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bitters-n-sweets · 1 day ago

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take a break — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Robby is finally on vacation in Bali. He can't quite turn off the part of him that stays alert, but then he meets someone who somehow silences all the noise.

warnings: angst. smut 18+, minors go away. this feels very romantic to me. i loved writing this. i never intended to include smut in this actually, i find it challenging, but it felt like a great addition to the story. pls be nice :") [p in v sex, no protection—don't do this kids, oral!fem receiving, fingering, swearing] not proofread. 4.4K words -- i think this is also the longest fic I've written so far masterlist

It just finished raining, and the air feels sticky with heat and flowers. Robby's on his third day of vacation in Bali, and he's yet to do anything on this island they call paradise. No tours, no yoga by the beach, not even a swim.

It's beautiful here—almost painfully—but he keeps checking his phone like someone might page him. Old habits. No one’s paging him. Time zones are a buffer, and besides, he’s on the other side of the world. What could he possibly do?

He’s halfway through drinking from his coconut, perched on a wooden lounge chair by the beach, when he hears a voice beside him, amused and warm.

"You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem with your drink."

He looks up. You’re barefoot, sun-kissed, wearing loose cotton pants and a tank top, your hair a little wild from the humidity.

Robby blinks. "Is it that obvious?"

You motion to the seemingly permanent frown on his face.

Robby's seen you around the resort before. Always by yourself, with two books in one hand and a drink in the other. He thought about saying something multiple times, but always chickened out. Something about you felt... unapproachable. Not in an intimidating way, more in a you’re living fully and I’m not sure how to do that so I don't want to possibly ruin it for you way.

Now you both sit in silence, while Robby continues to check his phone again and sighs. That's when you hand him your book. "Here."

He blinks down at the cover. A Man Called Ove.

"One of my favorites. You should read it." You say, "Better than constantly checking your phone and regretting it a second later."

Robby snorts. You have a point.

"You lend books to strangers a lot?"

"If they look like they've been through some rough shit, yes."

That startles a laugh out of him—genuine, low, a little rusty. "I’m Michael. Robinavitch. You can call me Robby."

You offer your name in return, then nod toward the book. "Give it a chance. Let me know what you think."

"What makes you think I'll give your book back?"

You smile, stepping toward the path back to the resort. "I've seen you around the resort. And if you don't, I'll hunt you down."

You're feeling particularly exhausted today. One, because you just went out surfing for the entire day yesterday, but also because today, you were supposed to be walking down the aisle with the most beautiful dress, about to marry the love of your life. Instead, you're in a hotel room halfway across the world, alone, and feeling like shit.

Well, you suppose the day wasn't half bad. You finally managed to talk to the broody, quietly handsome guy who looks like he’s seen too much and somehow still comes off calm and steady. A smile tugs at your lips. He’s more charming than you expected.

Bali was not a place you thought you'd visit alone. You always imagined you'd be here with your ex-fiancé, drinking and watching the sunset. So you decide it's time to take care of yourself, wear that sundress you've been saving for a special occasion, and head to the resort's bar.

You sit down at your table, putting your book down and picking up the menu, when someone clears his throat, standing next to you.

Robby.

"This seat taken?"

You try to hide your smile. "Be my guest."

He smiles and sits across from you, putting his your book down on the table. He looks good—too good. He’s traded his usual loose t-shirt for a navy polo that clings in the right places, and linen pants that make his long legs look impossibly relaxed.

"You clean up nice." You say.

"You look beautiful." Robby counters, "Can I ask what's the occasion?"

You chuckle nervously, not ready to share the sad part of your life yet. Thankfully, you're saved by the waiter coming to take your order.

"Do you drink Rosé?" Robby asks after ordering your meals. And you nod, surprised. "Great, let's open a bottle of dry Rosé." He says to the waiter.

You raise your brows once the waiter leaves. "Didn't take you for a wine guy—let alone a Rosé? You're full of surprises, Michael."

"You sound like my mother when you call me like that." He groans.

"'Michael'?"

"Yes, and she also mocks my drink choices."

You laugh. "So what's the story?"

"A friend gifted me a dry Rosé one time as a joke. I didn’t want to waste it, so I drank it. Turns out, I liked it more than I wanted to admit. But keep that between us."

You hum, "Ah, yes, can't have you ruin your naturally broody aura."

"Me? Broody?" He snorts like it's ridiculous. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You absolutely are."

With the food almost immediately devoured, you're left with wine and each other's company. The ocean hums in the distance, with the breeze prickling your skin. Robby’s gone quiet, admiring the view, the half-full glass of rosé resting loosely in his fingers.

"So, how do you like the book so far?"

He exhales, tipping his head back. "I wasn’t ready to love it. But it... got to me."

You grin. "Ove grows on you, doesn’t he?"

"Yeah," Robby murmurs. "Grumpy bastard made me feel things I wasn’t in the mood to feel."

You laugh. "That's the point. He's angry at life, but still shows up for people. Even when he doesn’t want to."

Robby nods, quiet for a second. "I think I know what that feels like."

You glance at him, surprised by the honesty. His jaw is tense, but his eyes are soft. You wonder if you should ask—but something tells you this moment is already fragile, and curiosity might crack it too soon.

Instead, you wait.

"I'm an ER doc." Robby swirls the wine in his glass absentmindedly. "Lots of chaos. Long hours. Lots of traumas, deaths… I used to think I was built for this line of work. The pressure, the adrenaline... the fixing things. And sometimes I still do. But lately…"

You don’t speak. You let him go on, because he needs to.

He takes a deep breath. "Lately I’ve been wondering if it's all catching up with me. Like—I walk around carrying everyone else's worst days, and I don’t even notice the weight until I sit still." He continues. "I’ve seen kids come in with gunshots. Mothers who collapse from exhaustion. People screaming for someone to save them, and you just have to keep moving like it doesn’t get to you. Like you’re above it. But you’re not. Not really."

Robby then takes a sharp breath. "Sorry. I'm not usually this..."

You offer him a small smile. "Broody?"

That earns a faint smile, but it doesn’t erase the weariness from his expression.

You figured it's only fair you share your story, too.

You put your wine glass down, your finger tracing the rim. "I was supposed to get married today."

That catches him off guard. His eyes widen, gently. "Oh. Today? As in—today today?"

"Yeah," You laugh under your breath, "Booked the venue and everything. Until 6 months ago, I found out he was cheating on me with one of my bridesmaids. Classic."

"Prick," Robby mutters.

"Right? So I pulled the plug on the wedding, and I've been traveling the world ever since. Running away, I guess. I was so caught up in the relationship that I think I lost part of myself." You sigh. "So now, I'm re-finding myself. Yay."

Robby chuckles. "And how's it going so far?"

You smile, "Let's just say I'm glad I'm not spending today alone."

He mirrors your smile, lifting his glass to cheer. "Me too."

"Walk with me?" you ask, gesturing toward the beach after you've finished your wine.

Robby doesn’t hesitate. "Lead the way."

You both kick off your shoes by the beach entrance and walk slowly along the shore, the water brushing your feet gently. You can feel the wine in your system now. The salty air hits your skin and lets your hair flow freely. Robby has never seen anyone more beautiful. He's glad it's dark out now, or you would've seen him blush.

You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. Half-lidded, faintly flushed from the wine and maybe something more.

"I don’t usually let myself relax like this." He murmurs.

"And yet here you are, walking barefoot on a beach with a stranger, wine-drunk and poetic." You laugh lightly.

"Stranger?" He repeats, stepping in front of you gently, making you stop.

"No?"

"Feels like I've known you longer." He smiles lazily.

Your heart kicks up a notch, not sure what to say, so you just smile, turning to look towards the sea. The breeze has picked up, cooler now that the sun has long dipped below the horizon. You cross your arms, trying not to shiver, but the goosebumps along your arms give you away.

Without a word, Robby steps behind you. You feel his warmth before you feel the touch—his hands gently brushing your arms, then slowly wrapping around your waist. His chest is solid and steady against your back, and you let yourself lean into it, just a little.

He’s quiet, but you can hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, feel it where your shoulders meet his. The sea hums in the distance, but all you can think about is how your heart is racing—and how you can feel his breath on your skin.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met." He says.

You chuckle and glance up at him, suddenly meeting his eyes. "That's the Rosé talking."

"Maybe," he says, almost to himself. "Or maybe I just really want to kiss you."

Your breath catches. That weightless feeling flutters in your chest, and the world seems to narrow to just the space between your mouths. He waits for your permission—doesn’t lean in right away, doesn’t push. Just watches you, his fingers still resting lightly on your waist.

So you give in. You lean up and close the space between you. It's slow, exploring new ground, like you're testing the heat between you. Robby’s lips are soft, warm, and his beard grazes your skin in the most deliciously distracting way. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, and you find your fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

The kiss lingers on your lips even after it ends, like you don't want it to be over. Robby pulls back just enough to look at you, still hazy, still drunk on the moment. His hand is still snug at your waist, like he’s afraid to let go too quickly.

"I don’t want to overstep," he whispers, "But if I asked you to come back with me… would that be okay?"

You hesitate for a second, because something about this feels different than just a vacation fling, but you can't talk about it yet. You don't want to.

"I was hoping you’d ask," you murmur against his lips.

That earns you a smile and another short make-out session that leaves you breathless.

"Are we leaving or what?" You ask in between kisses.

He chuckles, "So impatient."

He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and you walk together barefoot, tipsy, and a little giddy from everything that’s happened tonight. The resort glows softly in the distance, lanterns swaying with the wind.

Once inside his room, you walk in slowly as if it doesn't look exactly like yours. The mood shifts. Robby closes the door behind you, and for a second, neither of you says anything. You just look at each other in the dim light, the tension from earlier about to snap.

Robby takes the first step closer to you, dragging his finger to lift your chin so he can kiss you again. And again. And again. And you sigh into his arms, hands on his broad chest.

"You can stop me any time."

"I won't."

He kisses you again, deeper this time. His hands slip around your waist, then your back, and up to where the straps of your dress rest. You can feel your heart flip when he hooks it on his finger, slowly peeling it off your shoulder, as if giving you time to push him away, but teasing at the same time.

You let the strap fall down your arm, and the other one soon follows. Robby’s gaze follows the motion like he’s watching something sacred, like he's not sure if he's allowed to want this but can't help himself anyway.

His fingers trail over your now-bare shoulder, and you shiver, goosebumps forming on your skin.

You take his hand and slowly make your way towards the bed, sitting down and placing your hands on his waist. You tug at his shirt, hinting you want it off, and he obliges, the shirt gone in one swift motion.

"You’re beautiful," He groans as he leans down to lie on top of you. "God."

You memorize the feel of him: warm skin, a strong chest under your palms, the steady rhythm of his breath stuttering slightly when your hands roam lower to reach his belt. He lets you undo it. Lets you unbutton his pants and pull them down as he peppers kisses throughout your body.

You let out a soft moan when his hand trails up your naked torso, hesitantly, ever so gently caressing your breast, teasing your nipple with his finger, while his mouth makes its way down to latch onto the other.

"Fuck, Robby." Your hand goes up to tug on his hair, earning you a lustful groan, while your other hand grabs onto his arm as an anchor.

Your head is spinning, and something is itching. You buck your hips up to meet his, and now his hand is pinning your waist down.

"You really need to work on your patience." He teases and stops kissing you.

"Can you really blame me?" You daringly take one of his hands, resting it on the slick heat between your thighs.

"Fuck." Robby closes his eyes, pressing his thumb to where he can feel your clitoris is, the sensitive bud poking out and pushing against your panties.

You throw your head back, hips bucking against his hand.

Robby slowly slips the little piece of clothing off, and you watch as his fingers smooth over your slit. He keeps his eyes on you as he lowers himself. You swallow as you anticipate what he's about to do.

"So fucking wet." He murmurs, leaving kitten licks on your clit.

