#next up: the 32 heat runs...

[fractalabomination]

CHRONOS DEAD IN 20 MINUTES OR YOUR MONEY BACK GUARANTEE

[taelepathii]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ interruptions ᰔ₊˚⊹

synopsis: Mack doesn’t like it when his sleep is abruptly cut short….over a piece of toast.

a/n: kinda been on a fluff kick lately so…i hope you enjoy <33 don’t forget to reblog my loves!!

warnings: none, pure fluff :))

Word count: 1.3k (the rain was making me feel just a tad creative)

there's a slight chill that runs through the quiet apartment. your body is tightly wound with macks, his hold firm yet comfortable, your legs tangled together. the heat is welcoming, making you gently nudge your head further under his chin, slightly tucking your face into his neck. his chest rises and falls with soft, steady breaths, occasional snores escaping his mouth. his cheeks are adorned by a faint red hue, partially caused by your body temperatures and his natural blush that you love so much. the soft moment is ruined by a light grumble in your stomach. you slightly turn your head to the side to glance at the red numbers of the clock on your busy side table, rubbing your eyes to get rid of the temporary blurriness. 7:32 am. you let out a huff of breath at the numbers. it’s still pretty early but you know you won’t be able to go back to sleep with your stomach constantly reminding you it’s hungry. but you also know that mack doesn’t stay asleep for long before he notices you’re gone and comes to hunt you down. you peek out your window and gaze at the morning sky through the slivered opening of the curtains, the sky flushed with daylight, pondering your choices. It doesn't take long before you know the answer, the growl in your stomach being very persuasive. you reach over your side to carefully pull the bedsheets back and quietly untangle your limbs to slip out from under your boyfriend, halting when he makes a small noise, his body shifting slightly. once he’s settled back in, you continue to withdraw your body from his, ending up successful. your feet quietly pad against the cool laminate flooring, twisting the doorknob and exiting the room, softly shutting the door behind you, you travel down the hallway to your small kitchen, a brush of coldness hit your skin that causes goosebumps to pop up around your arms. you wish that you would’ve stolen one of Mack's hoodies but your brain is still fuzzy from sleepiness.

the kitchen is lit by the early morning and range hood lights just enough that you see what you’re doing. you saunter over to your stainless steel refrigerator and peek your head in to get a gage on what you have available, resting on arm on the top freezer door. Not wanting anything to heavy since you figure you and mack will go out and get breakfast together, you decide on a piece of toast. untwisting the bread bag and grabbing the first slice that’s after the butt (because we don’t eat that part in this household), you slide the piece into the toaster that lays in the corner of your counter. you reach overhead into one of the cabinets and pull out the small bottle of cinnamon, the small jar of white sugar following suit. th e butter is already sitting out on the counter. you gather all the ingredients and set them next to the toaster, waiting for the small appliance to beep. knowing you still. have a couple minutes left, you quickly scatter to the bathroom in the hallway. you know you only have a certain amount time left for the (teddy) bear wakes up and your bladder was starting to ache from fullness. you finish your business, washing your hands and heading back to the kitchen and by the time you are done the toaster has popped, the bread still warm to the touch. you rip a piece of paper towel off and lay it on the counter, acting as a makeshift plate, placing the toast on top. you take a bite after adding all the toppings, humming in satisfaction at the sweet taste. glancing at the glaring numbers on the stove top, you notice it’s been around 15 minutes. “anytime now”, you think.

and right as you go to take your last bite a voice rings out, “baby?” it’s small and groggy. seconds barely go by before the noise of shuffling feet fill the hallway, making their way towards you. mack is a sight to behold as you take in his ruffled hair, flushed cheeks and crumpled sweats, his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep, the green orbs meeting yours across the space, your body leaning against the counter. you shove the last pice of toast in your mouth, dusting your hands off, watching as the half-asleep boy drifts towards you. “i can’t believe you ditched me for a piece of toast.” his words come out muffled as he rests his head in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, hands wrapping around your waist, softly resting on the small of your back, his words causing small puffs of warm air to meet the soft skin of your neck. you snake your hands up into his hair, running your fingers through the messy locks, attempting to smooth out the bumps as you snicker in response to his comment. his voice is groggy and rough but still has that gentle touch that he seems to carry whenever he’s around you.

placing a kiss on his head you reply, “sorry my tummy was hungry and I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep with it rumbling.” regardless how comfy your boyfriend is, if you’re hungry, you’re hungry and sometimes you tend to grow hangry. “plus I was going to come right back after I finished but you woke up.” you add. your boyfriend lifts his head to peer at you, a soft look floods his eyes, a pout forming on his lips, “you know I don’t sleep well without you next to me.” he seriously looks pathetic with the way his bottom lips juts out just slightly from his top, but you lowkey love it. the whiny tone makes your chest vibrate with laughter, failing to conceal the giggles emerging from your mouth. this mack go beet red and smash his face against your chest. “you don’t love me,” he mumbles, sounding like a kicked puppy. “I can’t believe my girlfriend is so mean to me.” you delicately swat at his arm, the move void of malice, retorting, “I can’t believe you are upset over me leaving you to fix my hunger problems.” you drag a hand to rub soft circles over mack’s muscled back as he raises his head from where it laid before to playfully squint his eyes at you, looking at you like you insulted his mom, “I’m upset over the fact that I woke up in our bed without my cozy girlfriend to hold and i had walk around looking for her only to discover she left me for a stupid slice of bread.”

you click your tongue in response, light-heartedly rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “you’re such a big baby.” and mack quickly shoots back, “your big baby.” you smile at the quip. reaching back to remove one of his hands from your back, you gently clasp your hands together, leaning your head down to place a gentle kiss upon your boyfriend's rosey lips. with your lips just grazing each other, you whisper, “well I guess I better get my big baby back to bed.” mack seems to like that idea because he practically drags back to your shared bedroom and back into bed, this time only for him to lay on you…probably to prevent you from getting up again. your bodies quickly settle down in a feeling of pure relaxation, not taking long for your eyes to get heavy with sleep again, a yawn escaping your mouth. your hands find purchase in his hair and back with his wrapped around your waist once again. a sleepy mumble comes from mack and you almost missed it finding yourself drifting into dreamland, “I love you.” a faint smile graces your lips at the three words, a warm fuzzy feeling swarming in your stomach. he’s out before you can respond, soft snores pouring out his mouth, back dipping in deep breaths. he already knows you love him because you say it like 50 times a day. and not too late after, you fall victim to sleep as well.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper&Chill | psh

act 32: moments living together

previous

- Grocery Shopping Together

Sunghoon pushed the cart lazily while you browsed through the aisles, occasionally tossing items in without much thought. Every time you turned around, you’d catch him sneakily adding snacks to the cart—mostly for himself.

“Hoon, we have enough chips at home.”

“But we’re out of the barbecue-flavored ones,” he argued, holding up the bag with a pout.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Fine. But no more than three.”

He grinned, only to turn around and sneak an extra one when you weren’t looking.

—

When you reached the produce section, you handed him a bag of tomatoes. “Pick the firm ones.”

Sunghoon blinked. “Aren’t they all the same?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, you have to check them.”

He grabbed a random tomato and gently squeezed it. His brows furrowed. Then, suddenly, he turned to you with a smug smirk. “Like this, Lolove?” His voice dropped, making the action seem way more suggestive than necessary.

Your face heated up. “Park Sunghoon! We’re in public!”

He just laughed, happily tossing the tomato in the cart. “You told me to check them.”

You smacked his arm. “You’re the worst.”

—

Cleaning the Apartment

You and Sunghoon had divided the chores—sort of. You were actually cleaning while he had music blasting and was mostly goofing around.

“Lolove, look!” he called.

You turned, only to see him sliding across the floor in his socks like a kid, mop in hand as if it were a microphone.

“Park Sunghoon!” you scolded. “You’re supposed to mop, not perform!”

“Multitasking,” he said with a cheeky grin. “I make cleaning fun.”

“Then make it productive,” you countered.

Sunghoon sighed dramatically but did as you said. That didn’t stop him from sneaking in little distractions, though—like hugging you from behind while you were dusting, refusing to let go until you gave him a kiss.

—

Sunghoon Cooks Dinner

You had expected a mess in the kitchen, but to your surprise, Sunghoon was actually doing well. He stood by the stove, stirring the sauce, looking surprisingly focused.

“I thought you couldn’t cook?” you teased, peering over his shoulder.

He scoffed. “I choose not to cook. Doesn’t mean I can’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sure, chef Park.”

When he finally plated the food, you hesitantly took a bite—and immediately widened your eyes.

“Sunghoon, this is actually good.”

He leaned back smugly, arms crossed. “Told you.”

Still chewing, you looked up at him. “Are you sure you didn’t order this and just plate it?”

His jaw dropped. “Y/N!”

You giggled. “Kidding, kidding! But seriously, this is impressive.”

Sunghoon grinned, sitting next to you. “Good, because I plan to make this for you more often.”

—

Studying Together (Clingy Sunghoon Edition)

You were deep in your notes, highlighter in hand, when Sunghoon suddenly flopped onto your lap, groaning.

“Lolove, let’s take a break.”

“We just started,” you said, not looking up.

He whined. “But I want you.”

You sighed, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly. “Sunghoon, we have exams.”

“You know what else is important?” He looked up at you, pouting. “Cuddles.”

You tried to ignore him, but he kept inching closer, poking your cheek, leaning against your shoulder. Eventually, he just closed your textbook.

“Sunghoon!”

“Five minutes,” he bargained, arms wrapping around your waist. “Then I’ll study properly.”

You sighed, knowing you’d lost. “Fine. Five minutes.”

But those five minutes turned into ten… then twenty… and eventually, you both ended up lying on the couch, notes forgotten as Sunghoon buried his face in your neck, humming contently.

“Best study session ever,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but smile.

—

A Little Argument

It started over something small. You had been teasing Sunghoon about how he always forgot where he placed his keys, and he got defensive.

“You always lose your things, Lolove.”

“And you never let me live it down,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

You smirked. “Because it’s funny!”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Well, I don’t think it’s funny.”

You blinked, realizing he was actually upset. “Hoon… I was just teasing.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. I just… I don’t like feeling dumb.”

Your heart softened. “I don’t think you’re dumb, Hoon. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

He mumbled something under his breath, still sulking a little.

You cupped his face, making him look at you. “I love you, even if you lose your keys every day.”

Sunghoon finally cracked a small smile. “Every day is an exaggeration.”

You kissed his cheek. “Every other day, then.”

—

The second you woke up, you knew it was going to be a horrible day. A dull ache spread through your lower abdomen, growing sharper with every breath. Your body felt heavy, and the last thing you wanted to do was get out of bed. You groaned and curled into yourself, tugging the blanket over your head.

Sunghoon stirred beside you, groggily blinking as he turned to face you. His hair was messy from sleep, and his voice came out husky when he murmured, “Lolove? What’s wrong?”

“Period,” you mumbled, voice muffled against the pillow.

His eyes widened slightly as he sat up immediately, suddenly much more alert. “Did you take medicine? Eat? Drink water?” His hands found your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

You shook your head, too tired to move. “No. Too much effort.”

Sunghoon tsked softly, then got out of bed without another word. You barely registered his movements, drifting in and out of light sleep until you felt him return.

“Alright, Lolove, I got you.” His voice was gentle, almost fond. Before you could even respond, he carefully slid a heating pad under your blanket and placed it right against your stomach. You let out a sigh of relief as the warmth slowly soothed the worst of your cramps.

Then he handed you a cup of warm tea. “This will help.”

You peeked at him through half-lidded eyes. “You… made me tea?”

Sunghoon smirked, settling next to you. “Of course. And I brought your painkillers too.” He held up the small bottle before popping one out and handing it to you.

You sat up slowly, taking it with a grateful hum before sipping your tea. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“I like being prepared,” he said simply, reaching into a bag you hadn’t even noticed before.

