what? We don’t.” You push at his chest, he doesn’t budge.
“I lied. I said those things so you wouldn’t follow. I could not have you living rogue with me.” Steve admits, you stare at him.
“You lied?” You repeat.
“I didn’t want to break things off but that was the only way I could ensure you wouldn’t follow behind me. It was dangerous. Poppet—Y/N,” he corrects, “I told you your heart kept me alive, I love you—,”
Steve’s head snaps to the side, cheek turning red at the impact of your slap. You breathe hard, eyes tearing up.
“That was not for you to fucking decide, you do not get to come back here and make your sorry excuses for being a horrible human being. Betraying my trust. Leaving me and your friend injured. You picked Bucky over us. You picked Bucky over me and I understand I would pick him too if I were you. But I would not fucking lie or leave my girlfriend and best friend behind injured horribly. You’re welcome back to the compound Steve. Even back to your glorious Captain America title. However,”
The doors open to your floor, you step out.
“I don’t know how you say you’re alive because I took my fucking heart back from your undeserving self. I don’t care if you lied, I don’t care if it was all fun and games. I don't care about you. I don’t want to care about you. You are a teammate because I am forced to consider you one. I don’t need to listen to you to provide you closure or a second chance. You fucking liar!”
“Poppet,” Steve reaches for you again, you take off running to your door.
“FRIDAY, deny access. Override only with Tony.” You order, the locks on your doors bolt and Steve keeps knocking and pleading.
He sinks to his knees outside your door apologising over and over.
Natasha is pinned to the floor by Wanda as the latter grins triumphantly. Natasha praises her and they break apart. You take Wanda’s place and Sam takes Natasha’s place.
Mixed training was now mandatory.
You had almost burned Nick Fury with your glare. Steve hadn’t shown up to any, in fact he hardly was in the same room as you.
Sam goes full offence, you block the blows. Defending yourself you had worked hard over the time away from official duties.
Minutes pass by, neither of you yields. Panting you stare at Sam waiting for an opening to take him down.
“Come on, that's all you got, little spy?” Sam teases, you laugh.
“You wish birdy.” You stick your tongue out childishly. Wanda and Nat laugh.
“Come on Wilson.” Nat prompts, “We’re bored here.”
“Alright,” Sam moves, pulling a fake. You catch it a moment too late, as he’s about to tackle you to the ground you turn. Tugging on his arm as Sam’s eyes widen.
The momentum thrown off both of you land on your sides, recovering swiftly he’s pinned to the ground by you.
You grin at him.
“How's that birdy?” You laugh at his irritation. Sam rolls his eyes.
“Y/N.”
Everyone’s heads snap to the door, Steve and Tony stand there.
You help Sam up. Sam keeps an arm around your shoulder. Steve’s eyes linger and his fists clench.
Sam takes his arm away.
You roll your eyes, they land on Tony as he bites his cheek, oh this can’t be good you deem.
“Wheels up in an hour for Rogers and you.” He delivers the news.
“Sam, Nat, Vis and Wanda are needed to take on a bigger base with Tony.” Steve looks at you, “Fury’s orders before you try to whine your way out if it.”
You glare at him, “Alright.”
An hour later you’re on the jet with Steve. He doesn’t talk. The last conversation between the two of you was enough.
“We won’t be splitting up.” Steve informs you. You nod, studying the layout.
You frown in recognition.
“I was here on recon. This is supposed to be a dead base.” You look up at him.
“Fury said they detected activity.” He looks back ahead.
“Hopefully it's just random people looking for shelter.” You look back at the plans.
Steve hums, observing you again. Wishing it would be like before where the two of you would be holding hands.
Cobwebs litter the walls, plaster cracked. The scent of something decaying permeates through the space.
Walking into the HYDRA base is carefully crafted, Steve leads with his shield. You keep a double check on the back trail. Something was not sitting right with you.
The hallway diverges, you stand next to Steve, “Left side first then we can go right.” You whisper.
He nods, “Stay close, I don’t know why something feels wrong.”
You don’t verbalise your own feelings, following in his footsteps.
The hallway leads to an abandoned lab, the computers torn down and broken apart. Steve relaxes his defensive stance looking around the area.
You move carefully through the edge of the room, “Something should be of value here.”
“I don’t think there is anything.” Steve declares, “Let's clear the other pathway.”
You give another once over and then follow him back down the path.
Your boot catches on the uneven flooring, “Shit!” You whisper yell as you fall forward.
Steve turns, breaking your fall. You land against his chest and his arm encircles your waist. For a moment that echoes a broken promise of eternity he holds you close to him.
Steve sneaks a moment he lost over a stupid decision. He takes what crumbs he’s given by fate.
Your palm is against his chest, your head tucked against the crook of his neck.
Why can't you move away?
Why do you want more of him?
Why do you miss him?
He hurt you.
He lied.
He hurt you.
You break the eternity Steve was living as you pull away, silence stretches between the two of you as you head down the other hallway.
It's empty yet again, you shake your head at the waste of time. Steve steps closer to the vials on the shelf. The liquid in them gleams a certain way.
You hear a pneumatic hiss from your left. You turn quietly making your way to the wall.
Steve studies the shelf again. There was no dust on it. No pattern on it. These were fresh vials. Then his eyes widened, “Y/N don’t!”
You turn to face him when the hiss is louder and the slits of the vent open. A dust like substance pours over floating around you.
A coughing fit grips you, you place your hand against the wall to steady yourself the gun falls as you clutch your chest wheezing.
Steve pads over to you, trying to rub your back to ease the coughing fit. He asks FRIDAY to scan the micro dust to see if it is anything dangerous.
The coughing fit subsides over a few minutes, your breathing shallow. You look up at Steve blinking away the tears. He cups your cheek.
“Are you okay? Do you feel anything?” He questions, gaze running over every aspect of you. Glove clad large palms moving over your form. You nod, but then your stomach cramps.
“What is it?” Steve takes not of your discomfort.
“I, it's my stomach—,” Your words are cut off by a whimper as the cramp gains severity. You lean more against the wall as the cramp travels across.
Steve rummages through his mind to know what this substance could be, he had been to HYDRA bases before. He spoke to Bucky all about them, their experiments which he knew.
He watches as your skin flushes, you squirm in his grasp. He steps closer to support you.
“Poppet?” Steve makes you look up at him, your eyes have a dazed look almost glazed over. You feel his warmth through your tactical suit. His thigh between your legs and the ache the needy ache is all you know and you need to get rid of it.
“Please,” You plead to him gazing at his slightly blurred blue eyes, your hips moving out of their own accord against his thigh you moan as your core makes contact with him.
Steve pushes your hips away, “Poppet what—,”
“Steve, it hurts so badly. Please,” You cry out wiggling against his hold. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place.
Your palms cover his, you look up at him.
You lean up, he shifts back. You use the distraction to guide his palm to grind down on it. Your choked moan has his cock harden further. He can’t help but watch as you use him.
Logic hits him then when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten, before he can pull away there is a prick in the side of his neck. You begin to blur from his view.
“Poppet, something is wrong.”
You look up at him, why did his words sound garbled?
Why was he falling to his knees?
You look behind him, people standing and watching.
The need clouding your mind clears in the slightest, “Steve,” you kneel next to him.