You can only moan while he has his way with you. His hands are holding your thighs open for him, and you try your best to keep eye contact, but it's only making you falter faster. His eyes are dark, lustful, hungry, and you feel like you could cum just from watching him.

He gently sucks on your swollen bud, and you lose your mind when he inserts one finger. Then two. Your slick makes it easy for his fingers to move around and find your sensitive spot, he found it almost immediately, he can tell by the way your eyes roll back and how you clench around him every time.

"Robby—" You sigh with pleasure—a warning, bucking your hips again, and this time he lets you, feeling you're close to the edge. His fingers move expertly in and out of you, curling just at the right spot. Your breaths become erratic, following the pace of Robby's fingers. "Come, sweetheart." He says, almost as a command, and your body arches moments after, breath catching in your throat as waves of pleasure crash through you.

Robby doesn't immediately stop. He pumps his fingers a few more times until you're trembling away, and with a proud smirk, he pulls his fingers out, licks them to taste you—making sure you're watching—before hovering on top of you to kiss you.

You can taste yourself in his mouth, and you whimper, feeling him pressing against your cunt. You're still sensitive, but it feels like you're desperately hungry for more. More of Robby.

Robby tries to pace himself, he doesn't want to rush. He wants to cherish this, drag this out, because he doesn't want this to end. He wants to keep feeling your plush lips against his, your soft touches, your hands in his hair, your body pressed firmly against his.

"Robby," you whisper, your voice barely more than air, "I want you. Please."

And he loses all of his resolve.

Robby bites his lip as he sees your disheveled state. Lips swollen, hair a mess, hooded and hungry eyes, how can he say no to you?

He takes his boxers off, freeing his cock and letting it spring back up to his stomach. You gasp at the sight. He's gonna kill you. First with his gentleness, second with his cock, because you don't think you can handle that.

"Fuck off." You unintentionally comment.

Robby lets out a laugh. "Relax."

"Are you kidding?"

He just shakes his head and hovers over you again, but this time you push him over so he's sitting and you're on top, your sopping wet cunt sitting on his aching cock.

"Sweetheart, you're killing me." He closes his eyes and groans as you drag your hips along his length.

You decide neither of you would last any more teasing, so you take him in your hands, covered in your wetness and his precum, and push him against your folds. Your walls squeeze him as he bottoms out inside you, and you have to hold still for a while.

Robby's hands grip your waist and you're sure it'll leave marks in the morning, but you don't really care. You lift your hips slowly, leaving just the tip before slamming yourself back down, eliciting a moan from both of you.

You're set on a pace, slow, steady, allowing you to have control, but it's not enough. You groan and bury your face in Robby's neck. "Robby…"

"Hm?" He teases, like he knows what you're about to ask for.

"Please," You whisper. "I need…"

He pulls you from hiding your face, a confident smirk on his. But he decides to be merciful this time. Chuckling, he moves so you're now flat on your back again, legs tucked up and pressed onto your sides.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?"

You manage to let out a giggle. "Robby, don't worry—" your words are immediately cut off when he reinserts himself, the position makes it feel completely different from before. "—Holy fuck."

Robby starts slow, letting you fully adjust before feeling you clench around him, and he picks up the speed. You feel like the air is knocked out of your lungs, only able to take short breaths as Robby brutally drives into you, making you feel all of him.

You can't even moan anymore, your mouth just hangs open as you put your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss you can't properly do. Strings of fuck—Robby—so deep—fuck—you feel so good are the only things you can muster as you feel your high approaching again.

You couldn't even warn him when your orgasm hits you. Your nails just dig into his shoulder as your eyes roll back, back arching as far as it could go, and walls spasming around him. He grunts, nibbling on your neck as his hips stutter, not expecting you to get so tight.

"Fuck." He moans as he spills inside you, staying still for a minute to catch his breath and make sure you're okay.

You're still panting and twitching under him, eyes still closed, but your hands draw small circles on the back of his head.

"'M gonna pull out now." He warns and you hum, moaning again when he does.

He stands up to get a towel to clean you up, "Don't go anywhere." He jokes.

You chuckle. "Don't think I can."

The room is quiet now, only the sound of the AC and the steady rhythm of your breaths can be heard. You're both tangled in the sheets, your leg draped over his, skin still warm from everything that just passed between you. Robby lies on his side, one arm wrapped around your waist, fingertips gently grazing your back in slow, absent-minded strokes. You’re tucked into his chest, your head resting in the curve of his shoulder, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest.

Eventually, he presses a kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there.

"You're kind of amazing," He mutters.

"Kind of?" You raise a brow.

He huffs a quiet laugh, "I’m trying not to let it go to your head."

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him. His hair is tousled, his eyes soft, still heavy-lidded. "Too late."

He smiles and presses another kiss to your lips.

"Do you always kiss like that on vacation?" You tease.

He chuckles, "Only when I meet someone who gives me their favorite book."

"Pretty exclusive club."

"You're the only member."

You nuzzle closer into him, smiling into his chest. "I'm not gonna lie," You start, "This all feels a little surreal. I never thought I'd meet someone like you. You make all of this feel… right."

"I feel the same way." He admits, "I want to pause everything and just stay in our little bubble."

The silence stretches comfortably for a moment. And then, you get a gut-wrenching realization. "Oh. Right. You said you're only here for a week."

He nods, voice tighter, his hand still tracing along your side. "Yeah."

"So we’ve got, what… four more?"

"Mm-hm." He pulls you close to him, perhaps it's a way so you can't see his sullen expression. "Four more days in the bubble."

And it's hardly enough time.

The next few days blur in sunlight and ocean breeze, you take Robby on winding motorbike rides, wild ATV tours through the jungle, surfing lessons where you both wipe out laughing, and quiet moments snorkeling with whale sharks. You try to make as many memories as you can, all the while masking the dread of his departure. And at night, it’s always the same—his touch like a promise, your body moving with his in the dark, like you're both pretending the end isn't coming.

You both made the silent decision not to say where you’re from. Maybe if you find out he lives just hours away, it’ll make this too real. Too painful. Better to keep things suspended in this bubble, this almost-fairytale. Better to let it end on a hopeful note, instead of a practical-hurtful one.

You’ve told yourself this is just a fling. That some people come into your life for a reason, and maybe Robby was never meant to stay. Maybe he’s just a beautiful lesson in loving deeply and letting go.

You try not to cry in front of him. You want to make the goodbye easier than it feels, to shield him and yourself from the ache that's already blooming in your chest. You try to seem light, even when it’s breaking you.

It’s not easy for Robby, either. If he could, he’d offer you his world—just to wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep with you tucked against his chest. But it wouldn’t be fair. He could never ask you to upend your life for him, no matter how much he wants to.

And maybe that’s the hardest part, he wants to do this right. He wants to believe this is more than just a vacation high. But what if his reality—grueling shifts, emotional exhaustion, his work-life imbalance—ends up driving you away? There’s so much he wants to say, but maybe silence is the merciful choice.

It's the night before he leaves, and you can't say goodbye. But it’s there, hanging unspoken in the humid air between kisses, in the way you cling to each other just a little tighter. You talk quietly about nothing at all, and everything at once—movies you haven’t seen, food you miss, a joke about whale sharks that makes you both laugh a little too hard at 1AM.

At one point, while tracing lazy circles on his chest, he asks, "Should I go before you wake up?"

You don’t answer right away, but then nod. Robby can see your lips quivering slightly.

He pulls you closer to him, but neither of you falls asleep quickly. You make love again, slower this time, as if trying to memorize each other’s skin. As if trying to stretch the hours. You fall asleep tangled together, heartbeats in sync.

By the time the soft blue of dawn creeps up, Robby’s already awake. He moves quietly, getting dressed in the soft light, careful not to wake you. Before he leaves, he pauses by your bedside. You’re still curled under the covers, looking peaceful and beautiful.

He looks at you like he’s trying to remember everything.

Then he pulls something from his bag—a folded piece of paper—and tucks it gently into the book you gave him. His fingers linger on the cover for a beat too long.

He leaves without a sound.

You wake hours later to an empty room, your chest already aching before your mind catches up. You sit up slowly, the sheets cold beside you. You scan everything in your room, maybe Robby had left something behind that you could keep as a memento.

Then you see the book. You open it to find the note inside:

"You changed something in me. Thank you for letting me be yours, even just for a moment."

And that’s when you finally let yourself cry.

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part two for a reunion (edited here) coming up! would you like to be tagged? pls leave a comment if you do ❤️

#michael robby robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #robby x reader #robby x female reader #robby robinavitch #dr robby x reader #robby robinavitch angst #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch smut #robby robinavitch smut #dr robby angst #robby robinavitch x fem reader

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 2 days ago

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[1:47 pm]

(cw: f!reader)

tagged! @bluedbliss

Fratboy!Jaemin did a lot of things in university just for the fun of it. Massage class? Sure, why not. Gymnastics? Again, why not. Join a frat? Only because Jeno did. Working at the on campus daycare? Well, that one was because of his mom. He needed a job and she happened to know the head teacher.

So now he spent three of his days here at the daycare, taking care of the young kids with the help of one main teacher and another aide, you. The kids had named you "Pretty Teacher" and he couldn't agree more. You were a full time aide and he found that he could handle some clingy kids and no sense of personal space for a few hours a day when you were helping out beside him.

Right now, you were both leading the kids through circle time outside while the head teacher took a quick break. After some stretches and some calming exercises for the kids, they focused on building with some blocks.

One of the girls, looked up at you, judgement written clearly on her face as she looked between you and Jaemin. Her little voice rang out, "Pretty teacher, is Teacher Na your boyfriend?"

The other kids looked up then, "oohing" at the word "boyfriend." You shook your head with a soft laugh, prying apart two blocks before handing them to the boy sitting beside you, "no, Teacher Na is not my boyfriend."

The kids pouted and even Jaemin found himself fighting back a pout along with the four and five year-olds. He wanted you to be his girlfriend. He thought he'd made that pretty clear when he insisted that he play the role of 'dad neighbor' when you were given the role of 'mom neighbor' or when he brought you snacks or coffee at the before the kids showed up.

Another girl, this time sitting beside Jaemin, squealed with excitement, "he's your husband then! You're married!"

Jaemin coughed awkwardly, "we're not married."

"But you like her?" The girl asks as she cocks her head to the side.

"Yes," Jaemin answers, immediately drawing sounds of excitement from the kids. He even finds that your eyes flicker to meet his gaze before he adds quickly, "because she's my friend."

"My mommy said her and my daddy were friends before they got married!" A boy adds, "my daddy was my mommy's sister's boyfriend! That's why they don't talk no more!"

You bite back a look of shock as you try to guide the conversation away from marriage and parents, or any other topics these kids might have overheard at home. They're stubborn though, insisting that the two of you get married because that's what adult boys and girls do, "duh, teachers!"

You're given a bundle of flower weeds and pushed until you and Jaemin are sitting side by side on the bench. The oldest of the bunch, a five year-old, grins widely and begins the 'vows' going on about love and happiness. She claps her hands, "now you're married! Kiss!"

The kids sound out in a mix of cheers and boos. You laugh softly, choosing instead to hug your coworker swiftly to give into the requests of the students. It's basically nothing, you can barely call it a hug since it's more like two bodies just pressed against each other for a second. Jaemin thinks he just saw heaven. It's the best hug he's ever had and it lasted a full, singular second. It was great.

Somehow that's the only thing on his mind as he finishes off his work day. He grabs his stuff after everything has been wiped down and disinfected, lingering around the gate as you walk toward him.

"Hey, Pretty," he greets you, watching as you laugh softly.

"Hi, Nana, you waiting for me?" You ask as you close the gate behind yourself.

"A good husband waits for his wife doesn't he?" He asks with a gentle smile.

You giggle softly, knocking his elbow with your own, "oh, did we go straight from coworkers to husband and wife?"

He shrugs with an easy smile, "gotta start somewhere, right?"

You shrug, staying silent as you both walk across campus. He comes to a stop, drawing your attention, "actually, I did really want to ask you... do you want to go out some time?"

