#how it feels to sleep without a box fan

[verstappenverse]

Home Was Always Here

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You were too young then, but years later co-parenting your daughter together in the public eye might finally bring you home to each other. (Requested)

4.5k words / Masterlist

You never meant to raise a child in the spotlight. Definitely not at seventeen, and certainly not with Max Verstappen, Formula 1’s youngest rising star at the time. Barely eighteen himself when you sat on the bathroom floor with shaking hands and two pink lines staring back at you.

You hadn’t even been together that long. You hadn’t planned a life. You hadn’t had a chance to figure out who you were yet. But suddenly you were expected to grow up fast, faster than either of you knew how.

What followed was a blur. A whirlwind of press conferences and pacifiers, grid walks and midnight feedings. Red Bull contracts signed on no sleep. Max learning to shave the same year he learned how to swaddle a newborn. The world met your daughter through grainy airport photos, Max pushing a stroller in one hand and wheeling a carry-on in the other, with you by his side, makeup-free and hollow-eyed, a quiet kind of desperation clinging to both of you. Still kids yourselves, trying to raise one.

The headlines didn’t help. Neither did the noise. Every parenting choice you made got picked apart by strangers on the internet. You were either too young or too careless, too in love or too naive. None of them knew what it was like, how hard you held onto each other at first, how tight Max gripped your hand in the hospital, how he blinked back tears when he first held her.

You tried. God, you tried.

But it’s hard to stay together when you're growing up in different countries, with entire continents and careers pulling you in opposite directions. He had a world championship to chase. You had a newborn to raise. Max chose F1, not out of malice, but necessity, and you chose to protect your daughter from the chaos the best way you knew how.

Quietly. From the sidelines.

Somehow heartbreak became part of the routine. A thousand small choices that led you here. Separate, but never fully apart. Not with her between you.

Never with her.

Now almost a decade later, chaos is a permanent houseguest.

Max never stopped being Max. He’s a world champion now. A household name. The kind of icon whose face is printed on t-shirts, cereal boxes, and wall-sized banners at every European airport. And your daughter, Sofia, is eight years old and growing up fast.

She’s got his eyes, the same sharp blue that narrow when she’s focused and sparkle when she’s proud of herself. She’s got your fire, your timing, your habit of crossing her arms when she’s annoyed. She walks through the paddock like she owns it, chatting with engineers, stealing snacks from catering, slipping into garages like she was born there. She waves at the cameras without hesitation, poses with Lando's sunglasses on and Charles’s cap turned backwards, and calls them “Uncle” with the casualness of someone who doesn’t understand how famous her family really is.

Everyone on the grid loves her

Which is both sweet and fucking terrifying.

Because there's no hiding anymore. Not from the cameras. Not from the journalists who track her growth the way they track Max’s stats. Not from the fans who’ve practically watched her life unfold in real-time. And not from the people in the paddock who’ve started to notice the way you and Max still look at each other when you think no one’s watching.

There’s no space left to pretend. No more safe distance.

Especially not now.

Not when she’s old enough to ask questions. Not when Max lingers a little longer after pickups. Not when the line between co-parents and something more starts blurring again, and every smile feels a little heavier than it should.

Not when your daughter keeps looking at the two of you like she’s waiting for something to finally happen.

You and Max haven’t been together in six nearly seven years, yet somehow it’s never really felt like a clean break. Not with Sofia between you. Not with the way you’ve navigated life side by side, always tethered by something deeper than romance, responsibility, love, history. Her.

You’ve co-parented better than most. No court battles. No ugly headlines. Quiet, careful coordination and a shared, unspoken promise, she comes first. Always.

Sofia has never known a day where one of you didn’t show up. Never felt the sting of absence, never had to pick between you. Birthday parties, school recitals, first bike rides, dentist appointments, you did everything you possibly could manage together. Even when you weren’t together.

You moved to Monaco to make things easier. For her, yes, but maybe for Max too. You told yourself it was about logistics, about support systems and shared routines. But deep down, part of you just didn’t want her growing up with only half the picture.

You stood below the podium when Max won his first championship as a father. Camera lenses flashed, confetti fell, and as he lifted the trophy and pointed to the area where Sofia stood clapping beside you in oversized earmuffs, the world saw a proud dad.

Only you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for a second. Like some part of him still remembered what it meant to win with you in the crowd.

Since then, there have been countless little moments.

Fingers brushing when passing her water bottle. Hands grazing as you both reach for the same backpack strap. Silences that stretch too long when you’re alone at school pick-up, both watching her from opposite ends of the sidewalk. Conversations that start about your daughter but end with too much softness, too many what-ifs sitting in the space between your words.

And now every time he hands you her lunchbox or smooths her hair behind her ear, you feel it, that familiar knock in your chest.

It starts at Zandvoort.

The weekend is muddy, chaotic, and wet. The sky can’t decide if it wants to drizzle or pour, and everything smells like damp asphalt and tension. Sofia is bundled up beside you in her oversized Verstappen-orange raincoat, rubber boots splashing through every puddle like it’s a personal mission. She’s grinning, carefree, holding your hand and dragging you toward the paddock entrance with the kind of joy only a child can carry through the rain.

Max is late.

You check your phone again. No message. No call. You try not to spiral, try not to wonder if it’s traffic, or if it’s her. The girl. The one from the blurry photos online in those low-rent gossip pages, the soft-launch story post on her Instagram that could be his arm, and sly comments under tagged pictures. You haven’t asked. You haven’t had the nerve.

Because asking would mean admitting you care. And you’re not sure you’re allowed to.

You tuck your phone away just as Harry, one of the Red Bull engineers you’ve chatted with a handful of times this season walks up. He’s charming in that easy, carefree way. Nice enough. Funny enough. The kind of guy who brings you coffee when he sees you in the hospitality tent and knows how to make Sofia laugh by pulling silly faces behind the pit wall.

He grins when he sees her. That same crooked half-smile he always wears.

“You need backup out here?” he jokes, already crouching beside Sofia.

You open your mouth to protest, but she giggles and splashes him before you can stop her. Water hits his jeans. He laughs. You do too, despite yourself.

It’s harmless. He’s harmless.

And then Max arrives.

Hood up, team jacket soaked, shoulders tense, jaw tight, he clocks the two of you instantly. He stops a few steps away and just stares. He doesn’t say hello.

He looks at you.

Then Harry.

Then back at you again.

No words, but the tension curls between your ribs like smoke. Your hands fall to your sides. Harry pretends not to notice.

In that three-second silence everything shifts.

The air thickens. Your smile falters. Your hand slips from Sofia’s as she notices her dad and races toward him with a loud, “Daddy!”

Max finally moves. Bends down and scoops her up with practiced ease, burying his face in her rain-wet hair for a moment.

When he stands back up, his eyes are back on you. There’s a question in them, or maybe a warning, you can’t tell which.

Harry clears his throat. “Well. She’s got a hell of a kick,” he says with a grin, nodding at his soaked pant leg.

You force a polite laugh. “Yeah, she’s a menace.”

Max doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak to Harry at all.

“She was asking for you,” you say, just to say something, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

Max nods once. “Yeah. Sorry. Got held up.”

You nod too, and that’s it.

You don’t ask if the girl is here. If she’s in the motorhome waiting. If Sofia’s going to meet her today.