Your eyes widened when you saw what he pulled out—a stash of your favorite snacks, a new pack of your usual pads, and a fresh pair of his sweatpants and one of his oversized shirts.

“Hoon.” You gaped at him. “You bought all this?”

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I keep them stocked. You get your period every month, Lolove. Why wouldn’t I be ready?”

Your heart swelled with so much love that you almost teared up. “You’re actually the best.”

He grinned. “I know.”

You threw a weak slap at his arm, making him chuckle. “But I still don’t like you right now,” you muttered.

“Why not?” he pouted.

“Because you don’t have to deal with this,” you huffed. “It’s unfair.”

Sunghoon chuckled and shifted closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. “True. But since I don’t have to deal with it, I’ll just take care of you instead.”

You buried your face in his shirt, inhaling his scent. “You’re too good to me.”

“Only because it’s you, Lolove.”

A comfortable silence settled between you as he continued rubbing gentle circles on your back. Just as you were about to doze off again, he suddenly spoke.

“So, no sexy time?”

Your head snapped up, and you glared at him. “Sunghoon.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “What? Just confirming.”

You groaned and dropped your head back onto his chest. “You are so lucky I don’t have the energy to fight you right now.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I know, Lolove. That’s why I’m getting all my teasing in while I can.”

You sighed but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me.”

“…Unfortunately.”

Sunghoon gasped dramatically. “Wow. I slave away, taking care of my beloved girlfriend, and this is the thanks I get?”

You let out a small laugh, snuggling closer to him. “Fine, fine. I love you.”

He grinned triumphantly. “That’s more like it.”

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @firstclassjaylee @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @veilstqr

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rissierjrie

[nerawrites]

Plated, But Unfinished

Alicia has spent her life in kitchens, using the heat and chaos as both an escape and a proving ground. Known in the culinary world as Lloris, a rising star with an elusive identity, she built her reputation through relentless work, never allowing the spotlight to fall on her—only on her food. But the past has a way of catching up, and after one catastrophic night in the kitchen—one mistake, one outburst—everything she built comes crashing down.

With nothing but impulse and desperation driving her, Alicia abandons her life overnight. She erases Lloris, sells everything, and takes the next flight out—landing in Chicago, a city she knows nothing about. Reinventing herself under a new name, she manages to secure a job at The Bear, an up-and-coming restaurant with a chaotic energy all its own. Determined to keep her past buried, Alicia throws herself into this fresh start, unaware that the very things she’s running from—pressure, talent, and a stubbornly persistent famous chef—might make it impossible to stay hidden.

Ships: Carmy x Fem!oc, other The Bear x Fem!oc

Warning: Yelling, cursing, death, grieving Carmy being not so good of a person, English is not my first language so I apologize for my spelling and grammar, story doesn’t fully follow cannon.

Things to know:

-Placed in season two

-Clair and Camry are on and off in their relationship

Status: still on going

Character List

Prologue

Moodboard

Chapters:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15

Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Chapters 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21

Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24

Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27

Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30

Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33

Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36

Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39

Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42

More coming soon…

Extras:

Coming soon…

[glassbxttless]

Or maybe the bin man gets an eyeful one day and he starts paying extra attention to your bins in particular 😅

Tea

michael (hoard) x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k+

summary: michael meets a girl on his bin route, and maybe she’s feeling just the same.

warnings: michael’s gets a bit of an accidental peep show (just your panties!), might be a little out of character but i’m setting up a timeline lmao

notes: this is a shorter one i’ve been saving for a day I had nothing to post— but here’s a big thank you to Tara for sending this one in. It’s basically stemmed an entire AU in my head, so get ready. Big thanks to @peachyproserpina @prettycalla and @getaapologist for reading over this too!

The bin men usually come around seven in the morning.

You’ve got your routine down to a science— you drag the bin down the walkway the night before, give a quick glance at the weather, and have a cup of tea at your windowsill while you start your day. Most of the time, you don’t even notice more than the hum of the lorry as they pass. They’re part of a moving background, like the milkman or the number 32 bus.

But Michael?

Oh Michael, he notices you.

It starts on a Tuesday. You’re running late. Your hair still damp from a too cold shower, cotton robe pulled onto your shoulders but still untied, and the bin— of course, the bin— still needed pulled up the drive. “Shit.” You mutter to yourself as you dart out barefoot, dragging it to the curb just as the lorry turns the corner. You wave in apology to them. One of the men nods back, so you shoot them another apologetic smile.

Michael’s the one on your side of the street. You don’t really register him at first, but when you do, you can feel the heat blooming from the center of your chest outwards— he’s tall, quiet, chest filled out broad underneath a blue tank top that clung to his skin. His face is pale, he hadn’t shaved in a few days, the tips of his ears red from the sun.He takes your bin with a grunt and a half-smile.

You thank him quietly, your eyes hitting the sidewalk in front of you. And then you’re jogging back inside, tugging the robe closed a little more as you go.

He sees more than he truly means to after that. Your window is on the second floor. You’ve got curtains that are too sheer to leave anything to the imagination, and they’re not quite closed. He’s not looking, not really. He’s not anticipating seeing what he does— but his eyes flick up at the movement caught in his peripheral. It’s out of habit more than anything. But he’s just in time to catch a glimpse of you stepping into a pair of jeans, red panties on full display. You’ve got a shirt tossed over your shoulder, bare back to the glass. It’s a quick flash. A second. Then you vanish from his sight. Michael just blinks, his breath caught in his throat.

And then the lorry is moving along and he’s hauling bins again. One by one. And the sight of the expanse of your back shouldn’t stick with him. But it does.

Not in a dirty way. It’s just… you were laughing. Before you turned your back to the window. You had to be talking on the phone, maybe. You were loose and unguarded in your own space, like you didn’t know anyone could see. Especially see you changing. Like you were living in your own little world, and he’d stepped into it for just a second and it drives him crazy.

He thinks about it all week. And next Tuesday, he’s early. He doesn’t really mean to be. The route just moves faster than usual. But when he gets to your street, his eyes find your house without even thinking. He’d been waiting for this for seven days. Your bin’s are already out. Lids secured. The same neat handwriting on the sticker you’ve put across the top— your name, underlined. There’s a little heart next to it as well. He moves and lifts it like it’s nothing. The lorry is beeping behind him.

And then he catches it, your curtain twitches. Just a sliver of movement. It’s barely there. Not another soul had noticed it. But he does. You’re moving inside, pulling your hair up, twisting it into a claw clip. Wearing some oversized T-shirt that swallows your shape. You must be staying in today. Michael swallows hard and forces himself to look away. The lorry moves on.

He tells himself it’s nothing. It’s just a harmless little crush. You’re just another stop on the route. A house like any other. But then he starts noticing the little things you’ve been doing to make his job easier. Your bin’s always tidier than the rest of your street. It’s sorted right. Recycling in the blue one, food scraps double-bagged. There aren’t any loose bits. There’s no broken glass or half-filled bottles. Sometimes you even leave a post-it on the lid, he likes to think they’re just for him. “Sorry for the weight!” or “Forgot to rinse these— hope that’s okay!” There’s always a tiny smiley face drawn in one corner. No one else on the route does that.

Michael’s gotten used to it, people treating the bin men like ghosts. Just part of the machine. But you? Oh you. You wave if you catch them. You say thank you. Once, you brought out a cup of tea for one of the lads when his hand got cut on a jagged tin. Michael hadn’t said anything to you. Just watched from the lorry steps, quiet, heart hammering. His little crush growing larger and larger with each passing week. You’re kind. That’s the part that gets him. Kindness is rare. Especially on bin routes. So he starts… just paying attention.

He’s the one who always takes your bin now. The others don’t seem to notice, or they just don’t seem to care, and he never offers up an explanation. He just makes sure it’s clean. That the lid’s placed back exactly right and nothing gets busted. He makes sure that nothing gets spilled or splashes or tips sideways. Once, there’s a bottle cap wedged in the wheel. He crouches down, flicks it free, and then takes an extra second to double-check it’s all moving smooth again against the pavement. The bin rolls easy.

You open the door just as he’s pushing it back into place. “Oh!” you grin, even though surprise is written all over your face. “I thought I missed you!”

Michael straightens his shoulders like he’s been caught red-handed peeking in your window. 

You smile at him— it’s warm, without hesitation. You’re in your slippers and that cotton robe you’d been in the first time he had noticed you. But today you’re holding a mug that’s shaped like a strawberry and painted a bright shade of red. “Thank you,” you smile softly, the sincerity dripping from each word. “You’re always really careful. I appreciate it.”

He shrugs off the compliment, even if that heat is blooming in his own chest. “S’what we’re meant to do.”

You tilt your head, hoping you hadn’t been reading the situation wrong. You’d seen the lingering looks, you've even seen the way his eyes drifted towards your bedroom. “Doesn’t really mean everyone does it.” Michael really doesn’t know what to say to that. His ears go pink. You take him in for a moment and your smile softens. You nod towards the mug. “Want one?”

He blinks, a little laugh leaving his lips as they tug up into a smile. “A mug?”

“A tea,” you laugh in response. “I didn’t mean— I’ve got more mugs. Promise.” 

He hesitates for a moment, but he can’t say no to you. Your pretty eyes are boring a hole straight through his soul. Then he whispers, wiping his gloved hands on the coveralls tied around his waist, “Alright.” He tugs the gloves off, sliding them into his back pocket as he takes a few steps towards your doorway. 

You disappear for mere moments and return bringing him a cup. It’s just plain tea, with a splash of milk, no sugar. He thinks it’s perfect. He stands there for a minute, cupping the silly little novelty mug in both hands. It’s shaped like a busted up old boot. You lean against the frame, watching him as he takes his first sip. “Have we met before?” Your voice is quiet, but curious. And it still makes Michael go stiff. You squint at him, sizing up the way he moves. “I feel like I’ve seen you around.”

He shrugs, trying to play it off. “Been on this route a while.”

“Right,” you murmur, one of your fingers tucking back a stray strand of your hair. “Well. It’d be good to finally put a name to the tea order.”

Michael glances up, fingers still curled around that stupid mug— a smile on his face, “Michael.”

Your grin spreads wider. “It’s really nice to meet you, Michael.” He doesn’t say it back, but that’s alright. He just ducks his head and takes another sip. But you can see he’s smiling too.

tags ;; @prettycalla @getaapologist

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 32 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

The closer you get to the house, as you make your way back up the mountain, the more and more anxious you feel. It seethes in your bones, this feeling of aching disquiet. 

It’s not because you know he’s going to punish you. 

It’s because you remember what you said, in the heat of the moment when you dared to bare your truth to John Wick.

You’d finally fucking said it.

 I’m your girl. 

You’d told him that you are his, and you’d meant it, and he didn’t hear you, or he didn’t believe you. 

There is a ringing in your ears that only gets worse as the peaks of the house come into view through the thick trees. Only once you are inside the gates, standing on the sunny flagstone patio, do you begin to resist him again. “Wait,” you plead. “Please, I’m not ready to go back inside yet.”

“You should have thought about that before you ran from me.” He doesn’t sound angry anymore. Just…matter of fact. Inevitable. Immovable. 

You know that tone, as surely as you know you are fucked. 

“I was playing,” you insist again, trying to twist out of his iron grip. It’s futile, of course. The only time in your life you had an advantage over John Wick was with the help of gravity, running downhill through a maze of trees. Here, now, you know there is no hope in resisting him.  

“I’m still not sure about that.” You shouldn’t feel guilty about the undertone of sadness in his words. 

You know you should be gentle with this man, in his fragile state. You know, deep down, that fighting him like this gets you nowhere but dug deeper in a hole of your own making. But maybe you are beginning to lose it too. This taste of freedom reminded you of what you had lost, and you are not so eager to let it go again without a fight. 

“You aren’t listening to me!” you snarl, still pulling on your arm, getting more frantic by the second. “I told you! I told you that I’m yours, finally, and it’s like you don’t even care! All you want is to keep me under your thumb!”

You know by his now thunderous expression that this is not helping your case at all, but you are too infuriated to stop.

