#so it feels good to have something I worked hard on and love for this show now

[alyakhq]

jealous colonel caleb and his lieutenant because i said so :)

“please!— please colonel! oh gosh—“ your begs and pleads filled the air, yet fell into deaf ears. the man behind you, your husband, was railing you into the large bed, his cock reaching your cervix with every harsh thrust, hands digging into your hips, “fuck—i-i can’t it’s too much caleb—“

“it’s not too much, you can take it,” he whispered in your ear, his hips pressing into the flesh of your ass, making it shake on impact, caleb’s eyes latched onto the jiggle, “damn—late nights at the gym with me has paid off,” slap! “your ass is getting fatter…didn’t even know that was possible.” you didn’t even understand what he was saying, your mind only filled with how deep his dick was going, how much pleasure your being given.

the sounds of skin slapping echoed in caleb’s bedroom, his hips reckless and powerful, thrusting into your wet pussy, his hand pressing onto your upper back to arch your back more.

the sight alone making him groan. your back arched nicely, your curls over your shoulders— fuck you were a masterpiece. grabbing a pillow, you stuffed your face into it, trying to hold back the loud moans which have probably waken up the whole of sky haven. that ass of yours driving caleb insane, shaking with every thrust, it was calling his name.

your ass red and bruised from his assualt earlier, spanking you for talking all cute and submissive for other men in the fleet. his heavy hand, still with his leather gloves on, landing on your flesh with every wrong answer you gave him. his other hand holding you down over his lap, until you apologised properly, which is when he finally rubbed your skin. squeezing the flesh and kissing your sore spots away, before putting you on all fours and fucking you raw.

“who do you belong to lieutenant? tell me,” caleb growled, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips, pulling your ass back to meet his own hips.

your head lifted from the pillow, black tears running down your face due to your mascara, your baby hair clinging to your face.

but nothing came out.

..did he even say anything? definitely not, however, it was too late when you realised he actually did speak, and even worse asked you something.

caleb’s silence sent shivers down your spine, and then his beefy arm went around your neck, pulling your torso up a little, bringing you to his chest. you could feel his muscles against your lower back, and his lips reached your ear, “i asked you a fucking question, don’t make me punish you again. or are you too cockdrunk to speak? can you only moan and beg? pathetic.” his voice was filled with power, commanding, making your pussy clench around him.

“i’m sorry colonel! i’m so sorry—fuck i’m so sorry! please—hah! what was the question? i’ll a-answer!” your hands went to his forearm, digging your nails into the firm muscle, feeling his arms tense. his arm was so muscular, so biteable it was hard not to sink your teeth into his flesh as well. “i’ll be a good girl colonel..!”

his other went to your bruised ass, landing another slap for your disobedience, “my poor lieutenant, can’t even remember what i said? little whore. i’ll say it again. who do you belong to?”

his thrusts picked up pace, slamming into your at an inhumane pace, feeling your tight pussy clench around his cock, your moans filling his ears. it only motivated him more, his cock reaching deeper into your cunt, you could feel it in your throat.

“i belong to you!—mhm! you colonel! only you!—ah! please—it’s too much!”

caleb’s arm removed itself from your neck, his hands. gently lowering your limp torso back onto the mattress. his hands going to your hips. his leg went up, to give him more strength to rail you harder. “too much? awh, little soldier can’t handle it? can’t handle my cock? huh?”

caleb scoffed, “silly girl, i’ll show you too much.”

@ alyakhq, do not plagiarise, copy or translate my work pls :)

i love caleb but i need to leave him alone more

[stargazsblog]

I CAN SEE YOU ──꒰✉️꒱ ❞ ‧₊˚

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ clark kent x fem!reader

꣑ৎ you and clark have been secretly dating for three months. no touching, barley talking at work. so why does it feel like everyone knows?

꣑ৎ now playing - i can see you by taylor swift

tag/warnings: fluff, jealousy, swearing, making out

note: KITCHEN SCENE!!!!! i know i am a little late on this but i just watched superman a week ago and oh my god i love it sm

Working with Clark is probably the most stressful thing ever. Not because he’s difficult—he’s actually the sweetest person in the office. Always kind, always helpful, always handsome.

Which makes it even worse.

Because you’re dating him. Secretly.

And if you told anyone that, no one would believe you. You two barely even look at each other during work hours. He treats you like any other coworker—polite, distant, professional. And you’ve gotten pretty good at pretending you don’t stare every time he rolls up his sleeves or adjusts his glasses.

But now? Now it’s been three months. Three months of pretending you don’t notice him when he walks past your desk with his tie slightly loosened and a coffee in each hand—only placing one on Lois’s desk.

Three months of pretending you’re not dating the guy who texts you goodnight with terrible emojis and kisses your forehead like he’s scared he’ll break you.

And somehow, it still feels like everyone knows.

Maybe it’s the way Jimmy gives you a look every time Clark walks by. Or how Lois asked—very casually—if there’s someone special in your life. Or how Clark, bless him, keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one’s looking.

Working with Clark Kent is exhausting.

You don’t see Clark, but you know he’s late. Again.

You’re standing by the printer near his desk, waiting for your files to finish printing. It’s the closest you’ve been to his chair all week, and it still feels too close. He’s usually already here by now—tie straight, glasses slightly fogged from the rush in. But today, his desk is empty.

Or… it was.

While you’re focused on the machine slowly spitting out paper, you don’t notice him quietly slipping in behind you. You only hear the sound of his bag hitting the floor.

“So this guy flew into Midtown and started attacking people, demanding Superman show up?�� Lois says, her voice sharp and curious.

You freeze, your hand hovering over the warm stack of papers. You don’t turn around. You can’t. You already know exactly what they’re talking about. Clark had come to you right after—scuffed up, hair messy, eyes tired. He held you for a long time and whispered, “I’m okay.”

Now he’s here, in clean clothes and calm glasses, like none of it happened.

“Yeah,” Clark replies easily. “It’s all there in my article.”

You can’t help it—your lips twitch into a small smile. His voice is warm, smooth, and steady. Totally unbothered. Like he hadn’t just saved the world again.

You force your attention back to your papers, trying to ignore the twist of jealousy in your stomach. Lois is always talking to him. Laughing with him. She has no idea.

You’ve just collected the last page when you hear someone call your name.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn instinctively—and freeze.

Jimmy’s smiling at you from across the room. So is Lois. And so is Clark.

All three of them are watching you, but it’s Clark’s eyes you notice first. There’s a flicker of something behind his glasses. That soft, familiar look he gives you when no one else is around. The one that says, I see you.

You swallow hard, cheeks warming. You pray no one notices.

“Uh—yeah?” you say, pretending like your heart isn’t racing.

Jimmy grins and waves you over. “We were just talking about the Superman situation. You saw it, right?”

You nod slowly, trying not to look at Clark. “Yeah. I saw some stuff online this morning.”

“Total chaos,” Lois adds, crossing her arms. “Guy shows up out of nowhere, starts attacking people.”

Jimmy leans forward, eyes lighting up. “So what do you think of him, Y/N? Superman, I mean.”

Your brain short-circuits. You know they’re just making conversation, but suddenly it feels like the room is too bright, too quiet, like Clark’s staring straight through you.

What do you think of Superman?

You think he’s brave. You think he’s gentle. You think he makes you pancakes at 2 a.m. and wraps you in his arms like you’re the most important person in the universe.

But you can’t say any of that.

So you shrug, and hope your smile doesn’t look as nervous as it feels.

“I mean, he’s cool. I guess?” you say, casually, maybe too casually.

Clark lets out a soft chuckle behind you. Just one little laugh—but you hear it loud and clear.

“Just cool?” Jimmy raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this.

You blink, flustered. “I mean—do you want me to stand here and praise him for what he does?” you say, half-laughing. “He’s Superman. He’s already got enough fan clubs.”

Lois smirks. “So you’re not a fan?”

“I didn’t say that!” you rush to add. “I just—he’s fine. He does good things. Very… heroic.”

You feel Clark’s eyes on you. You know he’s trying not to smile.

Jimmy grins like he’s cracked some secret code. “You’re totally hiding a crush.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No. Nope. Not at all.”

“Okay, okay,” Lois says, waving it off, “let her live. We’ve all got our opinions.”

You mutter something about needing to get back to work and shuffle away, heat blooming across your cheeks. You don’t dare look at Clark as you pass him—but he leans in just slightly as you go by and murmurs, barely audible:

“Just cool, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. But your smile gives you away.

Your hair’s a mess, your shirt’s half-unbuttoned, and your bag is slipping off your arm. You don’t even bother turning on the lights as you shut the door behind you with your foot and toss your keys somewhere near the counter.

You drag yourself into the kitchen, already reaching for the fridge.

You let out a loud scream.

“Holy shit, Clark!”

Because there he is. In your kitchen. Like it’s totally normal. Shirt sleeves rolled up, glasses off, standing barefoot in front of the stove like he hasn’t just scared ten years off your life.

He glances over his shoulder, completely calm. “Hey.”

“Babe, next time text me you’re coming,” you say, hand still pressed to your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says as he turns off the stove and walks toward you, warm and soft in every movement. “I just know how stressed you’ve been lately, so I wanted to make your favorite—breakfast for dinner.”

You set your bag down and walk toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“That’s your favorite,” you reply.

He grins, dimples and all—those dimples.

“No… last time I checked, you love breakfast for dinner,” he teases, slipping his arms around your waist.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders with a quiet laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re adorable,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you, soft and slow like he has all the time in the world.

Then, without warning, he picks you up effortlessly and sets you on the kitchen counter. You squeak a little, grinning against his lips.

“I thought you were tired,” he says, voice low and amused.

“I was. Then you showed up looking like this,” you tease, tugging playfully at his rolled sleeves.

Clark lets out a hum and starts kissing your neck, slow and deliberate, like he has nowhere else to be but here with you.

“You know,” he whispers between kisses, his lips brushing just under your jaw, “I think we’re doing pretty good at hiding our relationship.”

“You think?” you breathe out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Pretty sure your friends have been looking at me weird.”

He smiles against your skin. “Let them look.”

His hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming your waist. “They don’t know anything.”

You tilt your head back slightly, giving him more access, your voice barely a whisper. “They know something.”

Clark pulls back just enough to meet your eyes—dark, soft, and burning with something heavy. “Do you want to stop?”

Your pulse stutters. “No.”

His mouth meets yours, deeper this time, and when he lifts you off the counter and starts walking you toward the bedroom, you forget about Jimmy, Lois,—everything except him.

The newsroom hums with the usual clatter — phones ringing, typing, someone arguing near the printers. You step off the elevator, pretending like everything’s normal. Like you didn’t spend the night in Clark’s arms. Like your shirt doesn’t still smell faintly like his cologne.

Clark walks in behind you, a minute later. Casual. Professional. His tie’s slightly crooked.

You brush past each other in the hallway. Barely. Not even enough for anyone to notice—

Except Jimmy.

Jimmy, sitting at his desk with a half-eaten bagel, tracks the interaction like he’s watching a spy movie. His eyes squint. He leans over toward Lois, lowering his voice like he’s about to break the biggest story of the year.

“How long have they been dating?” he asks.

Lois doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even glance away from her computer.

“Three months.”

Jimmy chokes on his bite. “Wait, what?! You knew?!”

Lois finally looks up, unimpressed. “Jimmy. Please. Clark literally smiles now. He’s writing down his so-called funny jokes and he’s wearing cologne. You think he does that for himself?”

Jimmy blinks, stunned. “I thought he was just… glowing.”

Lois rolls her eyes and goes back to typing. “He’s in love, not radioactive.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

Relationship Alphabet Soup

a-z head cannons for how lando acts when he's in a relationship with you.

(quick note. this was so fun to write. i want to do one for at least max too. maybe other drivers. like my voicemail series. master list is here)

Affection - how do they show their affection

Words and touch. He’s very vocal about how much he adores you and how he feels about you. Compliments come easy and he uses his words to reinforce the way he feels about you when he’s touching you. This man will bear hug you for five minutes, head buried in the crook of your neck, and hold you like you’re returning from war even when you’d only run out for eggs and milk ten minutes ago. Kisses are given freely and easily and he’s never shy with showing his affection in front of his parents or the media. 

Baby - do they want a family

Lando has famously spoken about his future children in many interviews. The most recent one, the one posted by McLaren where he talks about his legacy and how he wants his children to remember him? You were in the room with him for that interview. The way he looked past all the cameras and directly at you when he spoke of how he wanted his grandchildren to know him and how he wants to be remembered had your heart hammering against your ribcage. You’d always been iffy on kids but after dating Lando even the shortest time, you were sold. You knew it would be a few years but there was no doubt that when Lando was done racing, he’d be ready to settle down and have as many babies as you’d give him. 

Cuddles - do they like to cuddle? Do they prefer to be big spoon or little spoon? 

Does Lando Norris like cuddles? This man cannot get enough of them. If you’re sitting on the couch without him, you’re being pulled right into his lap the second he sits down. You don’t know what personal space is anymore and have trouble sleeping without your own personal weighted blanked boyfriend half draped over you. He prefers big spoon because he loves making you feel safe but every once in a while he needs to be taken car of too. He won’t ask for it though so you’ve learned his moods and when he needs a little extra attention. 

Dates - what was your first date with them? Their favorite date? 