Because you don’t know if you have the right.

Because for all the years you’ve spent raising a daughter together, showing up side-by-side, holding her through every scraped knee and test result and birthday candle… you still don’t know where you stand.

And that uncertainty? It burns more than you’ll ever admit.

That night, Max texts you.

I don’t like him around her.

You stare at your phone in bed, lips parting, blinking twice before replying.

Harry? Why?

Just don’t.

You exhale through your nose, dragging the duvet up to your chin like it might shield you from the heat rising in your chest. You type three different responses and delete each one.

Too defensive. Too cold. Too revealing.

You settle on something neutral. Careful.

She’s around the crew all the time. You like Harry don’t you? What’s this about?

You watch the screen for a while, waiting for the three little dots to appear. They don’t.

Eventually, you put your phone down. Try to sleep. Fail miserably.

He doesn’t respond. Not until the next morning, when he sends a photo of Sofia eating waffles and smiling up at him from across a hotel breakfast table.

Your heart clenches.

She’s in his hoodie. One of the old ones. The ones you used to sleep in when she was still an infant curled up in your arms.

She asked if we could all live together again.

You stare at the message so long your eyes burn.

It hits harder on weekends like this. The quiet ones with no race and no travel. A rare, shared weekend in Monaco, Sofia bouncing between your apartment and Max’s like it’s all one big home she doesn’t realise is technically split in two.

You’ve just dropped her off at his place. She’s old enough now to want to pack her own bag, though she still asks you to double-check that she remembered her toothbrush. You did, and she did, and now you’re standing in Max’s hallway holding a half-eaten granola bar she insisted she didn’t want anymore.

He takes it from you without a word, tosses it in the bin.

You’re still in the doorway, jacket slung over your arm, not really sure why you haven’t left yet.

“Drink?” he asks casually.

You hesitate. Then nod.

You follow him into the kitchen, watching as he moves around like this is normal. Like you still belong here in the quiet moments, not just the race-day chaos.

He hands you a glass and your fingers brush. You both ignore it.

Sofia’s music plays softly from her bedroom here, some upbeat pop song you don’t recognise but can picture her dancing to. You smile. Max catches it.

“She’s been asking again,” he says after a beat. “About why we don’t live together.”

Your heart sinks, warmth fading.

You nod slowly. “She asked me last week if people can get married twice to the same person. I think she thought we were secretly divorced.”

Max huffs a laugh, but it’s more breath than sound.

“She’s getting older,” you say. “It’s not like when she was little. She notices things now.”

He nods, jaw tense. “Yeah.”

You sip your drink to give your hands something to do. “It used to be easier,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “When we were too tired to feel anything else. When she was up every three hours and all we cared about was keeping her fed and breathing and not breaking her.”

Max smiles at that, tired and nostalgic. “We were zombies.”

“Mm.” You nod. “Now we have time to feel things again… and I don’t always know where to put them.”

It hangs in the air between you, heavy, and awkward, and true.

“She asked me if I’d be happier if you were around more,” he says after a while. “She said I get smiley when you’re here.”

Your heart skips a beat.

You laugh, but it’s a small, nervous sound. “She’s very observant.”

“She’s you.”

You look up at that. And he’s already looking at you.

He clears his throat. “I was thinking of taking her to the karting track this weekend. You know, just to see if she—”

“Wants to try?” You smile. “She’s going to love it. She’s been talking about it nonstop.”

Max grins. “Yeah?”

“She’s nervous though. She wants you to be proud of her.”

He softens. “She doesn’t have to do anything for that.”

You nod, trying not to get swallowed by the look on his face. The one that reminds you what he was like when he was yours. What he’s still like now, when he forgets he’s supposed to keep a distance.

You force a breath. Look down at your drink.

“She asked if I still loved you,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Max stills. Slowly puts his own drink down.

“What did you say?”

You hesitate.

“I said I love you both. That we’re a team.”

It’s the truth. Just not the whole truth.

Max swallows hard. “She’s too smart for that answer.”

You meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

Sofia’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Can I wear your old helmet dad?”

Max blinks. Looks toward the hallway.

You both let out a breath at the same time.

“Yeah, baby,” he calls. “Be right there.”

You move toward the door, because the moment’s already fading, and staying would only make it worse.

“Thanks for the drink,” you say.

He nods, stepping aside to let you pass.

You leave, but his voice follows you softly.

“Hey—”

You pause in the doorway. Look back.

There’s a question in his eyes, something half-formed on his lips. He opens his mouth��

But then he just smiles. Small. Sad.

“Tell her she can bring the pink hoodie next time,” he says. “I know she ‘forgot’ it on purpose.”

Your lips twitch.

“Yeah,” you say, the smile tugging at your mouth before you can stop it. “She’s been leaving things behind lately.”

Max nods, eyes flicking to yours.

Then the door closes and you leave, again, with your heart too full of things you still don’t know how to say.

You tell yourself it was just nostalgia. Zandvoort always does that, rains down memories with every drop, stirs up old feelings in the static between thunderstorms and pit stops. You convince yourself it’ll pass. That it was just the weather. Just the setting. Just Max being Max.

But then Monza happens.

You’re in the paddock, headset on, eyes locked on the screen as Max flies through Sector 2 with clinical precision.

Sofia stands next to you, bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands gripping the barrier. She’s wearing her little Verstappen cap, slightly crooked, and her cheeks are painted with two messy Dutch flags. Every time the crowd erupts, she flinches forward and you instinctively reach out to steady her, your hand wrapping protectively around her arm.

“Is Daddy winning?” she shouts over the noise, practically vibrating with excitement.

You glance at the delta on the screen and smile. “He’s flying.”

Max crosses the line with a dominant lead. You clap. You cheer. Sofia shrieks with joy, bouncing so high her hat nearly flies off.

You barely hear the anthem over the roar, but you know it by heart. You’ve heard it more times than you can count. You watch as Max steps onto the top step of the podium, champagne bottle in one hand, trophy in the other.

And then he looks out at the crowd.

Eyes scanning thousands of faces and somehow he finds you.

You.

The moment holds. Just long enough for your heart to trip.

Because it’s not the look of a man acknowledging the mother of his child. Not the polite gratitude of a co-parent in the crowd. It’s not professional. It’s not routine.

It’s something else.

It’s softness. It’s gravity. It’s a quiet ache buried beneath pride.

It’s want.

When he lifts the trophy high, chin tilted slightly your way, it feels personal. Like something unspoken. Like a line he’s too afraid to cross but too drawn to ignore.

Your fingers tighten on the railing. The haze of the crowd and the flares curls around you and for a moment, despite the chaos, you forget how to breathe.

Later you’re all at the afterparty.

Nothing extravagant, a casual gathering on the rooftop lounge of the team hotel, a mix of mechanics, engineers, a few drivers, and the people who’ve quietly kept the weekend running behind the scenes. It’s low-lit, the music mellow, with fairy lights strung overhead and the scent of champagne lingering in the air.

You’re tucked into the corner of a cushioned bench with a glass of wine watching Max move through the space like he always does, confident, collected, comfortable. Every so often someone stops him to offer congratulations. He smiles, claps backs, exchanges a few laughs. It should be mundane.

But she’s here.

The girl.