“I heard you,” he growls, then hauls you up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry like you are naught but a sack of potatoes. “I heard you call me an old man, and laugh with joy as those quick little feet carried you away from me.” 

You squirm against him but it comes to nothing, and in no time he has you back in the house, the door secured. 

Back in your prison. 

He does not put you down, striding for the stairs. You hate it, but the cavewoman part of you is impressed when he carries you all the way to your bedroom, breathing like a dragon through his nostrils as he tosses you down on the bed hard enough to bounce. 

There is a pregnant moment as you glare at each other. Even through his anger, there is a glitter of unshed tears at the corners of his eyes, and you know you have pushed this man to the very brink once more. 

You shouldn’t feel guilty for that either–but you do. 

“I”m disappointed, y/n. I thought we were past these childish games.”

“You keep me locked up like an animal, and you’re surprised when I frolic a little when you let me feel the sun on my face for the first time in months?”

“Like an animal?!” He looks around the opulent house–really it only resembles a cabin in broadest terms. “I have spoiled you rotten. Anything you possibly could have wanted, I provided. Things you never could have had, in your old life.”

 Except the thing you needed the most. Freedom. 

“Yes, you’ve done very well at distracting me with pretty things,” you admit, ashamed of yourself now. “But I’m not a magpie, John. You can’t keep me in a cage forever.”

His next words fill you with ice. 

“You’d be surprised what I can do, y/n.”

He takes a step closer to the bed, his dark form looming over you, his big hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. This is it, you realize. All the progress you seemingly made had flown out the window. He was going to spank you hard, the way he’d promised not to, or tie you up, or some diabolical thing you can’t even fathom because your brain just doesn’t work that way.

You close your eyes, because you don’t want him to see you cry, and you don’t want to see what’s coming. You count the time going by in heartbeats, thundering in your ears. You wait for your world to fall apart–again.

You wait, and you wait some more.

In the end, you have to look. You find him still standing there, silent as a ghost, looking down at you. Looking through you. 

In the end he shakes his head, mostly to himself, and strips out of his jacket, down to his t-shirt. Then, he reaches for your boot. Too late, you try to scramble away, but he has your ankle in his unbreakable grasp, pinning it on the bed. “I thought you said you were mine, y/n? Yet here you are, still trying to run from me. You wonder why I don’t believe you.”

“You’re scaring me.” You may as well be honest about it now.

“In all the time we’ve been together, have I ever truly hurt you?”

He plucks at the laces with sharp movements, indicating the undertow churning beneath his still expression.

“Besides fucking me raw?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, despite himself. “Besides that.”

You sigh. “No.”

“Then trust me.”

“I’m not sure I can do that right now.”

He nods, to himself as much to you, pulling off your other shoe. “Then you understand the situation we’re in.” He reaches for the button of your pants next. You try to roll away, because you’d rather have this talk without your hoohaa bared to the wind–again. But he just grips the waist of your pants with impatience, hauling you to him sharply. Fabric tears in protest, but not before he has you pinned beneath him, his hips wedged between your legs. He leans over you, those trunks for arms on either side of you. As ever, your fear is tinged–utterly contaminated–with desire. 

It might be the death of you. Your loins protest even from this small bit of contact, after the way he rode you before in the woods. 

“What do you want, John?” You hate yourself, for how small your voice sounds. Did he make you this way, or were you always such a coward? Were you always so feckless, so easily led? Doubt and self-loathing seethe inside you like poison brewing in your veins. 

“I want you to prove what you said earlier.” 

You narrow your eyes at this; a part of you is grateful for the surge of righteous anger that rises in your breast. It infuriates you, that you have to prove anything to him, at this point. Does he want proof? Or does he just want your submission? Maybe they’re one and the same to him. 

It breaks your heart all over again. 

“Well, I’m not in the mood.”

You wait for his anger, ready for the fight again, craving it–but it doesn't come. After a long moment he just nods, his hair swinging into his eyes, which are cast down, away from yours. You see the flash of hurt upon his face, there and gone like a ripple in a pool, his fists flexing in the duvet beneath you. 

Immediately, you feel fucking terrible. 

“John…” You reach for him, but he’s too quick for you, as ever. In the blink of an eye he has retreated out of your reach–then out of the room. You blink stupidly at the sound of the door slamming. 

You hear the electronic lock whirr, and with a heart filled inexplicably with despair you know you’ve arrived back at square one. 

***

As time goes on, you decide it’s worse than square one. That taste of freedom was like a shot of pure heroin in your veins, and now you are inconsolable in your withdrawal. Just as bad, you find, is your longing for him. 

He leaves you alone in the room for days. Your meals appear at your bedside when you sleep. When you try not to sleep–you do not eat. Now you absolutely emulate a caged animal, pacing in your boredom. 

You try throwing books at the security camera, but fail to dislodge it. You give it up when you break the spine of one and feel guilty. Even though you know John can repair it–it’s not the book’s fault you ran your mouth. 

Maybe it’s not your fault either. 

You even try to entice John by putting on a little show, wearing one of the slinky negligées he’d bought for you, touching and teasing yourself in full view of the electronic eye that tracks your day to day. All it wins you is a lackluster orgasm–all else pales, you find, compared to his thick fingers and strong hands upon you. There’s not a naughty toy in the world that could compare to his cock either–not that you have any at your disposal. 

Radio silence. 

Your heart aches, and now you really feel as though you are losing your mind. 

You shouldn’t miss him. The madman. The monster. The absolute beast. 

You do. 

You miss the John you’ve come to know, when he is doing well. His gentle smile, and his deep voice, and the glitter of his dark eyes when you say something that inadvertently amuses him. You miss his strong arms, and his long body tucked against yours while you sleep. Your nights have never felt so lonely, having had John Wick, and now not having him. 

You simply are not a whole person, anymore, without John, and maybe that should scare you more than anything else he’s done. 

However–it just fills you with despair. Your heart feels like the tar pit of La Brea, blackened and filled with the bones of the love you’d shared. For surely, you’ve really broken it now. 

At first, you thought he meant to just shake you up, show you what life would be like without him if you should succeed to run… Unbearable, is the answer. 

Worse yet, however, as it goes on you fear the root of this confinement lays not in punishment, but in him not wanting your company after your perceived betrayal. He’d asked for your assurance, and you’d thrown it back in his face, too caught up in your own fear, your own anger, your own desires. You reckon he can’t stand you now, and he’s probably just trying to figure out what the hell to do with you. 

A week of solitude goes by before you decide to comb through every book on the towering shelves that take up the wall. Desperate to distract yourself from this clawing loneliness inside, you read a bit of this, and a bit of that, making stacks in odd piles across the floor, cairns of your reading whims organized in a logic known only to you. 

In one of these books you find tucked a picture of Helen. It can only be a scene from their wedding day, John in a dapper dark gray suit, she in a sweet but sensible white dress, a crown of daisies in her hair. He is kissing her cheek, and she is scintillatingly happy. You feel it radiating like the sun, even through the photo. What a force she must have been. 

It is no wonder John Wick has gone mad without her. 

What a paltry substitute you must be. 

Perhaps you are extra sensitive at the moment to such things, but you weep in your hands, unable to stop until you’ve exhausted yourself entirely, laying on the floor amongst your stonehenge constructed of books. You fall asleep there, not even possessing the energy to move yourself up to the bed. 

That is when the explosion wakes you. 

It is loud enough to rock the entire house, several of your bookstacks toppling over. You leap to your feet, your ears ringing. 

Then you hear the gunfire. 

It is beneath your very feet, in the downstairs, volleys and volleys of rounds. You freeze as you listen, fear rending your heart to a lump of ice in your chest. 

Which of John Wick’s old enemies has found you this time?

The power dies, plunging the room into blackness. There are no street lights through the window here in the woods to light your way. There’s barely even a moon this night. 

Huddling in the dark like a scared little woodland animal, you realize, that possibly this means the lock on the door is no longer engaged. The battle is still raging beneath you–you take heart in that, as terrifying as it is, because it means John is not dead. 

You are not proud of how long it takes for you to gather the courage to force yourself to your feet, to make your way by memory to the door in your pajamas and bare feet, and try the handle. 

It turns freely, and you are faced with a new choice. 

Hide like a coward, helpless and untrained as you are, or join the fray. 

You pluck up a heavy book, the only possible weapon left to you, and slip out into the hallway. 

It really is like poetry in motion, watching John Wick fight. From the landing above, you stare as he mows through the home invaders, men dressed like commandos in all black, kicking and striking, breaking limbs and shooting them with their own guns, taking down one then the next until the living room is scattered with dead and splattered with their lifeblood. 

His final opponent is an even match in size. He wears a mask, and that is all you can discern. After an assessing pause they charge each other, moving so quickly you can hardly follow. Their struggle takes them deeper into the kitchen, out of your view. 

Making yourself small as possible, you scurry down the stairs. 

You pause at a corpse whose head sits at an impossible angle, neck clearly broken, and trade your heavy tome for his handgun. It’s been forever since you’ve handled a firearm. You try to remember the lessons your father taught you a lifetime ago, and come up blank in the absolute stress of the situation. You hope that all you have to do is pull the trigger. 

You can hear the sounds of fighting deeper in the kitchen, maybe in the breakfast nook beyond. You hear grunts and the sound of flesh striking flesh, the crash of breaking crockery and furniture. Adrenaline sings through your veins, and you realize with a strange detachment that you don’t actually expect to walk away from this alive. But John is there, and maybe he needs you, so you go.    

You arrive in time to see John’s opponent throw him to the ground in some complicated jiu-jitsu move, using John’s own weight against him to send him sprawling across the floor. You see the flash of a knife, as the attacker pounces, pushing the blade with all his force towards John’s chest. John resists, holding him at bay with all his strength, and the knife hovers, even as the attacker puts all his weight behind it, desperate to drive it home. 

You do not even think, as you scream and lift the gun, pulling the trigger. The sound and the fury of it surprises you, the large-caliber weapon jumping in your hand. 

Somehow, one of the bullets catches the man perfectly in the side of the throat. You stare in horror as he falls over with a gurgling groan.  

An eerie silence falls upon the house, seemingly the only sounds your heartbeat in your ears. But you realize it is only because you are now partially deaf. The sound of Dog barking furiously leaks in through the ringing, from behind a door down the hall. John must have sequestered him to keep him safe when the shooting started. 

With wide eyes and slow feet you approach, the gun shaking in your hand. You can tell that John is hurt badly, cuts on his face, his arms, and you can see he is bleeding beneath the soft fabric of his white henley. Yet he does not ask you for help, looking at you with a strange sadness in his eyes. 

Then you realize he is looking at you–with the gun. 

A long, weary breath escapes him, and he glances to the blown out window beyond. The result of the explosion, no doubt. The cool night breeze wafts through the void, carrying the bewitching scent of the trees, lifting your hair.

Your portal to freedom, should you be ruthless enough to claim it. 

He closes his eyes, nodding to himself as much as you. “It’s ok, y/n. Do what you’ve got to do.”

The horror of it dawns on you; he thinks you will kill him too, to gain your freedom. 

Maybe you even have every right to. 

It infuriates you to the bottom of your soul, that he thinks you even could. 

“You asshole,” you snarl, hitting the right button by pure luck to eject the clip, which is empty, racking the slide and throwing the blocky handgun across the room in your fury, shattering a crock full of utensils on the far counter. “You would put that on me?” You fall to your knees beside him. 

Does the only path to your freedom have to be his death? 

As though you could survive the guilt of it?

As though you can survive without him, at all?

Carefully you lift his shirt to look at his wounds, and you curse at the sight of the nasty cut on his side. “Fuck. I’ve got to call an ambulance.” You reach for a dishtowel, folding it and pressing it into his side, making him wince. 

“No ambulance,” he groans. “No police.” 

Now the tears arrive, filling your eyes and pouring down your cheeks. “John, you are hurt, and I don’t know what to do.” You know he needs professional medical attention. There is another bloodstain on his shoulder, a bullet wound, you realize. Jesus Christ. You don’t have enough hands. 