"Ooh, first date as husband and wife?" You laugh with a wiggle of your brows.

"We have to start somewhere don't we?" Jaemin asks as his smile turns nervous.

You turn to him and notice how he seems less confident, nervous as he waits for her to answer. You reach for his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, "a date sounds really nice."

"Perfect, I'll text you, Pretty."

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parkersgarage · 3 days ago

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a/n: been wanting to write for him but my thing is fluff, it’s my forte (if I’m allowed to say that) I think he would be softer towards his partner, this is just him messing (joking) around with them

geum seongje x gn!reader | 962 wc | no major warnings, seongje is an ass (affectionate) probably ooc (sorry)

Seongje gradually starts to notice a habit of yours. It wasn’t subtle, not one bit. Rather, it was odd if you didn’t do it.

When you would greet him, with the usual hello, a question about how his day was going so far, and a kiss, right under his eye. He should have known beforehand; his mother had told him the small mole under his eye was his charming point. A place she’d kissed before he went to bed as a kid, now the place you seemed to be drawn to.

He tries to avoid it for a bit, just to see what you’d do.

He’d placed a band-aid over it first, groaning loudly when you’d asked him what happened, nearly dropping his facade to laugh at the pout that formed on your lips when you realized where he’d gotten hurt.

You’d kissed his cheek instead. Seongje wasn’t satisfied with your reaction.

The next time you see him is at his house. His mother lets you in, going on and on about how her poor son was so tired that he fell asleep waiting for you. You knew he was bullshitting, he’d stayed up for twenty-four hours playing a stupid game with his friends.

When you walk into his room, Seongje almost laughs at the frustrated sigh you huff out, listening to your mumbling about his sleeping position.

On his side, cheek squished into his pillow, blocking your favorite place to kiss. You could tilt his face, but Seongje was a light sleeper, and you’d rather let him rest than satisfy your selfish wants even if he was faking it.

“Damn asshole,” You whisper, he can feel your breath fanning against his mouth. “I bet you’re doing this on purpose.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, he fights the upturn of his lips, cracking an eye open tiredly to look at you. “Yah, what a creep. Kissing me while I sleep.”

The next time he tries to dodge it, he makes the wrong move.

You find him leaning against a wall just outside the bowling alley, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips before he takes it out and flicks it away.

As you step closer, you note that there’s no obstructions to the skin under his eye. But now, as you stand in front of him, the mole is nowhere in sight.

You call him out on it, pointing under your eye repeatedly. “What? I got it removed.” When you just blink at him, he waves his hand in front of your face, snapping his fingers when you don’t utter a single word for two minutes.

But when your hand reaches up to his face, thumb brushing delicately across the skin under his eye, Seongje realizes two things.

One, he’s been caught. Judging from the way your eyes widen slightly and drift to your thumb, he’s sure you’d wiped the makeup clean off.

And two, how much you actually love to kiss that spot.

He grunts when you pull his head towards you, sputtering when you pepper kisses on and around the mole, probably feeling how warm his cheeks have gotten.

His hands find your shoulders, gently pushing you back until you're off of him. His hair tousled and cheeks burning, and his ears red at the tips. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to kiss you there?” You snap, slapping his shoulder lightly. “You asshole, you think I didn’t see what you were doing?”

“It only took you until the third time to get what you wanted, right?” He huffs, fixing his hair while quietly cursing.

You watch him quietly, the movement of his lips as he mumbles about his appearance, the twitch of his brow when his hair gets caught in his glasses. “If you wanted me to stop, you could’ve asked, Seongje.”

He pauses his movements, jutting his lips out with a shake of his head. “No, I was just messing with you.” He digs into his pocket, pulling out his box of cigarettes and taking one out. Not lighting it, just keeping it between his teeth. (Seongje refuses to smoke near you.) “Do what you want.”

After his words, you hadn't moved an inch. Seongje raises a brow at your sudden silence, fingers brushing against your hand to get your attention. “What? What’s wrong with you?”

He doesn’t move when your hand reaches up to his face, doesn’t protest when you take the cigarette from his lips and bring him closer, and doesn’t pull away when you inevitably press your lips against his. Slowly, deliberately, your tongue swipes lightly against his bottom lip, but Seongje keeps his mouth shut and slotted against yours. With a tilt of his head, it deepens instantly, his hand creeping up to rest against the nape of your neck, pushing you closer until your skin burns against his.

A noise slips past when you pull apart, but it's undecipherable as to who let it out. His lips are puffy, a faint shine from your earlier swipe of tongue. He looks dazed as he lets his head fall back against the wall, a satisfied grin coming to his face despite the burn of his cheeks and ears.

“You could’ve been kissing me like that this whole time but you’re so infatuated with the damn mole under my eye? You’re unbelievable.”

He laughs when you scoff, watching as your hand rests on his shoulder, seemingly keeping him in place as you press yet another kiss to your favorite spot. “If you ever pull that shit again, I’ll kill you.”

Seongje doesn’t do it again— immediately, at least. He likes to mess with you.

You let him.

#weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero x reader #whc1 x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #whc2 x reader #geum seongje x reader #geum seong je x reader #★— whc1

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zepskies · 3 days ago

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TOMORROW

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: It’s another one of those dreams he won’t remember when he wakes. For now, it has no qualms about torturing him. He’s alone…until he’s not.

AN: Well, here we go! My first little attempt at writing Joel Miller and for TLOU. 🫣

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: Jackson!Joel, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

He twitches in his sleep sometimes.

Twitches and mutters, broad shoulders shrugging in on himself while he lies on his side. His long legs curl a bit more under the cotton sheets. The quilt has tangled down around his waist somewhere.

It’s another one of those dreams he won’t remember when he wakes. For now, it has no qualms about torturing him. Sweat beads above his brow. His stiff fingers clench and claw fruitlessly into the mattress.

But the point is that he does wake up.

The room is pitch black. That hasn't changed since the mid-afternoon, thanks to the wintertime shift in Wyoming. It’s also fucking cold, freezing his toes, his hands, his nose. Joel sniffs, glances over his shoulder, finding the space behind him empty.

He’s alone.

Until he’s not. You pad back into the bedroom on bare feet, no matter how many times he’s reminded you to wear socks at night. You make sure to stoke the dimming fireplace back to life before you slip back into bed, covering both of you more securely with the quilt you knitted in greens, soft browns, and reds. The colors that remind you of him.

You let out a breathy hum while wrapping your arms around him from behind. You shuffle in closer, your knees bending behind his, and you press a kiss between his shoulders. He closes his hand around yours against his chest and hopes you can’t feel the pat-pat-pat racing of his heart.

“Where were you?” he asks.

“Mind your business,” you quip, smiling into his shirt. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

His lips pull at a smile too. “Jesus. What’re you planning now?”

“What’d I just say?” If possible, you snuggle deeper against him and sigh. “Sleep, baby. You’ll find out tomorrow.”

A few beats of silence tick on while Joel lays there and thinks (broods, actually), and you pretend not to hear his mind cogs turning.

“I told you I don’t want anything. Don’t need anything,” he grumbles.

You’re tempted to laugh.

“Too bad. It’s fucking Christmas, Joel.”

A few more halting seconds of contemplation, and then…

“What’d you get me?”

“You’ll find out, Mr. Grinch. Now go back to sleep.”

He huffs at the nickname. You bite your lip in amusement. You know he isn’t used to celebrating holidays, or even birthdays for that matter. Here in Jackson, it’s one of the more obvious, sentimental ways to reclaim a piece of the world you and Joel used to know.

Ellie’s not that much better, but even she’s working on something for him: a collection of cassettes of his favorite music.

Of course you’ve done your best to get him something special, but practical—a new(ish) rifle you traded from Seth. You also had Tommy engrave the hilt with two sets of initials: S.M. and E.W. You just finished staging it out on the coffee table.

“I might’ve, uh…got you something too,” Joel says.

You blink in surprise. New warmth laces down your spine.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand. In fact, he brings it to his lips. You feel the familiar scratch of his salt and pepper beard against your skin.

“Hmm…” A softer smile retakes your face, and you shimmy up the bed to rest your chin on his shoulder. You curl your warming toes against his hairy calves. “What’d you do?”

“Nuh, uh. Tomorrow, right?” His voice is nearly a rumble with the remnants of sleep, even with that hint of teasing. He does like getting you back.

And when he does, he doesn’t fucking miss.

Joel’s a man of sparing words when it comes to the heart, but he often lets his actions do the talking for him. In the morning, he’ll do it for the woman who’s accepted him, despite who and what he thinks he is. He’ll do it for the woman who wasn’t afraid to give him hell while becoming his peace.

He’ll do it with a modest ring.

AN: Let me know if you want to see more Joel! I have ideas brewing for these two...

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Aside from those who added themselves to the tag list, I'm just tagging some of my lovely friends who encouraged me to dive into TLOU! 💛

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viviansturns · 2 days ago

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𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒗𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓?

...in which matt finds your vibrator in your bedside table and cant help but use it on himself

cw: SUBBB!matt, vibrator, masturbating duh, cum, overstimming, someone walking in..

Matt wasn’t snooping. He was looking for a pen. At least, that’s what he told himself when he opened your dresser drawer.

He hadn’t expected to find that.

For a second, he just stared at it—smooth, matte, tucked beside a folded hoodie and a phone charger. His face went hot immediately, but his eyes didn’t leave it. He shut the drawer. Then opened it again.

It wasn’t even hidden that well.

He glanced toward the door, knowing you were home, but busy in a meeting. The silence in your apartment felt heavier now, like it was daring him to take it.

Matt bit his lip, sitting on the edge of your bed. Curiosity buzzed through his fingertips. “You’re insane,” he muttered to himself, laughing under his breath as he reached into the drawer and picked it up.

It was... heavier than he expected. He turned it over in his hand, feeling ridiculous and intrigued all at once. The silicone was soft, the color a pastel pink that made it look deceptively innocent.

His thumb hovered over the power button. Then he pressed it.

A soft hum filled the air.

He jumped slightly. Then laughed at himself. “Jesus,” he whispered.

The vibration was steady, gentle—but strong. His curiosity bloomed into something else, something warmer.

His breath caught as he let it rest against the side of his neck for a moment, shivering from how oddly sensitive he was there. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that, was it? Or maybe it was—he wouldn’t know. He’d never actually used one of these before. And definitely not someone else’s.

That thought made his stomach twist. He should stop. He really should. But the soft hum in his hand and the low, building heat in his body made it hard to think straight.

Matt lay back on your bed slowly, the vibrator still buzzing softly in his palm. The scent of you was all over your blanket, your pillow—he swore he could feel your presence lingering in the fabric. It made his heart thump in a way he wasn’t ready to unpack.

With a shaky breath, he ran it lightly down the center of his chest, through his shirt. His abs clenched at the sensation. He dragged it lower, over the waistband of his sweatpants, just hovering. Testing. His thighs tensed as he shifted, trying to ignore the flush crawling up his neck.

And then he gave in.

Matt eased the vibrator beneath the band of his sweats, not even touching himself directly yet—just letting the buzz tease him through the fabric of his boxers. His hips twitched slightly, and a low, involuntary sound slipped from his throat. “F–fuck,” he whispered, shocked at the intensity.

It felt way too good for something so simple. His head fell back against your pillow. He let it sit there, just resting, his breathing going shallow as the sensation started to build, heavy and tight in his gut. His hand flexed. His legs tensed. His mind emptied.

His fingers slid beneath his boxers, and this time, there was nothing between him and the heat.

The second the vibrator pressed directly against him, Matt jerked, a sound punching out of his chest—somewhere between a gasp and a moan, breathless and surprised. His eyes squeezed shut, one hand gripping the sheets while the other kept the toy steady against himself.

It was too much. In the best, most shamefully addictive way.

His hips bucked slightly, instinctive, like his body was trying to chase the feeling before his mind could catch up. He was already embarrassingly hard, the vibration pulsing through him, deep and steady and so much better than his hand ever could be.