Despite his bravado in that one McLaren interview (you know the one), Lando was actually really shy and sweet on your first date. You had met at a party in London through a friend of a friend and flirty texts turned into one very real first date in Hyde Park. He had hired a chef to pack a picnic and brought along one of his mother’s quilts. You sat on this little crest of of a hill overlooking a duck pond, talking about anything and laughing at the little girl and her dad feeding the ducks. But Lando’s favorite date was when he surprised you after one particular had week of work with a private jet to Paris for the evening where he’d dropped an ungodly amount of money to have one of the wings at the Musee d’Orsay opened after-hours just for you. There was a four course meal served in front of a Renoir and you’d never felt more loved or seen that entire night. Lando lives for planning over the top dates to show you how much he adores you but his favorites are the quiet nights in, cooking for each other on a random Tuesday night. 

Effort - how do they put effort into the relationship 

He’s matured a lot since you first started dating and shows up a lot more than he did. Relationships had always been pretty surface level for Lando until you came along and then it was like something clicked. He had never felt the need to prove to someone how much he cared for them until you and he’d never let you forget how much you mean to him. It had been hard in the beginning and he’d been scared. There had been fights and tears but as you settle into the comfortable season that comes with finding your soulmate, Lando learned what you needed from him to be a good partner and you rarely questioned his desire to be with you. 

Fights - how do they deal with conflict 

He’s a talker. His parents had a rule in their marriage that they never went to bed angry. Even if they didn’t resolve it, they never let the night end without at least an ‘I love you’. Lando carried that into his relationship with you. He sometimes over communicates and it can feel suffocating, especially for someone like you who’d never been treated quite right in past relationships. But he means well and even when you fight, you know that it’ll get resolved in the end. 

Gratitude - how do they show how grateful they are to have you?

Lando’s a very vocal guy. Like his affection, he’s quick with a ‘thank you’ or ‘you’re so good to me’ even in the smallest moments. He’s been on the receiving end of a thankless relationship before and knows how painful it can be so he always tried his hardest to show how much you mean to him and how thankful he is that you chose him. 

Honesty - is it a big thing for them? Are they honest with you too?

With the kind of work that he does, the amount of time you spend away from each other, the way the internet is, Lando is a stickler for honesty. He trusts you beyond belief but expect you to be honest with him. If you’re lonely or hurting, he wants you to say it. In the beginning, you kept a lot of the anxiety of what it meant to be dating him to yourself and it caused a lot of pain. It nearly cost you everything. So Lando instituted a rule: no secrets. You two are always honest with each other no matter what, no matter if it hurts or causes a fight. 

Insight - are they good at reading your moods?

That man knows your moods better than you do. He can be kind of ‘head in the clouds’ when he’s knee deep into the season but the moment he feels your mood shift, he’s like a dog with a bone. It’s always been almost spooky the way he can sense when something is bothering you, sometimes even before you even realize it yourself. 

Jealousy - are they a jealous person? 

If Lando has one giant issue, it’s his jealousy. Your barista spends a little too long chatting you up after taking your order? Lando is glued to you, hand on your hip, laughing a touch too aggressively. You spend an extra few moments talking to Lewis on afternoon between sessions and Lando’s pouting in the garage for the foreseeable future. It’s not because he thinks you’re going to cheat. It’s just that he hates when your attention is elsewhere and can’t stomach the thought of someone stealing you away, even if it would never happen. You’ve argued about it. It’s one of your biggest struggles in your relationship, but he’s trying to be better at it. 

Kisses - what was your first kiss like? Do they like kissing?

You usually had a strict rule of no kissing on the first date. But Lando was the first, and last, person to get you to break it. You had spent the afternoon in Hyde Park, talking and laughing about nothing special. When the sun dipped low, kissing the horizon in a tangerine glow, the air had chilled to the point where Lando had pulled a sweater out of seemingly nowhere and tugged it over your shoulders. When he didn’t pull back, suddenly you had the overwhelming urge to kiss him, despite your rule. Lando had sensed it too, didn’t want to push you too far but was desperate to touch you. He leaned in first, but you met him where he was and the moment your lips met? Instant electricity. Once he had it once, Lando never wanted to be without your kisses any longer. It was like breathing to him, having his mouth on you. Lips, neck, collarbone, hip, lower…anytime he was kissing you was time well spent in Lando’s opinion. 

Love language - what is theirs 

Touch, gifts, words of affirmation. You’d learned about Lando’s clingy tendencies pretty quickly but it was the other two that surprised you the most. Lando lives to spoil you and he is sentimental as fuck about it too. He will buy you a new piece of jewelry to commemorate even the most obscure milestone. The earrings he bought you for the anniversary of the first time you slept over the first time were some of your favorite. I’ve mentioned this before but this man also is vocal with his love as well. ‘I love you’s’ are as common as blinking in your apartment. Praise for your cooking or a sincere compliment on the new perfume you bought are the norm and come as easy as breathing for Lando. 

Marriage - do they want to get married?

Lando’s had your engagement ring picked out in his mind since your second date. He knew you were it for him so quickly it was scary. He managed to keep it to himself for quite a while though. He knew he’d scare you off but he was all in pretty quickly. He loved seeing the way your cheeks flushed when he called you wifey or his future bride. He smirked at the way you thought you were subtly dropping hints about diamond size and cut a year into your relationship. Lando knew you were going to be his wife and couldn’t wait for it to happen. 

Nicknames - what are their nicknames for you/what are theirs for you? 

Lando’s favorite is ‘baby’, ofc but honestly, he’ll call you just about anything except your actual name. Love, Darling, and Baby are all of his go-to’s but he’s been known to toss out a random one when he’s had a few drinks and is feeling goofy. He’ll never live down the night he (seriously) called you ‘Schnookems’. 

Open - how open are they with you? How long did it take for them to get that way with you? 

Lando can be a pretty guarded guy at first but once you have his trust, he’s an open book. He knew he wanted to get to know you before he even asked you out on a date so he was pretty open with who he is and how hectic his life is pretty quick. In a world that can twist even the smallest of misunderstandings and quick looks into something as big as a possible cheating scandal or potential breakup, it’s important to Lando that you two are always on the same page and that both of you are honest and open about everything. 

PDA - their feelings on PDA 

At first, he’s shy. He’s well versed in online hate and wanted to protect you from it for as long as he could. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed to be seen with you or anything, he just wanted to protect what was new. But once you were out in the open, it was game on. (the two of you hard launched on a random Friday morning in the paddock in Italy. No one from McLaren knew and showing up hand in hand with Lando with no warning gave every single comms staffer a heart attack) He’s very clingy and not afraid to show his affection for you in public. 

Quality time - how do they spend quality time with you? What do they do behind closed doors?

Sometimes quality time can be hard to come by with Lando, especially in the middle of the season. When you suggested that phones get put away and you focus on each other whenever you do get a rare stretch of time off, Lando was on board. Every once in a while, he’ll stream with Max while you’re around but if you are together, you keep it low key. He bought you your first Lego set and that sort of morphed into a shared hobby/activity you do together. Watching movies and playing video games (you always die first when you play Tarkov though) are popular choices too. Despite Lando not being a big reader himself, he will sit and listen for however long you’ll read to him for. Sometimes when he’s away for a race, you’ll get on FaceTime and read to him whatever book you’re reading until he falls asleep. 

Relationship - when did they realize they wanted to be in a relationship with you? How?

That man was smitten right away. He knew that he was all in pretty quick. Like, by the end of the first date quick. He knows dating him is a lot though and didn’t want to pressure you into anything so he let you set the pace for the progression of your relationship. He was the one to bring it up finally though, after a brutal triple header in the middle of the season. You’d been on a handful of dates and found yourself missing him fiercely during the third stretch. The first night back, he flew into London instead of back to Monaco and showed up at your door at 1am. His hair was messy and your eyes were sleepy but he said he didn’t want to go another second without being able to call you his girlfriend. You, of course, agreed. That was the first night Lando had slept over too. 

Spoiled - does he like to spoil you?

Lando Norris lives to spoil you. Despite your insistence that he doesn’t have to spend money on you or that you don’t need every Chanel bag he thinks looks cute, he does it anyway. Spend a few moments too long looking at a necklace while you’re walking down the street in Monaco? That same necklace will inevitably show up on your doorstep a week later.

Temper - do they have a temper? 

If he’s having a stretch of bad races, he gets in his head and can take it out on those around him. He knows it’s bad and is working on getting better at it. The last time his temper caused a fight between you two, he realized how poorly he was behaving and asked Jon to set him up with a sports psychologist so he could work on handling the pressure of his job better. 

Unwind - how do they unwind after a busy day/week 

He’s mentioned it in several interviews but he loves to spend time with his family and friends but also loves his alone time. His world is always so chaotic and loud, that whenever he has a moment to just breathe and exist, he does. Quiet vacations, movie nights, lazy Sunday mornings on off weekends spent in bed…That is how Lando recharges. And having you by his side through everything makes it all that much better. 

Value - what do they value in a relationship? 

He knows his life is fast and chaotic and hard to keep up with, so he values someone who is steady and has a good head on their shoulders. He knows how important communication is, especially when you’re apart for long stretches of time due to his schedule, so honesty is huge. He views you as his partner in life and wants to make sure you’re taken care of and happy, no matter what. 

Willingness - how willing are they to go the extra mile for you? 

Lando will move mountains for you. He knows how lonely life can be as his girlfriend, knows how hard the comments on your relationship can hit, so he will do anything and everything in his power to make sure you’re taken care of. Come down with a cold while he’s half a world away racing? You wake up to your mom and sister who live across the country knocking on your door to take care of you. Falling asleep after a late practice session while he’s still going to be at the track doing engineering debriefs for several more hours? He has Rich or Jon take you back to the hotel so you can go to bed at a decent hour. He will do whatever he can to make sure you’re safe and taken care of. 

Xtra - an extra fluff prompt of your choice 

Lando gets broody when he sees you with little kids. When you meet Max’s Lily for the first time shortly after Kelly gives birth, he just about melts into a puddle watching you cuddle the newborn. He’s always thought that he wanted to wait until later in life, maybe even after he retires, so have kids, but seeing you fuss and coo over Lily has Lando spinning out of control. He’s ready to get you off birth control and put a baby in you right that moment, but settles for ‘in a few years’ after you convince him that now is certainly not the right time. 

Yearning - how do they handle missing you

Not well. He is a clingy baby when you’re together so when he’s gone for a long time? It’s the worst. Quite often, you’ll both fall asleep on FaceTime when he’s off racing in another country. Lando has more than once begged you to quit your job and travel with him full time. You, of course, refuse but do go to as many races as your schedule will allow. He is the king of constant texts, picture messages, voice notes, gifts sent from far away. Anything to make sure you know how much he’s missing you. 

Zzzzz - what’s it like sleeping with them? 

Lando is perpetually cold. He sleeps with several thick blankets, even in the middle of summer. You will frequently (read: always) wake up with him wrapped around you, arm draped around your waist, legs tangled together. He’s a deep sleeper too. Once he’s out, he’s really hard to wake up so you frequently have to be his alarm clock. You don’t mind because that means you get to wake him up with cuddles and kisses. 

[wendichester]

Hiii I've fallen in love with your writing and I've been eating it up. I've been watching Supernatural, and I'm ashamed I didn't start it sooner. AND I fell in love with Castiel

Sooo....

If you're accepting requests, would you be able to do Fluff, like me getting a mouthful of cavities kind of writing. Maybe Castiel having a crush a not knowing how to act about it or something. Honestly as long as I'm giggling and kicking my feet it don't matter ✋️🙂‍↕️🤚

.ೃ࿔*:･ short-circuit grace,

pairing. castiel x reader ( gn )

wordcount. 518 genre. tooth-rooting fluff

warnings. castiel being confused by feelings™, awkward angel crush energy, sam and dean being so aware and mildly entertained, blushing. lots of blushing (and not just the human kind), emotional clumsiness with heart-melting sincerity

Castiel is malfunctioning again.

That’s what Dean calls it, at least—his very charming way of saying “your angel boyfriend is glitching out every time you smile at him.”

He’s not wrong.

It starts small. Little things. Castiel begins hovering—more than usual. Lurking around the war room while you read, sitting at the far end of the library table and staring like you’ve suddenly become the most complex Enochian tablet on Earth. Once, you caught him watching you make a sandwich in the kitchen like it was the key to the cosmos.

“Cas?” you asked that time, half-laughing. “You good?”

He blinked, jolted like someone had turned him back on. “…I’m uncertain.”

That had been two weeks ago. He has not improved.

Now, you’re sitting on the couch in the bunker’s living room, a bowl of popcorn in your lap, watching a movie. Dean’s on your left, Sam on the floor, and Castiel—poor, sweet, completely infatuated Castiel—is seated awkwardly beside you like the idea of “casual proximity” is a dangerous and possibly illegal activity.

You nudge him gently with your shoulder. “You okay?”

He jerks his head toward you. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You’re sitting like someone’s trying to hack your limbs remotely.”

Dean snorts. Cas glances at him, then back to you, expression painfully earnest.

“I’m attempting to be normal,” he confesses. “But your presence makes that… difficult.”

Your heart stutters. “Oh?”

“You emit a calming energy that is simultaneously extremely distracting,” Cas says, tone flat but eyes wide. “I find myself thinking about you when I should be focused on the hunt. I remember the cadence of your voice. The curve of your handwriting. I memorized the way you laugh and I recite it to myself when things are difficult.”