“It’s okay,” he assures you, reaching for the shield.
The cramp hits you again harder; you cry out in pain, doubling over and sinking against the wall to curl up.
“FRIDAY, dis-distress signal.” Steve orders as his vision begins to blacken, he reaches for you with the last of his strength covering your curled up form with his body.
Steve keeps his eyes closed.
Enhanced hearing picking up the dripping pipes from the left. To his right he hears your pained whimpers.
How long was he out?
Chains bind his arms above him, the uneven concrete digs into his knees and shins. He would search for the shield in the aftermath.
He counts four people by their rhythmic footfall. They were in the same facility. It couldn’t have been easy to move them.
Lolling his head to right he watches you through hooded eyes, chained like him kept on your knees but you’re struggling. Squirming on the ground trying to find respite and crying out of frustration.
“Sex pollen.” Bucky spoke, with a shake of his head in disgust.
“Sex pollen?” Steve repeated as if to confirm.
Bucky gives him a look, Steve’s eyebrows shot up higher.
“What does that do? Did they use it on you?” Steve questioned his best friend.
Bucky shook his head, “It basically sets the libido up to the maximum, forces the person in contact to orgasm but basically they need to have sex, self pleasure seldom works. The intensity is higher to combat the inevitable effect.”
A dark expression crossed Bucky’s features, he sighed sadly. Looking out at the view from his home in Wakanda. The house, though borrowed, was Bucky’s own.
Steve had placed a few sketches of Brooklyn around. The place he used to consider home now changed. Steve stares at the more recent sketch of his home city.
Two men out of time in a place decades ahead of the world outside.
“How long?” Steve clutches his charcoal tighter as he forms the curve of soft lips on the paper. A stray tendril of hair.
Bucky looks down at the half done sketch of your face. His heart aches for Steve and you.
“Two hours, it gets progressively maddening. At first one can try to speak or answer what is asked. After that it is variable how long it takes for the need to become the sole focus. If nothing is done in two hours then its too far gone and well...”
He had limited time, he could not gamble any further. Steve opens his eyes, tugging at the restraints to catch the attention of the captors.
You hear the rattling, you look up at Steve another pang through your core.
“Steve—,”
“Ah, Captain. Welcome to the land of the waking, you were out for just under an hour. Now who is this sweet little needy thing with you?” The man asks, stepping closer to you.
Steve growls, “Stay away from her.” he warns.
The man raises his hands in defence, “She’s a little needy Captain,” he walks back toward Steve away from you, “Why so possessive?”
Steve bites his tongue, “She’s mine.” he grits out.
“I see and why is she yours?”
He can’t tell them, they would exploit you but his will is crumbling swiftly and his mind is compelling him to speak, “I love her.”
“Hm, it seems she needs you, Captain.” The man grins, walking back to you. His palm touches your scalp as he pulls your hair back. You want to recoil but the touch is soothing some of the ache. You look at Steve, pleading.
“I could fill in.” He says suggestively.
You try to shuffle away but the grip on your hair tightens.
“Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” Steve bellows as his thumb approaches your lips, “What the fuck do you want?” He pulls against the restraints, almost snarling.
“I want to know where my Soldat is, tell me.” The man demands, leaving you. The words register as does the scent of cigarettes you recoil. You feel your mind working again, clearing the need to be fucked.
“Steve don’t,” you warn him, he couldn’t sell out Bucky whatever this was, it wasn't worth ruining his life again, “I’ll deal with this…” you bite back the pained whimper.
Steve stares at you, eyes wide and with an emotion you can’t place.
“Oh but you know what is wrong with her don’t you Captain?” The man demands and you look to Steve, “Tell her the truth that burns your veins, Captain.”
Steve wants to lie, wants to cushion you, “Truth serum?” He looks at the man who nods.
“Brilliant isn’t it? You’re compelled to tell me whether or not she chooses to be saved. You’re on a time limit.” The man taps his watch.
“It’s a sex pollen.” Steve informs you, you stare at him.
“That, that's why I need?” Your insides churn and your clit pulses as you watch Steve lick his dry lips before he continues to speak. The small insignificant action has your body wanting to be devoured.
“Yes, and if you don’t get release, it’s fatal.”
Silence stretches on the footfall of the three others has stopped, they watch the show play out. The consequences and the outcomes weighed.
“Fight it, don’t tell them. It's not worth it.” You whisper.
“Poppet you cannot say that. I am not risking your life!” Steve yells, pulling at the restraints again.
“You can’t have him at risk again!”
“I won’t let you die!”
“You already left me for the dead once! You chose him once. Just fucking do it again!” You seethe, your skin clammy and you just want this suit gone. The material irritates you.
Steve gapes at you, “I, I didn’t—,”
“Save it.”
“As much as I enjoy a lover’s quarrel. Where is Soldat?” The man interrupts.
“Gone.” Steve answers, “Poppet, please,”
“Don’t fucking tell them!” You demand, “Consider it my last wish! Fight the damn truth serum.”
“You are not dying.” Steve grits out.
“Where is he, where is Bucky Barnes?” The man lands a punch to Steve’s face. His hair falls forward, slowly Steve looks up at the man. Rage colouring all his features.
“I will let you help her. Just tell me where Bucky is, Captain.” The man promises. Steve considers, you begin to yell no at him.
“He’s in the United Kingdom.”
“Are you insane?!” You slump to the ground, “Do you have any fucking idea what have you done?”
The man walks over and slaps you, “Shut the fuck up! You want a cock so fucking bad you fucking bitch in heat, I’ll give you one!”
Steve snarls, wrapping the chain around his own palm and tugging hard until it breaks away from the wall. The man turns, gun cocked and ready, it's grabbed out of his hand by Steve. He looks at the man dead in his eyes before delivering the fatal shot.
You look up at Steve, as the man drops to the floor between the two of you.
Steve watches the other three scramble about, he quickly fires the shots, he keeps one person alive.
He grabs the other chain, yanking it with all his strength. It gives way.
“Where is the shield?” He walks over to the man on the ground, pleading in pain.
A shaking hand rises, pointing to the vault.
“Access code?” Steve picks him up and takes him to the keypad.
The man enters it crying when Steve presses on the open wound, “Don’t fucking pull any stunts.”
You watch as the doors part and the shield stays there as a momento.
You blink when everything goes out of focus. You blink again. Heat spreads over your body goosebumps raise across.
Your thighs clench and you squirm trying to get some friction to release the ache. Tugging at the restraints is maddening. They don’t relent when you try to manoeuvre but no position provides any respite and you sob out as the frustration grows.
“Poppet.” A warm voice calls out, you whimper. The hold on your right arm loosens and your hand reaches for the tactical suit. You had to get it off. You needed to get it off.
You blink and watch as Steve’s hand stops yours, you push at him.
“Please,” you whimper as another cramp takes over.
“You smell so sweet baby.” He groans, the sound urges you on, you guide his hand to where you need him.
His warm palm cups you the fabric of your suit soaked Steve hears your sigh of relief.
“Going to take care of you Poppet, but you need to hold on for me okay?” Steve assures, breaking out your left arm as well.
“Steve please,” you beg again, your mind screaming at your body, your hips move making you grind onto his palm. Your smaller palm wrapped around his wrist not letting him pull away.