He bit his lip, trying to muffle the sounds threatening to escape. But every time he shifted, every tiny movement, the pressure changed just enough to send a new wave of heat rushing down his spine.

You weren’t supposed to know. God, if you walked in— That made it worse. Made it hotter. His muscles tensed, thighs tightening. He let out uncontrollable whimpers, eyes widened in surprise at how absurdly quick it was pushing him to the edge.

The tension coiled low in his stomach, fast and sharp and absolutely unstoppable. His head tipped back against the pillow, mouth falling open as his body began to twitch. His hand moved faster, pressing the vibrator more firmly now, chasing the edge.

“I—I’m gonna—”

His voice broke. His body arched, back fully of the bed.

And then— He came. Hard. Too hard.

His hips stuttered, a whiny noise escaping him as everything unraveled. His mind blanked, vision flashing white behind his eyelids. Heat surged through his veins like wildfire. He gasped through it, every nerve lit up.

The toy buzzed in his hand. He couldn’t move yet.

Just... lay there. Boneless. Chest heaving.

Matt lay there for a long moment, chest rising and falling, sweat cooling on his skin. The vibrator had slipped from his hand, buzzing weakly against the blanket. His brain felt like soup—warm, stunned, and guilty.

But not guilty enough.

Because the thought of you walking in, seeing him like this… The idea didn’t stop the heat from stirring again. If anything, it sparked it right back to life. He felt himself immediately reharden.

He glanced at the toy.

His fingers twitched.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

This time, he didn’t bother keeping his boxers on. His hand was surer, less hesitant. The vibrator buzzed back to life like it knew what he was about to do again. He bit back a smirk, eyes fluttering shut as he settled it against himself again—raw, sensitive, and already halfway there just from the thrill.

It was different now. No hesitation. Just need. He hissed at the contact, hips twitching up. He trailed it up the base of his cock then to the tip, swiping the precrum to lubricate it, then fondling his balls at the same time.

His body shivered from the overstimulation, but he kept going, gasping, grinding against the toy with shameless abandon.

And then—

The door clicked.

“Hey, I forgot my—”

Your voice stopped. So did Matt.

His head snapped toward you, eyes wide, pupils blown. The vibrator was still on, still pressed to him. His hand fumbled, panic overtaking lust, but it was too late. You were standing there. Frozen. Your keys still dangling from your fingers.

He looked pathetic —shirt half-pushed up, boxers down, legs splayed, chest heaving, face red. And dick fully hard, upright, and shiny.

“…hi,” he said weakly, voice cracking.

You blinked. Stared. Said absolutely nothing.

The vibrator buzzed loudly in the silence.

"are you using my vibrator?"

soooo um the answer is yes. if i were a man id buy a vibrator JUST SAYINGGG

this could lwk do with a part 2...

EXTENDED VERSION HERE

#christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fandom #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo tumblr #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo edit

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lazysoulwriter · 1 day ago

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hands on you. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. ♡ content: established relationship, Cannes red carpet, sleeveless black shirt Pedro, cheeky touches, subtle PDA, chaos on Twitter, soft dirty talk in public, power couple vibes.

---

You were supposed to behave.

His stylist had said so. His publicist. Even your manager gave you that please don’t touch his ass on the carpet look.

But Pedro had walked out of the dressing room in that sleeveless black shirt with the low cut sides... and your brain had immediately left the chat.

He looked like sin. Arms golden, chain peeking out, the soft dip of his back exposed like an invitation.

So when the cameras started flashing, and he stepped beside you for photos — hand respectfully on your waist — you did the opposite of behave.

Your hand slid behind his back.

But instead of resting it over the fabric, you dipped your fingers through the gaping side of the shirt.

Pressed your palm directly to his skin.

Warm. Bare. Right where his ribs met the curve of his spine.

Pedro twitched.

His smile for the cameras never faded — but his voice dropped into your ear like a secret:

“…You trying to start something right here, cariño?”

You smirked. Kept your face turned toward the crowd. “Who, me?”

“You better pray the photos don’t show that.”

They did.

By morning, Twitter had imploded.

📸 FilmFreaksDaily: "Pedro Pascal and his girlfriend setting Cannes on fire last night. Is her hand UNDER his shirt? Is she— OH MY GOD SHE IS."

🐦 pascalslut69: "me studying that red carpet photo like it’s Renaissance art. her hand. the way he’s smiling. the WHORE ENERGY OF IT ALL."

📸 PedroUpdates: "you can actually see the exact moment he leaned in to whisper in her ear. we need audio. we deserve audio."

You laughed over coffee the next morning while Pedro scrolled through the chaos, one hand lazily running up your thigh beneath the kitchen table.

“They’re obsessed,” you teased.

He glanced at you over the rim of his mug. “Can you blame them?”

You rolled your eyes. “You loved it.”

“I love you,” he corrected, reaching for your hand. “And if you ever wanna sneak your hand under my shirt in public again… well.”

He smirked.

“Next time, I might return the favor.”

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk

---

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wonderjanga2 · 2 days ago

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Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three (Here)

TW:

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter 3

Damian Wayne POV - The Night Jill Found You

Damian Wayne was not having a good night. He and his father had just spent the better part of the night chasing down Firefly while the lunatic set anything in his sights on fire.

That itself was bad, but the worst part was that in the end, the bastard had gotten away! Away to likely cause more havoc after he inevitably acquires more fuel for him, his idiotic jet pack and flame torches. No one else could’ve helped him and his father either as Grayson was back in Bludhaven, Todd was who knows where, Drake and Brown were working another case, Cain was in Hong Kong, and Thomas was fast asleep!

And it would’ve been nice to have another nighttime hero on duty, but [Name] in all their glory and endless amount of sports they’re in, decided not to be a vigilante. They definitely had the prowess! He’s (secretly) seen the gymnastics and martial arts competitions you’ve participated in, and you dominate like a true Wayne! But, no, instead you choose not to be apart of the legacy. Damian doesn’t even think he’s seen you in the cave. Not once.

Do you despise this side of your family that badly? So much so that you actively go out of your way to ignore it? You never join in on conversations surrounding cases (you never knew what they were talking about so you never said anything), never defend yourself even though you definitely can (physically, emotionally was a different story), and most damning of all, you never join on training, you just do nothing! You’re just… there!

There, when you could be doing so much more!

Damian remembers the first time you both fought. (You would describe it, as him just suddenly attacking you.) He’ll admit that he caught you off guard, but you were able to gain your bearings! He remembers it clear as day. You’d both been fighting as you made your way through three hallways and one courtyard until you’d both gotten to the entrance of the manor, fighting at the top of the stairs. You were dodging and weaving his slashes, actually kicking him away when he got too close, and slowly getting pushed back to the guardrail.

Then, out of absolutely no where, you flung your arm, the one with the gash, at him and splattered blood into his eyes! (At the time, he’d been appalled by your audacity so he faltered) Then, you grabbed both his arms and the next thing Damian knew, his world view shifted, literally, as you threw him over the side of the rail. It would’ve been a solid fifteen foot drop if he hadn’t caught himself on a tapestry!

It was that ruthlessness, that willingness to literally throw him off the top of the stairs with no hesitation, that made him think that he was going to like it at the Manor. Because if his father had been willing to train one of his siblings to do that, again, with no hesitation, he was sure he’d like the roll of Robin. He was planning to fight you for that role too!

But then he found out Drake was Robin. And then after that, he found out you weren’t even apart of the family business!

So if he resents you for wasting your talent, it’s basically your fault!

Speaking of you, he’d just gotten back from patrol when he saw you and your friend. You were both walking through the manor without a care in the world as if you owned the place and you were filthy. He’d said as much when you were both about to walk out the manor doors which earned him some crude words from your friend, but also some crude words from you?

It left him puzzled. You never talked to him like that! Ever! You were always polite and courteous (that had been you masking fear) and rarely ever got mad at him (you been too afraid to). You would also sit with him in silence instead of trying to fill the air with pointless conversation. (Too afraid to make noise.) You were stuck between being his most hated and second favorite sibling, because on one hand, you barely did anything with your life, but on the other, you were in the art club at your school and sat with him while watching nature documentaries.

He was admittedly torn up on where you landed on his scale, but one thing he knew for sure was that something was definitely wrong.

Jason POV - Running into You and Jill After you Guys Dumped the Body

When Jason saw you and your friend that night, it honestly took him a little while to recognize you. But, when you lifted your head after vomiting over a dead pigeon in the road, and he got a good look at your face, he knew it was you immediately.

What the hell were you doing, outside, in Gotham, at 4 AM the motherfucking morning? He thought about going over there and telling you to go back to the manor, but… well, neither of you had the best relationship with the other. He always felt awkward around you and he was pretty sure you were terrified of him. Not that he didn’t blame you for being terrified. You were about fifteen when he kicked your shit in just for existing. Jason felt so bad about it.

He also never apologized either. It’s just that every single time he tried to approach you to, you would run away, probably because you were terrified. Again, not that he blamed you for feeling that way. Then, after a while of being unable to, Jason stopped trying because it felt awkward to apologize for it nearly a year later. You would look at him the same way he probably looked at the Joker when he was torturing him. He didn’t want to make that look worse.

It was a safe bet to assume you wouldn’t want him approaching you at, again, 4 in the morning, in the streets of Gotham. So, when you trudged back over to help your friend start moving that giant tub of… whatever it was, he kept on walking and pushing his bike along.

It wasn’t until nearly an hour later that he was walking down that same street, without knowing, of course, that he ran into the two of you again. And this time, he actually got the courage to speak to you, even if it was more of a question he asked instinctually instead of him actually working at that courage.

It was during that conversation that he actually got you to talk to him like he wasn’t holding a gun to your head. You’d beaten up a mugger with your friend? Awesome! Though then again, you’re his little sibling and you were probably trained by Bruce at some point so he supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal, but still, It was nice. You actually smiled a little bit when you scoffed too, a smile he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. At least, not in his presence. He was a little upset that you didn’t wanna be walked home by him, and he was also more than a little miffed that your friend threw a bottle at him, but he was also happy that your friend probably did that to protect you. He also wasn’t that upset about you not wanting to be walked home either because who wants to be walked home by their brother?

…He should probably go kill that mugger. He talked to Barbara on his comm so she could hopefully find which alley they almost got mugged in.

“They weren’t mugged?” She sounded confused.

“What?” Jason asked

“They weren’t mugged, Jason. Or at least as far as I can see. The only footage I have of them is just them moving a giant tub of… whatever that is. Shitty black and white cameras.” She murmured that last sentence as he heard some keyboard clacks on her end. “They moved it all the way to Gotham’s Harbor and from there, nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. The cameras on the Harbor aren’t working. I think they’re broken. But the next camera they step into, their clothes are stained.” She started sipping loudly from a straw.

“Those stains were blood.” That got her to stop mid loud slurp. “So, something happened while they were at the harbor.” Did the mugger try to mug them there?

“It seems that way.”

Jason stared ahead for a moment. “Are you sure that’s all that happened? Is there anything else?”

“Not that I can tell. Were they that banged up?”

“No. I’m pretty sure most of the blood on them wasn’t even theirs to be honest.” Jason said, feeling a bit of pride at it. “I’ll check out the harbor. Thanks, Babs.”

On the walk to the harbor, it started raining. He sped up to get there faster. At the harbor, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He stood on a wooden dock.

The same one.

The perp must’ve ran off when it started raining or something. Darn it.

Damian POV - After School (before Jill asked why you were coming with her in Chapter 2)

Damian decided to go see [Name] after school. Or at least after your school. Gotham Heights lets out about ten minutes earlier than Damian’s middle school. Once upon a time, Alfred used to drive the both of you to school together, but then all of a sudden, [Name] suddenly stopped riding with him. When Damian asked Alfred why, Alfred told him you were walking to school with a friend of yours now.

Was the girl next to you the friend? Now that he thinks about it, she was the girl with you that night.