“Hold this,” you demand, putting his hand over his side, scrambling for the drawer where he keeps the kitchen towels. 

“Baby…” He grunts as you press the next towel down. 

“Where is your phone?”

“You’re not leaving?” He reaches for your face with a bloodied hand, and you clutch him to you, pressing your cheek into his palm.

At a time like this, that is what he asks you? It shatters your heart all over again, and you press your lips to his in a fervent kiss, the taste of him tainted with copper. You hope it’s only his blood, but somehow you doubt it. 

“No, I’m not leaving, you idiot,” you grouse. “Now who the fuck do I call?” 

[pearlfeline]

rookie

peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 900+

tw: black eye

a/n: this is short and it was in my drafts forever. and it was shorter than this before i added some stuff last night. posting it now for some validation and i want to feel better for my job interview tomorrow lol. hope its good enough.

“plwase unlokc your window!! OMW”

“I told him not to text and swing.” You mumbled to yourself.

You huffed, making your way to the window to save him the trouble and just lifted it wide open.

Peter flops in immediately, earning a yelp from you.

“Are you crazy?!” You held your hand to your chest.

“Heeeeelp.” He groans. Peter tugs at his mask, rolling his head back for you to see.

He had a black eye. “Make sure when you fall, you don’t land face first into a fire hydrant.” He tries his best to pry his swollen eye open.

“Since when do you fall?” You shake your head. Not expecting an answer, you walk off to the kitchen and open the freezer, grabbing a bag of assorted frozen fruit.

You come back to Peter flipping through channels on your TV, slumped on the bed.

“Put this on your eye.”

Peter gingerly takes the bag, holding it up to his bruise.

”Why are you getting hurt in the middle of the night?”

“Avengers make mistakes too.” He grumbled.

“Peter. It’s late.” You sighed.

“I know I know but I needed your help specifically.” He sits up mirroring the posture of someone who would hold a corporate meeting.

“Do my makeup please.”

You stare at Peter expressionless.

“Like with the skin paint thing.” He adds.

“For your black eye?”

“PLEEEAAASE! I can’t have May see me with another black eye. She said if the kids keep picking on me she’s gonna call the school.”

You roll your eyes, motioning him to follow you to your makeup drawer.

“Concealer.” You handed him the small bottle and heard him repeat after you.

“Concealer.” He nods.

“How long will this last?” He twists it open.

“Stop, you’re gonna dry it out. And not forever. So I’ll let you borrow it to reapply in the morning.”

“How do I do that?” He starts blinking rapidly the same time your finger pats into his under eye.

“No blinking! Just do what I’m doing here. See? You don’t even need a sponge sometimes.”

You try to ignore how close you were to him. Seeing Peter from this proximity was something you’d never think to do. You never noticed how many little freckles he had. They’re so faint. He had a little stubble from running around all day and chapped lips. Your eyes follow the line of his bottom lip, like a crack in the pavement. You could feel his breathing hit your hand as you pat into his skin. As you look up from his lips, you find him staring at you back.

“Done.” You reeled your hand back, clearing your throat.

Peter looks at himself through your small light up mirror. Seems simple enough.

“See? Good as new. Just a little swollen.” You comb his curl away from his forehead so he could clearly see the coverage.

“You’re the best.” He stares at his reflection in awe.

“I know.” You shrugged.

“Don’t touch it or it’ll come off.” You grab a small pouch to put the concealer in.

“Here. Don’t lose it. I splurged for this one.” You hand him the pouch and he nods profusely.

“Guarding it with my life.” He puts it in the small pocket of his backpack.

“Thank you.” He smiles.

“No problem.” You avoided his eyes, hopefully he didn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t keep May waiting.”

Peter nods, giving an awkward wave. “Right. See ya.”

Peter jumps out onto the fire escape. Quietly this time. Out of sight.

“See ya.” You said quietly to yourself.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of messages from Peter.

“she didnt suspect a thing HAHAHA” 12:32 AM

“thank u again btw” 12:33 AM

“it hurts to blink.” 12:34 AM

“ok goodnight ill let you know how it lasts thru the night.” 12:34 AM

“hi it disappeared a little bit but im gonna add some more i hope that’s ok” 9:12 AM

You bit your lip, your finger hovering over the facetime button. You click it without thinking too much of it, waiting for him to answer.

Peter comes into frame with a newly pale complexion. His entire face was covered in concealer.

“Hi.” He grins at the camera, oblivious to how ghostly he looked. This would’ve scared you if he didn’t answer the call in that ridiculous angle.

“Peter…” You sighed.

“What? Did I miss a spot?”

“…No. You can’t possibly miss any more spots I don’t think.”

Peter frowns at the camera, he thought he did well.

“Too much?” He chuckled, embarrassed.

You roll your eyes.

“This stuff covers everything. I don’t have freckles anymore.” He runs away at his cheek, showing that it wasn’t coming off.

“Did May see you yet today?” You sighed.

“No.. Should I take this off?”

Before you could answer, May quickly knocks on Peter’s door, and doesn’t wait to open the door.

“Hey, I’m thinking pizza for lunch-“

Peter turns to look at May and you could see her blurry face peek through behind Peter's shoulder on your screen. She widens her eyes and blinks a couple times.

“What… What is that?”

“Sunscreen.” Peter blurts out.

“Y/N and I are going to the beach.”

May knits her brows together, thinking if that’s really believable or not.

“There’s no beach near by.”

Peter silently stares at his aunt.

“...I’m eating this pizza with or without you .” May shrugs. “Have fun at the… beach.” She gives Peter a look and then closes the door.

Peter turns his attention back to his phone.

“The beach?” You squeaked out, attempting to stifle your laugh.

“I would hang up if I didn’t need help taking this off.” Peter says flatly.

You let out a groan. “Just get over here.”

[forestclan-clangen]

MOON 3 (Part 2)

(Note to new viewers: the scenes have dead pixels on purpose! It's meant to emulate a cartridge game you found plugged into an old TV set!)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

Redstar and Windfur get into a heated argument about Olive's care. Neither leave the conversation happy about the outcome. Windfur buries himself in his work, rarely socializing with others in the next few days.

(Redstar, leader, female, 62 moons) (Windfur, medicine cat, male, 17 moons)

Barleywave brings a kit back to camp, Warblerkit. Redstar covers for him on something minor. Barleywave blinks slowly at her in thanks. Shiverkit is happy to have a new playmate. Morningkit thinks about how small Warblerkit is.

(Redstar, leader, female, 62 moons) (Barleywave, warrior, male, 32 moons) (Iciclepool, deputy, female, 59 moons) (Morningkit, kitten, female, 5 moons) (Shiverkit, kitten, female, 3 moons) [NEW CLANMATE ADDED] Warblerkit (kitten, male, 0 moons. Bullying.)

Talonpaw asks Shiverkit how she's doing, and gets uncomfortable by her answer. He decides to tell Windfur about it, just because of how strange it was.

(Talonpaw, apprentice, male, 7 moons) (Shiverkit, kitten, female, 3 moons) (Windfur, medicine cat, male, 17 moons)

Hopechase no loner has a running nose. She notices Morningkit sulking around camp, and tries to cheer her up with a new game. Shiverkit is interested too, and offers to help Morningkit. Warblerkit watches with wide-eyed interest.

(Hopechase, warrior, female, 85 moons) (Morningkit, kitten, female, 5 moons) (Shiverkit, kitten, female, 3 moons) (Warblerkit, kitten, male, 0-1 moons)

Windfur secretly meets with a kittypet at the border - his father and former clanmate, Ferncreek. He now goes by Lucifer by the groundkeepers at the Twoleg greenleaf camps. While Windfur tries to beckon him home, Lucifer declines. The weight of death is too much for him. Windfur understands.

(Windfur, medicine cat, male, 17 moons) [NEW CAT MET]

Lucifer (kittypet, male, 68 moons. Confident.)

<PREVIOUS | NEXT >

[roosterforme]

The Two Proposals (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32

Warnings: language

When you got home from work on Friday, you were exhausted. You just wanted to relax, but you noticed immediately that Bradley was acting strange. When you walked inside, untucking your uniform shirt as you went, you stopped in your tracks. He was trying to cook dinner.

"What are you doing?" you asked in shock.

He turned to look at you like a confused deer in headlights. "Making dinner?" He stated it as a question which was not a good sign since he shouldn't have been in the kitchen like this unsupervised. 

You walked toward him cautiously, and your eyes went wide. He had your recipe sheet out on the counter, and he'd managed to mangle up the chicken you left in the refrigerator to thaw. It was in a pan with the heat turned up way too high, and the sauce in the pot next to it looked like a very unnatural color. "Are you trying to cook Marry Me Rooster?" you asked, your heart beating a little harder as you became convinced you'd have to throw out your expensive cookware. 

"Maybe?"

"Roo, why don't you let me help you?" you coaxed, reaching for the wooden spoon he was holding, but he pulled it away from your reach.

"No. I can't do that," he said, shaking his head. "I'm trying to make you a nice surprise. It's really important. Now why don't you just relax until it's done?"

You made a distressed little sound and dropped your hand to your side. "Okay," you murmured, retreating to the bedroom. You got changed into his oversized shirt and some yoga pants, and just as soon as you started to remove your makeup, the smoke detector began screeching.

You nearly tripped over Tramp in the hallway as he howled along with the alarm. "What happened?" you asked your boyfriend as you started coughing on the smoke filling the air. "Bradley!"

The sauce was boiling over, the chicken was completely burnt, and Bradley was clutching his hand to his chest. "I'm fine," he groaned, glaring up at the smoke detector. "Just ruined the night is all."

You ran the pot of sauce outside to the back patio before coming back for the pan of chicken. You slammed the sliding glass door closed and whimpered as you pawed at the glass; your overpriced cookware was ruined. 

"Oww, fuck!"

You ducked back into the kitchen where Bradley was running his hand under cold water while the smoke detector screeched away. You couldn't decide which to take care of first, his burned hand or the obnoxious sound. You looked at him first and winced. 

"Roo. I have burn cream, okay? Go sit at the table and let your hand dry."

He frowned at you with such disappointment, you gave him a quick kiss before you grabbed a few pieces of loose mail and climbed up on the counter to wave them at the smoke detector until it stopped. Then you cracked open the kitchen window and ran to get the first aid kit from the bathroom. 

When you returned to the dining room, Bradley had his burned hand resting on the table, and he was laughing. 

"I guess it doesn't hurt too bad?" you asked as you gingerly sat on his lap to take a look at it. 

"It's okay," he replied, and you looked at him over your shoulder as you squeezed some of the cream onto his hand. 

"I love you, Bradley, but I think you should just stay away from the stove." You wrapped his hand up in some gauze and kissed his wrist before shifting on his lap a bit. 

"But Sweetheart, I just had this whole special night planned, and I wanted to make dinner for us since you always do it," he said, shaking his head and smiling at you. 

You shrugged. "It's just Friday. We can get takeout, or I can make something else."

When you went to stand, he pulled you closer. "It's not just Friday."

"It's not?"

He shook his head as his eyes studied your face. "Might as well just do it," he mumbled. "My dad fucked it up, too."

You kissed his cheek and laughed. "What are you talking about, Roo?"

"This," he replied, reaching into his pocket. When he opened his hand, you saw the most beautiful gold and diamond ring and gasped. It was Carole's old ring, the one she stopped wearing. While holding you tight, he slipped down onto the floor with you in his arms, and then he knelt on his right knee with you perched on his left. "I love you. And I think we should get married. You want to?"

You smiled and laughed softly, but his expression was completely serious. You'd known what your answer would be for months should this day arrive. You didn't need to think about it. "Yeah, I want to." The sentence was barely out of your mouth before Bradley was kissing your lips. 

You slipped down onto your knees facing him and let him slide the ring onto your finger before you wrapped your arms around his neck. "It'll be perfect," he promised. "You and me. Just like this. Forever."