You blink.

Dean lets out a low whistle. Sam looks up from the floor like this is the best episode of TV he’s ever seen.

“…Cas,” you say, stunned and gooey, “are you saying you have a crush on me?”

He tilts his head, clearly running diagnostics on the word. “If ‘crush’ means I feel a strong urge to protect you, spend time near you, and offer you flowers I stole from the neighbor’s yard—” he gestures to a small, slightly mangled bouquet beside the lamp—“then yes. I believe I do.”

You laugh. Warm and full and flustered.

Castiel immediately stiffens. “Was that incorrect? Did I misread the—”

You kiss his cheek before he can finish.

It’s soft. Quick. But it shuts him up instantly.

Cas just… freezes. His eyes go wide. His wings (which no one else can see) flare, slightly. His vessel’s face goes rosy in a way that shouldn’t be possible, and he looks like someone just handed him the stars.

You smile at him. “You’re doing great.”

Dean groans into his beer. “Oh, come on. You’re gonna make me throw up.”

Sam grins. “Let ‘em have their moment.”

Cas is still staring at you, utterly stunned.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you realize: angels don’t fall in love every day.

But when they do… they fall hard.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ

[j3llyc4kes]

summary: it’s ww2, your unfaithful husband naoya has been drafted in the war. but thank god you have the milkman choso!

cw: fluff, smut, crackish. naoya slander, not sorry. cheating but it’s okay cause naoya’s a dick and choso’s not! lolol lowkey pregnancy kink at the end heh mentions of war. nothing crazy. overall, reader is a housewife and a whore for the milkman (i would be too)

wc: 3.3k!

a/n: this has been in my mind for mooonths seeing this art from @/einruji__ on ig! :3

the thing is, your husband was already unfaithful before he shipped off to war. real patriotic of him, really—humping the neighbor’s wife while you ironed his newly issued uniforms and cried into your casseroles.

you knew he wasn’t a good man. he never was. not before he draft notice, not even when the ink was drying on your wedding certificate.

he said he’d be gone eighteen months, maybe longer. you didn’t really care.

he kissed your cheek too fast and told you not to wait up one night. you knew from the smudged lipstick on his collar, the sudden generosity toward the neighbor when she asked to borrow some ‘sugar’. the way he stopped touching you altogether. war is just the excuse. he left like he was relieved, like the only thing he’ll miss is his shaving mirror and the breakfast you make when he’s hungover.

since he’s been gone, he doesn’t write. you don’t either.

what he doesn’t know is that you already stopped loving him long before he even proposed. you’ve just been playing house. standing in your cute little kitchen, polishing the same countertop, folding the same linen napkins, waiting for someone to notice you exist.

enter choso kamo.

choso is the milkman. he’s the quiet type. a sweetheart, truly. you don’t know much about him—just that he’s not from here, that he took over the route from his brother, and that he always has perfect change in his pocket.

he shows up at 7:12 every morning with the same metal carrier, the same off-white uniform, sleeves rolled up like he just has to know what he’s doing to you. dark brown hair tied back low on his neck, one loose strand always curling across his temple, like he’s just been kissed by something. not the sun. and not by you. at least, not yet. but hopefully soon.

he always says “good morning, ma’am” in that slow, syrupy voice of his with a tip of his cap and you smile like butter wouldn’t melt.

the first time you invite him inside, you tell yourself it’s for a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade. he works hard. he deserves it.

and because you feel lonely. that’s all. just…lonely.

the second time, it’s because you want him to see you. really see you. not as some soldier’s wife or pretty housewife in pearls. just a woman. bored and warm and hungry for something that doesn’t feel fake.

he sees you, alright. he sees you and he wants you. but also he sees that pretty little rock on your finger.

so, he’s patient. for now.

he stays almost every time he comes by. leaning against your doorframe and fiddling with the strap of his carrier, eyes flicking over your pretty little house dress, your legs, your lips. nothing improper—not yet. it’s 1944.

but you’re not exactly living by the book anymore, are you?

you were supposed to be the sweet housewife. but your husband is naoya zenin. he makes it hard to be sweet at all. he’s the kind of man who asks you to make dinner and expects applause for showing up hours later when it’s cold. the kind of man who thinks “i love you” is a reward, not a habit. and the neighbor?

oh, she’s still around. still mowing her lawn in kitten heels and curlers like it’s not a war zone out there. you wave to her sometimes. she doesn’t wave back. i guess she’s grieving your husband in her own way.

but you’ve got choso now. or not now now. not officially. right now he just brings the milk and a smile. but you’ve got time. you’ve got plenty of war time. you’ve got 7:12am and the scent of him lingering on your porch and the way he looks at you like you’re something warm he’s afraid to touch.

and then one day, the milk’s not the only thing he brings.

choso knocks the same way he always does. two soft taps on the screen door, just loud enough to pull you out of whatever pretend domestic task you’ve been busying yourself with—watering plants that don’t need it, folding laundry that isn’t dirty, wiping already-clean countertops like a robot.

it’s early. the soft sun is pouring in through the sheer kitchen curtains. you’re in the kitchen when it happens. wearing a little lavender dress that hugs the waist and buttons too tight across the chest, because if you’re going to be a desperate housewife, you might as well be pretty about it.

the radio’s humming low in the corner, some voice crooning about lost love and waiting faithfully.

how fitting.

you wipe your hands on your apron and go to the door, and there he is, in his starched white uniform and spotless cap, holding two glass bottles of milks so innocently like he doesn’t know he’s the only man who’s ever made you feel seen.

he sees you and his soft eyes instantly light up.

“mornin’ ma’am.” he says.

“goodmorning choso,” you smile, opening the screen door. “would you like to come in?”

choso wouldn’t dare turn down a gorgeous woman like you.

he steps inside, following behind you slowly. he sets the milk on the counter, pretends for a moment that he’s just doing his job.

his eyes dropping to your collarbone like it’s a crime scene. today, though, it’s different. there’s something in the air. something heady and stupid. like heat in the springtime. like lust with manners.

“brought you some extra,” he says, lifting one of the bottles. “cream. had some left over from the route.”

you tilt your head. “how generous, cho.”

“figured you could use it.”

“i could use a lot of things.” you say with a smile.

the silence? thick and sweet.

you watch the way his throat moves when he swallows. how his tongue peeks out just barely to wet his bottom lip.

and that’s when you decide.

he’s helped you carry your groceries. fixed your leaky sink. reached the good china from the top shelf like a gentleman. this man has earned more than a thank-you note and a dry mouth.

you step closer. he doesn’t move. just looks at you, soft and wide-eyed like a boy who’s been dared to do something illegal.

“choso, darling,” you say, and he blinks slow. “have you ever been kissed by a married woman?”

“no, ma’am.”

“wanna be?”

he’s sweet, at first. always so sweet. he kisses you like he’s scared he’ll break you. he touches you like you’re made of glass.

but there’s a desperation to him that never quite stays buried—something deep and starved that makes him groan the moment you tug his belt loose and whisper,

“you want me to take care of you, baby?”

he nods too fast. his breath trembling as you sink to your knees right there in the warm little kitchen, pulling down his trousers.

the soft sound of the radio mixing with the wet sounds of your mouth around his cock.

he says your name so softly. moans like he shouldn’t be allowed to. like no one’s ever done this for him before.

maybe no one’s ever milked him like this, slow and messy, with spit running down your chin and your hand wrapped tight around the base. maybe no one’s ever looked up at him from between their lashes and smiled around his cock.

god, you look so pretty like this, he can’t help himself.

his hands tremble where they tangle in your hair, his hips twitch when you suck a little harder, encouraging him to cum in your mouth.

“b-baby, fuck—i’m cumming—“

he finally spills down your throat, he groans like a man ruined. broken open. and so, so grateful.

but you don’t stop there.

you stand up, untying your lavender halter, shimmying it down your body, leaving you naked.

again, you were desperate.

you guide him back to the little table where you usually sit and stare at untouched coffee.

you lean back against cool wood and spread your legs just a little—barefoot, pussy so wet and pretty, already dripping for him.

he groans at the sight, stepping between your legs and dips his head down, sucking pretty little marks onto your neck.

he’s good with his hands—of course he is.

delivers glass bottles all day, has to handle them gentle, precise. and he treats you the same way at first, like something breakable.

thumb smoothing circles into the inside of your thigh while his mouth coasts along your body. slow and reverent. says your name like it tastes good. he tells you you’re pretty, even though your curls are messed up and lipstick’s smudged and you’re gasping like a common whore.

you’re not used to being touched like this. not worshipped. not unraveled by someone who actually listens. who kisses the inside of your knee and says,

“been thinking about this for weeks,” like a confession. who sucks a mark into your collarbone and then soothes it with a kiss. who sinks two fingers inside you and groans like he’s the one being touched.

“sweetheart,” he breathes, and your stomach flips.

his voice is low, like velvet dipped in molasses. his hair’s come loose around his face and he looks feral, flushed, focused.

every time he curls his fingers just right, you jolt—back arching, legs twitching—and he just watches, lips parted, eyes glazed, like this is the highlight of his whole year.

you’re so wet his palm’s slick with it, so needy you’re clutching at his uniform, whining and squirming.

“you’re makin’ a mess on my hand, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the swell of your breast as you writhe against the table. “is that all for me?”

you nod, frantic. “y-yeah. yes. all you.”

he smiles against your skin. then he sinks to his knees.

and lord have mercy—when the milkman eats pussy, he delivers.

he holds your thighs apart like he’s bracing a storm. tongue soft at first, then greedy.

lips sealing around your clit and sucking like he’s getting paid by the hour.

you grab his hair, crying out his name and he groans.

he drags his tongue through your slick folds like he’s memorizing the taste.

you buck your hips, his arms tighten around your thighs and pull you closer.

you swear you black out a little when you come. you hear yourself moan his name—feel your whole body pulse but he doesn’t even let up.

he just licks you through it like he’s thirsty. lets you shake and twitch and melt against the kitchen table while he groans into you, obscene and grateful. like he’s thanking you for the privilege of eating you out.

he stands back up, lips glossy and cheeks flushed, you kiss him so hard you see stars.

you taste yourself on his tongue. grinding against his thigh like a dog in heat until he pulls back, helping you stand as he takes a seat on one of the dining chairs.

he tries to be a gentleman as if he didn’t make you see god seconds ago and say—“ma’am, are you sure?”—but you’re eagerly straddling his thighs, already sinking down on his still hard cock, gasping at how full he makes you feel.

you ride him slow, the worn kitchen chair creaking beneath you with every bounce. your palms press firm to his chest, feeling the way it rises and falls under your touch. his mouth falls open. his eyes flutter shut.

he’s so good like this—soft sounds, soft hands, soft eyes—and you move like you want to milk every last drop from him. you want to feel him leaking out of you all day, dripping down your thighs while you tidy up the house.

he kisses you different when you’re on top. like he’d lay down and die for you if you told him to.

“oh—god, sweetheart, you feel so good,” he moans, big hands gripping your waist as he helps you grind down on his cock, meeting your rhythm.

“so—so full, choso,” you whine, arms wrapped around his neck. each thrust hits deep inside your cervix, making your whole body shiver.

he nuzzles into your neck, voice wrecked. “please, ma’am—baby—can i cum inside you?”

his breath is hot against your skin. his voice is almost a sob.

you nod, already gone. completely cockdrunk, all thoughts melted down to one single need.

“mhm! yes—fuck, please! need it, choso—fill me up, please!”

and oh, does he ever.

he picks up the pace at your words, hips snapping upward with a hunger that makes your thighs tremble. he pulls back just enough to look at you and those soft, sleepy eyes meet yours, wide and glazed with need, like he’s falling apart under you.

you moan louder, the kitchen echoing with the slick, rhythmic plap of his cock driving up into your soaked cunt.

“oh—oh my—‘m cumming! don’t stop—just like that,” you gasp, voice ragged, your whole body tightening around him.

he grunts, low and desperate, fucking up into you over and over until it crashes over both of you—a wave of heat, of pleasure, of something that feels dangerously like love.

you cry out, gushing around him, and he groans as he spills inside, cock twitching deep as he coats your walls in thick, milky white.

oops.

you hadn’t meant to let him finish inside.

but with the way he looked at you—eyes all soft and sweet and yours—how the hell were you supposed to tell him no?

six months later, you’ve got a belly like a watermelon and a glow that definitely isn’t from the sun.

your neighbors are absolutely scandalized.

your belly’s too round, too visible, and your husband’s been gone far too long. mrs. kusakabe from two houses down stops bringing you pies. someone leaves a bible on your doorstep. you put it under the wobbly leg of your kitchen table and keep right on sinning.

choso’s much more handsy now. protective. he rubs your belly absentmindedly while you drink your coffee. always tells you things like “you need rest” and “don’t bend over like that, baby, i’ll get it.”

he still calls you ma’am sometimes, just to make you flustered. it works. it always works.

you don’t talk about the future much. it’s the war years, after all. everything’s temporary. everyone’s waiting for something. but sometimes you catch him staring at you—hands on your stomach, eyes soft— like he’s dreaming about something he won’t say out loud.

you’d ask him, but you’re too busy bouncing on his cock in the back of the delivery truck.

priorities.

currently, you’ve got your knees on the kitchen tile and your mouth full of cock when the front door opens.

choso doesn’t hear it at first—well, he doesn’t, but he’s too far gone to care.

his head’s tipped back, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, the other buried in your hair like he’s afraid you might vanish. he tastes like sweat and sin, salty on your tongue, heavy on your lips.

you hum around him and he moans. soft and strangled, like he’s trying not to say your name out loud—and his hips stutter like he’s already close.

you’ve gotten very good at this, in the past few months.