You’d only recently confirmed she wasn’t his girlfriend, at least not officially. Someone on the comms team had mentioned it in passing. “Nothing serious,” they’d said. “Just a friend… apparently.”

But the way she’s looking at him?

It’s not friendly.

She’s tall. Stunning, in that effortless way. The kind of woman who turns heads when she walks into a room without meaning to. She’s laughing at something Max says, leaning in just a little too closely, fingers grazing his forearm like she’s staking a claim.

And Max?

He laughs politely. Responds. But he’s not looking at her.

His eyes flick to you. Again. And again.

Every few minutes, like he’s checking you’re still there.

And every time, it’s like your skin prickles beneath your dress. Like the air gets thinner and your wine gets warmer and your resolve slips further through your fingers.

You try to ignore it. Try to sip your wine and nod along to a mechanic’s story beside you, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. To her.

To the way his jaw tensed when she touched him. To the way his gaze lingered on your bare knees when you crossed your legs. To the heat that simmers just beneath the surface of everything, unsaid and impossible.

Someone sits beside you. You glance over and it’s GP. His expression is soft, patient, as always. A little amused, too.

“You okay?” he asks gently, tilting his drink toward you in quiet solidarity.

You nod, too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

GP follows your line of sight straight to Max. Then back to you.

He sips his beer once before saying, carefully, “Still in love with him?”

You freeze, the words hitting you like cold water.

“What?”

He shrugs, not unkindly. “Sorry if that was too direct. I’ve known you both since you were kids. It’s kind of obvious.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Swallow.

You can’t say yes… but you can’t say no either.

So you say nothing.

GP chuckles under his breath. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t see it.”

You look up sharply at that.

“He’s not an idiot,” you say, almost defensively. “I think he’s… he’s scared.”

The words leave your mouth before you realise how much truth they carry, because he is. You know that. You know the way he loves, recklessly, protectively, all or nothing. And you know what’s at stake.

But the thing that takes your breath away is realising so are you.

Scared of losing what you’ve worked so hard to preserve. Of breaking the fragile peace you've built for Sofia. Of stepping over a line you can’t come back from.

But more than anything, you’re scared of never knowing, of never saying it out loud. Of watching someone else stand next to him someday and wondering what might have been if you'd only been brave enough to try.

Baku is different.

You’re staying in the same hotel.

You should be asleep, but your mind won’t rest. You’re pacing emotional circles around yourself, heart tight, questions louder than the silence of your hotel room.

Your phone buzzes just after midnight.

You up?

You reply before you can second-guess.

Yeah. You?

A minute later, there’s a soft knock at your door.

You open it slowly.

He’s standing there in sweatpants and a hoodie, socks on the hallway carpet, his hair messy, like he’s been lying awake too long. There’s something raw in his expression. Something he’s not hiding anymore.

Your heart stumbles against your ribs.

“She asleep?” he asks softly, glancing past you, even though he already knows the answer.

You nod. “Out cold.”

He steps inside. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. But he doesn’t move to sit. He just stands there in the middle of your space, hands stuffed in his pockets, like if he lets them out, the truth might spill all over the floor.

He looks at you like he’s been holding something in for years.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says, voice low but steady.

Your stomach twists. “Do what?”

He gestures vaguely, frustrated, tired, exposed.

“This. Us. Pretending I’m okay seeing you with someone else. Standing next to you and acting like I don’t feel it every time you laugh at someone else’s joke. Watching Sofia grow up and knowing I never gave us the chance to be more than this.”

He pauses. Breathes hard through his nose.

“I keep trying to be okay with it. With being just the co-parent. Just the friend. But I’m not. I haven’t been for a long time.”

He looks down, like he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“That I still—” He stops himself.

You take a step closer. “Say it,” you whisper, barely more than a breath.

He swallows hard, lifts his gaze, and finally lets it out.

“That I still love you.”

The words fall between you like a confession and a surrender all at once.

“That I never stopped.”

You don’t even realise you’re crying until he moves toward you, thumb brushing beneath your eye with the gentleness only he’s ever managed. Your chin trembles under his touch.

“We were kids,” he says. “We didn’t know how to hold onto each other and raise a child and survive the world watching us.”

You nod, tears falling freely now.

“I didn’t mean to let you go,” he continues, voice cracking. “I just… didn’t know how to stay without hurting you more.”

You let the words in. Let them wash through the years of silence, of near-misses, of what-ifs.

“I love you too,” you admit, voice trembling. “I thought you didn’t want it. I thought maybe you’d moved on.”

“I never did,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know how to say it, and I didn’t want to mess up what we have.”

You give a small, tearful laugh. “We’re already messy.”

He smiles at that. A real one, crooked and full of memory.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But we’re a pretty great mess.”

There’s a silence then, heavy and fragile and filled with everything you were never brave enough to speak.

And then you kiss him. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t demand anything. That doesn’t ask for forgiveness or explanation. It just is. Steady. Familiar. Home.

His hands find your waist, like muscle memory. Your fingers curl into his hoodie, anchoring yourself to the only thing that’s ever truly felt safe. In that moment it all falls away, the years of longing, the fear, the distance.

You’ve always belonged to each other.

You wake to sunlight filtering through the hotel curtains, casting soft stripes of gold across the carpet and the coffee table littered with empty glasses and a crumpled blanket. Your neck is slightly sore from how you’ve slept curled into Max on the couch, his arm still around your waist, your legs tangled like they never forgot how to fit together.

You stir first, quietly, unsure of whether to move.

Max doesn’t open his eyes, but his grip tightens for a moment. Just enough to say don’t go yet.

And then, from the hallway, bare feet on the carpet. A small gasp. Then stillness.

You both look up at the same time.

Sofia stands there in her pajamas, clutching her stuffed bunny to her chest, one brow slightly raised in that very adult way she inherited from you. Her hair’s messy, cheeks still warm with sleep, but her eyes are sharp. Too sharp for her age.

She looks between the two of you your curled bodies, the hoodie you’re wearing that she knows is her dad’s, the blanket pooled around your knees.

She blinks once.

Then again.

And tilts her head. “Are you guys… boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Your heart skips.

Max shifts beside you, slow and careful. You glance at him, and he glances at you, both of you holding the moment in your hands like it might break if you breathe wrong.

Nervous. Soft. Honest.

Max sits up a little straighter, patting the couch beside him. “Come here for a sec?”

Sofia walks over, climbs into the space between you like she’s done a hundred time. Her eyes flick to the way Max’s hand rests on your knee. She notices. She always notices. She’s a very perceptive eight year old.

He pulls her into his arms and looks down at her, so careful.

“Only if you’re okay with it,” he says.

Sofia stares at him. Then at you.

Then breaks into a grin so wide it knocks the breath from your chest.

“Finally,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I thought you guys were gonna be weird forever.”

You laugh, caught somewhere between a sob and a sigh, burying your face in your hands as Max chuckles under his breath.

“I mean,” she continues, shrugging, “you already do everything together. You just don’t kiss.”

Max raises his eyebrows, and you can’t help but laugh harder, warmth spreading through your chest like sunrise.

“And you’re really okay with it?” you ask, wiping your cheeks.

Sofia nods. “Yeah. I like it when we’re all together. That’s my favourite.”

She says it so simply. So easily.