"Roo," you gushed unable to stop smiling as he kissed you all over your face as he talked. 

"You know how long I've had my mom's ring for you?"

"How long?"

"Months, Baby Girl. She tried to give it to me before she even met you. She could tell after one phone call that I was serious."

You squealed and pushed him flat on his back, careful not to bump his bad hand as you straddled his waist and leaned down to kiss him. "Well I'm seriously in love a with you." He held you in place with his non bandaged hand on your butt as you nipped at his lips. "Wait. You said your dad fucked it up, too?"

"Oh yeah. Get my mom to tell you about the day he proposed when they come out to visit."

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

A few weeks later, you were sitting at your dining room table with Bradley's parents, sharing some wine and celebrating your engagement. This time you cooked the Marry Me Rooster with your new pans, and everything turned out great. 

Carole ended up dabbing at her eyes nearly every time she looked at you. "That ring is perfect on your finger," she whispered for the tenth time.

"Thanks for letting me wear it," you replied, still surprised she'd given it up to Bradley for you. "It's beautiful."

"It's yours," she said before she smiled at her husband. "Goose picked out too pretty of a ring for me to not pass it along."

"Thanks, Dad," Bradley said with a laugh. You and he had already discussed using the money he would have put toward a ring to try to start a family next year. 

You took a bite of your dinner and said, "Bradley made it sound like there was some sort of engagement mishap when you proposed?"

"Oh, sweet girl!" Carole said as she laughed. "Our entire time dating was one big mishap."

"Really?" you asked as Bradley squeezed your hand, and Goose hung his head.

"Did I ever tell you how we met?" Carole asked. When you shook your head, she said, "We met at a bar. In Virginia Beach. It was called Patty's Pier, and it was a bit of a naval hangout."

"This is so embarrassing," Goose muttered, but his wife ignored him and kept going while you tried to contain your smile. 

"I bought Goose a drink. I worked up the nerve to ask the bartender what kind of beer he was having, and I bought him one. He was so handsome, looked just like Bradley, and I was so proud of myself for making such a smooth move, you know?" You nodded, hanging onto every word as she asked, "You want to know what he said when I handed it to him?"

"What?" you asked. 

Goose sighed and said, "I asked her if she wanted me to let Maverick know she was interested in him."

Carole screeched with laughter. "He thought I had my sights set on Pete!"

"All the girls did," Goose said with a grin. "Except this one."

"Oh, I love this!" you gushed as Bradley kissed your temple. "What happened then?"

"I told him I bought it for him!" Carole said, pointing at Goose. "And he looked so stunned, he didn't say a word. He just stared at me. And then I thought he was trying to pawn me off on this Maverick person because he didn't want to talk to me."

"She walked away," Goose added with a smile at his wife. "It took me a full minute to realize she was interested in me. I had to run her down in the parking lot before she could get in her shitty little car and drive off."

"And it's a good thing you did," she told him with a wink. "We got engaged a couple weeks later with your ring there."

"This is even more embarrassing," Goose said as Carole rubbed her hands together. 

"I need to know more," you told them as Bradley kissed your ear and laughed. 

"Goose took me on a ten mile hike. Ten miles. In August. In Virginia. I thought he was trying to kill me," Carole said as she spun her new ring on her finger. "The humidity alone was enough to take me out, but it was also about ninety degrees. And then we get to this scenic overlook, and he gets down on one knee. He pours his heart out, but then there's no ring to be found."

"I left it in the glovebox," he groaned.

"Ten miles away! He was in hysterics, kept telling me he spent a small fortune on the thing and had no idea where he left it. He made me run... run back to his truck. And then when he found the ring, he threw it at me because the metal was hot, and he said, 'Well?'"

You gasped before you erupted into laughter along with your own husband-to-be. "You didn't!" 

"I did," Goose moaned. "I was so relieved the ring was there! But she told me yes and I did get back down on one knee."

Carole kissed his cheek and said, "We got married a few months later. In November. I told him I was pregnant with Bradley when we were on our honeymoon."

You leaned in closer to Bradley. "Wanna get married in November?"

His eyes lit up; you knew he didn't want to wait.

Carole's eyes lit up, too. "You should! It's the perfect month!" Then she gasped. "And if you're pregnant, there's nothing to worry about! Goose and I are very progressive!"

Bradley pulled you a little closer, trying his best to ignore his mom while you laughed. "November might be perfect."

[rista-senpai]

Love you in the shadows

pairing: Sung Jinwoo x f!reader

summary: You are Antares’ beloved daughter. His biggest treasure, despite him being the CEO of the second biggest company in South Korea. He would give up everything within minutes just to see your smile. Even so, you failed to keep your father just as delightful, since you ended up as the secretary of his biggest rival, the number one CEO in your home country, Sung Jinwoo.

            Being stuck with a so-called ruthless man, feared by many for his authoritarian presence and cold, dark eyes, didn’t sit well with your father. Yet, you found them mesmerizing, something magnetic in those royal purple irises. Little did you know that the exact same eyes would see you beyond professional matters, forcing you to keep your feelings under a key, given the fact that you didn’t want to betray Antares.

            However, how could someone resist him, when it’s just you two in the middle of the night, lights low, soundless rain hitting the wide windows in his office, the air out of your lungs in seconds, when he looks so ravishing, words not being enough to describe him?

tags & warnings -> office au, forbidden love, secret relationship, reader falls in love with the only man she shouldn’t have been near, she fell first, but he fell harder, age-gap (reader is 24, Sung is 32), smut with plot

previous part & next part

CHAPTER FIVE

The rain started the moment the car doors shut. Not a drizzle. Not a gentle spring mist. No — it was torrential. Thunder cracked low in the distance, water racing down the windows like the night couldn’t wait to swallow everything whole. City lights smeared across the glass, warped by each droplet. It was the kind of rain that felt personal — like the universe knew exactly what it was doing, locking the two of you inside this leather cocoon with nowhere to run.

You exhaled slowly, still feeling the weight of your father’s words echoing in your ribs. But Jinwoo didn’t speak. Not yet.

He slid into the driver’s seat with the same slow grace he always carried — every movement controlled, measured. One hand on the wheel. The other casually resting on the center console, dangerously close to your bare thigh.

His jacket was still open. His white dress shirt now slightly rumpled from the long dinner, top buttons undone, the collar framing his throat like an invitation. Raindrops clung to the edges of his hair as he pushed it back, and for a second — just one — you forgot how to breathe.

“You were incredible tonight,” he said finally, voice low, velvet-soft.

You blinked and turned your head toward him. “That’s not what your knuckles were saying when I crossed my legs.”

He let out a short laugh, dark and knowing. “You noticed that, huh?”

“How could I not?” Your voice dropped, a matching tone. “You were practically choking the steering wheel.”

“I was trying not to choke on something else.”

Your thighs clenched.

Outside, lightning split the sky. Inside, the silence sizzled.

“Does that dress come with a warning?” he asked, eyes on the road but voice curling like smoke. “Or were you planning to ruin me in front of your father?”

You leaned in, just a breath away. “Did it work?”

His jaw flexed — a flicker of restraint. His eyes flicked to yours, burning, unguarded for just a second.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me when you act like you don’t know exactly how perfect you look?”

“You’re the one who told me to act like I belonged at your side.”

“And you do.” His tone darkened. “Too well.”

His hand moved — slow, purposeful — until it slid across your thigh. His fingers ghosted over your tights, tracing up under the hem of your dress, stopping just short of heat.

“You made me sit through an entire dinner,” he murmured, voice barely above the patter of rain, “listening to your father question everything about me… while I was hard under the table, because you couldn’t stop shifting in that fucking dress.”

You bit your lip — hard — but didn’t stop him.

“You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me when you grabbed my hand?” he continued, the pads of his fingers applying the slightest pressure now. “You wanted him to see it. Wanted him to know you’re mine.”

“I am yours…”

That was it. The line.

His hand tightened, possessive.

But then—he pulled back.

You gasped softly, blinking in confusion as he turned the key in the ignition.

“We need to stop by the office,” he muttered, voice low and gravelled. “I left the contract folder there. Won’t take long.”

You opened your mouth to protest — to demand he finish what he started — but the smirk tugging at his lips shut you up real quick.

“I didn’t say we were done,” he said, pulling the car into motion. “But if you’re going to look at me like that all night…”

His fingers brushed yours on the center console — light, teasing — a promise in every inch.

“Then I’m going to fuck you in my office.”

Your breath caught.

The city blurred past in streaks of neon and water, but all you could focus on was the steady rhythm of your pulse — and the heat coiling between your legs.

“I hope it’s soundproof,” you whispered.

Jinwoo didn’t look at you. Just grinned, savage and slow.

“You’re going to pray it is.”

—

The building was quiet. Too quiet.

Late hour. No one around. Only the dull hum of emergency lighting and the rhythmic tap of rain against glass as Jinwoo unlocked the door to his private office.

You stepped in first, heels clicking softly on polished floors, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air like a ghost that wanted to wrap around you.

And the moment the door shut—

You knew.

That look in his eyes?

Predator. Starved. Yours.

He dropped the folder on the desk without looking at it.

“You knew what you were doing tonight,” he growled, voice lower now—darker—as he stalked toward you slowly, like a man who’d finally run out of patience. “Wearing that fucking dress. Sitting next to me like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Liar.”

You gasped as your back hit the wall. His hands were on your waist, then your hips, then your ass—gripping, dragging you closer, pressing you against him as if he needed to feel every inch of your body before he lost control completely.

“You knew I couldn’t look away,” he whispered against your neck, lips brushing your skin, voice cracking with restraint. “You sat next to me with those pretty little legs crossed, letting that dress ride up higher and higher, and expected me to what? Stay calm? Stay professional?”

“Jinwoo—”

“Say it.”

His mouth found yours, hard and claiming, tongue slipping past your lips in a kiss that tasted like anger and hunger and the ache of every second he had to pretend you weren’t driving him insane.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’ve wanted you all night.”

And that was it.

His mouth was on your throat, biting and sucking bruises into your skin like he wanted to mark every inch of you, like he needed the whole fucking world to know you were his.

Your dress was up around your hips before you could breathe, his hands ripping at the sheer tights, growling when they didn’t tear fast enough.

“Look at you,” he hissed against your ear, sliding his fingers between your thighs, feeling just how soaked you already were for him. “You’ve been wet for me since dinner, haven’t you? All that talk of control—such a good little secretary—but deep down, you just wanted to be ruined.”

“Yes—please, Jinwoo, I—”

He didn’t let you finish.

He spun you around, bent you over his desk, palms flat on the cold surface as he kicked your legs further apart with his knee.

“Keep your hands there,” he ordered, voice dark and delicious. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Just take it.”

You could barely breathe as he pushed your panties aside and ran the tip of his cock against your soaked entrance—teasing, slow, deliberate.

“You think I can’t fuck you in my office?” he growled. “You think I care if someone finds out?”

You whimpered.

“Say it.”

“I don’t care—fuck, Jinwoo, just—”

He slammed into you in one hard, punishing thrust, and your cry echoed off the walls—loud and obscene and perfect. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so he could kiss you from behind, messy and breathless and needy.

Every thrust sent the desk creaking under your body, papers scattering, pens falling—but neither of you cared.

This wasn’t careful.

This wasn’t sweet.

This was Jinwoo completely unleashed—driving into you like he owned you, growling filth in your ear between kisses and bites.

“Mine,” he muttered with each thrust. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, nails digging into the desk, legs shaking.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

He grunted, pace brutal now, his palm sliding to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your knees buckle and your breath hitch.

“You don’t need a ring,” he murmured, lips against your ear. “I’ll ruin you in ways no man ever could.”

And he did.

Right there in the dim glow of his office. With your name on his lips and your body trembling under his touch, he fucked you like the whole city belonged to him—

But you?

You belonged to no one but him.