Currently, Damian was crouched in a tree watching you and your friend walk to exit the school. Everything was going normal until some girl popped out. She started saying something, obviously something rude by the way your friend’s face scrunched up. Damian watched your friend flip the other girl off. He also watched you break out into the most obnoxious laughter he’s ever seen from you.

He’s never seen you laugh like that.

It reminded him of Grayson’s laugh.

He then watched the girl who was trying to pick a fight say something else. That made both you and your friend stop. Like actually mid laugh stop. You both stared at her blankly. It was almost uncanny how similar your expressions were. Your lip then curled up into a snarl and you lunged at her while your friend’s arms wrapped around your waist to hold you back.

A bunch of yelling ensued as he watched you struggle to get out of your friends hold. You were just messing around, he could tell. Clearly, the girl that tried to talk nonsense didn’t know that.

Serves her right for trying to pick a fight with a Wayne! But yes, somethings absolutely wrong. The last time someone tried to pick a fight with you, you walked away without a word.

Not that Damian would complain about this.

But like he said, there was definitely something wrong.

Taglist: @shinning-stars @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @lettucel0ver @holderoflostmemories @cherrydaisymanic @11queensupreme11 @vanessa-boo @darktrashpoetry @nyra-42 @horror-lover-69 @chemicalwindexbottle @sadslasher13 @mintynilla @otakusimp1

#yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #x reader #neglected reader

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sturnsblogs · 2 days ago

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KISSES FOR EVERY COMPLAINT- C.S

Warnings- A super happy Chris.

Word count- 679

The Sturniolo house was quiet—eerily quiet, actually. You’d been home alone for a couple of hours now while the triplets were off filming a video for tomorrow. Chris had begged you to join, quite literally begged, whining into your neck like a kid denied a toy.

“Come with meeee,” he’d mumbled, arms wrapped around you like a koala, lips brushing your skin. “It won’t be fun without you.”

You’d only groaned, too exhausted to entertain the idea.

“Chris, I’ve been up since 6AM,” you murmured, fingers lazily scratching his scalp. “I worked a double today.”

“But I need moral support,” he whined dramatically.

You gave him a tired smile, kissed his forehead, and sent him off with a Monster and a promise to be waiting at home when he got back.

Now you were curled up on the couch in his hoodie, scrolling through TikTok with heavy eyelids, half-listening to the sound of the dryer tumbling in the background.

Your thumb paused over a video of a girl calling her boyfriend annoying while they cuddled—and the boyfriend absolutely thriving off the chaos.

You blinked. Smirked. That sounded exactly like something Chris would do.

Just as you were finishing the video, you heard the front door open and close. A second later, Chris’s voice rang out from the hallway.

“Babyyy, I’m hooooome!”

You didn’t even respond, just stayed curled up on the couch, waiting for him to find you. And sure enough, a few seconds later, he flopped dramatically onto the couch beside you with a sigh, resting his head on your lap.

“Filming was so boring without you,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around your waist like he was afraid you’d float away.

“You’re so dramatic,” you teased, brushing his hair off his forehead.

He turned his face into your stomach. “I missed you. This house felt like a haunted museum without your voice echoing through it.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, eyes flickering down to him with amusement.

“I’m serious,” he mumbled, eyes closed now. “I thought I saw a ghost and everything.”

You rolled your eyes, then clicked off your phone, setting it beside you.

After a few seconds of silence, you smirked and said it casually: “You’re so annoying, get off me.”

Chris’s eyes flew open instantly.

“Oh? Oh? I’m annoying now?”

You didn’t get a chance to respond. He sat up so fast it startled you, and the next thing you knew, he was straddling your lap and leaning all the way into your space with the smuggest grin on his face.

“Take it back,” he demanded.

“No,” you said, raising a brow defiantly. “You’re annoying. And you’re heavy. Get off me.”

He gasped. “Really Y/N?.”

And then—it was over for you.

Chris lunged forward, tackling you into the cushions, arms squeezing around your middle as he peppered kiss after kiss all over your cheeks, jaw, and neck. You squirmed under him, giggling uncontrollably as he tickled your sides between each kiss.

“Still think I’m annoying?” he asked between smooches. “Huh? Am I annoying now?”

“Yes—Chris!” you squealed, trying to shove him off. “Stop it!”

He just laughed, nose brushing against yours as he whispered dramatically, “I’ll never stop annoying you. It’s how I show love.”

“You’re—so—unbearable,” you wheezed through your laughter, trying to squirm out from under him.

“Say you love me then,” he said, pulling back just enough to pout at you. “Say it or I’ll keep going.”

You narrowed your eyes, challenging. “Fine. Keep going then.”

He blinked. “Bet.”

And just like that, the kisses and tickles started again, and you were breathless with laughter. He finally stopped once you grabbed his face between your hands and threatened to bite his nose.

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“No you don’t,” he grinned. “You love me. Say it.”

You just rolled your eyes, pulling him down for a real kiss this time.

“Okay,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “Maybe I love you a little.”

Chris’s smile turned soft, eyes gleaming.

“Even when I’m annoying?”

You groaned, already regretting everything. “Especially when you’re annoying.”

A/N- Inspired by tiktok obvi 😇

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rans-prettydoll · 3 days ago

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Grumpy baby. Ft. Sukuna (pure fluff and crack)

sum : Sukuna hates to miss out on sleep, it’s really the only thing that keeps his grumpiness somewhat at bay.

NOT READ OVER SO MIGHT BE SOME TYPING MISTAKES

Sukuna gets so grumpy when being bothered. Especially after dealing with Itadori and going to all those meetings with Uraume he doesn’t really like having to get up and leave your side in the morning. He loved his sleep, he loved to just nap and lay in the bed with you all night and almost morning long.

This particular morning though, he forgot he had set his alarm extra early so now instead of it going off at 8, it’s going off at 6. You lift your head to look over at your husband whose face was wrinkled into the worst irritated look you had ever seen him master. And that’s a lot. You jumped a bit when you heard him pick up his alarm clock and throw it across the room. Smashing easily against the now-dented wall. “Stupid fuckin’ piece m of shit..wakin’ me up outta my sleep. Must be fuckin crazy stupid..ugh.” You heard him grumble under his breath. You’re sure he said more but that’s all you could get out of his jumbles of cuss words.

You finally become awake enough to tell him about why he had set his alarm so early in the first place. “Honey, you set your alarm so early because you promised to be the first at the store to buy that new ice cream for me that was supposed to be dropping today…” you mumbled out in your sweet sleepy tone. Sukuna opened his eyes and turned his head to look at you, did the actual king of curses who was supposed to be so powerful, destructive, and mean agree to go do such a sweet thing for his pretty wife? Yes, yes he did. He just forgot in his long day that had dragged on yesterday but yes he did agree to do that. That’s why he had set his alarm so early.

Sukuna was so hopelessly in love with you that he decided to sacrifice his extra hours of sleep to go to a fucking store and get you some dumb-ass ice cream that he was gonna have to buy and that you probably wouldn’t even like. Even if he did complain while he walked around the room throwing on some sweats under his robe and finding his keys before walking out of the bedroom. Slamming the front door hard enough that you were sure he cracked the doorframe. He was such a grumpy baby.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen smut #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #jujutsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kasien #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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wvyik · 2 days ago

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paws and promises ᝰ ‧₊ ᵎᵎ

sam winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: a rainstorm brings an unexpected guest into your life, but it’s the way sam cares for her that makes you fall even harder for him.

♯ warnings: extreme fluff, cat dad sam supremacy, nurturing! reader, kitten cuddles, pre established relationship, bunker life but make it dreamy, you’re in love and it’s soo obvious, peach the cat is the third main character actually, don’t read while ovulating.

♯ notes: hi my lil lovebugs… did u miss me?? because I’ve been GONE for like 10 whole days (insane) and yes it was because of stardew valley. but i’m back now with fluffy sam content to heal us all. love u. missed u. pls enjoy sam being the softest cat dad alive.

The rain had been coming down in sheets by the time he got back. Loud, unrelenting, like the sky was trying to wash the world clean. You’d been curled up on the couch in your favorite sweater, blanket pulled over your knees, the bunker feeling oddly hollow without Sam there.

He was only supposed to run out for a quick supply run, but of course, things never stayed simple for long when you were a Winchester. Still, you didn’t expect to see him burst through the door, dripping wet, carrying the grocery bags in one arm and something small, shivering, and wrapped in his flannel in the other.

You blinked, confused for a second; until the flannel moved and you heard the softest mew you’d ever heard in your life, “She was in the middle of the road,” he said, like it explained everything. And maybe it did. Because Sam couldn’t not care.

He couldn’t look at something tiny and helpless and keep walking. That’s just who he was— someone whose heart broke open for things that needed gentleness. “I didn’t even think about it. I just… I couldn’t leave her.”

And that was it. She was in your home. In your lives. In your hearts within minutes. You named her Peach, because of how fuzzy and small and soft she was. She took to Sam immediately, climbing his sweatshirt, curling into his chest like she knew exactly who had saved her.

But she didn’t avoid you— she liked curling up in your lap when you were journaling or napping with her cheek pressed to your neck when Sam carried both of you to bed. She had a favorite nap spot on top of the laundry you always forgot to fold. She started kneading on Sam’s pillow. And she had this tiny little purr that only started when you were all three together, like she knew she belonged.

Sam turned into a full-on cat dad overnight, without even realizing it. You’d wake up some mornings to find him lying flat on his stomach, using his phone light to peer under the couch because she’d chased a toy under there and refused to move. He talked to her constantly. Sometimes when he thought you were asleep, you’d hear him whispering to her in that low, careful voice, telling her stories or just… rambling softly like she was a baby in his arms.

You caught him once reading from an old lore book, letting her fall asleep on his chest while his fingers absently traced little circles behind her ears. You didn’t say anything, you just stood in the doorway, watching, your heart feeling like it could hardly hold all the love inside it.

It made you fall for him all over again, seeing that side of him. Not the hunter. Not the protector. But the caretaker. The nurturer. The boy who had once been expected to carry the world and still managed to find space for something so small. You’d be doing dishes, and he’d wander up behind you with Peach perched on his shoulder, her tiny paws settled like she was born to live there.

You’d be mid-book and he’d gently place her in your lap like a warm little offering, her purring a rhythm against your thighs. He bought her toys, a miniature bed, even little bow collars; one in soft pink that matched your favorite mug. When she scratched him once while playing, he didn’t even flinch. Just looked down at the mark and said, “She’s got your spirit,” with a soft smile.

Nights became your favorite. After lights-out, Peach would usually find her way to the foot of the bed, curling herself into the warm pocket between you two. Sam would always pull you closer, arm slipping around your waist, lips brushing the shell of your ear with a soft, “Goodnight, baby,” before everything went quiet. You’d lie there, cocooned in warmth, one of his hands resting against your back and the faint sound of Peach’s purring in the dark. And sometimes, when sleep didn’t come fast enough, you’d whisper to him about how lucky you felt. About how it felt like having a family. Even if it was just the three of you.

He’d kiss the tip of your nose and say, “It is a family,” without hesitation. And that would be enough to make your eyes sting a little.

You’d never thought a stray kitten in the rain could change so much. But now, every morning felt a little lighter. Every evening felt a little softer. You had your person. You had your home. And somehow, against all odds, you had this tiny heartbeat that reminded you to slow down, breathe deeper, and love harder.

And when you caught Sam on the floor one afternoon, curled up with Peach nestled in the crook of his arm, both of them fast asleep in a patch of sunlight, you swore you could actually feel your heart stretch with how much you loved them.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep there too. The plan was to just sit with them a little, maybe rest your eyes while the kettle boiled. But when you saw them on the floor, both of them breathing slow, wrapped in each other like they’d always belonged— you couldn’t help yourself. You laid down behind him, one hand on his back, cheek resting between his shoulder blades. And then… everything just drifted.