“jesus,” he whispers, low and reverent. “fuck, sweetheart, you’re—”

“—what in the goddamn hell is this?!”

ah. there he is.

you blink up—cock still in your mouth—and there stands your husband. boots still dusty, duffel bag on the floor, mouth hanging open like he’s walked into a church on fire.

he looks older. thinner. confused. which is fair, considering the image in front of him: you, barefoot and six months pregnant, hunched over the milkman’s dick like it’s breakfast.

you pull off with a lewd pop and wipe your mouth on the back of your hand.

“oh,” you say brightly, “you’re back.”

naoya—yes, that naoya—just gapes. his eyes flick from your swollen belly to the outline of choso’s cock. still glistening, still very much at attention to the little drool stain on your chin.

his face turns a shade of red you’ve only ever seen on overcooked meat.

“what the fuck,” he sputters. “what the fuck is going on here?!”

you raise your eyebrows. “thought that was obvious, honey.”

“you—he—jesus christ, i’ve been gone eighteen months—”

“and not a single letter,” you chirp, standing slowly, smoothing your skirt down over your belly. “not even a postcard. how’s toga, by the way?”

that hits. his eyes go wide. “you—you knew about toga?”

“knew?” you laugh. “are you dumb? naoya, she used to borrow my curling iron. she left her girdle in our guest bathroom.”

“you’re—you’re blowing the milkman?!”

“technically i was milking the milkman,” you say with a wink, “but yes, naoya. i was.”

choso, to his credit, looks faintly apologetic—but mostly just embarrassed to have his dick still out.

he tucks himself back into his trousers and clears his throat, adjusting his uniform like he’s about to apologize for tracking dirt in, not for getting sucked off in someone else’s kitchen.

“sir,” he says awkwardly, nodding once. “i—uh—didn’t know you’d be home.”

naoya just sputters.

you walk over and grab the milk from the counter like it’s just another thursday.

“we’ll need another bottle next week, choso,” you say sweetly, patting your belly. “baby’s been craving milk. and something tells me i’ll be thirsty again real soon.”

“yes, ma’am,” choso says, smiling now. the fucker actually blushes.

you glance back at naoya, who’s still frozen in the doorway, fists clenched and eyes bulging.

“well,” you sigh, “guess we should talk about living arrangements.”

“what?!”

“you’re not staying here,” you say, matter-of-fact. “baby’s due in october. choso’s already built the crib.”

“you cheated on me, y/n!”

you blink. then laugh.

“oh, sweetheart. you don’t get to play the victim. you were balls-deep in the neighbor before the draft notice even showed up.”

he opens his mouth to argue. then closes it.

“now,” you say, stepping forward, tone clipped and cheery, “you can collect your things and sleep at the boarding house, or you can keep screaming and let the whole street know your wife traded up while you were off diddling the neighbor and forgetting how a return address works.”

choso stands taller behind you, quiet but solid.

he doesn’t say a word—doesn’t need to.

he’s already won.

naoya says nothing. just picks up his bag and stomps out the way he came, muttering curses and dragging months worth of humiliation behind him.

you and choso look at each other for a moment. then burst out laughing.

later, after dinner, which he cooks, of course—your favorite—you curl up next to him on the couch, belly round and content. he strokes your hair, kisses your temple, presses his palm to the soft swell of your stomach.

“you ever think about…makin’ it official?” he asks, voice low. “after the baby comes and all.”

you smile.

“what, make an honest man out of you, hmm?”

he chuckles. “figure i already am, seein’ as you’ve been usin’ my last name at the doctor’s.”

you grin. “only ‘cause it’s prettier than his.”

choso leans in and kisses you slow. sweet. like nothing’s ever rushed, even when it is.

“i’ll get you a ring,” he whispers against your mouth. “soon as i finish the rebuilding the porch.”

you hum, tugging him closer by the collar.

“fine,” you murmur, nose brushing his, “but i’m keepin’ the milkman fantasy. you still owe me for last week, cho.”

he smirks. all lazy confidence and flushed cheeks—and runs a hand down your thigh.

“ma’am, i think i got another bottle in the truck.”

you laugh and then straddle him right there on the couch, belly and all.

and you ride him like the whole town isn’t already talking.

the porch doesn’t get finished that week.

but the crib is perfect. and so is the baby.

mrs. kusakabe eventually drops off a pie again in the spring.

you wave from the porch. choso’s shirtless, rocking your baby girl in one arm and drinking from the milk bottle with the other.

a scandal, yes.

but a well-fed one.

© j3llyc4kes

:3 please check out my other works! here’s the master list! <3

a/n again: side lore, growing up people told my mom i was the milkman’s baby because i’m a pale latina and not the same shade as my dad 😭😭

taglist: @bistrocatxx @spacebabe02 @1stqueenofhell @raveszn @chr1ss1etina @desirehorizon @satorupi @besidesjustmyamour @ha1lstorm

[k-ast]

frank castle thinking you'd left in the morning

suggestive, smidge of angst, fluff, gn

he's not the kind of guy that has sex just for fun. it's not a one time thing to him.

he had been so used to spending mornings alone. he'd spent days since he met you thinking of not having to wake to an empty space next to him.

but the truth hits him kind of hard. the truth that there is no one by his side this morning, and there probably won't be for a good while.

so maybe you only wanted sex. that's fine. frank respects that.

doesn't help the hole in his chest though.

he thinks maybe it was something he did. tries to recall every interaction, every fleeting touch of your hands, your fiery lips on his, how he cradled you afterwards, carrying you into the bath.

it was more than just fun to him. it was intimate, it was loving. he was ready to make you his new life, practically planning how everything would work out as he gently cleansed you.

so maybe it was the sex. wasn't good enough? guess it wasn't your thing. again, he respects that.

he wishes you would've stayed to tell him. he'd promise to fix it, whatever it was.

frank just sits, his back against the headboard, picking at the sheets. completely zoned out.

if he had been more focused, he would've had the gun in the nightstand drawer (that he hid so you wouldn't see) pointed at you the moment you turned bedroom doorknob.

instead, he stares at you, kind of shocked.

you peek into the room, dressed in his t-shirt.

not noticing his surprise at your presence, you push the door open with your elbow, revealing the two mugs of coffee you're holding.

"hi!" you whisper. "i made coffee! you drink coffee, right?" you ask with a sudden frown.

"uh," is all he gets out. frank immediately tries to amend, "yeah- yeah i drink coffee." wow his nose is suddenly runny. "uh, thanks."

you beam, and the soft "yay!" you murmur as you pass him a mug makes warmth in frank's heart bloom.

you sit criss-cross next to him, sipping your own coffee contently. he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms and kiss your pretty face over and over and over.

but he doesn't. he's way too cautious about doing something that might scare you off.

instead, frank starts small talk. "you sleep okay, sweetheart?"

"yeah, great!" you say, shifting a little to hide your blush at the pet name. "probably best sleep i've had in months."

he feels pride at that. ignores how your movement made him worry the question was making you uncomfortable.

he feels safe enough to say, "thought you went home. when i woke up."

your face falls slightly as you look him in the eye.

"i mean, that's okay," he continues, "i just... i'd have offered to give you a ride home, you know? make sure you get home okay."

"oh. i'm... so sorry about that," you say as you fidget with the mug handle. "i mean, i've never... i didn't think much of it. most people wouldn't miss me."

"i did," frank says softly. you smile at that.

"i just wanted to do something for you. like, i don't know, as a small thank you or something. for being so kind. and coffee's, like, the only thing i could do in someone else's house, so..."

frank blinks at you. "wh- you think you have to thank me? i just did what any man should do."

"ha, um, no. most guys, or anybody really, don't do, like, aftercare that was basically a spa."

"they fuckin' should."

"guess i'm lucky." you smile sheepishly at him. "sorry, i- i probably broke your heart for a sec, huh?"

he scoffs. "oh, yeah. it's alright, though. coffee's good so, i forgive you."

your laugh is so sweet, he looks down into his cup to hide the smile rapidly forming on his face.

when your laughter subsides, you pick at your mug before saying, "uh, frank, can i kiss you? would that be weird?"

he's already taken the mug out of your hands to set it on the nightstand along with his own. his hands then find your cheek and your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck.

frank pauses before he kisses you. you're sharing the same breath, your lips grazing and noses touching as he hovers above you, legs on either side of your hips.

and when he leans in to close that last centimeter, it's a soft but still firm kiss, quiet and not too long. his thumb continues drawing circles on your wrist long after your lips have parted.

"stay," he murmurs. "please."

so you do. you spend that morning together, as well as the one after that, and the one after that, until lonely mornings are nothing but a distant memory.

[nakylvr]

— 𝒮low ✧ 𝒮.ℒ

summary જ⁀➴ sophia can always tell when you're having an off day, and she's always there to help you with it

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ hurt/comfort, established relationship, transmasc!reader, mild language, mentions of dysphoria, idol!sophia x non idol!reader, not proofread

again,(🫩) transphobia is not welcomed on this blog and you will be blocked immediately. i wont bother responding so stop please

you're laying in your bed with the blanket pulled up to your chin, oversized hoodie on with the hood over your head, and the only sound being your thoughts running through your head. you called out of work for the day, and you hadn't moved from your position since the morning. you weren't sure what time it was by now, the curtains shut to keep out the sunny day it was outside.

your phone went off a few times, and you barely had the energy to flip it over and see the messages. they were all from your girlfriend, sophia – the first one saying good morning and asking if you wanted to do anything today, then a few more throughout the morning, and then the final one reading "i'm on my way." that's it.

you sigh, setting down the phone. she knew you too well by now. all it took was you not responding for her to know something was wrong with you. it wasn't hard to figure out, though. you two always responded to each other even if it was an hour or a few later. but for multiple texts to be sent over the morning into the afternoon, she knew.

within half an hour, you heard the front door click, and then creak open. shuffling feet against the wood floor, and then you heard her voice.

"yn?"

it was soft, hesitant when she said it. like speaking too loud would startle you. you look over at her, seeing her standing in the doorway with a concerned expression etched on her face. her worry only grows bigger when you don't even have the energy to force a smile on your face, instead just staring back at her with tired eyes and a blank expression. she walks to the other side of the bed and slides in while still sitting up, carefully grabbing your hand.

"what's wrong, mahal?" she asks quietly.

you shake your head, mumbling. "nothing."

she gives you a pointed look, the concern still on her face. "you can tell me, y'know. that's what i'm here for." she says softly.

you give a curt nod, eyes avoiding hers. "just feel like shit."

"are you sick?" sophia moves her hand to your forehead to feel if you were cold.

"no." you shake your head. "i don't know. i just don't want to do anything."

sophia nods in understanding. "do you want me to make you something to eat?" she asks. "i can make your favorite." her thumb draws little circles on your cheek.

your eyes finally meet hers, and she can see the emptiness in them, and it makes her heart ache. she knows you have days like this, and she is far from one to get upset or irritated by it. she understood enough of the situation to not get irritated when you couldn't even get out of bed for work.

"please?" you say quietly.

"of course, malko." she presses a quick kiss on your head. "you stay here, 'kay? call for me if you need anything."

"okay." you nod.

"i love you," she whispers.

"i love you too," you reply, a warm feeling radiating through your chest. the first thing you've felt all day so far.

sophia gets out of the bed and heads into the kitchen. soon enough, you could hear the clattering of pots and pans as she started to make your favorite meal. you remained on the bed for a few minutes before you found yourself slowly climbing up and out of it.

your hoodie was two sizes bigger than you wore, and it reached the middle of your thighs and covered your hands almost entirely. you slowly walk over to the kitchen, standing in the doorway watching sophia move around your kitchen like it was second nature. you loved watching her cook, it was something you both enjoyed. while you still cooked every now and then, she was the one to do it most of the time. you liked watching her cook, and she liked having your presence around when she did cook, especially for you.

you take a few hesitant steps towards sophia who's standing at the stove, and slowly wrap your arms around her from behind. she jumps slightly, clearly surprised, but instantly melts into your arms.

"i thought i'd have to drag you out of that bed," she says.

"me too," you mumble with a nod, pressing your face in the crook of her neck. "'m sorry."

"uh-uh." sophia shakes her head. "don't do that."

your arms tighten around her, and she can feel your breathing get shaky along with your whole body. she can tell those things by now, knowing you're about to lose it. she turns the heat low on the stove and turns – your arms still secure around her as hers hook around your neck.

"i-i'm sorry i just–" you swallow, taking a shaky breath. "i hate myself some days, and i feel great other days. i don't want to bother you."

"you're not bothering me, yn." sophia tells you gently. "you could never bother me. i know you have these days sometimes, and i will always be here to help you through them. always. no matter what."

"i'm scared." you whisper suddenly.

"of what?" she replies in the same voice.