Like love was never that complicated to begin with.

You were always endgame.

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

Even when the world watched your lives play out through blurry headlines, rumours, and YouTube compilations. Even when the paddock whispered and your hands stopped reaching for each other out loud.

Even when it hurt.

Now you’re not pretending. Not holding your breath. Not keeping your heart behind your teeth.

You’re together. For real.

For her. For each other.

For good.

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[yunzyoi]

𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 (s.jy)

[NSFW] Can't Help Myself - jake x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ [ 제이크] You and your boyfriend are very close and both have a very healthy relationship. He's very attentive despite having a busy schedule as an Idol. You always tell each other everything like open books in front of each other. But you keep one secret from him.

٠࣪⭑ cw/tags: smut, dom!jake who likes to tease and sub, needy, desperate f!reader. established relationship. stright up porn, face riding, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, soft overstimulation, p in v, multiple orgasms, a little humilation? pussy eating, teasing, squirting, fluff, aftercare, mdni, don't read if uncomfortable.

٠࣪⭑cw: 5.5k

where your boyfriend finds out you've been reading unholy things about him! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

୨ৎ

If there was something you loved to do was to scroll on Twitter to see what your boyfriend was doing. It wasn't in a controling way, more in a teasing way. You loved saving certain tweets just to tease him or make fun of him later. Today wasn't the exception. Jake was out with the members, bowling or something, he mentioned in the morning.

You opened the Twitter app as you laid in your bed, having your own fan account and all, with lots of followers and mutuals that would never imagine who's sleeping by your side every single night. You scrolled, interacting with some posts from now and then but nothing really getting your attention. Your stomach flips when you see it: a little ad. an app. an app you knew very well. Tumblr. It brought the memories back immediately and made you bite your lips, nervously, indecisive.

The Twitter app almost closed by itself because of how fast your fingers moved across your screen to find it. There it was, the app that held all your fantasies for years. You closed your eyes. Not only because the thought of it was incredibly embarrassing but because you've had it for a while now, behind Jake's back.

You installed again about a month ago, with a solid, healthy purpose. But oh, when you logged back into your old account and all those fantasies recieved you, you couldn't help it. You read through it, Jake was out that day. Your cheeks burned when you saw all the new filthy things your boyfriend's fans were writting, some accurate, some total delusion, and some a little tempting. But the thing is, you kept doing it, coming back to that app whenever you found yourself alone, sometimes out of boredoom, sometimes just to chill but always ending in the same situation: getting yourself off to fantasies of your own boyfriend.

You scrolled.

Carefully, calculating, keeping it together, for now.

A title catched your attention That Damn Nose. Your stomach did the thing, that delicious little feeling, making you squeeze your thighs togethet. God, you were so embarrassed. But you couldn't help it, you clicked on it, hands a little shaky, and you start reading. You knew you shouldn't be doing it. It was stupid, and you knew you didn't need all this fantasy when the man was literally yours. But your fingers almost moved by themselves.

It happened the same way a month ago, like your hands were possessed. And it kept happened, multiple times after that, just like today. Something would remind you the app was there, that your little fantasies were in that cute little box. All with your boyfriend's name on them. You bite your lip, you miss him.

You keep going, you can feel your own body heating up at the thought of your own boyfriend doing what he was doing in that fanfiction. You whined, softly, almost inaudible, like a prayer, followed by a gasp. You laid back, arching your back a little, your eyes glued to your screen. Shivering, shaking, whining softly. The mere thought of Jake touching you right now burned you from inside out. You squeezed your thighs, fighting it, thinking you could just wait til he was back to seduce him and make him fuck you good without telling him the reason you were so desperate.

But you were way more desperate than you thought. Jake knew this about you, you were so damn sensitive and needy for him. God, you wanted him to be here right now, why was he out with the members anyway. You read a little more, oh the writting was so good and so fucking accurate. That little fan was describing Jake so well, rough but soft, hungry, wild. He was just like that, with you, because he was yours. And it makes you blush even more, the fact that you've been doing this behind his back, for no reason, when he's out, when you miss him, when you need him. Knowing you could just call him, knowing his voice would get you off in seconds.

"God." You whine softly and your hand slides down to your tits, nipples perking, small and soft. "God, Jake—"

You try, you really do try to ground yourself. You could wait, you could just sit there and wait for your man to be back. He'd give it to you with no hesitation. But you're a needy little thing. You can't wait, you can't help yourself. Your hand slides down, before you know it, sliding under the waistband of your shorts and you hiss at the wetness. You're soaked and so are your panties.

So easy, so sensitive, so needy and desperate. No, you can't wait for him, you never can. You need it now. You're halfway the fanfiction, in the middle of the scene where Jake is eating the reader out like a fucking animal, just like you know he would in real life. You arch your back at the tought of it and finally pull your panties to the side, caressing your clit. You moan, loud, no one will hear you.

"Oh, God." You moan again caressing the little bud. You were so wet, so sticky, so perfectly ready for him. You wanted to call him and rush him home, a part of you wanted to wait for him but the needy whore in you just wanted to cum. Your fingers slide down your folds, easily, with a little obscene sound that only turns you on more. Your lashes flicked, wanting to read a bit more. The mere mention of his nose made your stomach flip deliciously again and you shove your fingers in, moaning loud.

Warm, so warm and wet, and thight for him.

"Oh Jake! Yes, yes, yes." You whisper, so fucking lost in the feeling.

You push another finger in, deeper, curling both of them, hitting that sweet spot Jake likes to hit when he's the one using his fingers on you. And again, the memory makes you arch your back, gasping, chocking on a moan. You can't read anymore, your hand is moving desperately, dumbly chasing for that high. Your fingers move fast, deep, desperate, moaning, gasping, dropping your phone and fisting the bedsheets. His name escapes your lips again, and again, and again.

So good, so damn good, not him, but still so good.

"Jake, baby— I miss you." You say desperately, like he could hear you. "Oh, please." You beg, like you always do for him. Imagining his reaction, knowing he goes feral when you beg him to make you cum, when you beg him to move, to go faster, to go deeper. It hits you like a fucking tidal wave. The orgasm. Making your legs shake, cursing through it.

"Oh, fuck!" You say, shaking. You remove your hand from your shorts, fingers wet in your cum and your forearm cramping. "Lord..." You whisper to yourself, staring at the cieling, blushing. "Dumb." You murmur in a whisper, spent, squeezing your legs like your pussy haven’t had enough of it.

Your body tenses when you hear the door open. You have no time to react before Jake is walking in. You quickly hide your phone under your pillow but he sees you, he's fast, he doesn't let anything slide, not with you.

"Hey baby," he says, casual, sweet, lovely, but he can sense something is wrong. He raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just reading." You try to sound calm, but you know he can hear the little roughness in your throat from moaning his name just monutes ago.

"Yeah?" He hums walking towards the bed. "What were you reading, mmh?" He sits at the edge of the bed looking down at you. You stare back, taking in his pretty features, those brown eyes that are slowly darkening, and those round pink lips, and that damn nose. "I'm talking to you, baby"

You snap out, a knot in your throat. He places his hand on your thigh. Oh, fuck. You shiver, not usual, not if you're in your normal state. He smirks. Oh, he knows, he might not know what you were reading but he for sure knows what you were doing. He knows you too well for your own good.