“Fuck,” He groans, pushing you against the corner and undoing your suit’s zipper, you don’t face him palms braced against the wall. Steve’s warm calloused palm is as though cold respite to your heated skin.
He doesn’t waste time, fingers running over your folds, palm pressing against your clit. Your head tilts back resting against his shoulder, mouth parted moans leaving you.
Steve presses his fingers into you, two thick digits and your walls clench around him he almost wishes he’d fuck you right there.
“Fuck this pussy remembers who she belongs to doesn’t she?” Fingers curve finding the spot he very well could have placed. Stars line your vision as he hits the spot over and over, fingers curving.
“Right there Steve!” You cry out your ass rocking against him, pressing onto his cock. He keeps his thrusts hard and fast, palm rubbing your clit in the most delicious of ways. His grunts fill your senses.
Pleasure thrums from his touch to your body, your back arching as his fingers drive deeper and deeper into you. Your walls are gripping them back in not wanting him to stop.
“I know sweet Poppet. I know what makes her weep for me. I’m going to taste you. But first you’re going to make a mess on my hand alright?” He instructs filthy words offset by the sweet kisses placed against your forehead and cheek.
His other hand cups your breast playing with your nipple. Your hands fall from the wall, gripping onto his nails leaving indents on his skin. Steve watches your chest constrict, your voice choke off, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you.
His fingers keep moving, riding your orgasm out, your walls quivering around him the sensitivity of your clit as it pulses. Some of the haze clears but the need just returns tenfold.
“Steve, please, I can’t, can’t wait—,”
His lips are on yours, cutting you off, your suit pushed down further without breaking away from the kiss.
The shield clatters to the floor, his suit haphazardly discarded. Steve’s hands explore your body, remembering the planes he explored before. The love he whispered across your skin. Marking you with his touch, his lips, his seed.
“Wanna see you,” You want to turn, he grabs your hands pinning them to the wall.
“No one gets to see you this way but me.” He growls, you feel his hard cock move between your thighs. His larger body covers yours, shielding you, watching over you.
When your thighs clench around him, Steve hisses, “Going to fill you up, sweet girl.” he coos.
Inch by inch Steve’s length stretches you, your back arches. The relief the stretch of his cock brings is unlike anything else you’ve felt before.
“You can take it, made for my cock aren't you?” He stills inside you, throbbing as your walls clench around him. He moans biting down on your shoulder the feel of you decadent, unable to be given justice by his mind.
“Heaven. Pussy feels so good, baby. Missed you so much.” He grunts, you push back against him needing him to move, “hands around my neck.” He orders, leaving your hands.
You wrap them around him, holding onto his now longer hair, soft between your fingers. Your mind remains you of the soft moments when he laid in your lap and your fingers combed through these locks.
Steve pulls you out of your thoughts with the snap of his hips. His palms gripping your waist anchoring you to him. Skin slapping against skin, his cock feels so good you could sob, the need turns into embers, your thirst being quenched.
Each delicious, deep stroke moves you towards sweet bliss. You hear your name in an echo of his name. Steve watches the wall you mould against him, as countless times before. Your heart may have put up walls but your body left no space.
The way he sees the telltale signs of your orgasm he brings his right hand towards your apex, timing his rough circles on your clit to his thrusts. The sensations blooming become too much, your body alit with flames of pleasure, Steve moans as your walls begin to milk him just as your orgasm shatters through you.
He keeps his thrusts going, pumping into you. The arousal that spills onto your thighs, the mix of you and him.
“One more.” He demands, fingers coated with the mix of the two of you, his marked fingers brought back to your clit, you cry out in ecstasy.
The blissful haze clears, everything returning to you. The mission, the power, you can’t, you can’t, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve–,
“Right here my sweet poppet, you will give me one more. You know I'm greedy.” He reasons, only increasing his pace, you thrash in his hold. Lips find the sweet spot of your neck.
It’s your undoing, you cum around him yet again. Crying out his name, tugging on his hair. Aftershocks moving through you. He holds you up, pressing kisses to your forehead, temple, cheek, jaw and shoulders.
Grounding you, palms moving over you after he brings his coated fingers to taste them. Your head lols against his shoulder, you reach for his jaw, placing a soft kiss. Steve smiles at the familiar gesture.
Helping you get dressed he follows as well. You’re lifted into his arms and carried to the quinjet.
As it had turned out Bucky wasn’t in UK it was a precautionary measure they came up with to secure Bucky from any life threatening attempts. The guilt you had harboured lessened.
Steve had stayed away from you, once Tony and Bruce cleared you of any remnant pollen he took his leave. Avoiding you as he had after the elevator confrontation. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.
As much as you felt as if you were an emotional fool for considering the thought of wanting to approach him, you missed him. Terribly.
You knew your walls were useless against the one man who you had given your jagged heart to, the blue eyes you had drowned yourself in multiple times. Whether it was when he found your gaze across the room or when you were pressed against him.
Your feet carried you after three days to his door. Your hand shook when you knocked. Thoughts swirling through your mind insecurities gaining fleet.
The door opens, Steve’s eyes widen then his brows furrowed with worry, then fall to the still fading love bite that he placed on your collarbone. You shift your weight to either side. Hands fiddling with the hem of your top.
You look down at your feet, Steve’s palm cups your cheek.
Your eyes meet their old home of blue.
“I want to listen.” You manage to say, his pink lips stretch into a familiar smile.
He steps to the side inviting you further into his room.
-x-x-x-x-
#captain america#steve rogers smut#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers fic#nomad steve x reader#steve x reader#steve rogers fluff#captain america x female reader#nomad steve smut#navy and roo's sleepover#steve rogers angst#steve rogers#steve rogers x you#navy and roo sleepover#steve rogers imagine#steven grant rogers#dom steve#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#captain america x you#steve rogers x female reader#frostironfudge#chris evans x female reader#christopher robert evans#cevans
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Red Card // Ona Batlle
a/n: based off this request.
El clasico.
Intense. Exhausting. Harsh.
Playing against Real Madrid was something you wanted to do since you were a kid. Growing up as a Barcelona fan, it was your biggest dream to play for them and when the offer came, you didn‘t say no - you couldn‘t. You left your childhood club for the better even though it hurt you. You had many memories and loved every single person there but it was no secret that Barcelona was your dream club and you worked so hard to achieve the goal of playing for them.
-
In your game mode, you stood in the tunnel, your eyes looking straightforward, jaw tensed, hands behind your back. It was your typical tunnel-posture as Ona would say, the defender always behind you.
The Spaniards were chatting with their friends while you didn‘t say a word. You knew plenty of them and would greet them after the match but now? You had to focus.
The first few minutes of the game were pure chaos, both sides losing the ball way to quickly. After about 20 minutes, the Barca players found their rhythm as perfect passes were delivered and chances created. Quite the opposite of the Real Madrid girls who tried to find their groove. As they tried, tackles came flying in, jerseys were pulled and harsh words left their mouth.
And when Alexia scored, hell broke out. You lost track how often your body had hit the ground or how often you saw your team mates laying on the pitch - the ref didn‘t seem to know the footballers rules though. No fouls called - no cards.
At half time, the score was 1-0, your body already exhausted.