—

You’re still trembling, breath ragged, heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to escape, but Jinwoo’s grip doesn’t loosen. His hands glide down your body, tracing every curve, every slick mark he left like a map of ownership. His lips press a bruising kiss just below your jaw, then slide down to your collarbone.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice low and rough, “you’re mine in every goddamn way.”

You lean into him, needing his heat, desperate for more even though your body’s screaming for a break.

But Jinwoo?

He’s just getting started.

He spins you back around, fingers digging into your hips, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, gasping as he carries you over to the leather couch in the corner of the office.

“No more desks,” he growls, voice a dark promise.

He sets you down, and before you can catch your breath, his mouth is on yours again — harsher, deeper, like he’s swallowing every piece of you whole. His hands slide under your dress, fingers tracing fire down your thighs, slipping beneath your soaked tights to find you still aching, still ready.

“God, you taste like sin,” he says, voice husky.

His fingers push inside you slowly, teasing before sliding with more pressure, curling just right to make you gasp and tremble.

“Can you take more?” he whispers against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe, voice shaky but desperate.

He pulls back just enough to line himself up, his cock twitching with need.

“Say it,” he demands, “say you want me again.”

“I want you,” you whisper. “Fuck me again.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

With a guttural growl, he plunges into you, slow and deep at first, then faster, harder — like he’s trying to bury every frustration, every damn second of restraint inside you.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath catching and spilling out in ragged moans.

“Mine,” he snarls, voice rough like gravel, “all fucking mine. You don’t get to say no.”

You scream his name as he picks up the pace, thrusting mercilessly, hips slamming together, bodies slick with sweat and desperate need.

Time warps. There’s only the two of you — skin slapping, lips bruised, breaths ragged, and the raw, filthy rhythm of possession.

When he finally collapses on top of you, heavy and panting, you wrap your arms around him, heart still racing.

“Next time,” he rasps, “I’m taking you somewhere no one can hear how loud you scream.”

You smirk, breathless but bold.

“Then don’t wait too long.”

He laughs darkly, dragging you close.

“Never.”

Taglist: @mitsurisupporter@milabyxz@shadyyouthcloud@cjafjatkstke @fianur @sky-casino@lemonninq@raspberrizzz@lavishlyjayda@blackqueen2k17@livlikelove@uobasu@sylviatherosairy@jammycheese@reth66@storacy@pikusururu@bubera974@stormnightingale@emmathecouchpotato4583@alebrasil0101@amayakurusu13@misakicchi@snowy-violet @daiyanomoichi

[gorogues]

Spoilers for comics in July 2025!

You can see the solicitations in full at Adventures In Poor Taste.

It's an intensely busy month with lots of Rogues.

THE FLASH #23 Written by SIMON SPURRIER Art by VASCO GEORGIEV Cover by DAVIDE PARATORE Variant covers by SERG ACUÑA and TRAVIS MERCER $3.99 US | 32 pages | Variant $4.99 US (card stock) ON SALE 7/30/25 BAD MOON RISING, PART 4! As the war rages on the Moon, Jai West and one of the temp Flashes enter Eclipso’s new form in an attempt to stop the total blackout of the Sun! Also, Wally’s glitching issues have returned, but this time, they may hold the key to turning the tide of the battle…

Based on the cover, it seems that the Rogues involved in this arc are the typical lineup we've been seeing since Flashpoint.

THE FLASH: BAD MOON RISING SPECIAL #1 Written by ALEX PAKNADEL Art and cover by DANIEL BAYLISS $5.99 US | 48 pages ON SALE 7/23/30 “Bad Moon Rising” rages on as the focus turns to the Rogues’ role as Eclipso’s generals and to a surprising new ally!

Yay, Shade! Guessing he's probably the ally.

ABSOLUTE FLASH #5 Written by JEFF LEMIRE Art by A.L. KAPLAN Cover by NICK ROBLES Variant covers by HAINING and CLAYTON CRAIN 1:25 variant cover by NIMIT MALAVIA 1:50 variant cover by HAINING $4.99 US | 32 pages | Variant $5.99 US (card stock) ON SALE 7/16/25 Wally’s going to need to learn to handle the heat as he faces down the monstrous Heat Wave! Can he evade his fiery grasp, or will the young speedster be burned to a crisp?!

So it seems that's not Tar Pit, it's Mick -- unless Mick is actually Tar Pit in the Absolute universe. And obviously a terrible fate really has befallen him :(

JUSTICE LEAGUE VS. GODZILLA VS. KONG 2 #2 Written by BRIAN BUCCELLATO Art and cover by CHRISTIAN DUCE Variant covers by YASMINE PUTRI, ALAN QUAH, STEPHEN SEGOVIA, and LUCAS MEYER 1:25 variant cover by KEVIN MAGUIRE $3.99 US | 32 pages | Variant $4.99 US (card stock) ON SALE 7/2/25 In the aftermath of the shocking ending of the last issue, Task Force X must re-evaluate their mission in Hollow Earth as they explore an unknown world. Meanwhile the Justice League comes face-to-face again with Kong—but it’s not the reunion they are expecting!

Digger and Len are in this, as per the covers.

Next is the kids' book we heard about last year.

KID FLASH: GOING ROGUE Written by STEVE FOXE Art and cover by JERRY GAYLORD $12.99 US | 144 pages | 5 1/2″ x 8″ | Softcover | ISBN: 978-1-79950-229-6 ON SALE 10/7/25 Kid Flash and his uncle, Barry Allen, a.k.a. the Flash, team up to teach a teenage group of rogues—Golden Glider, Pied Piper, Trickster, and the Top—an important lesson. But is Kid Flash the one who has the most to learn? From the writer behind the Scholastic Spider-Ham trilogy, Steve Foxe, with dynamic and action-packed art by Jerry Gaylord (X-Men ’97), comes a story about a ragtag group of kids who must work together or be doomed to life as the “bad kids.”

THE FLASH BY JOSHUA WILLIAMSON OMNIBUS VOL. 2 Written by JOSHUA WILLIAMSON Art by HOWARD PORTER, SCOTT KOLINS, CARMINE DI GIANDOMENICO, and more $125 US | 936 pages | 7 1/16″ x 10 7/8″ | Hardcover | ISBN: 978-1-79950-246-3 ON SALE 9/23/25 New York Times bestselling author Joshua Williamson’s long-running (no pun intended) tenure on The Flash continues in this second volume collecting storylines including “A Cold Day in Hell,” “Perfect Storm,” and “Flash War,” which pits two of DC’s greatest speedsters against each other! When Wally West discovers that Barry has hidden aspects of his former life from him, he is convinced that the only way to save his family is to break them free from the Speed Force. Volume two of this omnibus series collects The Flash #36-69, The Flash Annual #1-2, and Batman #64-65.

[sevasey51]

The New Cocktail

Summary: An endometriosis flare begins quietly enough—cramping and nausea that she tries to brush off as “normal.” But by late afternoon, Connor knows it’s not normal. The pain intensifies, the bleeding picks up, and her body can’t regulate. They go to Med. Hannah runs a scan, orders TXA, fluids, antiemetics, and oramorph. It’s the third major flare this cycle. This time, she’s sent home with a new plan: Norethisterone to suppress her cycle, Dihydrocodeine for pain, Buscopan for cramping, and Diclofenac to combat inflammation. With her normal cocktail of endo meds. The question is—will it help?

Thursday – 7:32 a.m.

She woke up cramping.

Not enough to panic. Just enough to roll over and sigh. Connor was already dressed, tying his watch strap at the dresser.

“You okay?”

“Just a little tight,” she mumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “On a scale?”

“Four, maybe five. I’m fine.”

He knew she wasn’t. But he nodded. “Log it?”

“Already did.”

9:50 a.m.

By midmorning, she’d eaten half a banana, curled back on the couch with Charlie, and decided to take some acetaminophen and Buscopan. Heating pad, calm music, hydration—her whole toolkit.

But it didn’t help much.

The pain deepened. Not stabbing—burning. Like someone had lit a match behind her pelvis.

Her period hadn’t even been due. Not for a few more days.

11:45 a.m.

Connor came home between surgeries. She was pale and curled up, sheets tangled at her feet.

“Still a five?” he asked.

“Eight,” she whispered.

Connor didn’t hesitate. Port flush. TXA injection. Fluids started.

She was bleeding now. He checked her abdomen—it was firm, tender, and her uterus was boggy.

2:15 p.m.

She couldn’t keep fluids down. The nausea had crept in full force.

She vomited twice and was dry-heaving when Connor made the call.

“We’re going in.”

3:01 p.m. – Med ER

Hannah met them at the back entrance. Ava was already scrubbing out of a procedure when she passed them in the hall.

“She’s crashing again?”

“Not yet,” Connor said. “But she will.”

The trauma bay was quiet. They used one of the private observation bays. Will got her settled. Connor gave a brief rundown to the nurse.

• Port accessed

• TXA given

• Pain: 9/10

• Vitals: Stable but trending soft

• Vomiting x2

• Last menstrual cycle: 19 days ago

Hannah came in with a portable scanner. Her face tightened as she looked at the monitor.

“Endometrium’s thickened more than expected. Minor fluid buildup. No rupture, no cyst—but definitely an active flare.”

She turned to Y/N. “We’re going to try a reset.”

5:10 p.m.

After fluids, a dose of oramorph, ondansetron for nausea, and IV Diclofenac, her pain came down to a six.

Still miserable—but stable.

Hannah returned with a discharge packet and med bag.

“Okay,” she said softly. “We’re going to try something new. If this works, it might help regulate the flares—and give us a break from the ER.”

She held up each bottle one by one.

• Norethisterone: “We’re going to try suppressing your cycle entirely for the next 3 months. This is the only way to break the pattern without a hormonal IUD.”

• Dihydrocodeine: “For breakthrough pain, stronger than tramadol, but not as sedating as morphine.”

• Buscopan: “Keep taking this for cramping. Stick to three a day if needed.”

• Diclofenac: “Anti-inflammatory, 75mg extended release—one daily with food. Don’t double up on ibuprofen.”

“And take your TXA and normal Acetaminophen to help. But no ibuprofen with the Diclofenac okay. Hopefully it’ll help break the cycle.” Hannah added with a soft smile on her face.

She nodded, tears in her eyes.

Connor asked the question they were both thinking: “Is it safe long term?”

“It’s not meant to be forever,” Hannah said gently. “It’s to stop the current spiral. We’ll reassess in eight weeks. But I want you home. Not in this hospital every other week.”

8:03 p.m. – Home

The pain was still there. But dulled.

She shuffled out of the bathroom wearing Connor’s sweatshirt, socks bunched around her ankles. Charlie was glued to her side.

Connor had arranged her meds in a color-coded organizer already. One for flare days. One for daily suppressants. A log for symptoms and vitals.

He brought her tea and curled up next to her, gently pulling the blanket over her legs.

“You okay?”

She nodded, a little fuzzy from the morphine. “We’re trying something different.”

He kissed the side of her head. “And I’ll log every step of it.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re my wife,” he murmured. “You’re everything.”

Thought I’d write a little something to tide you guys over, it’s self indulgent a little, because I wish I had someone like Connor with me whilst I was in hospital. And because I know you guys miss my fics. Hope you enjoy and I appreciate all the sweet messages too 🫶🏻

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 32: Love

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Talk about death [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

You place a hand over the empty and cold spot on the bed next to you. A sigh escapes you as you go sit upright. Ever since Theo left with the other Death Eaters you haven't slept a wink. Terrible what-ifs running through your mind.

Deciding that you can no longer stay in bed, you make your way down the stairs and towards the kitchen. 

As you stand in the dark heating up water, you notice someone entering the kitchen with the point of their wand light up. It's your aunt.

"Do you want to join me?", you ask, your head turned towards her. You see her not from the corner of your eyes and you fill two glasses with boiling water and tea leaves.

The two of you take place at the breakfast table and sit in silence. Narcissa lights a small candle and places it on the table. You trace the rim of your glass, eyes trained on the dark liquid. The air is tense. Narcissa opens her mouth before closing it quickly. She does this a couple of times, not knowing what to say. 