"Missed me, baby?" He asks, cocky, smirking like he owns you. And he does.

You nod, why would you lie. You know lying to him about this is useless when he can see the way you squeeze your thighs together, how your hips rolled up slightly when his hand moved higher, and that damn blush in your cheeks.

"Oh, my love, doing it all by yourself?" He says, fake pitty. His hand moves a little higher, you gasp and he smirks wider, the corner of his lips curling up in that attractive way that drives you insane.

"Did you cum?" He asks bluntly and you nod. He tsked, disapproval. You know he doesn't like it when you touch yourself all alone. "Without me, baby?"

"I'm sorry" You say softly, feeling small. You knew him, he wasn't gonna let this slide. "I couldn't help it"

"Oh yeah?" His thumb draws circles on your thigh. "You must've been so desperate, baby, so wet, mmh? Like always, so wet for me." And you nod, shamelessly. He had this weird control over you. You couldn't lie to him at all. "What got you so wet, baby?" He asked biting his lip. "What could possible turn my girl in such a little mess when I'm not even home?"

He reaches for your phone under the pillow, almost not giving you time to react but you grab his hand. "Jake" You warn. "Hands off." He warns harder, making you weak, but you keep holding his hand back. "Jake I—"

"I said hands off, didn't I? Mmh?" God he was so strong without getting physically involved.

"Baby, don't, please." You beg, but his eyes are hard on you.

"I'm not gonna ask twice." His voice isn't hard though, it's soft, way too soft and still having a heavy pull on you. You hands weaken a little and his finally reaches your phone, briging it up to his face. Your face burned, God, he was reading it, all the filthy things you had in there. He sticked out his tongue, biting it against his lower lip whike the corners of his lips curled up. Fuck, the view only made your body heat up again.

He hummed, the sound going straight to your pussy, pulsating, making you squeeze your thighs. "Oh baby, you know you could call me when you miss me and I can make you feel good." He chuckles. "Why this instead?"

"I—I couldn't help it." You say softly.

"Just like always." He finishes. "You couldn't help it, you had to get off while reading horny fanfictions about me, huh" He teased, God, you wanted to smack him. "How wet?"

"Huh?"

"How wet are you. I know you're probably soaked, you always are for me." And he was so right. "Let me see" He doesn't let you do anything, his hand is already sliding in your shorts, making you gasp instantly. Silence, like he's in shock, but he isn't really, he's just extremely turned on now. "Jesus. You're fucking dripping." You hiss, because he presses his finger on your entrace through the fabric of your panties.

"Lord, baby, do you want me to eat you out that bad?"

You whine at his words, unable to hold back anymore when his hand is shoved in your shorts and that cocky smirk is on his face. "I asked you a question" His finger presses harder and you arch your back but he uses his free hand to hold your hips down.

"Baby I was just— I'm sorry, I missed you, yes, I—"

"Couldn't help it." He finishes your sentence. "Like the little filthy thing you are for me. Always so wet, not able to walk around me without getting every pair of panties that you own soaked."

You moan. You moan because he was right. You were a mess around him, couldn't control it, he had that effect on you. One look, one slight touch, and your pussy was already soaking your underwear. He knew you, he knew how sensitive and desperate you were and how easy it was to turn you on.

"You still want more." He whispers. "It isn't enough, huh" He leans. Fuck his scent, that damn expensive perfume he recently bought. He notices how he affects you and chuckles mockingly. "You're so pretty when you're this sensitive." He licks his lips, biting them. "I bet you want me to move my fingers" He says it with a mocking tone, teasing you but he doesn't move them. "Oh I bet you want me to shove them inside your precious pussy, mmh? I bet you want them deep, soaked in your own juices"

Your stomach flips at his dirty talk, you loved when he talked dirty. You arch your back again trying to move your hips against his fingers but he doesn't let you. "But do you even deserve that? Do you think you deserve that treatment from your boyfriend when you were jerking off to fanfictions of him?" He drags the words, really driving you insane, you little composure runing out. "I guess you could just read those and get off..."

You hold onto his shoulders gasping softling, almost sobbing. "Jake, baby, don't do this" You beg him like it's the end of the world the fact that he's deciding whether touching you or not. "I just missed you, baby, please, please...I won't do it ever again"

Jake stays silence, fuck he loved to see how down bad youwere for him. There's fire in his eyes. "How desperate" He says, chuckling and leaning lower, his nose nuzzling your cheek. "So cute when you beg"

"Jake—"

"Shhh" He nuzzles your jaw, his hand still in your shorts, not moving, torturing you. "Tell me, out of all those fantasies you got in that app, which one you want me to do the most right now"

Jesus, his question got you literally shaking. He noticed and pressed a kiss to your jaw. "Easy, I'm not doing anything yet"

"Baby— Go down, please" You say, tripping at your words, agitated, needy, digging your nails in his shoulders.

"I do that almost all the time, princess" He says smirking, chuckling.

"Please, Jake, I need it" You beg softly, still feeling his hand in your shorts but not moving it.

"God, you have a thing for it, don't you?" He buries his face in your neck, pressing kisses on your neck, not soft, wet. His tongue draging around that portion of your skin, making you whine. "You love having my face in between your legs, mmh? You love it when my nose and tongue do all the job"

"Jake, please." You beg again. "Please." So soft, so sweet, melting him.

"Fuck, asking so nicely, my love." He says and kisses your chest. "So good for me, mmh?"

You arch your back again. If his dirty talk wasn't enough to turn you on, there was his gentle dirty talk. When he said filthy things in your ear in the most lovely tone, gentle and sweet like he was talking about love. That drove you insane every single time.

Jake moves quick after that, pulling out his hand, his fingers tugging on your shorts and panties, taking them both off in one go. He looked down at how you squeezed your legs.

"Oh look at you" He says, laughing softly. "So fucking desperate"

"Jake—" You're about to beg when he forces your legs open with his hands. Pussy exposed, glistening with your recent orgasm, almost dripping into the bedsheets.

"Jesus" He whispers. His mouth waters, his eyes sparkling. His favorite treat on earth, all messy for him. Right in front of him. "Fuck, baby— Oh God"

If there was something that made Jake weak was your pussy. Jake ate you out like a god. He ate your pussy like it was oxygen for him, like he needed to survive, like an animal, starving, wild, desperate. Just like you had a thing for his nose, he had a thing for your pussy. Perfect match, some would say.

He leans, immediately smelling your arousal, it killed him in the best way. His tongue darts out, hanging, making your legs shake in anticipation. He presses a kiss on your clit, his hair teasing and tickling your thighs. He hums, sending vibrations through your body. You whine softly, his tongue sliding up and down your wet folds. His lips wrap around your clit, already swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm and you let out a sharp moan. Your hand reaching out, your fingers wrapping in his hair.

Jake moans against your pussy, satisfied, like he was the one receiving. He loved eating your pussy. There was not a single time he would refuse. Ever. You arch your back whispering his name breathless when you feel his tongue in your entrace. His tongue goes in. Warm, deep, while his sharp nose presses on your clit. It drives you insane, making you pull on his hair. He groans at the pain that only adds to the preassure building up in his pants.