"¿Estás bien?" your favorite defender asked as rubbed you back in a calming manner, "yes" you answered.
"Good. Now go and score a goal for me, mi amor" she pressed a quick yet loving kiss to your forehead before you left the changing room.
I will, you thought.
And you did. For sure, it was the best goal in your career so far.
Mapi stepped up to take the corner, her foot hitting the ball as she sent flying into the box, Lucy and Olga jumped high, Olga heading it away as you ran after the still flying ball. With no second thought, you jumped, leg up in the air, hitting the ball perfectly in your bicycle kick.
You heard the roars before you could even get up, the girls gently jumping on top you.
That was the end of your lucky streak, then after, that one specific Madrid girl didn’t leave your side. Every step you took, she took next to you. When you had the ball, your body would it the grass the second after. Ona was getting mad each time the girl was next to you - which was permanently.
"What the fuck?!" you shouted as she elbowed your face, blood running down your nose. The Real player screamed, dropped theatrically to the floor as she held her leg. Trying to stop your bleeding, you covered your nose with your jersey as the medics weren‘t allowed to step on to the pitch - refs decision.
The ref pointed at you as he walked towards you, Barcelona players huddled around you. With a quick motion, his hand went in his back pocket pulling out the red card, the very first card of this physical game. "I didn‘t touch her!" you argued, gesturing widely with your arms, the jersey and your nose long forgotten. "Look at me! She elbowed me!" he gave you a stern look before he showed you the direction of the locker room.
Alexia tried to talk to him (in a normal tone) as she was the captain, but not even la reina herself stood a chance.
With blurry eyes, you left the pitch. You felt heart broken, your whole life you worked your ass off to be here and play the match of your dreams, only to score a banger and then 10 minutes later to get sent off due an blind ref and unfair red card.
Off the pitch, one of the medics looked after your nose, thankfully it wasn‘t broken. The ref again shouted that you should leave the pitch completely or else, you just did as he ordered. Ona watched you with sad eyes, the disappointment your shoulder held and your head that hung low. Her heart ached for you.
In the locker, you threw the nearest item against the wall. You felt so much anger. You didn‘t touch that player, you didn‘t touch anyone, how could that be red?! As your anger slowly faded away something else grew tight in your chest - the realization, the disappointment. Sitting down in Onas cubby, you searched for her hoodie, you hoped it would bring you the comfort like it always did. You didn‘t clean up your nose, you didn‘t take off your jersey - you just sat there, doing absolutely nothing. The scoreboard didn‘t matter anymore, you didn‘t care if you win or lose. You had lost already.
In fact, Barca won 6-0. After you had left the field, the girls were mad. They wanted to ruin Madrid and they did. Even though all the girls already felt mad, Ona felt beyond mad. If someone messed with you, they mess with her. So she scored another 2 goals and assisted Caro and Alexia.
When your teammates entered the locker, they had a pitty look on your face - you didn’t look up. You just accepted it as everybody pressed a kiss to your head. Ona was one of the last people who walked in, she looked at your cubby - you weren‘t there. Panic washed over her body, she had checked the physio room already (the reason she was one of the latter girls). When Keira absently stepped away, she saw your tired figure. Walking up to you, she squatted down, her hands finding a rest on your thighs, "mi amor" she whispered, her thumb rubbing circles on your leg. You looked at her with glossy eyes about to break down in tears. It pained her to see you like that. The slowly forming bruise on your nose and the dried blood made her go insane. She wanted to rip off the head of the Madrid player. Yet she contained herself - she had be there for you. You needed the comfort. "Let’s go to the bathroom" she pulled you along to the nearest sink while she grabbed some random cloth. "Mírame, por favor" she demanded softly before she had wet the cloth. In silence, she wiped away the blood on your face. You didn’t like silence in Onas presence, you loved her voice and the things she talked about but exceptionally, you were grateful for the silence. It was the thing that helped you the most - her proximity. "Do you have your jersey still on?" she asked in a voice that wasn‘t louder than a whisper. In responds, you nodded. The defender tugged at the hem of your hoodie, asking if she could take it off. Raising your hands, she pulled it over your head before she pulled the blood covered jersey off as well. As quickly as she got rid off your jersey, the hoodie was back on, "we can go now, I can shower at home"
You left the locker minutes later. Ona grabbed your and her own stuff, sending an apologetic look to her friends.
Defeating silence filled the car, your head resting against the cold window, eyes closed as you soaked in the cool. The Spaniards hand rested on your tigh, your own on top of hers, fingers slightly laced. Unnoticeable for you, Ona drove around yet another block - she felt like she had to. When the car finally came to a stop in front of your home, you practically sprinted to the front door. Your girlfriend trailed behind, only to find you already on the couch, face hidden behind a cushion.
When someone would ask Ona what hurts her the most, the answer would be: seeing you in pain. It didn’t matter which kind of pain.
After she had took off her shoes, she went in the kitchen, filling up a glass of water for you. Wordlessly, she placed it on the living room table before she bent down to press a lingering kiss to your head and then walked away to take her needed shower. Taking the shower had 2 benefits: on one side that she would feel fresh again and the other side she would give you in her shower time complete silence before she would talk to you. At one point she had to talk to you (about the incident).
After her shower, she walked back in to the living room, your body still in the same position as when she left. "Mi vida, can you sit up?" she asked. Like a robot, you did, knees up to your face, arms hugging your legs. The defender took a seat beside you, her arm going over your shoulder as the other one went around your legs. "Are we gonna talk about what happened?"
"There‘s nothing to talk about! You snapped, feet hitting the floor as you jumped up. "I didn‘t touch her!" you stated firmly, hands balling into fists.
"I know" the defender simply replied.
You sat back down again, head falling on her shoulder as a tear escaped your eye, "I didn’t touch her…"
"Sí, mi amor" she pulled you into her chest and that’s when you broke. Furiously, you started crying. While one hand of Ona hugged your crying figure the other one caressed the back of your head, "you did so well" she mumbled, trying to lighten the mood, "i‘m so proud of you" even though, you didn’t want to hear it, you had to hear it. She knew you like the back of her hand - you needed to hear it. The defender knew that it was your dream to play in an el clasico for Barcelonas side which was kind of destroyed as you got sent off. "Mi amor, you played an amazing game. That goal, baby, wow. It was perfecto" slowly, the tears stopped streaming down your face as you sniffled one last time yet your head still hidden in the crook of her neck. "I‘m sorry for what happened, mi vida, but I am truly proud of you. You worked so hard for this to come true and it did. It was your dream and you did it. And you will take revenge. There are many more el classicos to come"
"You promise?"
"I promise"
Revenge will come not only from you but from Ona and the whole squad, too. They smashed Real Madrid today and will do it again.
The difference? You‘ll be there the whole time and score goals like nobody ever did before. You did it once, you‘ll do it again.
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#ona batlle#ona batlle x reader#woso fanfics#woso x reader#woso#fc barcelona femeni#barcelona femeni#barcelona femeni x reader#barcelona women#barca women#barca femeni#alexia putellas#caroline graham hansen
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down bad with rafe cameron omgggg
"fuck it, i was in love" | poetic prompts | warnings: mentions of rafe beating someone up bc he's down bad and drunk
"rafe," you sighed, in disappointment again.
this wasn't the first time he's shown up at your door step, bloody knuckles, dirty shirt, with alcohol on his breath. at this point is was at least once a month.
but, it's not like he could go home like this, because he doesn't have anyone there to take care of him like you do. you've given him a key to the place you rent that's not too far from tannyhill. he appreciates it, more than he has the vocabulary to describe.