When you woke up, the sun had dipped lower, throwing soft gold light across the floor. The room smelled faintly like the herbal tea you never finished and the warmth of clean laundry. Sam stirred first, shifting just enough that Peach flopped gently off his bicep and into the blanket beside her like a princess tossed from her throne. She made a soft noise of protest, then curled right back into his chest like nothing ever happened. He smiled when he felt you move behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, breath brushing your jaw. “Did we nap through the whole afternoon?”

“Almost,” you whispered, nuzzling against his shirt. “It was nice.”

“Peach snores,” he said quietly, like it was a secret only the two of you should know.

You giggled, fingers brushing over the edge of his hoodie sleeve. “You do too sometimes.”

He groaned softly, burying his face into your arm. “Don’t expose me like that.”

You reached up, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “It’s cute. Everything you do is cute.”

“Yeah?” he said, lifting his head, eyes heavy and soft. “That’s dangerous information to give me.”

You smiled shyly, tucking your face into his shoulder again, feeling that warm flutter in your chest that only he ever managed to stir. You always felt like this with Sam— safe. Held. Like the world outside could be falling apart and it wouldn’t matter, because in here it was always quiet and warm and yours.

Peach chose that moment to stretch across both of your legs, her little paws flexing in her sleep like she was dreaming of chasing something. Sam watched her for a second, then looked at you with that look. The one where his eyes get soft at the edges and his lips part like he wants to say something, but he’s scared it’ll make him feel too much all at once. You knew that look by heart.

“You think she knows?” he asked quietly.

“Knows what?”

“That she owns us.”

You blinked, then smiled so softly it barely made it to your lips. “Yeah. I think she knew from the minute you picked her up.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just leaned in, brushing his nose against your cheek, thumb stroking across the back of your hand where it was tucked into his. You felt him breathe in, like he was holding something sacred inside his chest. And maybe he was.

“I like it like this,” you said eventually, voice barely a whisper. “You. Me. Her. It feels like… a little life. Not a big one. Just a soft, slow, quiet one.”

Sam closed his eyes and pulled you even closer, Peach still snoozing peacefully at your legs. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he said. “Just… this. Something that doesn’t hurt. Something warm.”

You didn’t need to say anything. You just pressed your forehead to his and let yourself sink into the moment. The golden light. The hush of the room. The sound of Peach’s tiny breathing and Sam’s thumb tracing your knuckles. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about what came next. There was no monster to fight, no crisis to solve. Just a boy, a girl, and a kitten who made everything softer.

And God, if that wasn’t enough to make you believe in a little bit of magic.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tendertulip @tinas111 @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @amsliajskxkxkx @anxiety-prime-max @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @kimxwinchester ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library.

#༊*·˚ wvyik #sofia writes ✎#sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fluff #sam x reader #sam winchester oneshot #supernatural #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic

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starktonyx · 14 hours ago

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Would you still love me if I was a worm? - John Walker x reader

Word count: 1.1k

Description: You hit John with a stupid question, he takes it too seriously.

Note: I swear this man is so intense he’s so fun to write, enjoy🫶🏼

Masterlist / Bucky’s version

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

The question caught him off guard.

He was piloting the team's jet to mission site, big hands gripping the controls steadily. You were in the copilot seat, feet relaxing on the dashboard, enjoying a little too much the way he looked controlling the aircraft.

His eyes were locked on the sky ahead, with a tense jaw and those furrowed brows of his... lord, concentration looked good on him.

Almost too good.

So, naturally, you had to stop it before you jumped on top of your man and gave a free show to everyone on the jet.

John just blinked twice. What on earth was that question?

He didn’t glance your way, or even bother to give it a second thought before he replied.

"No."

You opened your mouth offended, and straightened up in your seat.

"John! You didn't even think about it" You whined, a soft laugh followed.

"Please tell me I didn’t hear you right, did you say a worm?" He asked, not even trying to hide the most bewildered expression you'd ever seen on him.

"You heard me, John" You squint your eyes at him, and insist, “would you still love me if I turned into a little worm?"

He sighed this time, taking his hand off the dashboard to rub his face like he just lost multiple brain cells.

"Honey, why would you ever be a worm?" He said, softer now, like he needed to understand the root cause before proceeding.

You roll your eyes, here we go again. Of course he needed it to make sense, his brain didn’t function right if there wasn’t a logical reason behind everything.

"I really don't now, babe. Some sort of mutation?… maybe witchcraft? … a gone wrong experiment Val does on me?”

“I would never let Val experiment on you” He denied, shrugging like why would you ever consider that as a possibility.

You pause for a second and tilt your head to the side, feeling a sudden warmth in your chest from his comment.

No, no, focus. You can kiss him breathless later, after he answers the worm question.

“Alright Walker that’s fair, love that, nice move” You nodded, squinting playfully at him.

He just smirked and shrugged, smug bastard.

“Not the point, though. Do you really think it would be so crazy that I could be a worm when we have at least two superheroes named after bugs?”

He looked back to the sky, considering it for a second, but quickly turned to you again with his eyebrows raised.

“Well, actually, spiderman is technically an arachnid so ... not a bug honey" He corrected, not even trying to hide his maddening little mansplaining smirk.

"Oh shut up, John" You rolled your eyes, slapping his arm, he chuckled. "Uh huh, whatever smartass, you still have to answer. What if I was a worm, then?"

He groaned, placing his thumb and index fingers in the dent of his closed eyes, shaking his head in defeat.

He could at least try to make some sense of it.

“Okay, we’re doing this” He muttered, and you nodded enthusiastically. “Is it still you, but worm shaped? As in … do you still have consciousness? Can you communicate with me? Would you have powers, or is it just …”

He just went rambling on.

You leaned back in your seat, chuckling as you watched the gears turning behind those handsome, stressed out eyes. He was running through scenarios, possibilities, variables.

At least he looked cute while losing his mind over it.

But then, he stopped rambling, like an idea just popped in his head.

"Wait … what kind of worm?" He tilts his head to the side.

I’ll be dammed, you thought, this man didn’t know how to go halfway about anything in his life, ever.

He was fully invested by now.

"What? what do you mean?”

Now it was your turn to furrow your brows.

"What kind of worm, honey? an earthworm? marine? are you symbiotic? regenerative?… This is crucial information to know" He said, listing types like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

How did he even care this much about worm lore?

“You are the most intense person I know” You groaned, staring at him in disbelief.

“And you are the most unserious one I know, honey, don’t get me started”

You just huffed. How did your stupid question get this far?

"God I don't know John, just like a basic worm… in the dirt"

He thinks for moment, like he wasn’t exactly pleased with the answer.

"So then, biologically, you’d lose everything. You would have no brain, no higher reasoning or communication. Technically, you wouldn't even know I exist anymore"

You glared at him.

"But you would know it’s me" You quickly justified, but it didn’t seem to convince him much. "Oh my god John ... just answer the question babe. Would you still love me?"

He tapped his chin a few times, eyes darting around the jet’s cabin, still trying to find a somewhat logical answer in his head. Making you wait for it.

You knew that little asshole was just having fun mocking you.

"Uhm, I guess I could keep you safe … yeah” He nodded. “Build you a little enclosure with some nice quality dirt. It would have to be temperature controlled, for sure. Maybe even ask Val to build you a reinforced travel case? something I can clip to my gear.”

You blinked a few times, before nodding. A win is a win.

"...Thanks?"

But he was quick to shake his head.

"Although honestly, sounds like a lot of emotional labor. Don’t you think our relationship is complicated enough already?" He protested, like it'd be too much fuss.

"Hey!" You laughed, smacking his shoulder.

You both fall into a chuckle. He shakes his head again, but there's a grin in his face now.

From the back of the jet, you heard the unmistakable sound of suppressed laughter.

"Even if she was a brainless worm, she’d still be more emotionally mature than Walker" Bucky whispered to the group.

Muffled laughter followed, like a group of schoolgirls gossiping.

"They are the weirdest, I swear to god" Ava muttered, watching the way you giggled at something John said like he was the most charming idiot on earth.

"Ah captain romance … don’t you see it? he’s worm nerd and she’s worm he takes care of" Alexei chimed in.

“Shh!” Yelena hushed him, snorting. “Honestly, it tracks guys. He gives off strong ‘I talk to my houseplants’ vibes”

“Yeah, watch him hang a ‘Worm Boyfriend of the Year’ plaque next to his service medals” Bucky sneered.

More giggles. At this point they weren’t even trying to be quiet.

John turned halfway in his seat. “You guys know I can hear you, right?”

“That’s the point” Ava said, flipping him off.

“Oh no” Yelena deadpanned. “What are you gonna do, worm boy?”

“Shh! He’s gonna clip us to his belt too.”

That set them off again.

John just rolled his eyes, turning back to the controls. But you noticed the faint hint of a smile on his face.

And then almost under his breath, only for you to hear.

“I’d still love you” He muttered.

You looked over at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Eyes on the sky.”

You smirked.

This time you did jump on his lap to kiss him breathlessly, while your teammates threw disgusted grunts and gagged sounds at you.

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mattscoquette · 3 days ago

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dilf!matt eating you out in the car

“shit, daddy, fuck,” you whined, writhing around in matt’s grip as his hands kept a firm hold on your hips, his face buried deep in your pussy. you were sprawled out in the back of matt’s car, the trunk actually, while matt mercilessly ate you out.

he groaned into you, his tongue lapping around your slick folds. his beard tickled at your thighs, scratching at your skin and giving you a slight burn. one minute, you and matt were driving down the highway on the way to the mall, and the next you were pulled off to the side of the road while matt was pulling your skirt and panties off.

“god sweetheart,” he groaned into you, pulling back to look up at you. his hair was a mess, his eyes darkened with lust as his lips and chin glistened with your arousal. he leaned back in, continuing his ministrations with his tongue against your cunt. “this pussy’s so fucking sweet.”

your manicured nails were tangled in his brown hair, tugging at his scalp as you watched him devour you. his nose bumped against your clit, his mouth working against you as he licked around your hole.

you continued to moan and gasp, your back arching up as matt fucked you with his tongue. the car was filled with the lewd sounds of matt eating you out, mixed with your loud moans and matt’s sighs and groans against your pussy.

“m gonna cum,” you gasped, your eyes screwing shut as your hips bucked involuntarily up into his face, “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

“mmm go ahead,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. he barely pulled away for air, practically suffocating himself in between you.

at his words, you let go, your orgasm crashing down over you like a tidal wave. you made a mess, coating matt’s lips and beard with your arousal, matt making every effort to clean up every last bit.

he pulled away, looking down at you. your chest was heaving, your legs still spread as you watched matt with a fucked out expression plastered on your face.

“god,” he groaned, leaning back in to press kisses to your puffy clit, “we’re never making it to the fuckin’ mall.”

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ sorry if this sucks i’m really rusty </3 anyway bearded dilf!matt save meeeee. matt thank u for posting this 😛😛😛 need that.

#© mattscoquette #౨ৎ dilf!matt blurbs #blurbs ♡ ˚₊‧#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo au #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo au

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naomi-nana · 2 days ago

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✎ᝰ. just a little longer . twisted wonderland pt. 2

in which you take extra classes to skip grades so you can graduate with them, but you ended up getting sick instead. how would they react?

featuring : vice housewardens + ruggie bucchi

cw : gn!reader, may be ooc(idk how to write for jamil and rook ...), hurt/comfort angst, bad french for rook lmao

a/n : i genuinely enjoyed writing for the housewardens req, so i did a second part!! i hope u all will enjoy this :3

TREY CLOVER

almost had a heart attack

when ace and deuce came into heartslabyul with a very-sick-looking-you leaning on to their shoulders, trey was (understandably) shocked at whatever happened. he already thought of the worst-case scenario before you get to open your mouth.

though when you finally tell him what you've been up to, he immediately goes dad mode. he would take you to his bed for you to lay down and then give you some leftover food from the heartslabyul fridge. (would cook more, but he was more worried about you than the fact that those were leftovers)

"name, i understand if you want to graduate with me, and i respect that. but, just ... don't push yourself too much. if you get this sick every time you take those extra classes, then i'm gonna be the one that gets lonely once i graduate."

stays by your side until you actually fall asleep. then, he'll look at your sleeping face with eyes full of concern and love for you while also caressing your hand with his. "please don't do this ever again."

anyways he was very concerned and would 100% check on you all the time after that happened to make sure you're healthy.