"you leaving," you answer truthfully. "finding someone better. a real man like they say."

sophia's eyes soften. of course you would read the comments under her posts with you. ever since she was given the okay to go public with you, she immediately made a instagram post with a picture of you two, not noticing your surgery scars were showing. the comments and talk of it flooded like a tsunami on all social media, mixed with good and bad ones. while majority of eyekons were happy for her and didn't honestly care who she was with as long as they treated her with respect and love, the general public was far different. the scars being noticeable made conversation all over twitter about you. you expected it a little bit, but not to the extreme it became. you saw slurs towards you daily whenever you opened twitter, and even if it wasn't a slur it was still obviously not good words to you or about you. you could deal with the normal people on the street giving you looks or maybe saying something. but you couldn't deal with seeing words about you being thrown every time you went on social media. you even had to make all of your socials private because people were coming to your accounts to send you dms or comments under your posts.

and sophia wasn't stupid. she knew you well enough to know that you would look at the posts and comments and focus on the negative ones. she understood it. you were different. and some people didn't like different. and they are very loud about it. so loud that sometimes you can't hear anything else.

"you don't have to worry about that," sophia starts, speaking slowly. "because i can promise you that you are the only one that i will love like this. i promise that there won't be anyone else. i promise that my heart belongs to you, and just you. you are the love of my life, yn. nothing will ever change that." her hands move to cup your face. "you are more of a man than anyone else, even if you don't think so. i love you, malko. no one else."

tears begin forming in your eyes before you can even realize, your bottom lip trembling as you try to keep yourself from falling apart. but the second you feel her thumb wipe away one of the stray tears, you're breaking down.

sophia instantly pulls you into her arms the moment she hears your breath hitch and the tears start flowing, holding you close to her as you sob into her shoulder. she can't lie, she still hasn't completely gotten used to the spontaneous breakdowns from you. but she still understood.

you held a lot of your emotions inside. you didn't cry or break down like this often unless you were boiling over and about to spill. you didn't have days like this a lot, but they still happened occasionally every now and then. but she wasn't worried. you knew who you were, and that wasn't going to change. that was one thing you always said at the end of the day. you were you. and to both of you, that was enough.

"i love you." she murmurs softly. "i love you so much." she presses a soft kiss on your temple. "i'm never going to leave, i promise."

you slowly calm down in sophia's arms, her soothing words in your ear helping, along with her hands rubbing your back reassuringly. your tears eventually stop, and a few small sniffles come from you. you pull your face from her neck, and she looks up at you with her soft brown eyes.

"are you okay?" she asks in a soft voice.

"yeah." you nod. "i'm sorry."

"don't apologize." sophia shakes her head. "it's okay, you're okay. i promise." she kisses your cheek gently. "why don't i make something to eat, we sit in bed, and watch the last season of lost?"

"really?" you mumble, but your eyes light up for the first time today.

"really." she smiles at you.

"okay." you smile back.

[serenity-loves-red]

hii, I really love your fanfic! and I hope you know that. I'm curious, what if (reader) invited someone to thier house (in context, them and thier friend who was invited seemed very close) what would Blue and Princess be like?

and thank you for all your hard work! i hope you have a great week, and don't forget to take a rest.

sorry for my bad grammar because english is not my first language

@kiraaa143 @liiilylooolyy @littlepiecefpeace

Meet and greet with other people in da world 🌍anyways the amount of asks in my inbox is pilling up and starting to scare meeee 😰 send help chat🤧😮‍💨

Imagine:

Since morning, you had been busy cleaning the house, tidying up all nooks and crannies. Phainon had walked up to you, pawing your legs to notify his presence. He wanted to ask why the sudden clean up when you carried him over, ruffled his fur for any sheddings.

“There you are Blue!“ you said, carrying him to find Princess. “Let’s find Princess so we can brush your furs together.”

Phainon tilted his head and meowed, pawing at your chest when you didn’t immediately replied. “…hmm? Be a good boy Blue. We have guests later to we have to tidying up the place. That means no sheddings too.” You pointed out.

You saw Princess curled comfortably on the pillows of your bed. When you called out, he jolted awake looking startled, as if you saw something you shouldn’t. “Uh hey?” You greeted hesitantly. “Not the reaction I imagined but c’mere.”

You gave him a pet to calm his nerves down before carrying him on your other arm. Mydei gave Phainon a what-is-happening look as if he hasn’t just had his not-so-secret exposed.

Feeling embarrassed, Mydei continued as if nothing happened and pressed on for answers. “Well?”

Play it cool, Mydei. Play it all cool, Mydeimos.

“…we’ll be having guests over so they had been cleaning the house. And now they want to brush our furs so no sheddings.” Phainon replied and gave Mydei a pointed look. “So Mydeimos, who would have thought that you–“

Mydei pawed Phainon’s face. “Shut. Up.”

Mydei curled next to your lap while Phainon curled shamelessly on top of it. You rested your hand on top of their head and back while animatedly talking to your guests.

Your friends, you introduced them a while ago. And since then you hardly payed them any attention aside from the constant pats and brushes on their body.

At first, Phainon and Mydei–albeit the latter is reluctant to admitted– is looking forward to meet these guests of yours. In this way, aren’t they going to know you better by observing your interactions, aren’t they not? That was supposed to be it.

But now, seeing how your supposed attention was theirs to begin with is now starting to go astray? Both Phainon and Mydei can’t help but feel bitter all of a sudden. So when one of your friend’s curiously asked to pet Phainon, he hissed, paw raised ready to scratch.

“Whoa–“ you exclaimed. “Sorry, he isn’t usually like that.” You explained, scratching Phainon’s ear to calm him down. “I mean–he’s friendly but I guess he isn’t used to strangers in the house.”

Your friend just laughed while the other looked at Princess. “What about him? That’s Princess right?” They pointed out at the Pomeranian curled next to you.

Mydei, hearing his name looked at them, then barred his mouth and growled. “Yeah– this one.” You immediately interrupted and pet him too. “I suggest not petting this one or even think of doing so. He’s a bit feisty when shy to say the least. But I can show you the hamsters, they’re far more cute and friendly than these two.” You said and pointed out to the pen the hamsters are in.

Your friends excitedly went, leaving you alone with Blue and Princess who keeps looking at your friends passively.

“What’s up with you two now?” You addressed them both.

I don’t like them, when will they go? Phainon meowed at you, whining which Mydei followed suit and barked, nipping at your thighs for even bringing those people in. He doesn’t like them, why would you even let them go near Lady Tribios, what if they got hurt?

“You two behave okay? They’ll be staying for the night so for the mean time, you will have to sleep in the living room.” You said and placed Princess on the couch and left, following your friends.

Phainon and Mydei look at you in bewilderment. Those friend of yours took your attention, dared to pet them and now they are going to stay for the night? And you’ll even kick them out of your shared room to accommodate them?!

The audacity! As if they will let that happen without a fight!

Taglist: @speedycoffeedelight @kiransalt @sunsethw4 @wispfish @syntaxandpi @hoo-hoo @aerisevx @wixsvem @reminiscingthesea @hquntinghunter @n8mareee @larettajudith @vashyuu @superbfuryfest @shio225 @line-viper @hiqhkey @fuji-sen @takeyomikamakura @raaawwwr @hoshinosama @shonwithnohope @naOyak1 @whatamoodhoney @violetisreadinghush @shio225 @blushho @bloodrrose @kazudare @monoclesnapple @elymint @lovesickdaydreamss @mangooes @ra404 @knufd @shiholyn @toyomittsuu @O-uchi @redheadedsilly @ofcdimi @wegottastayfocus

[siren-ha]

p: needy husband Nanami x free-use wife

synopsis: nanami comes back from work and takes what he wants from you all while you're cooking.

tw: MDNI!!! smut, free use dynamic (consensual), sex in the kitchen-?, unprotected sex (lemme just remind u tht theyre fiction, u r not. so dont do it), degradation, praise, spanking, fingering, a lil rough, overstimulation (if u squint), breeding kink, nanami calls reader mumma once, he cums inside.

The front door opens with a click. Nanami slides in with exhaustion in his body and slips out of his shoes. He sets his bag down and closes the door with brows furrowed and lip tight from the long day.

Just as he was about to call your name- he hears your soft humming coming from the kitchen. And just like that, the tension in his shoulders lessens a bit.

You're in the kitchen, standing at the stove in one of his button down shirts- an old one- the one you chose cause it smelt like him. The sleeves are rolled messily, the hem of the shirt grazing your mid thigh. Nothing underneath, of course- like always.

You’re focused, stirring something in the pan, humming a tune he doesn’t recognize. The kitchen’s warm, the scent of butter and garlic drifting in the air. The only light is from the stove and the overheads under the cabinets, making everything golden, like a dream.

“Sweetheart,” he calls softly, not wanting to startle you.

“Hey,” you answer without looking back. “Dinner’ll be ready in ten. You’re early.”

“I missed you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough against your neck.

You smile faintly. “Rough day?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, his hand trails down the front of your thigh, fingers teasing the hem of his shirt — your shirt now — pushing it up just an inch.

"You're not wearing anything underneath." he observes, breath catching.

"Did you want me to?"

A soft groan escapes his throat, "You're making it hard for me to be patient, baby."

You press your back against his hardness and say, "Then dont be"

Thats all it takes.

He pushed you against the stove, one hand reaching to lower the flame- safety first, always- before he slides his hands under your shirt to grope your breasts roughly.

He groans into your neck when he feels how soft and warm you are for him.

“You’re always like this,” he murmurs, hips already grinding slowly against your bare backside. “Always ready. My perfect little wife. My good girl.”

"Mhm, always and only for you." You whimper, your head falling back on his shoulder.

His hand slips between your thighs — he doesn’t have to do much. You’re already wet, already open for him. He circles your wet clit with his long, huge fingers.

“Of course you are,” he chuckles darkly, leaning to place a kiss on the side of your neck. “Standing here like this, cooking like you’re not meant to be used. You like this, don’t you?”

You nod. “I love it.”

He unbuckles his belt, the metallic clink cutting through the room like thunder. You keep one hand on the pan, still half-stirring, because he told you not to stop.

“Bend a little."

You do, arching just enough. You don’t need to look back — you can feel his eyes eating you alive. A quiet hiss escapes his lips when he slides his red, hot, pre-cum leaking length into you, the fit perfect, like always.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel like you missed me.”

“I did,” you whisper. “I waited all day. Thinking about this."

That breaks something in him.

He thrusts slowly at first — deep, possessive strokes, his hand fisting in your shirt to pull you back onto him. You’re moaning already, trying not to drop the spoon in the pan.

“Don’t stop stirring,” he says, voice thick with amusement. “Dinner matters, right?”

You let out a soft laugh through a whimper. “Y-yeah…”

But then he picks up his pace, roughly so- hitting that spot in you. Your hand pushes the salt season making it fall to the ground at the sudden force.

"Tch tch tch, messy little slut." he mutters, "Can't even follow simple orders when im inside you huh?"

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, breathless.

“You will be,” he groans, pulling his dick almost all the way out before slamming back in. He brings on of his hands to your clit and starts rubbing you roughly and quickly.

And he does — over and over, until your legs are trembling, until you’re begging him to slow down or don’t stop, you’re not sure which anymore. He holds your waist tighter, rutting into you like a man starved, burying every groan into your skin.

“I should come home early more often,” he rasps, losing control.

You whine his name, eyes fluttering shut.

“Go ahead,” he says biting the side of your neck. “Let go. I’ve got you, baby"

You do — gasping, trembling, thighs shaking as your climax hits you harder than you expected.

He doesnt stop his thrusting- not when he didnt reach his high.

"You're gonna take my load yea? Drip my cum out from my pretty little pussy?"

You nod hissing, getting overstimulated. He spanks your ass, "I asked something."

You whimper at the slap and nod, "Y-yes, i want it all in me nanami."

He groans at that as his thrusts get sloppy and frantic- a sign he's getting close. "Yea, 'ts right baby, take my babies, yea? You'll be such a cute fucking mumma."

And just like that, with a strangled groan and hips stuttering- he spills inside you, pushing deep and holding you there. His body goes still, wrapped around yours, panting quietly.

The room's quiet except for the heaving breathing of you both. And then, without missing a beat,

"Round two?"

"Nanami-!"

Lets just say, you both had quiet delightful dinner...

©siren-ha all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

siren ✍(◔◡◔): ok, this is my first ever nanami fic in genral....... kind of scared to step into animeblr but im sure y'all r pretty kind nd sweet! so pls welcome me~

jjk taglist: open! lmk in comments if u wanna be added.

interactions are always appreciated!

[blaysreid]

STATIC - S.R

pairing = spencer + bau!gf!reader

summary = You get hurt, and he loves you more than ever but the fear and guilt crush him. He pulls away, leaving a silence neither knows how to break. When you ask if it’s still real, he admits he’s lost. You can't take his words and decide it's best for you to leave.

genre = hurt and angst

He doesn’t visit the hospital.

You’re barely conscious when the team brings you in. Sirens screaming. Blood drying against your skin. The world spins, then fades. Someone holds your hand. Maybe it’s JJ. Maybe Emily. You aren’t sure.

But it’s not Spencer.

You don’t see him until three days later.

You’re sitting up in bed, drowsy from painkillers, throat dry from worry. The door opens. He steps in like a shadow. Still in his work clothes. Still refusing to meet your eyes.

You smile, weak and relieved.

“Spence…”

He stops a full foot away from the bed. Doesn’t smile back.

“I just wanted to see if you were awake.” he says.

That’s all.

No hug. No handhold. No kiss to your forehead like he always did after bad cases.

Just silence.

You nod slowly. Try to reach for him. He takes a tiny step back.