"I could do this forever" He murmurs, you can barely hear it but you know that's what he said. "Fuck, come here"

Jake pulls back, you can see his hardness in his pants, his cock straining, begging to be freed. But his attention is all on your pussy right now. He pulls you up by your wrist and lays down. You immediately get the hint and crawl on him. He looked so good beneath you. Your heart pounding has you carefully lower yourself. He's too impatient. His tongue darts out, waiting, while his hands go to your hips and his fingers dig in your flesh with such a force that both of you are sure it will leave bruises.

He can't wait, like a starved dog. He pulls you down on him, making you fully sit, putting all your weight on his face. You moan, feeling his nose rub on your swollen clit.

"Oh, Jake—" You moan sharply unable to control the movement of your hips. You start rolling them on his face, grinding, feeling his wet tongue fucking your hole and his nose sliding in between your folds.

You loved riding his face. Something so attractive and sinful in the way he looked up at you while he was laying down. He had a fire in his dark eyes like he wanted to devour you whole. Your hips shift, like a jolt of electricity was cursing through your body. Oh you're so close to mess up that pretty face of his and he knows it because he doubles up his efforts.

His hands hold you down, pressing you against his face and helping you rub. Your moans become sharper, talking a little nonsense, you're at the verge of your orgasm and you forget that what your riding is his face. Your hips move at a desperate rate on his face, not gentle, rough on him, chasing it, until you do and it's the best feeling you both have felt. Your body almost collapses but he rolls you over, staying between your legs and laps up all your cum, licking you clean.

"Fuck, baby, you taste like fucking heaven." He murmurs breathy and presses his face on your pussy. Not moving or doing anything, just resting his face against it like your pussy is his comfort place. You caress his hair a little. He loved that. "You did so good" He says softly and your body shivers at the praise.

He looks up and quickly crawls up your body, hands on each side of your face. He smirks, his chin covered in cum and he kisses you. Deep kiss, charged with feral, primal need. His teeth tease your lips, his tongue darts out licking yours, making you taste yourself and then his lips move to your neck.

"What else?" He asks, his voice rough. "What else have you been reading. Tell me"

You struggle to speak, still shaking from your orgasm. You're embarrassed and he notices. He pulls back, grabbing your chin. "Tell me"

Oh that tone again, so gentke but clearly, so demanding. His hand slides down. "You're such a messy thing" He says grabbing your pussy, cuping it, full hand. And you moan, still sensitive. "God, you really were masturbating to all that? Since when, mmh? For how long?"

"Jake—"

"I'm not mad, baby. I just wanna know for how long has my girlfriend been jerking off to me" He says mockingly.

"A month"

His body tenses, he is mad. The problem wasn't really you reading. More like the fact that you never even once told him you wanted him to do something. What made him mad is how you waited 'till he was gone and ended up like that.

"Why?" Before you could talk he continues. "Couldn't help it? You have no self-control when it comes to me? Not even a little comon sense? You're just a whore for me? Just like that?" His fingers slide between your folders, it's a little torturing, you're beyond sensitive. "I love and hate that thought"

His fingers slide in, easy, you were so wet from your orgasm mixed with new arousal. The way he called you a whore only made you wanna get destroyed by him right there.

"God, the thought of you needing me so bad that you just had to touch yourself..." He says it like it's a fantasy of his. "But why the hell are you doing that, mmh? Never though of telling me?" His fingers move harder. He was mad yet turned on by the thought. You don't even try to understand, that's just how he is. Besides, you're just shaking and whining beneath him.

"You're a fucking mess, you could've told me" He says as he buries his face in your neck while his fingers move roughly. "You know I'd come home and fuck you all night if you asked me to" His fingers just move faster when he hears you moaning loudly. "Fuck" He whispers kissing your neck feeling his hand getting wetter.

You're so stimulated that you can barely think properly. "What a mess" He whispers. "Fuck I swear to God..." His voice sounds rougher, with anger. "I'm gonna fuck you till you forget your own fucking name, you hear me? He asks with a smirk. "I'm gonna fucking ruin you tonight"

That's all you needed for you to explode. You hold onto him, scratching his back through his clothes. Your pussy explodes, squirting all over him, yourself, and the bed. You cry out a moan, teary eyes, unable to stop and he covers your mouth, not to shut you up but to demonstrate how much power he had over you. Then he presses a kiss on your forhead.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good, baby" He whispers pulling back, Hands to his pants. You pant, he's not letting you catch your breath. His pants are off in seconds followed by his shirt. The view of his bare body in front of you made your pussy throb again, hips rolling up unconsciously. "Fuck, you're such a whore" He whispers and you love it.

"Oh, Jake" You moan and he chuckles.

"You love that, don't you? When I call you a whore" He leans down, his naked body pressing against yours. "Isn't that what you are, darling? A little whore who can't help it but get wet at the mere existence of her boyfriend"

You moan at his words and he bites his lips, hand back in your pussy. You shake, you don't think you can handle it again if he doesn't even let you recover first. "Say it" He whispers, thight circles on your sensitive clit. "Say you're just a fucking whore"

You cry out, moaning, mumbling, his fingers press harder. And you nod dumbly. "Yes, yes, baby, I am" You moan. "I'm a whore for you, baby, yes, yes"

Jake nearly cums at your words and leans to kiss your cheek, it's a tender kiss compared to the way he's treating you right now. "Want me to fuck you, darling? You sound so desperate, of course you do. You can't wait"

You moan when he opens your legs settling between them and his hard cock slides up your folds. You moan again, this time scrating his back. Jake hisses in pain and it just adds to the pleasure. He buries his face in your chest, grabbing one of your breats in his big hand and taking the other one in his mouth. You arch off the bed as he starts rocking his hips, getting his length soaked in your slick.

"Fuck, you're so wet" He murmurs nibbling on your nipple and leaving dark marks around it.

"Jake, Oh my God" You moan, feeling desperate to have him inside. "Jake, baby"

"What?" He says roughly but instinctively kisses your neck softly again, like he can't allow himself to be that harsh with you. "Can't wait? Want me to shove it in already?

"Please"

That shaky, teary plea is all it takes for him to take his cock in his hand and shove it inside you in one go, almost leaving you with no air in your lungs. He gasps too, your warmness wrapping around him in such a prefect way. He buries his face in your neck as he starts thrusting, deep and slow at first. His movements making you scream immediately scratching his arms.

"Oh, fuck" You whine, unable to form coherent words at the moment and he smirks against your skin.

"You like that?" He aks and purposely starts thrusting harder, his hips smacking against yours now and all you can hear in the room is the sound of skin crashing against skin and littke cries mixed with gasps.

He doesn't really let you talk, he's going hard, still a little mad. Jake doesn't usually goes so hard on you, but God he can feel his blood boiling whenever he remembers you just choose not to tell him whenever you were needy. He'll show you how good he can make you feel. "After tonight, you better fucking delete that app"

You feel like he's breaking your body from the way he's fucking you. His hips slam against yours, relentless, and you just hold onto him, letting him absolutely deatroy you. Because it doesn't really matter how hard he was going, you liked it, you know you'd let this man destroy you all night if he decides so. You hold onto his arms feeling your orgasm fluttering closer, making you moan louder, his name joining the mix of noises that fill the room and with one last thrust your body shakes beneath his, orgasm hitting like a tidal wave.