"why do you do this?" you asked; you ask it every time. you get out the first aid kid, clean his cuts that just got healed, and you think to yourself why he's doing this. "they should ban you from bars if all you're gonna do is pick fights. i don't understand, you've got such a hot temper and-"
"fuck it, i was in love." he cuts you off, his mouth barely open when he speaks. his eyes were blown and his hand was lightly twitching. his words make you stop what you're doing, stare deep into his soul with his admission. "fuckin' loser kept...kept talking about you. didn't like what he was saying so i knocked his teeth in. then i told him he's a poor nobody who doesn't have a right to talk about the woman i love."
a grin came across his lips when he talked, recalling the memory of the satisfaction he felt just an hour ago. even though he's tipsy, and he's getting more drunk by the minute, he is very aware of what he is saying. he knows exactly what is coming out of his mouth with every syllable that rolls off his tongue.
"when're you gonna go out with me, y/n?"
"no- you can't just say you love me then say that- what the fuck rafe?" you take his other hand in yours and aggressively wipe the alcohol pad over his cuts making him hiss, pulling it back toward his chest.
"m'sorry i'm just now telling you." he mumbles, looking down at his lap. "i've been down bad for a long time. nobody treats me like you do."
a grin comes to your lips and you feel a million little butterflies flying around in your stomach. "i love you too. took you long enough to tell me, rafe."
he chuckles, looking up at you and letting you finish cleaning his cuts. he watches how you tenderly bandage him, just like every time before. "promise me you won't go do this again?" you stick up your pinkie and he wraps his own around yours.
"i'll try my best." he pulls your hand in and he places a delicate kiss atop your hand, placing it on his cheek. "so about that date?"
#j's writing#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron x reader#obx imagine#obx blurb#outer banks imagine#outer banks blurb
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Lesson Learned
Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader
--Warnings: 🔥18+, nsfw, orgasm denial, spanking, let me know if I'm missing some--
Summary: you will never think about having sex toys around the house again.
A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes. Had this sitting down in my drafts for so long, I wrote this I'm not kidding you like 5 minutes after the Brioni photoshoot came out and my mind melted and was filled with Oscar thoughts…
Thanks to my Vin @sereiist for letting me invade her discord messages with all my thots and use them as a note pad
Word count: 1.2k~
It's a cozy afternoon at your shared flat with the boys, you've been mostly being lazy all day, laying in bed reading, watching movies, while the boys were away, but after you heard the stretch of the keys your heart fluttered at the prospect of your boyfriends being at home.
Jake is sitting down in the living room and he calls for you.
“Come here mi amor, I wanna talk to you for a second”
You frroze in place, your gaze turns towards him, he's looking with dark eyes at you, not stopping eye contact for a second and when you see him rolling his sleeves up you know by the tone he is using and the way he's looking at you that it’s gonna be bad….
So you walk towards him and you can already feel the tingling sensation between your legs when he’s looking at you not even phased, you can see the prominent veins on his arms and hands, a sight you don't get to see that much with him, as he's always on his suit and tie, wearing his gloves...
The gloves.... those gloves that just provide the perfect friction when he fin...
“Sientate” His command gets you out of your fantasies, he's stitching his eyebrows together and finishing rolling his sleeves all the way to his elbows, then, he pats on his legs for you to sit on his lap, you hesitate but you end up sitting cause you know if you don’t comply it would be even worse for you. (Sit Down)
Jake reaches for your chin and forces you to look at him, he squeezes your cheeks together.
“Do you know why you’re here chiquita? hm?” He says this in that very low husky voice that makes you already squirm in his lap, he places one of his hands on your hips for you to stay still, you just shyly shake your head no to him, cause you really don’t have a fucking idea why he has you there, why is he even looking at you like that, you just feel helpless when you try to stay steady on his lap just thinking that he’s probably gonna make you tremble in no time.
He tuts disappointed when you don’t know why he has you there and why he is going to punish you, so he reaches up for a thing on the side of the couch and shows it to you.
“What did we say about this?”
He opens the palms of your hands and places the small vibrator on them, you swore to him you’d get rid of it the last time he punished you for even having it, the memories of him edging you for hours with that damn vibrator and making you squirt without even touching you himself are enough for you to already start almost staining his pants with the wetness between your legs.
“Jake I—“ You try to start justifying yourself but he cuts you short with a firm slap on your ass.
“Sin peros mi vida, I thought we had an understanding about having these things around the house last time…” (No buts, my love)
You feel everything inside of you shaking while looking at him, his pupils are all darkened and the hint of a little small smile appears on the corner of his lips.
“Get up and bend down for me, en cuatro, here on the couch, NOW”
Your already shaking legs make you look clumsy when you stumbled to get up from his lap to accommodate to the side of the couch, in a non very graceful way you managed to get in all fours, all your nervous terminals were already expecting a huge spanking session, as it was the way Jake always started to give you "a lesson", his lessons ending on markings of his red palms on the tender flesh of your ass.
Jake made his way behind you, he pulled down painfully slowly your night shorts, enough for your already wet dripping cunt to feel the cold air of the living room; you closed your eyes in anticipation of the first slap but for your amusement it never came, instead the only sound you heard was the zipper of Jake’s pants and small huffs coming from him, you turned your head to see and you were faced with a sight that was nonetheless… beautiful.
Jake Lockey with that new beige suit you bought for him on your last anniversary together was with his eyes closed, his lips snarling in an almost painful twitch as he stroke himself beautifully, his length coated with a mix of saliva and precum making the slide of his angry fist over his throbbing member easier for him.
“Turn around, no mires” He ordered when he noticed you were looking at him, you tried to obey but you couldn’t simply take your eyes off of him there was a lump in your throat, you were waiting and squirming around with need. Seeing how his eyelids closed in concentration as he worked on himself and tried to suppress moans as he circled his tip with his thumb was in your honest opinion a pure display of art happening in front of your eyes. (Turn around, don't look)
When you saw him open his eyes again you quickly turned around hoping he didn’t catch you in the act but those hopes went away when you suddenly felt his full length bottoming out without a warning inside you.
“I. TOLD. YOU. TO. TURN. AROUND.” Each growl and word came with a full slap on your asscheeks as he pounded hard into you.
“What is it that you don’t get huh?” He said as he kept abusing your dripping cunt nonstop without even warming you up for the size of his girth.
“Jake please… it’s too much, you’re going too hard” You whined and pleaded as he kept on using you, earning yourself another round of slaps and groping of your ass that would leave marks in there for a week at least.
“CÁLLATE!” Harsh and abusing thrusts kept coming your way and making your legs almost give up. (Shut up!)
“You’re gonna learn- *grunt*- you’re gonna learn one way or another that this- *grunt* - this pretty little cunt belongs to me and only I can make it cum”
Tears were already running down your cheeks, you didn’t know if it was pleasure? Pain? At this point it was all a blur, you were starting to feel that heat starting to build deep inside your lower stomach, mewling and moaning erupting from deep inside you, as you squeezed the nearest pillow available to you, but as soon as you were barely getting there, you heard Jake growling and gasping before pulling out to jerk himself and finish all over your back.