“I’m okay,” you offer gently. “The bullet missed anything major. I’ll be home in a couple days.”

He nods once. Swallows hard.

“That’s good.”

Then, without another word, he turns around and walks out.

The door closes.

And all that’s left is the soft hiss of your IV and the hum of the monitor beside you.

It’s the first time you realize he’s scared of you now.

Not because he doesn’t love you.

Because he does.

And that’s the problem.

You’re home four days later.

The pain in your side throbs with every step, but it’s manageable. What isn’t manageable is the fact that Spencer hasn’t called. Not once. Not even a text.

Morgan and JJ visit. Garcia brings soup and a blanket with cats on it. They all ask the same thing: “How are you? How’s Reid?”

You lie.

You say he’s just processing.

You say it like it doesn’t hurt.

But you know Spencer. You know how he gets when he’s afraid. When something threatens the one thing he thinks he doesn’t deserve. He doesn’t cling. He retreats.

He doesn’t say “I love you.” He says nothing.

A week later, he finally comes over.

He brings tea, the same one he always makes you when you’re sick. The lemon blend you used to share under soft blankets in winter. He puts it down on the coffee table and doesn’t sit.

You stand across from him in silence.

“I thought you’d come sooner." you say.

He doesn’t answer.

You take a step forward.

“I almost died, Spence.”

“I know.”

“Then why do I feel like I lost you instead?”

His jaw tightens. His hands stay in his pockets.

“You didn’t lose me.”

“Then what is this? You won’t talk to me. You won’t look at me. I needed you, and you left.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” he says quietly.

You take another step.

“You could’ve just held my hand. That’s all. You could’ve held it.”

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide. His voice shakes.

“If I touched you, I wouldn’t have let go.”

You freeze.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers. “So I left before it could happen.”

That’s when you realize what he’s doing.

He’s preparing to lose you. On purpose. So it won’t destroy him when the world takes you away.

But the worst part?

He’s already halfway gone in his head.

You see him every day.

At the bullpen. On the jet. In the elevator.

He’s always there, just like before. But it’s like someone turned the volume down on him. He doesn’t meet your eyes. He doesn’t sit beside you. He doesn’t offer you coffee or mumble facts under his breath or smile when you laugh.

He’s there, but not really.

He’s performing his job like nothing happened, but with you, he’s distant. Cautious. Like you’re a memory he’s trying to erase.

On the sixth day back, you catch him staring at you during a briefing. The second your eyes meet his, he looks away.

You snap that night.

You show up at his apartment. He opens the door like he’s surprised, like he forgot you still had a key.

“Hi,” you say.

He steps aside, silent.

The place is dark. Unwashed mug on the counter. Books unopened. Couch cushions flattened like he hasn’t been sleeping in a bed.

You turn to face him. “We work together, Spencer. You can’t just pretend I don’t exist.”

He leans back against the door. “I’m not pretending.”

“Then what is this?”

He doesn’t answer.

You take a step forward. “Do you not love me anymore?”

His eyes flutter shut. “I do.”

“Then why are you hurting me like this?”

“I can’t lose you again,” he says softly.

“You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.”

You go still.

“When they said it was bad, when I saw the blood on your shirt, I-" His voice breaks. “I thought I’d never get to say goodbye. I thought I’d never get to say I love you again. So now I’m stuck, because I still love you and I still almost lost you and I don’t know how to be near you without falling apart.”

You’re quiet.

Then you whisper, “We were happy, Spencer.”

He nods. “That’s the part that hurts most.”

You cross the space between you and press your forehead to his. “Then stop punishing both of us.”

He shakes under your hands.

He doesn’t answer.

He just closes his eyes and lets himself be held.

You stay the night.

Not in the way you used to. You don’t curl up with him under a blanket, legs tangled, laughter spilling into soft kisses. You sleep on the opposite side of the bed, both of you facing away, backs turned like bookends in different stories.

In the morning, you sit across from him at the table.

You watch him pour his coffee like it’s any other day. He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. There’s a weight pressing down on the table. A silence that isn’t comfortable. It’s cold. Hollow. Familiar now.

You finally say it.

“Are we still together?”

He freezes.

You let the words hang there. Let them echo. Let them hurt.

Spencer doesn’t look up.

“I don’t know." he says.

You feel the crack in your chest stretch open. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t know how to be what you need right now. I don’t know how to stop being afraid of you dying. I don’t know how to be next to you without panicking. I love you, but it feels like that’s not enough.”

You stare at him, swallowing the sting behind your eyes. “So you’re not saying you don’t love me.”

“No,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. “I love you so much it makes me sick.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re already gone?”

He looks devastated. Like he doesn’t know.

You rise from the table slowly. You grab your bag. He stands too, panic starting to rise in his chest.

“Where are you going?”

“I think I need space." you say, voice gentle, not cruel.

Spencer reaches out but doesn’t touch you. His hand hovers. Then lowers. "Space?"

“Will you come back?” he asks.

You pause at the door.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

You leave.

And for the first time in his life, Spencer Reid doesn’t have the answer.

tag list = @summerobertsvariant

[waifuoftomonori]

As previously revealed, I do not know what Tomonori's day-to-day job involves, but it seems important and it takes up a big part of his day. I think I would just be toast.

Also, he is a publicly modest man who doesn't like showing his freak to anyone but his partners. Also also, his specific kinks (largely in my headcanon but with a healthy sprinkle of hints in canon) tend toward the dominant. Now. Because he is publicly modest, I think I could get away with revealing that all along, I had a hidden submissive side that I was scared to reveal because my partners enjoy it so much when I'm dominant, and I think Shiki might be willing to explore her own dominant side. But I don't know, I'm really just hornier for Tomo than for any of the others-- and even if it worked, then I'd feel guilty about manipulating Shiki and probably just come clean. (She would probably figure it out before it got to that point, though.)

However, one thing I will say as far as Tomo's character goes: I would be very good at the part where he buries his sadness and doubt and he calmly pretends everything's fine. I'm a natural at that.

I don't really understand what Shiki's job fully involves, either, and just because I have her body doesn't mean I have her competence with a sword. I get the vibe from how some of her sword fights are described in canon that she relies on stuff like timing and technique more than raw force, especially when going up against Akifusa, whose "strategy" is sheer impulse and who would probably defeat her far more frequently if she wasn't one step ahead of him mentally at all times.

The concealed depression and bratting, however, I think I've got those down pat. No issue with those. And maybe I could get away with a day of not working because I could pretend I had a nightmare about a certain traumatic incident from her past (although that feels dirty to exploit, I wouldn't like doing it at all, and I don't think it would endear me much to Tomonori once the jig was up and he realized I was bullshitting). ...I'd also feel a little guilty taking her place in the bedroom, if things even got that far, but I don't know how hard it would be to resist the temptation of sleeping with Tomonori. Fuck. I'm a terrible person in some ways. The fact that I'm even adding "in some ways" is probably a bad sign.

Yeah, no, I'm not getting away with disguising as Akifusa. Playing dumb would be the easy part. Expressing emotions very loudly and sincerely and vehemently-- that's something I haven't done since I was a kid. Also, playing cheerleader to my depressed friends / love interests seems difficult. Maybe if I could get a few practice runs as Akifusa, just to get comfortable with it again? But no, Akifusa's too impulsive and genuine, and I think the second I try to fake that, it comes off as very obviously fake. (He's also brave to a self-endangering level, and I am a wimp who freezes up for several minutes when I see a spider.)

I'd have many of the same problems with pretending to be Shinra. Sure, he tries to hide his emotions, but he doesn't do a very good job and ultimately that sincerity still comes across very well. I wouldn't be able to fake that. I feel like he mostly fluctuates, in canon, between super-cheerful and sweet, aggressively and confidently horny (no pun intended) yet still somehow innocent, and furiously flustered to the point of threatening violence. Also he genuinely likes spending time with kids, whereas I want to poke out their eyeballs. Also also, every time I'd try to rep the oni clan, there is a risk that something Yodanji-related would slip out and everyone would look at me funny.

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[inara-lumina]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE NON-MC FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

I've been complaining about how much I'm crying over non-mc fics nowadays and a lovely commenter suggested I share some. I probably missed some other amazing works so please feel free to leave more in the comments. To all the amazing creators I have mentioned here thank you for putting your hard work out there for people like me to enjoy. Here are my recommendations ❤️🩷

The Cure to His Curse by @makingfanfictionstosleep

The Cure to His Nightmares by @makingfanfictionstosleep

The Cure to His Burdens by @makingfanfictionstosleep This series is so good that I've been staying awake, not sleeping, because of these 🤣🩷. Absolutely love them and can't wait to read more!

You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) by @orphicmeliora There is just something about reading Zayne realize he fucked up and start working for it. It just hurts SO GOOD. Brilliant fic. Brilliant author.

Letters Unsent by @orphicmeliora ABSOLUTE CINEMA. I am not joking when I say I was sobbing in my bed after reading this.

Ever, Ever After by @kannady It's crazy how much I can feel the non-mc's pain in this one. I am rooting for them so much 🥹🩷

Gravity Hurts (you made it so sweet) by @kitimeq Caleb acting like a loser and being hit by consequences hard I was HOLDING MY BREATH reading this. Love it 😭

He Leaves You Out Like a Penny in the Rain by @icarusignite Again, Zayne. Again, brilliant work 🗣🩷

Another Zayne piece you can find here by @cno-inbminor I can read hundreds more of these and I will want more.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Would you rewrite Book 7? If so, what would you change?

I would absolutely rewrite it; over 2/3 of book 7 (basically most stuff after escaping from Lilia’s dream ~part 100ish) felt like a complete waste of my time.

I’ve actually already talked about what I would like to change about book 7 in another post, as I’ve been critiquing 7 for months now 💦 You can read my points here, though please be warned that it’s not super detailed (like, you don’t find individual breakdowns of what each character’s dream could have been).

Something specific I’d add to my rewrite is I want Twst to specifically address a point that is brought up by Ortho MULTIPLE times in book 7 but is never addressed in the ending: the supposed danger of the dreamers' bodies atrophying from lack of food and water while sleeping. Ortho says this before he makes contact with S.T.Y.X. (7-46) and then mentions it again as a possibility all the way in ACE'S dream (7-248 to 7-251), and Trey brings it up too. What is the point of dangling this over our heads like it's something to be legitimately worried if book 7's conclusion NEVER touches upon this? Is it true or is it not? If it isn’t, why not confirm it? If it is left as a real possibility then it just makes Malleus seem really stupid. You’ve mentioned time stopping magic + everything being under Malleus’s control before so why bother with the threat of atrophy at all??? It just feels to me like Twst set something up and failed to fully commit to it.

A newer thing I wanted to tweak (after reflecting on it a bit more) is Sebek’s character growth. Nightmare set me up with the expectation that he would one day become disillusioned with Malleus and then learn to accept his flaws + love him anyway in spite of that, WITHOUT ignoring or denying the fact that Malleus is flawed. Yet… I feel that book 7 did not deliver in that regard. Sebek begins to question Malleus’s goodness, yes. He joins forces with us to wake everyone and fights against OB!Malleus. He wants, with all his heart, to save his liege.

But??? Sebek is still basically glazing Malleus as late the last second of book 7, still telling people off for not doing the same as he does (in Ace’s dream), etc. Ortho does ask him would he be this gun-ho about saving the world if it wasn’t Malleus being painted as the “bad guy” here, and this gives Sebek pause—but the thing is, it’s NEVER committed to. We don’t see Sebek being hesitant about Malleus at all. He barely seems to need time to process that his master has overblotted, barely needs convincing to help us out. And by the end of it all, he hasn’t reflected on Malleus’s flaws or his relationship with Malleus much at all. I’m not expecting Sebek to have a complete arc by the end of book 7, but I find it so odd that I didn’t see him actively struggling with his convictions that much when you think this guy’s whole worldview would be shattered?? And he’d be trying so hard to pick the pieces back up and try to assemble them into something he understands. Like, where’s the part where the veil over his eyes lifts and he has to come to the hard realization that Malleus isn’t infallible… that he can be selfish and arrogant and make mistakes, that he, too, is human, and not a god? It feels like Sebek leaped all the way to acceptance already without the tough work that comes in the middle or even thinking about Malleus’s shortcomings.

Book 7 just has repeated issues with setting up a lot but not following through in a satisfactory way, or overloading us with information that they choose to do nothing meaningful with despite the hefty length of the book 😔 Again, it’s a HUGE time waster.

[diabolicalevil]

First off, just read the "if the primarchs spouse got assassinated" loved it and was wondering if you could do an hc about if the spouse survived the assassination attempt, albeit severely injured

Primarchs after you've survived an assassination attempt

gn!reader + reader has unspecified physical disability

follow up to this post. all anons know is ask for elaboration eat hot chip and lie lmao and I comply every time! I feel like I should just rip the bandaid off and do a yandere hc list

Warnings: Ableism from the primarchs and others

Lion El'johnson: Made a joke before about him having a protector kink and putting you in the princess tower and this is that tenfold. He views it as nessecary and it might be, all of a sudden you went from a fragile baseline to disabled among superhumans and in a world that wants to kill you. As much as Lion wants to spend all day locked in the tower with you making sure you're not hurting yourself further he has other duties sadly. He comprises with a 24/7 vox call, he has to hear you breathing to feel at all at peace.