Your head twitches. It has been doing that all night. You rub over your neck as the twitching has been hurting it.

"Since when have you been doing that", asks your aunt, eyeing you warilly.

You shrug, glancing up at her. "Don't know. A while now. It comes and goes."

There is silence between the two of you again. You never were one to talk to her about your problems. It's not something you did. not like she truly cared about you. She only took care of you because you are family and because she feels like it is her duty to the Dark Lord.

"Were you... were you always engaged to Lucius?", you ask, glancing up at her.

Your aunt looks surprised at your question. The two of you never really... talked.

At her silence, you look fully at her. She has an unreadable look on her face, one you've seen a lot lately. "No", she says curtly, "at first it was my sister Andromea who was intended to marry into the Malfoy family."

Andromea? Tonk's mother? "Isn't she married to Ted Tonks?"

Narcissa nods. "Yes. She fell in love with him and ran away from home. Seeing that Bella was already set on marrying Rudolfus, it was my duty to marry Lucius."

"Did you love him when you got married?" Your question is very childlike but brings a smile to the older woman's face.

"I used to have the biggest schoolgirl crush on Lucius at school. He was two years above me. We learned to love each other during our marriage." She has a fond look on her face as she recalls the memories.

The topic of love makes your stomach curl and a lump forms in your throat. Your mouth feels dry and as you go to take a sip, you realise you've already finished your tea. As you look at your cup, your question surprises even you. "The wedding will be soon, right?"

Unable to look your aunt in the face, you focus instead on her hands. Her well-manicured hands tense up before gripping the cup tightly. She stays silent, seeming deep in thought. "It... yes. The Lord has decided that your wedding will be held after Pius Thicknesse is estated as Minister for Magic."

You lean back in your chair, lips pressed firmly together. "And when will that be?"

"The first of August. The Lord has expressed his... expectations of you to be there in his name when the new Minister addressed the people, in the name of the Lord. Two days after that, you and Theodore will be wed."

You're numb. Absolutely numb. They are going to play the fall of the Ministry off as another Tuesday. And now you're supposed to be there to support him. Next to the numbness, a festering sickness bubbles up inside you. 

Standing up, you dig your nails into your palm. "I'm going to try to sleep again. Good night." You turn around and begin to make your way towards the stairs when noise comes from the entrance hall. That can only mean one thing.

You rush towards the entrance hall, your eyes wildly searching around. Fewer Death Eaters came back than left. Some are bleeding the others just stand around, helping each other. The Dark Lord is nowhere to be seen. Bellatrix brushes past you, an unhappy look on her face. 

The air you subconsciously held in escapes your lungs once you spot the only person you care about. You rush towards him, throwing your arms over Theo's shoulders and hugging him tightly. Theo returns the gesture, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug.

"Are you okay?", you whisper, taking a good look at his face. A gasp exits your lips as Theo's face spots a few gashes and cuts, blood smeared all over. You take him by the hand and lead him away, towards your room.

There you make him sit on the bed and scramble around the room for your wand. You cast a few quick healing spells and watch how the blood seeps back into his skin and the cuts clear up. 

Theo's hands are on your middle, gazing up at you as you fuss about. He rubs circles with his thumb before pulling you towards him. He presses his head against your chest as his hands take a good hold of you with no intention of letting you go. You lace your fingers into his hair, running your nails over his scalp. 

He pulls you down with him and wiggles around until the both of you are under the covers. His eyes flicker over every detail of your face as if he's memorising them. All this time he has said nothing. 

The two of you stare at each other in the dark, not saying anything.

"Professor Moody is dead", he croaks suddenly, his face twisted in anguish. "One of the Weasley twins is also injured. I tried not to hurt anyone, just fly with them. I tried to stop them from hurting them." He lets out a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips. You cradle him against your body, pressing kisses on the crown of his head. "I know", you whisper, "I know, Teddy. It's not your fault."

You stay like this, comforting Theo with your presence and watching over him. As his breathing slows down and his iron grip on you somewhat relaxes, you look down at him. His eyes are closed but he has still his eyebrows knitted together, a restless look on his face.

"I love you", you whisper after you're sure he's dead asleep. "I wanted to tell you then, but I was scared. Nobody ever loved me, and that spooked me. But the thought of losing you scares me more than anything else." You gaze at him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. You nuzzle against him and close your eyes. "I love you, Theodore Nott. And nothing is going to stop me from getting us out here alive."

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry  @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore​ @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver

[chimerathingcock]

i played maid with friends again!

Summary below:

Maid RPG - 2025/04/05:

After some rolling we ended up with a cast of…

Dias Tirés Rebolt - 32 year old sickly loli, allegedly a maid for bridal training, is a delinquent and has tattoos (@mimeo-tan)

Elise Dawnsoul - Chuuni 16 year old, became a contract killer and later a maid because of her parent's gambling debts (@maiden-of-blades)

Dostoevsky - Alien shapeshifter, blue skin, maid because ??? (@nimbasa-c0re)

Dahlia Deathsin - (1X +-3) years old Illegitimate catgirl half sister of the master, has burns and a missing eye from various assassination attempts (@yukification) and…

Prince Deparr Deathsin - 1X year old 2nd legitimate child of the evil emperor seeking to conquer the world in the name of the Evil Organization. Also, a bishounen and otaku (this is why his servants are maids instead of respectable henchwomen…) (Me!!!!!)

(content warnings you'd expect from this case (incest, age gap) but nothing too severe I don't think. Ended up at TV ecchi anime levels and not like, hentai OVA. This time.)

and then we started the game!

On a normal day, Deparr would be plotting to finally DESTROY Masked Squadron Galaxy Five, his father's greatest enemies and only real threat to destroying the world!

…but for the next week or so, they're all on some kind of "summer vacation" and off fighting his sister instead. She's getting a whole movie with a higher effects budget and everything.

So instead Prince Deathsin is inclined to spend all day moping in bed, and it's up to his loyal servants to get his spirits up. Or not. Who knows.

Before anything, we see where the four maids were at around 7:30 AM:

Dias was trying to get a normal cup of orange juice (no alchohol! for sure!) from the bar

Elise was in the dining area cleaning, like some sort of actual maid. Even if her thoughts were occasionally about various anime heroines instead.

Dostoevsky was sweeping the balcony overlooking the pool, pushing dust onto...

Dahlia, who was slacking by the pool. As she tends to do.

And then at 8 AM all of them heard the chime, and knew it was time for the master to be roused from bed. Not that all of them cared. Still, Dostoevsky attempted to wake up Deathsin, but failed. He was awake, but only glared at her. Why get up at all?

Elise tried next, and managed to actually encourage him awake. This pep talk was surprisingly successful, and he did get out of bed and get dressed (in sweat pants and a tee-shirt, but he's bishounen enough that it worked. Collarbone showing and everything, very lewd.)

At the same time, Dahlia sees a black blur run past the pool and into the mansion, and follows it to the bar, where Dias sees the same black blur as it lands on the counter as a cat! Before the cat can start knocking bottles off the bar, Dias and Dahlia manage to catch it, and despite it's protests Dias keeps a hold of it, naming him 'Redien Diabolíc VII'

Soon after Dostoevsky and Elise also enter the kitchen, and everyone except Dias helps make pancakes and coffee for their master after he finishes his morning work.

Cooking goes well, everyone is introduced to the cat - which to Elise's surprise is not a pet of the master, but some kind of stray? Or perhaps a spy (according to Dahlia) - and the master's mood improved slightly.

Unfortunately, at that moment a heat wave hits, and suddenly work is much harder…

Because of the heat, Dias ends up bringing Prince Deathsin to the cooler with Redien, and they spend some time there together. Meanwhile, Elise attempts to work through the heat, and Dostoevsky literally melts next to the pool. Dahlia's also there, slacking off once again.

Eventually, Deathsin decides it's time to swim, and has Dias (who's only following him because the cat seems to like him, but he doesn't know that) pick out his swimsuit. She picks something very modest, but his pure bishie energy makes this too work. Dias changes to a one-piece maid swimsuit as well, and Elise independantly decides she'll go for a swim too (changing into a maid bikini).

As Deathsin, Dias and Elise arrive to the pool, Dahlia dives underwater to hide and Dostoevsky stands at attention before going to change as well. While Elise waits for Dahlia to run out of water and come up, Prince Deathsin jumps in…

And slams right into Dahlia as she comes up for air, grabbing at her as he tries not to drown. In response, she chews him out and tosses him out of the pool. Ouch.

(Meanwhile, Dias is swimming normally, and Redien is stuck on a waveboard trying not to fall in.)

Right at that moment, Dostoevsky returns in her "swimsuit" - basically just a maid themed set of pasties - and barrels through everyone, knocking Deparr back in, bringing Elise with her, and knocking Dias out in the pool.

(Redien escapes, to parts unknown…)

But before anyone can react to that - and most importantly, before Dahlia can yell at her too - a red dot appears on Prince Deathsin's head. Dahlia recognizes this as a laser sight and throws her half brother out of the pool again, this time pulling him away before the sniper can take the shot

Then, as they run, the shot is fired and explodes, damaging everyone's clothing

Dias has a hole torn in the back of her swimsuit, Elise's bikini threatens to burst as it's generally disheveled, Dostoevsky loses one (1) pasty, and Dahlia manages to block Prince Deathsin from harm in a way that tears open the front of her (still soaking wet) uniform

(Deathsin is unharmed, but the blast manages to destroy his swimsuit in a way that reduces it perfectly to a pair of swim briefs)

And then Dahlia pulls Deathsin with her into the pool shed, and - having somehow gone from flat to extremely busty the moment her top was opened - fails to have a conversation without him looking away

Annoyed and trying to convince him there's literally nothing weird about it - they're siblings, evil jesus christ, don't be gross - puts his hand on her boob

Aaaaaand successfully rolls to seduce him. Yay!

Cutting away from that, Elise successfully shoots the sniper - sent by the [Country Name] government to try and kill an evil organization executive while the heroes were away - while Dostoevsky cleans up the mess. Dias, for her part (and having returned to her normal uniform), stumbles on the shed and opens the door...

To see Dahlia on top of Deparr, close enough that his face is basically fully in her boobs while she lectures him. He's far too embarassed to do anything but blush at this point.

Dias gestures wildly to try and explain how indecent this is/how surprising it is that Dahlia suddenly has boobs, and eventually Dahlia gets up and goes to get changed. Prince Deathsin follows suit, while Elise does the same with her own ruined bikini.

Dostoevsky does not change, and instead goes straight to the kitchen to make a late lunch (scary anime cooking purple slop soup) while still basically naked (but only one blue nipple is exposed, so does it really count…?)

At the same time, Dias tries and fails to make a sandwich, and ends up tearing her own uniform and covered in suggestive white fluid (mayonnaise)

Right after that, Dostoevsky has her try the scary soup - offered like this:

And the others all walk in to see...

Her legitimately ahegao from just how good it was, while Dostoyevsky drops to the floor in disappointment - that's fine, but she expected more!

Then the others - reluctantly - all try in turn, and have similar reactions

Elise also food-wars-style orgasms from it, and only stops her clothes from exploding by sheer force of will (but another failure...)

Dahlia tries it - just to make sure it's not poisoned - and is soo affected she leaves a puddle on the ground (the first successful soup seduction!!!)

And Deathsin tries it and is so overcome with emotion he kisses Dostoevsky - before Dias throws a tantrum to bring him back to decency (close, but no seduction this time)

Then Dostoevsky tries her own soup and. Eh. It's fine.