RUGGIE BUCCHI

growing up in a different surroundings compared to everyone else, ruggie is not used to people being genuinely kind towards him. he was shocked enough that you accepted his confession back then, and now you're saying you were secretly taking extra classes just to graduate with him?

"huh? why go that far just for me anyway? you're not expecting me to give you something back, right?" he's confused, touched, and also concerned at the fact that you get sick right after all of those classes.

he'll constantly check on you every time and occasionally ask if you already ate or not. he would also share his lunch with you. "here, i got the limited tuna sandwich today. you can half a little of it so you don't starve to death while trying to catch up to me, shishishi!"

he gives you the bigger half. it's not usual for ruggie to be so concerned towards someone(other than leona, and even if he does, it's only for the reward that comes afterwards), let alone sharing a meal with someone else. even he was confused about why he did that.

"just so ya know, this is only because i don't want you bawling your eyes out when i graduate first. er, no, i'm not getting concerned or anythin'. you're just imagining that."

JADE LEECH

he's amused at the thought of someone so willingly taking extra classes just to graduate with him. when you walk in mostro lounge looking like you had walked out from the worst war in humanity ever in the middle of his shift, jade paused whatever he was doing.

he immediately shoves his tray full of empty plates to floyd(who, even though he was annoyed, still takes over jade's job because he understood that his brother has priorities). jade straight up carries you to his dorm room and gently places you on top of the bed.

"name, what happened?" he asks calmly, putting his cold hands on your forehead to check your temperature. after you tell him why you're doing all this, jade chuckles, but then his face suddenly turns serious it almost makes you scared.

"i understand. but i would much prefer it if you told me about such things beforehand. then, we can work on a solution together. you don't have to get sick simply because you want to spend more time with me, my dear."

all in all, he'd be very concerned and ends up acting very carefully around you so you won't feel even more stressed.

JAMIL VIPER

are u trying to get him straight into the hospital? this man is stressed enough with taking care of kalim all the time, and now you're getting sick because of all those extra classes?

jamil probably knows from day one already somehow and would quickly put a stop on it before anything happens. yet when he sees how determined you are, he can't help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside. he's never seen anyone risking their own health just because they want to stay with him.

"seriously, you don't need to do that. stop taking those extra classes before you collapse and get sent to the infirmary." he'd say sternly. but after he got you to sleep in bed and stop thinking about those classes again, he'll drop the act.

he feels guilty, so guilty for being the reason for you getting sick. he'll be so protective of you the next day and would do anything so you'll forget about whatever you want to do before.

"sigh, you and kalim are gonna be the death of me, i swear ..."

if you insist on taking those extra classes, expect to see him in your next class.

ROOK HUNT

he knows u don't really have to tell him anything

"oh, my ... marveillux! trickster, you continue to surprise me with your whims. you put your health on the line only to graduate with me? truly, your love knows no bounds! is this what people call true love? c'est magnifique! i'm touched by the very beauty of love!" as you can probably tell, he's very touched even if he knew about it days ago.

though when you start to walk a little wobbly, he'd stop his rambling and would carry you bridal style to pomefiore. he's concerned that you got sick just because you don't want him to leave you alone in this school. he'll lay you down gently on his bed and would also brew some jasmine tea for you.

"mon amour, stay in this bed and drink this tea, will you? jasmine tea has a lot of benefits that would be great to boost your immunity. i'm sure you will feel better in no time." he smiles, helping you sit up while serving you the cup of tea and a few snacks on the side.

if you drink the tea, he’ll sit by the bed, eyes brimming with a quiet, tender love. rook may talk a lot—but in the hush between heartbeats, his silence says more. in stillness, his love becomes a sacred thing, deeper than any vow he could ever utter.

"fais de beaux rêves, trickster. i shall stay here, waiting by your side."

LILIA VANROUGE

on your way to another one of your class, you were suddenly stopped by your beloved little bat, hanging upside down from the ceiling. "oh my god!" you shrieked, making him cackle. "khehehe, your reactions amuse me as always, dearie!"

he'd stop laughing when he saw all those books in your hands, though. when he notices your shaky breathing, he jumps down from the ceiling and gets scarily serious for a moment while checking your temperature.

"oh, my. your forehead is very hot. what have you been up to, love?" the moment you tell him about those extra classes, lilia goes dad mode (2) and takes you straight into his room using a teleportation spell.

he would then ask silver and sebek to brew some tea for you because he's currently too occupied to do that himself(thank god). he won't stay by your bed, he will join you in the bed and cuddle with you until you feel better.

if you tell him to get off because you don't want him to get sick too, he will just laugh. "khehehe, you must underestimate me if you think i will get sick by hugging my beloved. you need not worry, i have great immunity. but, i don't want you to continue taking those extra classes again, okay? you're going to make little old me sad if you continue doing that."

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use (with or without permission), do not recommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

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heavenlybodies333 · 16 hours ago

Text

Fatherless -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

You hadn’t even wanted to stop by his office.

You were going to be late as it was—college friends already texting you asking where the hell you were, what you were wearing, if you were bringing anyone. And you'd been so damn close to skipping the good-daughter act, the polite goodbye before you threw yourself into basslines and tequila. But no. You always gave him that one last ounce of consideration.

Which made it worse.

Because you saw it—his hand on Emily’s hip, his head tipped low near her ear, the way she smiled like she had any right to. Your jaw clenched, fingers going numb around your phone.

Your chest twists painfully. She was your goddamn boss. Your dad’s subordinate. She was also kind, brilliant, and everything your mother was before years of neglect drained the life out of her.

It wasn’t even about Emily. Not really. It was about the way he touched her, softly, reverently—like he used to touch your mom.

Like he never touched you anymore. Not even in that gentle, fatherly way.

You hadn’t expected to cry in the elevator. But of course, you hadn’t expected to see your father practically pressed against Emily Prentiss’ desk either—his hand on her waist, her laugh soft and secretive, his expression the closest to affection you’d seen in months.

Maybe years.

Your heels clacked across the bullpen floor in staccato, and you swore someone called your name—but you didn’t stop. You threw open the elevator doors, jabbed the button for the lobby, and stepped inside like you were fleeing a fire. Because in a way, you were. The look on your dad’s face when you turned around, that half-step he took out of the office when he realized what you'd seen. But you were faster.

The elevator doors shut on his voice.

The elevator jolted to a stop on the next floor down, and—of course—it was him. Spencer Reid. Of fucking course. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

He stepped inside, trench coat half-draped across one arm, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

You turned your head away from him, scrubbing furiously under your eyes.

“Are you stalking me now Reid?” Your voice was sharp, but it cracked halfway through.

The doors slid shut. He shifted slightly closer to you as the elevator began its slow descent. “No, but I’m observant. It’s sort of in the job description.”

You laughed bitterly and kept your gaze trained on the floor numbers lighting up above the door. “Then you already know what I saw.”

“I saw you come out of your dad’s office. Did something—” he pauses, voice turning cautious, “did he yell at you again?”

You laugh bitterly, crossing your arms. “No. Guess he was too busy with Emily’s tongue down his throat.”

Spencer’s brows lift. His body straightens.

“They were—wait. Seriously?”

You nod, eyes flicking to him with venom. “Like, actually flirting. Like touching. Like she’s not just his coworker but his new thing now.” You sniff, clenching your jaw. “And my mom’s at home alone while he’s giving someone else all that attention she begged him for.”

You slump back against the elevator wall and glance at him, your voice quieter now. “I know they’re divorced. I know. But it’s not about him moving on. It’s about him doing it while still pretending I’m not even there. Like… I remind him of her, so it’s easier to just ignore me too.”

You draw in a slow breath, steadying yourself—but your eyes still burn and your fists are clenched at your sides. The image of your dad’s hand on Emily’s waist won’t stop looping through your mind like a cruel highlight reel.

“I’m sorry you saw that,” Spencer says at last, voice low and cautious.

You let out a sharp laugh. “Why? Because I interrupted their little office romance? Or because now I know why he can’t even look me in the eye half the time?”

“No,” Spencer says instantly, stepping a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “Because it hurt you.”

You stiffen, throat tightening. “It shouldn’t matter this much, right? I’m an adult. I should be happy he’s—moving on. But it just makes me feel like…” You trail off, forcing the words down. You don’t want to cry in front of him. Not when it feels like the only time anyone even looks at you is when you're breaking.

Spencer hesitates. You can feel the weight of his thoughts again, the tension rolling off him. Then he speaks—softer now, like he’s afraid of how much he means it.

“You shouldn’t have to beg for attention from your own father.”

That strikes something inside you—something hot and raw and aching. You glance over at him sharply. “What would you know about fathers?”

Spencer flinches slightly, but doesn’t pull away. “More than you’d think.”

And that… that settles between you differently. There’s no pity in his voice, no condescension—just shared damage. A mirror of your own, cracked in a different place.

The elevator dings softly, pausing on a floor neither of you had requested. No one’s waiting. The doors slide closed again, giving you both a moment of suspended reality. Just you and him.

Your voice drops, hushed. “He loved my mom once. You could tell by the way he looked at her. And then he stopped. And now he looks at Emily like that. And I just—I hate it. I hate how easily he gives his affection to other people. Like I don’t even fucking exist.”

A silence stretches between you—laced with grief, “I don’t want to go home like this,” you murmur finally.

Spencer shifts slightly, eyes scanning your face. “Then don’t. Come to my place. Just for a while.”

You blink. “What?”

“You don’t have to be alone with this. You shouldn’t be.” He softens, and for the first time in weeks, someone’s looking at you like you matter. “Come over. I’ll make tea and cry if you want to.”

“I’m not going to cry,” you lie.

He doesn’t call you on it. Just offers a quiet smile and steps closer, brushing your hand with his fingers. “Then you can just sit there and tell me everything you’ve been holding in. Or we don’t talk at all. Either way—I don’t want you driving like this.”

You hesitate for one beat.

Then nod. “Okay.”

The elevator dings again, this time at the lobby.

Spencer steps out first, casting a glance back over his shoulder to make sure you’re still with him. You follow, silent, still wrapped in the anger and grief—but now something else is threaded through it.

Because when Spencer opens the car door for you, and you slide in beside him, there’s a moment where your knees touch—and neither of you moves. And when he reaches over to buckle your seatbelt, his hand lingers a fraction too long at your shoulder. And when you turn your head to thank him, his eyes are already on your lips.

This night is far from over.

His apartment was dimly lit, warm with soft yellow light and shelves upon shelves of books you could drown in. He let you in without saying much, his movements quiet and careful.

“I can make tea,” he offered, already walking toward the kitchen.

“You think I’m overreacting,” you said, turning to face him fully. “Don’t you?”

“No.” He looked at you, really looked. “I think you’re hurt. And you’re angry. And you should be.”

“I stayed with him after the divorce. I thought—God, I thought maybe if I stayed, he’d at least see me. That maybe I’d be enough to matter. But I look like her. And I think that’s why he stopped talking to me too.”

Reid didn’t speak. He just stepped forward. And when his hand touched your cheek, it was so gentle it made your heart ache.

“You matter to me.”

Spencer stepped closer, his voice low. “You’re not just angry about them. Are you?”

You turned your head slowly toward him, the venom in your gaze starting to melt into something else. Lust. Pain. Both.

“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Reid,” you said, but it lacked conviction.

He stepped closer. And closer. Until your back hit the wall and his chest was barely brushing yours.

“I’m not,” he whispered. “I just hate watching you pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

Your jaw clenched. “He left her. Left me. And now he’s… giving that to someone else? And I’m supposed to be fine with it?”

“You shouldn’t go out tonight,” he said softly.