Fulgrim: Also likely to lock you away somewhere, not indefinitely but for a good while. He's not great about disability in a "if you work hard enough you "reach your full potential" (that you had when you were able bodied)" He means well but that doesn't take away how exhausting it is to have to pick apart his words for how subtly demeaning they are. Over time he takes it to heart, you've already been hurt severely and he doesn't want to contribute to that more.

Perturabo: It's his nature to chastise and insult but he cannot bring himself to, not now. In a way the tense silences are the kindest he'll ever be. You are not allowed to leave his side or his spaces. Perturabo says its not until you recover however you can but it's more likely you won't ever be out of his sight for too long again. Also he would Kill some iron warriors for looking at your medical aids funny.

Jaghatai Khan: For the first time in his life he has been ground to a complete halt. He was just getting used to you plating catch up with him in daily life but now you cannot. Your movement is limited even by baseline standards and he can do nothing but wait and watch. Even after a full recovery you won't be the same and he'll learn to accommodate that. While he dreams of riding wildly with you he is content to hold you tightly as his horse briskly trots. Jaghatai has bridged the gap between you before and he will again

Leman Russ: In his opinion you had no business moving about anyways, not as his lover. He's always wanted to keep you nestled in place and provided for by him and now there's nothing stopping him. In a way it's what he's always wanted, though of course he loathes that it happened like this.

Rogal Dorn: He has felt like an utter failure of a lover, a man and a strategist since your injury. Pure luck kept you alive, not him. He's become obsessive with his planning even by Imperial Fists standards. But underneath it all he just wants you to forgive him. He'd take a million worlds if it meant you could be safe in your own home again. To him his failures have irreversibly impaired your life and he fears that you'll grow to resent or even leave him. The walls he has built to keep danger out are also keeping you in.

Konrad Curze: Extremely ill equipped to handle it. Disability is just not something he's ever seen (if you're disabled around a night lord death is usually imminent) let alone handle. Clumsy and a bit lacking but he's trying hard and the fact he's keeping his legion off you successfully is a testament to that.

Sanguinius: yuoure never doing anything on your own or out in public again. have fun w that. If he was obsessive before he's downright fanatical now, everything that is not him is a potential threat to your life. Begrudgingly he assigns members of his legion to gaurd you, always in rotation so you never grow to like one too deeply. But he checks in so much he might as well be right there. There is absolutely nothing that can ease his fears anymore.

Ferrus Manus: Have you considered augmentation? No? Okay... but nothing is stopping him from making the best disability aids known to man. He is livid, this is just a horrifying reminder of your mortality and how falling down the stairs could take you away from him forever. Despite his very intense emotions about it he tries not to be too overbearing, he already knows he tests your patience with his machine worship. However ☝️ two hours sitting with him a day no more no less. Ferrus just wants to see you acting normally to know you're okay.

Angron: The world eaters aren't exactly a legion adept at handling people in recovery or disabled. I think he'd maim a lot of his sons for bothering you is what I mean. On his end he doesn't want to be around you, you need a calming presence not a liability. but he can't avoid you too long especially knowing you're in pain. If you express that seeing him makes you feel better he'll come and vist though.

Roboute Guilliman: He believes your disability was only caused by his inability to protect you so for at least a few months, maybe even years considering he's a Primarch, he has you locked down. Guilliman is subtle enough about it, but to his soldiers he's very adamant that someone must know where you are and what you're doing at all times. Small things, like how a library you thought was private always has an Astartes in it lately.

Mortarion: For a time he is nothing but frustrated, primarily at himself but also his legion. Both for their failure to protect you from harm but the fact he cannot do anything to reverse the injury, excluding augmentations but he trusts the mechanicus about as much as he trusts psykers. But it's alright, you tell him, what's done is done and there's no one else in the Imperium you trust as much to treat you. Eventually he takes it as an answer. He's still full of regret and angst because when isn't he but he is a little pleased that you trust him so much.

Magnus: Prepare for the "magically fixing disability" trope but irl. It's quite frustrating, really. Rather than accept you and support you through your new struggles he once again is looking for an easy fix. Though, considering his eye, there might be a bit of projection.

Horus Lupercal: Your survival is treated as propaganda, those protected by the mighty Imperium will not fall etc. But these appearances are controlled and few in numbers. In your actual life you're on lockdown basically, waited on hand and foot during and after your recovery. "It's necessary." He tells you but the 5 guards he assigned to watch over you always are perhaps overkill.

Lorgar Aurelian: Expect lots of prayers and chanting. Like way more than usual. more often than you see a doctor you're expected to attend or lead sermons (not often write but definitely be at the altar during) as your survival is seen as the grace of God. Also perchance some "praying the disability away" probably.

Vulkan: Perhaps not the most well equipped to deal with it but he tries the hardest. That being said like 60% of the places he frequents are now off limits to you on his orders for safety concerns. He's afraid something like that could happen again and is helicopter-ing you.

Corvus Corax: Exact opposite of horus, you recede into the shadows with him even further. He believes he put you in the line of fire by nature of being your lover. But now he believes because he didn't do "enough" to protect you the first time it is imperative that he does so now

Alpharius & Omegon: You've always got at least one with you. They don't change much on the surface but it's clear to the more eagle eyed their gaze never leaves you, nor do their hands. You find yourself encountering people less and opportunities to be alone are next to zero. Really it's only a matter of time before they lock you in a room only they have a key to. Also, you can't help but notice your injuries don't heal and some even get worse with time.

as a disabled person it was kinda fun to write this actually. the primarchs and space marines would be varying degrees of ableist this isn't up for discussion btw theyre eugenics propaganda lol

[y2xnjn]

off limits; c.sb — part one

— a/n: helloo, sorry this is a day late i scheduled the post wrong.. but enjoy part one! rich daddy soob does smth to me <3

✧ richdilf!soobin x babysitterfem!reader, wc: 4.6k

✧ warnings: nsfw— MDNI!, male masturbation, age gap (reader is 21 & soobin is 30), kinda pervy!soobin & pervy!reader, mentions of reader "getting around", no explicit smut in this one

— ✧ i.

There was a comfort in your solitude, a homey feeling in the slightly broken record that was playing distorted sounds from your favorite artist's vinyl, and you end up having the same realization that you do nearly every single day: you enjoy being alone today. That is, until you have another common realization that trumps your previous one every time: days are longer than twenty minutes; you start to roll your eyes and yawn at the lack of interesting activities in your shared apartment. 

Your roommate is almost never home, and you're happy for her--happy that she has a large life and lots of friends that are somehow always able to spend their time drinking or staying out so much, they wouldn't know their house was on fire until three days after it had collapsed--but that's not your ideal lifestyle. You don't think you could last two nights without the comfort of your bed, or even a bed, with the way she ends up sometimes.

You do wish you had friends though, or things to do at least. It's not like you don't have any, but with a total of three, all of whom have their hearts set on an extremely busy pathway for their life, leave you having to go out alone a lot, and catching people's eyes for that reason is not only shameful but tiring. And you have a good chance of getting a boyfriend as well, seeing as though you’re conventionally attractive and smart, and you know that, but commitment to a guy in his young twenties is something you’re not willing to rope yourself into right now, not to say that finding a good guy to commit to right now is easy anyways.

You do have your own goals in life, but yours require a lot more patience and less work, still being halfway through college and working at an unpaid internship to gain some experience in your desired field before you can get a real job. 

Ultimately, this leaves you with two qualities you would like to get rid of quickly: alone and broke.

Your parents had been paying for your rent until this point, and although they claim they do not mind, their continuous comments on the subject opened you up to the fact that you should probably consider putting your work in. 

There was a multitude of things you do to get some money, you realized after scrolling through the internet for a total of five minutes, but you decided upon babysitting. It would give you time to hone in and work on developing your skills for your chosen career, finish school work, while also making some money, and you love kids, so taking care of a kindergartner four or five times a week couldn't be too hard. Plus, kids are great company, so you definitely wouldn’t be basking in your own silence all day.

It definitely wasn't too hard finding struggling parents, most of whom were willing to pay high prices due to the length of work and hours the job market was requiring from people nowadays. Also considering the area you lived in was pretty well off, comfortable would be the right word, but there were definitely certain spots within twenty miles of you that definitely had money, as you’ve seen, driving by the mansions with your jaw dropped. 

Stumbling upon an offer that nearly made you drool just looking at the numbers, you quickly clicked on it. The family was right in your area, nearly ten minutes down the road; the perfect age of seven, an age you’re very used to after visiting your cousins so much; the hours were great, not too early but not too late, so you could still enjoy your bed every night; and best of all, it was a lot of money.

It didn’t take you long to send in your application and resume, the latter of which was detailed and professional due to the number of extracurriculars and success you had in college (which do make you think about how you don’t have a full-time job right now, but you’re working on patience). 

You're fairly certain you’d get the job simply because you meet all the requirements; even the safety regulations that make you glad you took lifeguarding and health code courses that pressured you to get all the necessary certifications, but your main concern was the preferred age of mid twenties. 

Having graduated less than a year ago, you’re definitely a few years off, but you’re hoping little Choi Minjoon's single father won’t mind, assuming it’s usually mothers who care about those kinds of things. You nearly have half a mind to send an email to the listed email address, addressing your concern and assuring him that you are still fit for the job, but you decide not to, scared to pressure him and turn him away. 

Hopefully, he sees your potential and all the good things under the lack of experience and age because you definitely have a lot to offer. 

— ✧ ii.

The house was much bigger than you expected; walking in nearly felt like a gift rather than you offering a service for the family. The door itself seemed like the same surface area as the right wall of your living room, and you felt a gust of wind brush past your figure when it opened. The first person you’re greeted with is a sweet petite lady with the attire of what looked like a housemaid. You’re almost surprised at the traditional values the family seemed to have, considering in today’s world, people hire one nanny to take care of all the concerns of the house, including the children, but taking a good look at the amount she would have to cover gives you a better understanding of the situation. 

Greeting the lady, you take notice of the echo that takes over the spacious halls, and you press down on your clothes, quickly trying to smooth them out a little more as you start to feel conscious and plain in them. She leads you up the large flight of stairs that make you feel like you have to hold onto the railing to walk up or you might suffer from some form of vertigo. Claiming the owner of the house and his kid are in his office, she makes sure you’re closely following her, most likely so you don’t get lost in the maze that this poor lady has to clean. 

She suddenly stops in front of a door, nearly making you bump into her from behind, and you assume this is the aforementioned office where your future employer is. Opening the door, you’re first met with the back of a tall man and a phone up to his ear, standing at the window and watching what looked like his front lawn. 

His kid, sat on the couch, stole your attention with a little giggle that sounded like music to your beards, and you met his starry eyes with the sweetest smile that felt warm and fuzzy in your heart. You reach your hand out to ruffle his wellkept hair; he definitely looked like he was born into wealth with his designer sweater vest, white button up, clean black dress pants, and his iPad in hand, eyes glued to the screen. 

Once your hand messes up his hair a little, he looks up at you, a stronger interaction than the glance from before, and you crouch down. The room was very quiet, the only sounds coming from his dad’s phone and the low volume of Toca Boca World on the device in his hands. You whisper a little greeting to him and start having a sweet conversation that consists of simple back and forth questions and answers, nothing more than you’d expect from a five year old. 

His voice was very gentle and soft, and you realize where he gets it from when your name is called. Looking up, you meet his father, and merely his figure has you stepping back in intimidation. 

Minjoon’s father, Choi Soobin, as he introduced himself, was a gorgeous man. Tall, fit, with a face and demeanor so attractive you start to question if he was really as old as he says he is. You watch as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, and you catch yourself staring before you push away any thoughts like that to the back of your head. 

He places his phone in his pocket, focusing all his attention on you and his son as he walks over and puts his hand out to greet you. You accept it with a slightly shocked smile until you realize what you probably look like and you regain your composure. 

“Hi, you must be the babysitter. I’m Soobin, Minjoon’s dad.” His smile was sweet, a stark contrast from his overbearing frame. His fingers were soft around your hand, and you suddenly felt the urge to stand up straight to fix your posture. You’re almost surprised at his deep tone, but his face captures you even more, and you can see just how Minjoon got so cute.

“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you.” He nods, returning the compliment before he takes a look up and down at you, his eyes contracting and darkening at the sight. Inhaling sharply, his smile falters for a second, and you almost feel a little judged, a number of questions running through your mind. Is there something wrong with your outfit? Did you sound like an idiot? How have you already fucked up and you’ve been in his house for ten minutes?

Whatever it is, you need a job, so you try your best and hope the interview goes exactly as planned.

You were pleasantly surprised when you got the call later that night; you came to the conclusion that he must have been in a hurry to find someone or maybe you were exactly what he was looking for. It was a quick interview anyways, a few questions about yourself, about your availability, and some small talk about your life. 

He was very kind about everything, and although he seemed to take all your answers well, his pure demeanor from when you first saw him shifted when he saw you and didn’t change back. You didn’t think about it too much though, seeing as you got the job, it must have been nothing to worry about. 

The first week was more difficult than you thought it would be. Minjoon was a shy kid at first, but as the days went by, he started opening up to you more, and that meant tantrums and words that you wouldn’t have expected from a preschooler.

It started with him offering to share his toys with you, a gentle smile and tiny hands pushing half of his lego collection towards you in a way that made you feel flutters inside. Slowly, it turned into him refusing to give you any and yelling and crying when you picked one up. Soobin did warn you that he could get cranky at times, but you didn’t realize it would end up with him stealing things out of your purse and throwing them at you because you wouldn’t let him have a third bowl of cereal. 