You had to blink twice to even think about what was happening when you felt the stickiness of his hot cum against your skin as he rubbed it with his thumb as if he was painting over you, you felt the soft pattern of his thumbs making a smiley face on you?. You were confused, overstimulated and shaking when he looked down at you and slapped your ass one more time.
“Que bonita” He gave you a sarcastic smile and a dark chuckle, when he saw you confused and whimpering asking him to help you with your release. (How beautiful)
“No mi amor, I told you you were gonna learn one way of another…”
He moved himself from behind you and pulled his pants up, you heard the zipper of his pants before he threw the infamous vibrator on your side of the couch as he bent down and growled softly to your ear.
“And I really really, I hope you learned with this how frustrating it feels to know someone in this house had an orgasm without you…”
Come on just look at him... tell me I'm not the only one picturing Jake...
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single mom lily x fem!reader?
reader works in an ice cream shop and cute little harry (im imagining hes like 4/5???) absolutely adores the place so lily brings him in for ice cream all the time and falls for reader bc she is just so good with harry
ok here's my attempt 😮💨 thought this idea was so cute though!
single mum!Lily Evans x fem!reader meet cute
Lily was very lucky and very grateful that Harry had been a generally easy child. He was so much like his father that, whilst it didn't translate into the romantic relationship most parents wished to enjoy, led to a wonderful son and the best co-parent a woman could ask for.
And because Harry was such an easy-going child, she was trying very hard to stay patient with him as she frantically texted with James.
L: James Potter, where in the buggering fuck is this ice cream place that has ‘spiderman’ ice cream!?
J: LOL oh god sorry. It’s on the boardwalk near the ferry.
L: Thank you 😮💨
J: He making a fuss?
L: I think we may have been moments away from a stage five meltdown.
J: Thoughts and prayers 🫡
One meltdown avoided later and they were finally walking into the quaint, family owned ice cream shop on the boardwalk by the ferry, just as James described.
“Oh no!” Harry cried dramatically, holding his little hands to his face.
“What is it, Haz?” Lily asked, looking around to see what could have possibly caused such worry in a five and a half year old.
“The man!” He explained.
Which explained nothing at all to Lily, still looking around the shop in confusion.
“What man?”
“The man with the spiderman ice cream! He’s not here!” Harry cried, turning to his mum with tears magnified by his glasses as they began pooling in his eyes.
She was racking her brain for something to say to the boy when a bubbly voice trilled from behind the glass ice cream displays.
“Hello there! What can I get for you two?” You greeted the pair with a beaming smile. If Lily wasn’t so caught up with Harry, she would have likely taken a moment to admire your radiance.
“The man!”
Lily watched as your smile fell only slightly and you tilted your head in confusion. “Which man, sweets?”
“The man with the special ice cream! He made it after my favourite superhero!” Harry cried with a stomp on his foot.
Lily pulled Harry towards her as she offered you an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry, he came here with his father last week and I-”
But like a beautiful ethereal angel sent from Lily’s own personal heaven, you waved her off with an easy smile. “Not to worry at all, love. My dad is the better ice cream server, so I understand your disappointment, little man.” You empathised. “But!”
Harry perked up at that, standing a little taller as he looked at you expectantly. “He did tell me that a certain hero may be coming in to look for some special spidey ice cream; could that be you?” You stage whispered the end of your sentence to Harry, causing him to squeal in delight.
“Yes!”
“Oh thank goodness.” You said with a dramatic sigh. “I thought I was going to have to erase your memory for giving away trade secrets!”
Harry squealed in excitement again and shoved his face up against the glass casing to watch you start expertly scooping ice cream, completely unawares of his fingerprints and foggy breaths creating more work for his newfound hero.
“How many scoops, my man?”
“Five!”
“Uhm,” Lily interrupted, placing a conciliatory hand on her son's shoulder. “Maybe just two.”
“Mum!” Harry whined, but you just laughed.
“Sorry kid, mum’s the boss.”
Harry acquiesced with one more groan, but grinned when he saw the size of the scoops you were serving him.
“What about you, mama?” You asked after handing Harry his cone, watching as the boy made his way to sit at a table with his red and blue ice cream.
“Is it really spiderman ice cream?” Lily blurted instead of answering your very normal, professional, and polite question.
You barked a laugh, but Lily was pleased that your laughter was because you found Lily funny rather than at her expense.
“Between you and me,” you whispered conspiratorially, resting your arms on the glass counter and your chin on your hands. “It’s just moonmist ice cream, but this batch used too much food dye, so instead of the normal light blue, pale purple, and pastel yellow, it turned out a little more…super.”
Lily looked back to her son, happy as can be with his super ice cream as he watched boats sail by in the harbour.
“Brilliant.” Lily whispered as she turned back to face you, only to find you smiling softly at her already.
“Yes.” You agreed, though Lily wasn’t quite sure what you found brilliant. “So, what can I get you?”
“Oh.” Lily responded dumbly, looking hastily through the options before opting for two scoops of rocky road.
“Fine choice, m’lady.” You said before scooping, once again expertly, the frozen treat onto a cone.
“Is that what you usually get?” Lily asked suddenly. You seemed surprised at her question as your eyebrows migrated to your hairline and you looked up to consider her.
Lily hoped to all hell that her blush wasn’t as furious as it felt.
You smirked before your eyes flit back up to hers. “I’m more of a strawberry girl, myself.” You replied quietly, shooting Lily a wink.
If her blush hadn’t been furious before, she was certain it was now.
Lily paid and Harry shot you a “thanks ice cream lady!” as they headed towards the exit with their ice creams in tow.
“You’re welcome, little man! Stay super!” You said with a wave.
“I will!”
“Hope to see you and your mum here again soon.” You said quieter this time, sending Lily a kind albeit shy smile. Lily was certain you’d be seeing the two of them here again.
#ask elle#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#lily evans#lily evans x reader#lily evans x you#lily evans x fem!reader#fem!reader#wlw#baby harry#baby harry potter#ellecdc fics
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Crossroads
So I started writing this last night thinking it would be a short little drabble. At over 2k words, it is NOT a drabble. It is a full on fic at this point.
Enjoy!
*
Steve was at a crossroads.
To his right was his mother, calling him sweetly to come back inside so they can talk. Work something out. To stay with her and his father.
On his left was Eddie. Dear sweet Eddie calling out from him to run away with him. To get in his van and chase the sun for as long as they could and maybe find a new place to rest their heads. For a moment or to throw roots.
He could see the two paths before him as easily as he could see them standing before him.
If he went with his mom, they would convince him to give up his friends, Eddie. Well, they'd let him keep the Wheeler siblings and Dustin. But everyone else would have to go. Byers, Max, and Eddie because they were poor. The Sinclairs because they were black. He doubted they would keep him from El, considering who her adopted father was, but it would be a near thing. Robin would have to go. She would be a little too queer for their liking.
He would be forced to work for his dad where the employees would hate him and the managers would resent him. He would marry some dull woman picked out by them and have as many kids as possible.
Pretty much the life he thought he would have with Nancy their junior year of high school. He would be comfortable, well taken care of and absolutely fucking miserable. For the rest of his life.