“I’m not drunk yet.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You tilted your head. “Then what did you mean?”

“I meant…” His voice dropped. “You’re angry. You’re vulnerable. And you’re looking for a distraction.”

You licked your lips, slow and deliberate, leaning into him. “The only distraction I’m looking for right now, is you”

“You sure?” he asked, breath shaky.

“Spencer,” you whispered, biting his lower lip, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I will go find someone else.”

You surged forward, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, dragging him in like you needed his mouth just to breathe. The kiss was messy and brutal and devastatingly soft all at once—your grief bleeding into it, your rage and ache tangling in every movement.

He pushed you against the wall with more force now, mouth feverish, greedy. You didn’t realize you were moaning until he groaned in return, like the sound was some kind of trigger.

His hands slid under your dress, up your thighs, fingertips skimming higher until they found your lace panties.

“You wore these to the office?” he muttered against your throat, voice low and dark.

“Was going out after,” you gasped, rocking into his touch. “Didn’t know I’d end up here.”

You moaned as his hands slid up your legs, under your skirt, gripping your ass with bruising force as he hoisted you. You wrapped your legs around him without thinking, your back pressing hard to the wall as he carried you toward his bedroom like he was possessed.

He hooked a hand behind your knee and pulled your leg over his shoulder, dipping his head down between your thighs with zero hesitation. His tongue was hot and wet and filthy, and when he groaned against you like this was what he needed too, your head hit the pillow and your fingers dug into his hair like you were holding on for dear life.

He licked and sucked and devoured you, hands pinning your hips down so you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. You came with a choked sound, thighs trembling, and he didn’t stop—just slowed, gentled, let you ride it out with his name on your lips and his mouth buried in your body.

When he finally rose, face slick, eyes dark, you grabbed him by the waistband of his pants and tugged. “Now. I need you now.”

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips swollen, his hair a mess. You barely had time to catch your breath before you reached down, hand wrapping around him—hard, thick, twitching against your palm.

His breath stuttered. “Jesus Christ—”

You grinned, rolling him onto his back, straddling his hips. “You said tonight was about me, right?”

He groaned, head falling back against the pillows. “You’re going to kill me.”

You leaned down and kissed him, slow and filthy. “Good.”

You sank down onto him in one smooth motion—and the sound he made was primal.

You rocked against him slowly, hips grinding as you set the pace—deep and delicious and possessive. Spencer’s hands gripped your waist, trying to control himself, but it was useless. You felt too good, too perfect, too right.

He thrust up to meet you, rhythm building, the room filled with panting breaths and broken curses.

“You feel—fuck—so good,” he rasped, hands roaming your back, your thighs. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

Your breath left your lungs in a rush, head tilting back with a whimper. He swore under his breath, gripping your hips like a lifeline.

“You feel like heaven,” he groaned.

You clenched around him involuntarily, a needy noise escaping your throat. “Don’t be sweet to me. Not tonight.”

You gasped, arms wrapping around his neck as he started to move—deliberate, punishing thrusts that hit every broken place in you and filled them with heat instead of grief. His mouth found your collarbone, your throat, your jaw. He was everywhere.

“You’re not invisible,” Spencer gasped, as if reading your thoughts. “You’re not replaceable. Not to me. Not ever.”

Your breath caught, and then your second orgasm hit, you clung to him, your nails raking his back, and his rhythm faltered as he groaned low in your ear.

“I’m close,” he rasped. “Tell me—tell me where.”

“Inside,” you whispered, dazed and wrecked. “I don’t care, just—fuck, just do it.”

His restraint crumbled. He came, hips stuttering, arms shaking as he buried himself deep and spilled into you. It was rough, messy, desperate—the kind of climax that felt more like a breakdown. Like a release you’d both been craving for far too long.

Your body trembled as you collapsed against him, chest pressed to his, skin hot and flushed and damp with sweat. For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moved—just your heartbeats thudding against one another

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Your voice was raw. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know.”

“I just—” Your breath hitched. “I didn’t want to feel invisible tonight.”

“You weren’t.” He reached up, thumb stroking the skin just beneath your eye. “Not to me.”

That did it. A single tear slipped free before you could stop it. You moved to pull away, to hide your face, but Spencer sat up with you, arms still wrapped around your waist.

He caught your chin gently, guiding your eyes back to his. “Hey. Look at me.”

You did. And you wished you hadn’t. Because there was something devastatingly tender in his expression—like he’d seen you fractured and bleeding and still wanted every sharp piece.

“You don’t have to do that,” you whispered.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel better after fucking me.”

Spencer shook his head, eyes locked on yours. “I’m not doing this because I feel sorry for you. I’m doing it because I care about you. Because this…” His voice dropped, rough and weighted. “This wasn’t just about sex. Not for me, I care so much for you.”

You closed your eyes, his words settling into your bones.

Then you pulled the comforter up over both of you, his arms wrapping around you again as your head came to rest on his chest. His fingers found your spine and traced it lazily, grounding you with every pass.

The weight of the day didn’t vanish. The ache of your father’s distance, the sting of seeing him with someone else—it didn’t magically go away.

But here, in Spencer’s bed, wrapped up in the only person who’d made you feel real in weeks—it didn’t matter quite as much.

The digital clock on Spencer’s kitchen wall blinked 2:13 AM in quiet mockery.

You blinked back at it, mind spinning, the warmth of his hands still lingering on your skin like a second pulse. You didn’t mean to stay that long. You didn’t mean to stay at all. But he’d looked at you like you were worth hearing. Like you were worth touching.

Now the silence afterward buzzed loud in your ears, a different kind of adrenaline creeping in—because the fog was lifting and your dad was expecting you home. Hours ago.

“Shit,” you whispered, bolting upright and tugging your top back into place. Spencer’s arm moved lazily across the bed, fingers curling around your wrist like a silent stay—but you shook your head with a half-laugh.

“He’s gonna fucking kill me,” you muttered, sliding off the bed and grabbing your phone from the nightstand.

Spencer sat up slowly, still bare from the waist up, his hair tousled like sin and sleep. “Want me to call you a car?”

You nodded, trying not to stare at the light bruises blooming along your hips where his mouth had lingered like he meant it.

He smiled faintly, slipping from the bed to walk you out. “Text me when you get in?”

You paused in the doorway, heart pounding again—but this time for a different reason. You looked back at him, eyes scanning the way his lips were still kiss-bitten and red. “You’re not going to pretend this didn’t happen, are you?”

Spencer’s eyes sharpened, his voice low. “Not a chance.”

You didn’t trust yourself to answer that—so you just left.

The air was cooler than you expected when you stepped out of the car, the soft click of your heels echoing against the driveway. You tilted your head back toward the night sky and groaned, the stars overhead mocking you with their indifference.

Of course the kitchen light was still on.

Because why wouldn’t it be?

“Oh come on,” you hissed, dragging a hand down your face. You tossed a glare skyward like the universe might answer for its crimes. “Why do you hate me?” you muttered under your breath. “Was I a dictator in a past life?”, dragging your fingers through your hair as you yanked your keys from the depths of your bag.

You were already hours late. Technically, you weren’t supposed to be out at all—not on a weekday, not when you were living under your father’s roof again for the semester and interning at the BAU. You weren’t even supposed to be drinking, let alone fucking one of his agents.

Oops.

You opened the door with a practiced silence, the kind you’d perfected years ago as a teenager—before parties, sneaking in from dates, trying not to wake him when he was fresh off a case. The door clicked softly behind you, and you set your bag down with practiced ease.

You freeze, fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. One voice is his. Low. Familiar. Controlled in the way only someone like him can be while still audibly enjoying himself.

The other? High. Feminine. Smooth. Emily fucking Prentiss.

Your spine straightened.

Oh, fuck that.

Your feet carried you forward before your brain could stop them, steps slow and deliberate as you crossed the living room and padded toward the kitchen. The light pooled out into the hallway like a spotlight waiting for you to walk into it.

You rounded the corner. And there they were.

Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss, sitting side-by-side at the kitchen island with drinks in hand, paperwork spread between them like some domestic goddamn dream. He was leaning just close enough to count as familiar, smiling at something she’d said. Emily’s legs were crossed elegantly, her fingers curled around the stem of her wine glass, laughter still dancing in her eyes.

Your father’s head turned at the sound of your steps.

Emily’s did too.

You didn’t stop walking until you stood just inside the threshold.

You didn’t look at her.

You looked straight at your father.

And then you said it.

“I had sex with Spencer,” you said calmly.

A full beat of silence.

“I thought you should know,” you add, voice cold and surgical. “Since we’re sharing things now.”

Your dad blinked once. Then twice. The blood drained from his face, replaced by an unreadable tension that locked his jaw tight and froze his shoulders in place like he’d just taken a bullet to the chest.

Emily choked on nothing.

Her eyes went wide, darting between you and your father like she was waiting for the punchline to a joke that never came. Her wine glass clinked as she set it down on the counter too quickly. “I—excuse me—” she began, then stopped herself, clearly realizing there was no safe place to go next.

Your father stood slowly, his knuckles whitening against the edge of the countertop.

“What did you just say?”

You lifted your chin, ignoring the tremble in your spine, the way your heart was thrashing in your chest like it wanted out. “You heard me.”

He exhaled slowly. “That’s completely inappropriate—”

You smiled then, sharp and satisfied. “Oh! You mean like how you weren’t just pressed against Emily in your office three hours ago?”

That hit. Hard.

Emily just stared at you with wide, stunned eyes like she wanted to disappear. You ignored her entirely. You didn’t even look at her. This wasn’t about her.

You and your father stood in the silence that followed, the weight of everything unsaid pressing in between you like a loaded gun.

He finally spoke, voice hoarse with disbelief. “You slept with Spencer?”

“I did,” you said, still calm. “In his apartment. After you drove me to lose my goddamn mind tonight.”

His eyes closed. Just for a second. Like he was holding in an explosion.

You dropped your purse on the table and turned for the stairs, voice icy as you added over your shoulder, “But don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be sure to keep it professional in the office. Just like you do.”

“I’m your father,” Hotch snapped, stepping forward now, his voice low but sharp enough to cut glass. “This is not acceptable.”

“Oh, now you’re my father?” Your voice rose, just slightly. “Funny how that only comes out when it’s your feelings on the line. Not when I’m crying in the elevator or begging for scraps of your attention.”

“You don’t get to stand there and pretend like this is the same,” he hissed, pointing between you and the counter, between you and Emily. “You’re my daughter. And he’s—”

You watched the blood drain from his face, his jaw tightening, the muscles in his neck straining like he was fighting not to throw the glass against the wall. Slowly, his eyes met yours, and the expression behind them—shock, betrayal, fury—nearly made you grin.

Oh, that’s the version of him you remembered.

The one that got like this when you missed curfew. When you got suspended that one time for fighting a boy who tried to grab your ass. When you told him to fuck off at fourteen because he refused to come to your recital. That familiar, righteous, controlling rage that made you feel like you were still just a little girl breaking his rules in the only ways that made him notice you.

Only now you weren’t a little girl.

You were a grown woman. And you’d just fucked his best profiler.

“Get out.”

You blinked, feigning confusion. “I live here.”

“I don’t give a damn,” he snapped. “Get out.”

You didn’t move. You weren’t going to.

“You really think you get to act shocked?” you said softly, dangerously. “You’re here playing house with her like we’re not all pretending it’s fine that you forgot how to love the first family you had. You’re the one who stopped showing up, Dad. Don’t get pissed at me for finally finding someone who did.”

His jaw ticked. Emily touched his arm gently, a silent plea.

“Don’t,” you said instantly, your eyes cutting to her. “You don’t get to make him soft. Not when he couldn’t be bothered to remember my birthday last year.”

Emily flinched. You didn’t care. This wasn’t for her. It was for him.

You turned toward the stairs. “You wanted me to be an adult, right?” you tossed over your shoulder. “Welcome to the consequences.”

a/n: so many daddy issues like what the hell

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