"Ahgh fuck" You manage to say before Jake pulls back. He doesn't pull out, he kisses you deeply. Feral, wild, his teeth taking your lower lip in between them, making you whine. Then he pulls back completely, sitting down and grabbing your hips, lifting them off the bed. "Jake!" You scream when he starts thrusting again. The angle only making it easier for his cock to go deeper. "Jake—"

"You can do it" He groans, his hair stuck on his sweaty forehead. "You're gonna take it" His fingers dig in your hips painfully while he thrust into you.

Your body rocks back and forth at the rythm he ser while your tits jiggle. Jake's eyes focus on them, his heart rate increasing at the view and his hands aching to grip them. And he does, his hands gripping your tits hard while he keeps fucking into you like an animal. You scream scratching his arms. "Jake, baby I ca—"

"You can" He whispers, breathless. "You're gonna take it like the fucking whore you are for me"

And there you go, cumming again at his simple words. Squirting on his cock, making a mess of his lower body. His hands lands on your neck, you moan. He never does that, he doesn't like it, but he knows you do. Your eyes roll back into your head as you try to get yourself together. His hips twitch, he isn't done. You moan, knowing he can least long as hell. It excites you and scares you at the same time. He leans down for another wild kiss before pulling out and turning you around effortlessly. Face down, ass up.

He looks down. Your pussy looks like a mess and it makes him wanna bury his face in it but he holds back on that and shoves his cock back in. His hands on your hips while his start moving again. You moan against the bed, so fucking wrecked that you feel like you'll lose your mind at any second.

"Fuck, you're a mess, God, I kove it" he says lost in the feeling of the orgasm that's about to hit him. He holds back, just wanting to wreck you a little more. His hips move relentlessly, and he leans forward, hand in your lower back, pressing you down on the bed. He groans at the noise your pussy makes with every thrust he gives.

"Fuck, Jake I can't—" Your legs shake again, you're over the edge, way too ovestimulated. "Baby, please! Please" You beg, only pushing him closer to his orgasm. He leans forward, his chest pressed against your back.

"Fuck, baby, I love when you beg, you sound so fucking wrecked" He murmurs, his voice weak, he's about to cum. "Cum again, darling, I know you can do it" He says against your ear. "One more for me, princess"

Oh the way he suddenly started talking gentler, he's definetly back to himself. He can't keep up that dominant attitude forever, not when he's a softie for you. You cum, at the way he keeps whispering you to do it in that needy tone. He's waiting for you do it so he can let go. You moan softly against the bed, he grips your hips thighter when you cum, feeling how you shake. Tears roll down into the bedding from the intensity. And finally, he gives in, cumming inside you. You feel his cock twitching inside, thick cum filling you up for way too long.

Jake falls down next to you, eyes still trying to focus because he can't see anything at all. You sob against the bed, no energy to even turn around. You're wrecked, shaky, overstimulated and your body can't really take anything more. Jake's heart drops when he hears you sob, and he immediately pulls you closer. You sob against his chest, not that you didn't enjoy, but you enjoyed way too much. He kisses the top of your head.

"Shhh, you did so good, baby" He whispers reassuringly. "It's okay, I'm here, I've got you" He hugs you thighter and smiles when you start calming down. "That's it, that's my girl"

You whine softly against his chest and try to move closer searching for that comfort that he always provides you. Jake caresses your back, drawing soft circles in it and pulls back a little.

"You okay?" He asks and smiles at your little nod. "That's my girl" He whispers.

"I'm sorry for not...telling you" You whisper softly and he just shakes his head.

"Shh, just get rid of it" He whispers comforting you. "I'm not mad at you, baby, I just love you so much and I hate that you didn't even tell me whenever you needed me"

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I didn't aither"

୨ৎ

Jake is humming a song while caressing your stomach. You're lying on your back, with your phone in your hand right after unstalling the app. He kisses your shoulder softly, looking at your screen while you do other stuff on your phone. He nuzzles your shoulder and you smile knowing he's for sure back to being sweet and lovely and unable to hold back his love for you and his need to be touching you even in a non-sexual way.

"Baby" He says softly but serious. You hum indicating him to continue. "I'm serious, tell me when you feel needy, I'm here for you, I will never deny you anything. Even if I'm out, I'll fucking run back home if you need me to"

You chuckle. "I guess I didn't wanna disturb you when you were out with the boys"

Jake groans. "Baby I'll go to the end of the world and back for you, stop messing with me."

You feel like your heart is going to explode at his words and you just turn around and kiss him softly. His lips quickly following your rythm. A slow loving rythm as his body settles back on top of you and you let him. Because even if you're tired, you'd do anything for him, you'd let him ruin you over and over again. He places gentle kisses on your neck and whispers, leaving a fuzzy sensation within you. "One more?" And you nod against his neck making him giggle. "You got it, love"

© yunzyoi 2025. all rights reserved.

[lynbels]

TAMED DASH ୨ৎ 박성훈

pairing idol 박성훈 x reader

୨ৎ Your boyfriend returns from Coachella, exhausted, and snaps at you, quickly regretting it 💌 wc. 2043 - genre, fluff, slight angst

📝 what the fuck was enchella. I’m not sane after that shit

The airport was still buzzing, flashes from camera phones and the hum of tired conversations fading behind him as Sunghoon gave one last wave to his members.

“Text us when you’re settled,” Heeseung called out, already sliding into a black van.

Sunghoon just nodded, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder. His limbs ached from the flight, his hoodie felt suffocating in the spring heat, and his head throbbed with every sound. He didn’t even have the energy to pull out his mask as he stepped into the quiet car waiting for him. His driver asked if he wanted anything to eat. He just shook his head, eyes already fluttering closed against the window.

The drive home was a blur. Familiar city lights painted the sky, but Sunghoon could only think about the bed that had been calling his name for days. That, and you. He hadn’t seen you since before they left for California. The two of you had barely gotten used to living together—boxes still shoved in corners, bookshelves half-filled, your toothbrush resting beside his like it had always been there.

He missed you. He did. But right now, exhaustion gnawed at his bones, and the Coachella high had long since crashed into post-tour burnout.

The elevator dinged softly, and he stepped into the hallway of your apartment. The familiar scent of laundry detergent and that vanilla candle you were obsessed with welcomed him home more than anything else. His keys jangled as he pushed open the door quietly.

The living room was dark except for the flicker of the TV playing some random drama rerun. You were curled up on the couch, the oversized hoodie you wore practically swallowing you whole. Your mouth was slightly open, breaths even and soft.

Sunghoon sighed. You’d waited up.

He toed off his shoes with difficulty and set his bag down beside the door, stretching once before padding quietly into the kitchen for a glass of water. But before he could even fill it, a rustle from the couch caught his attention.

You shot up like a zombie resurrected by caffeine, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “You’re home!”

He blinked. “Yeah…”

“I missed you so much.” You launched yourself off the couch before he could even process it, arms wrapping tightly around his middle. You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in like you were trying to memorize the scent of airport air and whatever cologne he’d used during the trip.

He stood there, frozen. His arms hung awkwardly at his sides, muscles stiff. But then, he relaxed, trying to push down the exhaustion and irritability that had built up over the past two weeks. He knew how sensitive you were, how you could feel the tiniest hint of his frustration. So, despite his body practically begging for rest, he smiled softly.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands hesitated for a moment before settling gently around your back, just enough to hold you without feeling overwhelmed. “It’s just… it’s been a long trip.”