If he went with Eddie...there would no certainty at all. It would very likely be hard. They wouldn't have a lot of money (the government hush money could only take them so far after all). It would a life on the road as Eddie and his band traveled the country looking for fame and fortune. It would be rough. Five boys in cramped quarters.
It's possible the band wouldn't even survive two days let alone two years.
But Eddie would love him. He would be loved. Not just by Eddie, but Robin and the kids. Nancy and Jonathan and even funky little Argyle. As their friends spread out over the country, Steve and Eddie would visit them all. And maybe someday they'd find their place. Throw down roots maybe even grow a family of their own.
Steve took a deep breath and started walking.
*
Eddie wanted to call out to Steve, beg him to stay. To give him a chance to be something. Together.
He watched in horror and disappointment as Steve took one step and then another toward his mother. He couldn’t look away as Steve reached her.
Steve’s name caught in his throat. Would she at least let them say their goodbyes or would the last memory Eddie had of the love of his life would be his back as he walked back into the house with his mother?
Steve kissed his mother’s forehead and then suddenly he was running.
Eddie barely had time to open his arms before Steve had filled them.
Eddie opened his mouth to ask, but Steve kissed him fiercely. “Come on Eds, let’s go.”
He pulled back and looked Steve in the eye. “You coming with me, darlin’?”
Steve nodded. He looked back at his mother and then at Eddie. “It’s for the best, I think.”
Eddie knew he was right. Knew it was the best thing for everyone. But he still couldn’t believe it.
“All right, baby,” he finally said after a moment of taking it all in. “Let’s go find that horizon, shall we?”
Steve grinned. “Hell yeah!” He swung into the passenger side of Eddie’s van and Eddie hopped into the driver’s side.
They had sold the BMW for extra cash as the van would be better suited for traveling cross-country in. It had been put in his name a long time ago and it was the last connection to his parents.
Steve kissed Eddie on the cheek.
Eddie laughed. “What was that for, sweetheart?”
“For luck!”
“You my princess, baby?”
Steve laughed too. “The van is in much better shape then Millennium Falcon, sunshine.”
Eddie cackled as he pulled out of the driveway. He was going to start a life with the boy of his dreams. Life really couldn’t be sweeter.
*
When Maureen Harrington saw her Steven start walking towards her, she knew.
She had lost him. Maybe she never had him. He was determined in a way she had never seen before. He was resolved.
“I have to go,” he whispered as though the answer was pulled from him.
She nodded, tears forming on her lashes. “I understand.”
He dug in his pocket and pulled out a ring. She looked at it and her heart sank.
“No, Steven,” she murmured. “Your grandfather gave that to you.”
He pressed it into her hand. “I know, but think of it as my promise to come back. To see you. That I’m not giving up on you, I’m just choosing my own path instead of the one you and Dad wanted for me.”
Maureen clasped it tight her perfectly manicured hands to her chest. “I love you.”
He nodded and kissed her forehead goodbye.
She watched misty-eyed as he ran to his boyfriend, tears streaming down her face. She stood in that driveway until they were both out of sight.
She wiped her eyes and went back inside.
“Where’s that wastrel son of yours?” Clint growled.
“Saying goodbye,” she lied.
“Good.”
He turned on his heel and then said over his shoulder. “I want him in office the second he comes in, you hear me.”
She nodded knowing that he would be angry with her later. But she also knew that he would blame Edward Munson and not her for Steven not staying.
Maureen paused. She did feel a little guilty about that, but it was unavoidable. She slipped into the kitchen. The one room Clint would never enter willingly and sat down next to the phone.
She had work to do.
*
Wayne had just settled in for the night when his phone rang. He heaved a sigh and got wearily to his feet. The government had paid a hefty sum for the witch hunt of his nephew and an even tidier sum for keeping quiet about the monsters, which meant he wouldn’t have to work another day in his life.
But he still got a nice little job down at the local plant nursery watering the plants a couple times a week for something to do. He had just gotten home from that when the phone rang.
“Hello?” he greeted.
“Hello,” greeted the warm female voice. “I’m looking for an Edward Munson, is he there?”
Wayne sighed again. “May I ask what this is regarding?”
“Of course,” she said brightly. “He applied with us a couple weeks ago and I was just getting back with him.”
“Ya just missed him,” he said. “He went on a vacation and won’t be back for a few days.” Weeks, really. But he didn’t want to scare her off in case she actually had a job for him.
“That is unfortunate,” she said softly. “I will hold on to his application of course, but I can’t guarantee the job will be there when he returns.”
Wayne sighed a third time. He knew it had been too much to ask, but it had been worth a shot.
“I appreciate you thinking of him,” he said.
“Of course, you have a good day.”
He cursed his nephew’s luck again. Just as things were starting to look up for him, he missed getting a job by mere hours.
That was the last he thought about that conversation for a few days until a large manila envelope came for Eddie and Steve care of him. The damn thing even read: Steven Harrington and Edward Munson, C/O Wayne Munson.
The boys had gave him permission to open anything that might come from the government or the kids in case it was urgent, but he wasn’t sure about this.
Thankfully he was save from something like indecision when his phone rang.
“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie cried cheerfully. “You’ll never guess where we are!”
“Disneyland?” Wayne guessed with a huff of laughter.
“Aww...you guessed,” Eddie pouted.
“A letter came for you and Steve,” he said. “You two want me to open it?”
He heard whispering and then Eddie came back. “Steve says go ahead.”
Wayne opened the envelope and as he read the contents, he put his hand over his mouth as tears streamed down his face. It took a couple of tries, clearing his throat before he said, “It’s from your mom, Steve.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a bunch of paperwork transferring your joint bank account with your parents to one with Eddie,” Wayne explained. “As well as your information about your trust fund.”
“Oh.” Steve’s voice is breathless. “God. I assumed that they nixed that when I failed to get into college. That’s what it was supposed to be for after all.”
“Not according to the documents your mom sent over,” Wayne explained. “It was supposed to be given to you under one of three circumstances. Getting into college–”
Steve scoffed. “There went that one.”
“Getting married,” Wayne said.
Again Steve scoffed. “Would explain why they weren’t a big hurry for me to get hitched.”
Eddie and Wayne both chuckled in stereo causing Steve to laugh at how similar they were.
“Or when you turned twenty-one,” Wayne finished. “Which means next year the money is yours.”
“How much money could there be?” Eddie asked with a snort.
“By the time Steve gets it, at current interest rates?” Wayne said. “A little over a million dollars.”
“What?” Steve asked, his heart in his throat.
“Yup,” Wayne said. “And according to the bank statements of the new account she set up for the two of you, it has about three hundred thousand in it.”
“How?” Steve stammered.
“Well, according the statements of your previous account that she also sent along,” Wayne said ruffling through the pages, “there were deposits of five hundred dollars a month since you were born. As well as your checks from your jobs; the community center, the mall and of course Family Video.”
“Okay,” Steve muttered darkly, “but that only makes up for about a third of what you said was in there.”
“Apparently your first payment for stopping the apocalypse was put into this account when you were under the age of eighteen.”
Eddie swore. “And they didn’t fucking tell you?”
Wayne hummed. “Looks like there were some large withdrawals at first, but they were put back in only a couple months later.”