You almost wanted to complain to Soobin about his behavior, not understanding why he switched up so easily, but every time he came to you, asking if Minjoon was being good with a hopeful smile on his face and tired eyes, you couldn’t help but lie and say everything was fine to ease his mind. He seemed stressed, and you didn’t want to add to it by telling him that his precious little boy was getting on your nerves. 

You learned to deal with it after the second week though, having had eleven visits with him and hours spent observing his behavior. Coming to the realization that he must have just needed some time to get used to someone else other than his dad taking care of him, you became more understanding and patient with his actions, and he started becoming more aware as well. Of course, there were the occasional outbursts, but they toned down largely, and it lifted your spirits.

But it wasn’t just Minjoon’s behavior you were noticing. Although most of your time was occupied with taking care of him which consisted of a number of things like feeding him, playing with him, or even finishing up any summer classwork you have while letting him play by himself, your eyes couldn’t help but occasionally drift to the man of the house.

Sometimes, when he’d walk into the room either checking in, or perhaps looking for something, you’d attempt to sit up straight or correct your posture. Not that you’re a slouch, but of course, you want to look presentable in front of him. He is your boss after all. Other times, as it was nearing time for you to go, in line with the time he gets off work, you’d catch yourself with a stray eye as he unbuttons his shirt a bit, pushing the sleeves up and running his fingers back through his hair with a soft groan that makes your cheeks turn hot and your mind wander. It’s simply because you care about his well being though, as his son is your responsibility. 

And maybe when he’s on his break and steps out of his home gym after a work out session, you watch the beads of sweat down his neck, the fresh pump in his biceps, and the slight print in his sweatpants catching light. That’s when it gets hard to ignore.

You weren’t one to thirst; you’ve had your fair share of boyfriends and talking stages that have unfortunately all failed, and even now, it’s not like you’re closed off from men or anything, You’re always talking to one guy or the other, but it’s simply for your entertainment, tired of dealing with an immature male ego. It’s safe to say you get around, not enough to sacrifice your dignity and reputation but also enough to get a good fuck once in a while. 

You definitely weren’t one to thirst over guys you can’t have, whether it was someone you worked with, someone unavailable, someone not your age, or in this case, all three of the potential attributes. It’s not like you haven't acknowledged the attraction, but you choose to ignore it for not only your sake, but Soobin and little Minjoon’s as well, although the thought of his large slender fingers firmly pressing against your skin has crossed your mind more times than you’d like to admit.

— ✧ iii.

Soobin hates to admit how good you are with his son. From the moment he saw you, he was thinking things wouldn’t go well and that you would just be some pretty spoiled brat who’s only applying for this job to please her parents but couldn’t really care less about kids or anything other than herself. In fact, he was hoping it was true so he wouldn’t be able to hire you, or it would be a great fault on his part to come to the sad truth that he is attracted to his son’s babysitter.

He’s been a single parent for three years now, and while he was fighting the legal battles and dealing with the struggles and hard truths of a messy divorce, he was doing his best to be there for his son. 

After almost a year of tough meetings, fights, finding receipts, building up cases , Soobin ended up with primary physical custody of Minjoon, mainly in consideration of his financial situation and the lack of motherly characteristics his ex wife seemed to have. It was definitely difficult for him, and despite Minjoon's mom getting to keep his little boy for one weekend every month, Soobin has dedicated his life to raising him right.

Every single day in the past three years, Soobin has done everything for Minjoon, not that he should be expected of any less as a father, but as he is by himself, the responsibilities fall harder on him, and eventually, they do take a toll on not only his well being but his son tool. 

He has worked hard to provide everything he possibly can and give Minjoon the best lifestyle possible, but unfortunately, with his job requiring extra demands recently and work hours increasing, he is unable to be there for Minjoon as much. And without a doubt, he would trust a babysitter that could report back to him and that he knew to a good extent over leaving him with a mother who rarely looks his way and carries no empathy for her own child. And this led him to start searching for someone to be there in his absence. 

Soobin was a simple man, not really fazed by the small things in life like unkind people and immaturity. He had dealt with much of that in his early divorce, something he sees as a strength instead of a weakness considering how much he learned from it. He learned to be patient, emotionally mature, and how to navigate seemingly difficult situations; from his child, he learned to be caring, compassionate, and responsible. Something he didn’t learn however, was how to deal with having a thing for a young woman nearly ten years younger, and it was starting to get the better of him. 

You were a great fit for the job, a fact that comes with both pros and cons on his end. Pro: his son would be very well taken care of, and con: his mind starts to conjure up images that were greatly too impure whenever he sees you. 

It would be the simplest things as well; the way you bite your lip trying to figure out the TV remote, the cute little cotton shorts that ride up your butt as you reach for something, which in your defense, he did say you could wear whatever attire you’d like, or god forbid, you bend over to open the freezer and find yourself a popsicle. And if he caught you eating it, licking the sweet juice as it drips down your fingers, he’d have to go and lock himself in his office for at least an hour. 

Everything you did felt too good for him to be looking at, and that seemed to be the only con he could think of. Which is why he chose to keep you around, because it would be better for his son ultimately, and it’s not as if you’re tempting him on purpose, of course. 

Maybe it’s just been a while, he thinks, since he’s interacted with a lady he found truly attractive, and right now, his male instincts are taking over, nearly consuming him if he was being honest with himself. But Soobin knows better than to fall into infatuation and risk something that in every way he could think of, would not end well. 

It was around the fourth week of your new job, when you and Soobin had discussed a swimming instructor for Minjoon. You noticed he’s taken quite a liking to baths and would request to spend an extra twenty minutes every time he was in the tub; the first time you agreed, and no matter how wet your clothes got after, you continued to say yes because seeing the smile on his face was worth it. 

When you asked his dad about it, he agreed that it was around the age that he should start taking swim lessons, and it being the hot air of June, this was a great time. Less than two days later, when you showed up, you were surprised to see baby Minjoon in the pool holding a paddleboard with a man on the other end of it. You looked around for Soobin, not having seen him anywhere in the house until your eyes fell onto his figure, standing over the corner of the pool watching his son intently. 

He was dressed in swim trunks, a stark contrast to the business outfit or fully dressed gym attire that you usually see him in, and your mouth unknowingly opens due to the shock. You’re not complaining of course; you knew he was fit from the way his arms’ natural tone would appear while doing simple mundane things like carrying his office bag or picking up Minjoon, but seeing his work was more humbling than you thought.

His hair was damp at the ends, as if he just got out of the pool. His shorts hanging low on his hips, barely tied, almost begging to come off, and with the way you were drinking his sweaty abs in and ogling his enlarged biceps from how he was crossing his arms, you almost felt compelled to go and give his pants a slight tug. 

Soobin quickly takes notice of you when you walk in, dressed cutely in a summer dress that would be way too short for your place of employment if it were anywhere or anyone else, but with the view of your sunkissed thighs he's getting, he really doesn’t mind. He also doesn’t fail to notice the way you stare at him, unaware of how tempting your eyes look as you walk up to him. He quickly shakes the thought away, offering a sweet smile that completely hides the thoughts he was just thinking, and you return one yourself.

“Is he doing good so far?” You ask, retreating away from your eye candy and back to Minjoon in the pool. He nods, a simple hum coming out to affirm your question.

“We’ve been out here for just thirty minutes, and he’s already made a lot of progress,” he mentions, a proud fatherly smile on his face. Soobin’s eyes are soft and kind whenever he looks at Minjoon, unable to disguise the true affection he has for the kid, a feeling that you’re starting to get used to after taking care of him for just a few weeks. “The instructor’s here for another thirty minutes if you would like to get in the pool too.”

He looks at you, his eyes quickly darting to the way you lick your lips and look up in hesitation before you respond. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I actually brought my bathing suit today, so that’s good,” you cheer. 

Soobin offers to wait outside until you get changed, claiming he has a meeting in the office soon and he has to take a quick shower before he can leave for work, but he soon regrets it when you reenter the pool area in a pastel blue bikini, a coverup so sheer on top of it that there’s almost no use for it. 

If he really cared about being your boss, he would have had a serious discussion about what’s appropriate to wear in front of him, but seeing the way the thin fabric barely covers every curve of your figure, the strings on your shoulders so close to untying and letting your tits spill out, he doesn’t give a shit about being appropriate. 

You walk back up to him, so innocent and a smile so sweet as if you have no thoughts in the world. You have to know what you’re doing, right? The effect you have on him, how undeniably tempting you look? It must be impossible not to notice the way his eyes are wandering every inch of your skin as you lay down on the lounge chair next to him, your chest rising and falling under the burning sun. 

Suddenly remembering a question you had about Minjoon’s meal schedule, you sit up and open your mouth to ask him something before he walks through the back door of the house, slamming it behind him. Assuming he was in a rush, you pout to yourself and make a note to ask when he’s back, instead refocusing your attention and pulling out a bottle of sunscreen.

It’s becoming difficult to control himself, Soobin realizes, as he throws his head back under the hot water, letting it engulf him completely. He grips the handle, closing the glass door behind him, desperately trying to think about anything else other than how purely sinful you could be. He wants to grip the soft curve of your waist, make you moan the way you did when you sighed at your phone the other day, sneaky eyes peeking at your texts from behind you, and he groans thinking about the way that guy was talking to you—he could treat you so much better than some childish punk who won’t understand your worth until he’s ready for you to have his babies.

Why should you wait for a good man when you can have one now? When you can have him at your fingertips doing whatever you please, providing for you, taking care of you, making sure you never have to work again? He tries to breathe through it, but his hand mindlessly inches lower.

God, you make him so frustrated; you make him question himself and his morals, something he’s always taken pride in. Soobin never hesitated, never made the wrong decision, never acted out, and here he is now, self control hanging by a thread. And for what? You barely did anything, and he’s already so provoked.

His mind is racing with the most impure thoughts, cursing under his breath as he has to relieve the ache somehow. The sheer sweat on your collarbone and how good your skin would taste against his tongue, the flimsy top clinging to the swell of your breasts like it wanted to slip off. Like you wanted it to. Fuck, what if you wanted it just as badly as he did? What if you were thinking about him, touching yourself to the thought of his mouth sweetly kissing up and down your thighs, harshly tugging on his hair, moaning his name?

He leaned forward against the wall, the hot water running down the tile and catching on his forehead as he strokes himself, finally chasing the feeling of something so sinful, and the thought just edges him on further. He pumps himself, desperate to cum, remembering your delicate scent and the soft pads of your fingers as they brush against his skin, wishing they would wrap around his cock the way he is. Soobin is so fucking addicted to you, and though it took him long to realize it, the epiphany makes him pump even faster.

Throbbing, sticky, heat pooling low in his stomach, and he thinks about the lazy arch of your back, the slight sliver of stomach that you tease with a simple tank top, and now today? Revealing so much of yourself to him and not letting him have you, making his hips jerk forward in his own hands, begging and pleading your name out loud, nearly wishing you could hear how bad he wants it, you were so cruel. 

Soobin comes with a guttural groan, unable to even recognize the sound that leaves his lips, and he stands there under the water for some time, hopelessly trying to wash his release off his stomach and what’s left of you in his head. 

It doesn’t work. Instead, he quietly relives the fantasy from which he was holding back. From weeks of pretending he wasn’t so deeply corrupted, from watching you, knowing you were so close to him but still, completely off limits. 

[halloweenreaper]

I've been watching some video essays about Apothecary Diaries and a few have thrown around the idea of Maomao being ace or just not understanding sexual/romantic cues. And while I'd be more than happy with more ace rep that isn't actual robots, I think a lot of discussion around this topic misses or just doesn't acknowledge that Maomao is very desensitized to the idea of romance and sexual desires in a way that (it seems to me) most people can't wrap their heads around.

A good equivalent is like how an ER nurse is desensitized to wounds or vomit. To most people, its disgusting and hard to look at. To a tenured ER nurse, it's a Tuesday. It doesn't mean they're unaware that its disgusting or that they're unaffected, they're just used to it.

I view Maomao's reaction to sex as similar to that. She knows about it, she's well aware, but there's no big deal about it. It is something people do. It can be transactional. To her, it's a normal everyday occurrence, not something special or something intimate in the emotional sense. So, why make a big deal over it?

As for her reactions to Jinshi's advanced, I find it a bit insulting to say that she isn't aware of what's going on. She might choose to ignore them, but again she grew up in a brothel. Her "sisters" are the most expensive prostitutes there. I wouldn't be surprised if they taught her some tricks or at least talked about their experiences. She'd know what necking is. She's probably seen "bedroom eyes" enough times to notice it at a glance. I feel that most of her reactions stem from (1) that she's not used to the attention being on her, and (2) she is very aware of the status difference between her and Jinshi even if he doesn't want to acknowledge it. She's also probably aware that if they had a relationship and it ended badly, Jinshi would be protected as a royal while she'd be on the hook for any blowback whether it's her fault or not (so playing dumb is kinda like covering her own ass).

Apothecary Diaries is definitely a show that works in subtext quite a bit, especially for character intentions and characterization. Its also very much a show that asks the viewer to put in work to understand why things are happening, why characters act how they do, and acknowledge that the characters view things differently than the viewers due to the story's setting. It's ingenious writing that has such an organic feel that is not easily achieved by a lot of writers and I absolutely love it.