After that, everyone awkardly finishes the pot of soup together, and the rest of the day (cleaning, Deparr working, and dinner) proceed relatively normally (i.e. were skipped)

Until! Bathtime…

Normally Deparr, y'know, bathes alone - he's not that much of a pervert, to ask his servants to join him - although he does get assistance undressing

(Dahlia, for some reason, insists on being the one to do it this time) While he attempts to relax (with Radien joining him, for some reason? But that's fine, it's just a cat ^_^) Dias bursts in and innocently argues with him to wash her back

Eventually he agrees, and something about her is almost seductive… Until Dostoevsky bursts through the (already bursted through and now closed) door! (censored only by steam and Radien blocking the camera)

(Dahlia is also watching (as she has in the past before trying to kill Deparr - which is ofc normal) and getting annoyingly distracted by him being handsome, and Elise is peeping at the door for fun (as one does))

Anyway, Dahlia also joins in preventing Dias's seduction attempt - which she's now going all out and spending favor on - and ends up flipping the Prince over again...

And hurts him enough to cause a stress explosion!

His is "Spoiled Child", so he starts whining at her about how mean she is and the two end up wrestling. Dahlia trounces him (using her maid power "Ultimate Retort"), and ends up spanking him in front of everyone! Damn.

This is so distracting that Dahlia is the only one who notices as Radien jumps into the hot bath water, and in his place rises… Another catgirl! Covered in a bodysuit, and wielding a sword!!

She introduces herself as Katarina Purrsuant, and rants about how she's spent all day waiting to kill Deparr as revenge for the Evil Organization's conquest of her home - helped by collaborators, one of whom ended up being Dahlia's mother - and swings for the Prince!

…But Dahlia easily defends him and Elise (with her maid power "Coercion") strips her, tearing her top open!

Dostoevsky tries to land a flying kick (with Dahlia's help) as a finishing blow, but Dias stops them, causing both Dahlia and Dostoevsky to slip while she hugs Kataraina - or rather, Radien, who's still her new cat even if he's a human girl now for some reason.

Katarina tries to escape, but Dias keeps her bound as everyone else grabs at her. In the tussle she accidentally activates the showers on the side of the large bath and (following Ranma rules) becomes a cat again. At this point she gives up, and lets Dias cuddle her.

The enemy is defeated, Deparr is shaken out of his stress explosion, and it's time for everyone to wrap up for the night…

(Oh, and also while Dahlia gropes Deparr and Dostoevsky under the guise of cleaning she almost gets seduced by Elise by way of a single butt tap, but doesn't quite)

Epilogue scenes:

Dias cuddles with Radien - sometimes in catgirl form, sometimes in cat form - who's given up on resisting. By the time she goes to bed (still hugging the cat) Radien's been collared and is compeltely defeated

Dahlia crosses out all her seduction plans to get into power within the Deathsin family and writes up a new one - Seduction… (she also fantasizes about Dostoevsky some)

And finally, the winners of the favor race get the final scene…

Dostoevsky reacts as her UFO lands, and she holds out her hand to Elise offering her a ride…

(once again like this:)

…before Prince Deathsin says that Elise can't go, because he need ss someone to be an actual maid around here

(Also, the evil organization is probably(?) from space, so it's not like she can't just go later)

Dostoevsky calls off the UFO, Deathsin pays off Elise's family's gambling debts

(vaguely promoting gambling so it's still evil!! he'll even throw a pachinko monster at the heroes when they come back)

and the night finally ends…

-FIN-

[holisticcoach]

chapter one | the love we didn’t name

[18+ | slow-burn, emotional tension, subtle angst, Southern setting]

a Joe Anoa’i Fan-Fiction

setting: South Florida, present day

chapter summary:

School year starts the same way it always does—too early, too hot, and too full of people pretending to care. But this year feels different. It’s her Senior Year and Arielle can feel something shifting.

Not just in the hallways.

She just didn’t expect him to be the one who noticed first. The heat in South Florida didn’t care what month it was.

It rolled in thick by 7:32 a.m., the kind that made skin stick to denim and turned the inside of Arielle’s elbows slick with humidity. She stood at the curb, arms crossed over her chest, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her curls pulled into a loose bun that already begged for mercy.

She adjusted her hoodie sleeves even though it was too hot for sleeves at all.

“Girl, you’re gonna pass out in that,” Kiera said, sipping a neon-pink drink through a long straw as she leaned against her car, the glossy black paint gleaming under the sun.

Arielle shot her a look. “I’m fine.”

“You say that, but you’re literally about to melt.”

Arielle didn’t respond. Her gaze drifted toward the parking lot, watching as seniors rolled in like they owned the place and underclassmen trailed behind with wide eyes and creaky nerves. Another year. Same faces. Same jokes. Same halls. But her chest buzzed with a weird kind of static she couldn’t name. Like something underneath the surface had changed and no one told her.

Kiera pushed off the car, looping an arm through Arielle’s. “Senior year, baby. Let’s run it.”

“Feels the same,” Arielle mumbled.

“Same ain’t always bad,” Kiera said with a smirk, tugging her toward the front gates. “Besides, I got a feeling this year’s gonna hit different.”

Arielle didn’t know what that meant—but she’d learn.

⸻

By third period, Arielle was already tired.

Not sleepy. Tired.

Tired of the way teachers droned like they were already counting down to winter break. Tired of the stares when she didn’t answer fast enough or didn’t feel like smiling. Tired of Kiera passing notes to boys who’d flirt and disappear by lunch.

She slid into her desk in English and leaned against the window, arms crossed, gaze distant.

Her phone buzzed against her thigh.

KIERA: ur brother’s annoying

KIERA: tell him stop playin

KIERA: boy been acting brand new since August smh

Arielle smirked, thumbs hovering but not answering.

Kiera wasn’t wrong. Aaron had been acting weird lately—hot one minute, cold the next. Especially when it came to her. The way he looked at Kiera now was different. Like she wasn’t just his sister’s best friend anymore.

Arielle hated it.

Mostly because when Aaron got distracted—by parties, girls, dumb decisions—she always got left behind.

⸻

Aaron hadn’t always been like that.

Back when their parents still lived in New Orleans and everything they owned could fit in the back of a van, he used to walk her to school. Share snacks. Let her fall asleep on his shoulder during long drives.

But after the floods… everything shifted.

The move. The new town. The new friends. The new Aaron.

By the time they got to South Florida, Aaron had already started building a version of himself that didn’t have room for a little sister tagging along.

⸻

The first time Joe Anoa’i stepped in, Arielle was fifteen and hiding behind the bleachers.

A group of girls had backed her into a corner between lunch and fourth period, throwing slick comments about her clothes, her skin, her voice—too quiet, too “stuck up,” too nothing.

One of them shoved her. Her lip split.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t snitch.

But Joe saw.

He didn’t make a scene. Just walked over, quiet and steady, picked up her bag, and handed it to her.

“You good?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded. Even though she wasn’t.

And since then… Joe became a constant in a way Aaron never had time to be.

⸻

After school, Arielle found herself trailing behind the buses, her bag heavier than usual. Kiera had cheer practice. Aaron had vanished.

Again.

She didn’t want to ask anyone for a ride.

But her phone buzzed.

JOE: you need a ride?

Her stomach flipped.

She typed, paused, deleted, then typed again.

ARIELLE: yeah. front gate.

⸻

Joe pulled up in his old truck like it had never aged. Same dent in the side. Same scent of cologne and faint leather when she climbed in.

“You good?” he asked again, just like he always did.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Joe didn’t push. Never did.

They rode in silence, the windows down, wind whipping through her curls.

“School just started,” he said after a while.

“I know.”

“Still tired?” he grinned.

Arielle looked out the window. “It’s not the school part. It’s everything else.”

Joe nodded, like he understood. And somehow, she knew he did.

⸻

By the time she got home, the sun had dipped just enough to cast everything in gold. Mama Ro’s wind chimes danced on the porch. The kitchen window glowed.

Joe waited until she got to the door before driving off.

No words.

Just a look.

Like he knew something was about to change.

And maybe… so did she.

— drop a like or comment if you’re following the story. taglist open.

[gorgiawrite]

CANNONS ON SAILING VESSELS (18TH CENTURY)

A typical broadside of a ship of the late 18th century could be fired 2–3 times in approximately 5 minutes, depending on the training of the crew.

FIRING PROCEDURE

A wet swab was used to mop out the interior of the barrel, extinguishing any embers from a previous firing which might set off the next charge of gunpowder prematurely.

Gunpowder (either loose, in a cloth or in a parchment cartridge) was placed in the barrel followed by a cloth wad, then rammed home.

The shot was rammed in, followed by another wad to prevent the cannonball from rolling out of the barrel if the muzzle was depressed.

The gun in its carriage was then 'run out' ; men heaved on the gun tackles until the front of the gun carriage was hard up against the ship's bulwark, the barrel protruding out of the gun port.

The touch hole in the rear (breech) of the cannon was primed with finer gunpowder (priming powder), then ignited.

A lite linstock was applied to the touch-hole of the gun to fire the cannon.

Firing a naval cannon required a great amount of labour and manpower. (x)

GUNNER'S TOOLS

From Artillery Through the Ages by Albert Manucy (x)

The sponge, moistened with water, extinguished sparks in the bore after firing.

The worm cleaned unburned fragments of cloth powder bags from the bore.

Ladles were originally used to load powder; after cartridge bags came into use, they were used to extract loads from muzzle-loaders without firing.

The rammer sealed cartridge and ball in place.

The scraper and searchers were used to clean the gun and to find damaged spots in the bore.

The handspike helped to move the gun carriage and to raise the gun breech so the wedge-shaped quoin could be moved to adjust the gun's elevation.

The gunner's pick or priming wire pierced the powder bag to make sure that the flame of the primer would ignite the powder charge.

The tompion kept the bore dry while the gun was not in use.

Rigging of carriage gun (x)

CANNONS ON SHIPS

« These cannons, the heart of a warship’s offensive capability, were mounted on wooden carriages that allowed them to recoil when fired. The carriages themselves were secured to the ship’s deck using strong ropes or breechings. This setup allowed the cannons to be moved and aimed, while also ensuring they didn’t break loose in rough seas or during the heat of battle.

The ropes were attached to ringbolts set into the deck or the ship’s sides, and the tension could be adjusted to manage the cannon’s recoil. This was critical, as the force of firing a cannon was immense, and without proper securing, the cannon could become a deadly projectile within the ship itself. The ropes also allowed the cannons to be pulled back into position after firing, ready for the next round.

In addition to the ropes, wooden wedges called quoins were used to adjust the cannon’s elevation. These wedges were placed under the breech, the rear part of the cannon, allowing the crew to aim the cannonball’s trajectory for different ranges. »

[information above from a contribution on quora]

The powerful recoil is the reason the guns were fired one after the other instead of all at once. Otherwise, the pressure on the hull of the ship (where the cannons are attached) would be too great.

CANNONS CALIBRES

18 pounder gun, aboard the Man o' War (Black Sails)

Common sizes were 42-pounders, 36-pounders, 32-pounders, 24-pounders, 18-pounders, 12-pounders, 9-pounders, 8-pounders, 6-pounders, and various smaller calibres.

« The distance or range of a gun varied tremendously by the size of the ball and the amount of powder used to propel it. This proved to be very dangerous work for gun crews as cannon did explode (fail), showering the crew with deadly metal shards. The amount of powder often varied from 1/4 to 1/3 the weight of the projectile in pounds. »

« A 12 pounder gun might use 4 pounds of powder and fire 1000 yards. The timbers of a warship could not be appreciably damaged by anything smaller than a 12 pounder. »

[information above from a contribution on quora]

Where a small ship might be armed with 6-pounders (guns which threw a 6-pound shot), a large ship-of-the-line, the battleship of her day, mounted guns firing shot of as much as 32 pounds in weight.

GUN CREWS

Gun is in its recoil position for loading (x)

The officer's rank of Gunner was one responsible for all the cannons aboard the ship, as well as their maintenance and upkeep. He was also in charge of the powder magazine. Gunners had oversight over all the gun captains and gun crews.

Every shipboard cannon was operated by gun crews of 5 men*, including their leader, the gun captain. In battle, the gun crews would reload and position the cannon, while the gun-captain would adjust their aim appropriately and fire the cannon.

*An 18-pounder might have a crew of six or seven.