Steve scoffed. “Probably my dad and my mom making him put it back.”
“I agree,” Wayne said. “That makes the most sense. So if we add what you got from the government for your subsequent apocalypses, you boys will never have to work a day in your lives unless you wanted to.”
“Holy shit, baby,” Eddie cooed. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “It’s all unbelievable.”
Wayne nodded even though they couldn’t see him. “She also lists a couple of good financial advisors. I’ll give them a call and find one that fits, but you boys are free to do whatever the hell you want now.”
“Thank you, Wayne,” Steve murmured.
“Thank your mom, Stevie,” he mumbled. “She’s the one that did everything.”
Steve let out a shuddering breath. “I will. I promise.”
*
Steve slid down in the cramped little phone booth in shock. They had only meant to tell Wayne that they had made it California and that they were having a good time. He sure as hell wasn’t expect to have his life completely upended.
It was a good kind of unending. There was no doubt about that. But when he made the choice to be with Eddie, he made in spite of money not for money.
Eddie held out his hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go make some noise in the happiest place on earth.”
Steve laughed. “Yeah. I can’t wait!”
As they walked through park slurping on sodas and laughing, Steve knew he had made the right choice.
Because really, falling in love with Eddie was the easiest thing he’d ever done.
*
Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @redfreckledwolf @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @itsall-taken @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @vecnuthy
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i've spoken about this in a couple discord chats already but the idea of a binggeyuan frieren au is so so tasty and yet there is no fucking way i am ever going to attempt it bc i just KNOW it would be sad in order to be good
the idea of bingge traveling alongside frail mortal shen yuan for some years, watching the way sy interacts with the world, letting sy coax him into using his immense power to help save some group of people (or beasts, or whatever strikes sy's fancy). bingge goes along mostly for amusement - life gets quite boring, when you're as old and powerful as he is - and at the end of everything he goes his own way without thinking twice.
later - much, much later - bingge thinks that things have gotten quite boring again, and he wants to go find the little mortal that had amused him for some years.
the little mortal is dead.
bingge is furious, of course. he hasn't allowed anyone to deny him anything for centuries now, and he hasn't had to actually deal with a mortal's death in nearly as long for the way he surrounds himself with other powerful demons and cultivators. the solution is simple, though: bingge will simply resurrect shen yuan.
but since shen yuan has been dead for years at this point, there is no body to easily restore, and in this au there wouldn't be so many convenient resurrection tools in this universe to begin with. it would turn into the whole frieren-esque adventure, perhaps with bingge picking up a kid that shen yuan had been mentoring before his death - perhaps one of bingge's own neglected kids, in fact, that shen yuan had picked up in part bc he missed bingge.
and as bingge adventures onwards towards a miracle resurrection tool, he'll occasionally run into situations that could easily be solved through pure power and callousness, and he... won't. he'll think about the way sy would scold him for being cruel, and he'll sulk and throw tantrums but in the end he'll avoid whatever the easy but cruel option was. the journey will take far longer for bingge than it necessarily would have to, because the goal of the journey has put sy at the front of his mind and now he can't stop thinking about all the stupid ""lessons"" sy had tried to give him.
and this is why i could not write this au: the most fitting ending i can think of for this au would be that the only way to resurrect shen yuan would be through some horrific sacrifice of hundreds of other innocent lives, and bingge would choose not to do it.
it would make him furious - it would drive him to the edge of qi deviation, to the edge of declaring some stupid pointless war just so he can work out his anger and get those innocent souls to resurrect shen yuan anyway. but he wouldn't. this whole slow adventure has reminded him bit by bit of just why he'd spent so long following that foolish little mortal shen yuan around, of the way that living a kinder life had felt so relaxing after years of constantly being ready to spill blood at a moment's notice.
shen yuan would be so disappointed in bingge if he choose that method of resurrection, and so bingge can't do it. bingge would be unsatisfied with that method of resurrection, just because he'd know sy would dislike it.
shen yuan stays dead, but his memory haunts bingge for the rest of his nearly immortal life, and bingge ever so slowly shapes himself into what that memory was.
#crying sobbing this au would be so good but i refuse to write a sad end so i just cant do it#ive had some people suggest happier endings but nothing feels as narratively satisfying as this one ;A;#svsss#bingyuan#svsss thoughts
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AITA for refusing to be a surrogate mother for my ex?
IDK if the phrasing is ok, english is not my first language and I have a headache.
This was years back but I dreamt about it a couple of nights ago so it might still bother me.
My ex(25M) and me(25F) had a 2y relationship, we had known each other since middle school but became close and dated until college.
Those 2 years were nice and lovely, I have many good memories and wish him the best.
The last months were very rough, we were having problems and we weren't communicating, I won't go deeper into that.
I didn't know he was planning to propose because marriage was not talked often or at all for that matter. So, when I cut him off, in person, well it was obviously not nice. We still talked but he was very hurt.
A year or so later he told me he wanted to talk to me in private but I kinda had a feeling so I told him whatever he wanted to say my partner would know because we talk about everything.
He was hesitant but accepted.
He revealed he had been having health issues, doctors told him he had just a few years left. What he had exactly he didn't reveal.
He told me before that, yk, dying, he wanted to have a kid but not with anyone, it had to be me. (!?!?!?)
I was... Shocked and also very worried about him, but also what?
He hurried to clarify he would pay for in-vitro procedures so he was not asking for sex, he would pay and cover any expenses, I did not have to be the kid's parent, actually that it was better if they didn't learn about me at all. Nothing would be asked of me a side from lending my uterus and an ovary.
I have to clarify he was/is very dear to me, so I was not through the initial shock of learning he would die soon.
My reaction was probably a bit intense and fucked up. I asked the following:
Why would you ask to have a kid knowing you'll be gone soon??
What will happen to our kid when you pass?
Who will take care of them?
He told me it was almost all planned, his family would take care of the kid he just wanted to experience paternity and leave "a piece of myself" behind.
I thought it was bogus.
Why make that to a kid?
I understand having a kid is a big cornerstone for lots of people but if you know your life is ending why leave a kid behind on purpose? IDK it felt wrong.
It was already WILD for him to ask me, an ex, already in a relationship and a kid, to give him a baby just out of the blue without further explanations than "I'm going to die soon".
I told him I could not answer right away , I had to talk about this with my partner. I was already leaning heavily on denying as it all felt wrong.
When talking over this with my partner I noticed I was very concerned about this not even existing kid and I would not be able to keep myself away knowing they would be orphaned prematurely. So the answer was obvious.
When meeting again I tried to be very polite, I made it clear I didn't agree with his plan and I was not going to partake in it cause I felt it was unfair for the kid.
He was clearly hurt, tried to push a bit(not violence tho) to make me understand what he was going through and how this could be beneficial for his mental health.
It all ended there, he didn't take it well and was very disappointed.
Some additional info that could be relevant, we're now on our 30's, last time I talked to him it was 2 years ago and he seemed fine but almost never answers my messages checking up on him.
Him or his family are not rich nor am I so the concern of his elderly parents having to care for the kid was also a big factor.
He was never too big on having kids when we dated, so this came very out of the blue.
So, AITA for not giving my ex a kid knowing he would die young?
What are these acronyms?
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