You smiled against him, clearly not noticing the slight tension in his shoulders. “I’ve been watching all the fan edits. You looked so good, Sunghoon. Seriously.”

His smile faltered just a little as you continued talking, your words pouring out in a rush—how much you missed him, how great he looked in the videos, how the edits had made you wish you were there, and how you’d barely been able to sleep without him next to you.

“I—” Sunghoon’s words got caught in his throat for a second. He didn’t want to come off as rude. He didn’t want to hurt you. So, he just nodded, trying to keep his patience. His thumb gently traced circles on the back of your hoodie as he focused on keeping his emotions in check.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. He was smiling, but the exhaustion in his eyes was becoming harder to hide.

You pulled back slightly, still talking about how you couldn’t wait to catch up on everything, but Sunghoon’s head felt heavy, his body sluggish with the kind of tiredness that was almost painful. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep calm as your voice bubbled on, not realizing the way he was barely holding himself together.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate how much you cared, it was just… right now, it felt like too much. But he didn’t want to snap. Not when he knew how much you valued the little moments like this.

So, he smiled again, faintly, despite everything. “Let’s talk later, okay? I just… I really need to rest.”

And with that, he gently pulled away, walking past you toward the bedroom, trying to ignore the weight that pressed down on his chest.

You didn’t hear what Sunghoon had said, your excitement still buzzing in your chest as you bounced on your toes, waiting for him to react more to your rambling. When he moved past you toward the bedroom, you were still talking, eager to close the distance between you and him.

“Sunghoon, wait! I swear you looked so—”

You followed him into the room, heart racing with anticipation. “Hey, are you still tired? I just missed you so much. We can go get food or I can make something—whatever you want, I don’t care, I just want to be with you.”

You tried to sit next to him, but he was already sitting on the bed, rubbing his temples like he was trying to hold it all together. He hadn’t even taken off his jacket yet. You could feel the tension in the room—the kind of tension that made you nervous but also desperate to make everything right. You missed him, and you just wanted him to talk to you.

“Sunghoon?” you asked again, your voice softer this time as you sat beside him, nudging his arm with your elbow. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t look at you. He just stared at the floor, his lips pressed together in a thin line. You could tell he was holding something back, probably frustration from the long flight, but you couldn’t help yourself. You needed to talk to him. Needed him to see you.

“Sunghoon, are you mad at me? You’ve barely said anything, and—”

That was when he finally snapped.

“God, can you stop?!” he growled, his voice sharp, like a sudden burst of anger he could no longer contain. He jerked away from you, swearing under his breath. “I’m fucking tired. Why can’t you just give me a second to breathe?!”

His words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was freeze, mouth open in shock. Sunghoon had never talked to you like that, never let his anger spill so suddenly.

He sat up straighter, hands gripping the bed, his knuckles white. His eyes, though tired, flashed with frustration.

“I just got off a plane after two weeks, and you won’t stop talking. It’s too much!” he spat, his voice cold and harsh, every word laced with irritation. “I don’t need this right now.”

You pulled back, confusion and hurt twisting in your stomach. You’d never seen him so on edge with you before. His words hung in the air, sharp and cutting, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. If you’d pushed him too far.

But Sunghoon didn’t apologize. Not yet. He just stared at you, waiting for your reaction, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to collect himself, his gaze hard.

It felt like the room was holding its breath, and you didn’t know whether to keep talking or give him space.

You sat there in stunned silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, like there was no room left to breathe. Sunghoon hadn’t moved, his gaze still fixed on you, but he wasn’t looking at you like he usually did—not with warmth, not with that soft affection you were so used to. No, right now, his eyes were filled with something else.

Frustration.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air between you. It was clear he was tired, but his snap… it hurt. It wasn’t like him.

“Sunghoon…” You whispered, your voice smaller than you intended. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care if you didn’t mean to,” he interrupted, his tone still biting. “I just want a damn break, okay? I haven’t had a moment to myself in weeks, and now you’re here, talking my ear off and acting like everything’s fine. It’s not. I’m not fine.”

You flinched. His words felt like a punch to the gut, and you could feel the sting of them deep in your chest. The part of you that wanted to defend yourself, to explain that you just missed him, was overwhelmed by the sudden rush of guilt. You hadn’t meant to make him snap, but you had.

He sighed, rubbing his face in frustration as he slumped back against the headboard, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Just… just give me a minute. Please,” he said, voice softer now but still tinged with irritation. “I don’t want to yell at you, I don’t. But I need you to understand. I’m so fucking exhausted, and I don’t know how to say it without sounding like an asshole.”

You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your lip as you tried to fight back the tears that suddenly stung at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him, not like this. But everything inside you felt… heavy. Overwhelmed. All you wanted was to be with him, to make up for the time lost while he was gone.

Instead, you felt like you were pushing him further away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “I just… I missed you so much. I was excited you were finally home, but I guess I didn’t realize how tired you were.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just sat there, eyes staring ahead as if he was lost in his thoughts. You felt the space between you both growing with every second that passed. His silence was suffocating, but you didn’t want to make it worse by saying the wrong thing.

Finally, he let out another sigh. This one wasn’t as harsh, though it was still filled with exhaustion.

“I know,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “I know you missed me. I get it. But I didn’t have time to miss you. I was too busy being run into the ground. You know how it is.” His voice softened again, just barely, as he looked over at you. “I don’t want to make you feel bad. I’m just… I just need a minute to breathe. Can you give me that?”

You nodded again, this time more understanding, though your chest still ached.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll give you space. I’m sorry for… pushing you.”

Sunghoon leaned back against the bed, eyes closed, and you could hear the faint sound of his breath, a little steadier now.

“I’m sorry, too,” he muttered after a beat, his voice still rough but with a touch of sincerity. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I know you’re not the reason I’m so tired. It’s just… I didn’t know how else to handle it.”

You didn’t respond right away. You simply sat there, letting the tension simmer between you both, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been a few moments ago. You still felt the sting of his words, but the soft apology was enough to ease the weight, even just a little.

After a long moment of silence, Sunghoon finally shifted in the bed, sitting up straighter. He hesitated before reaching over and pulling you gently toward him. He didn’t say anything, but his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a quiet, almost apologetic hug.

You rested your head against his chest, and for the first time since he’d come home, the ache in your chest eased, just a little.

want to read my long fanfics? Check out @shy9-29

[sleepyjuice]

dying in the heat rn, so how do you think jj would react if you moved to sleep somewhere else in the middle of the night because you were too hot with his body heat?

Oh JJ would not stand for that! After hours of tossing and turning throughout the night, you finally gave up on trying to sleep with JJ’s body heat pressed against you.

You didn’t know how he was sleeping so soundly considering he was quite literally a human furnace, but his soft snores got quieter and quieter as you pulled yourself out of the bed and padded out to the pullout couch in the living room of the chateau.

You got yourself comfortable, sighing as you felt yourself begin to cool off, eyes becoming heavy as sleep finally took over.

It didn’t last long, however, because just as you were about to enter a deep sleep, you felt yourself being lifted into the air, immediately making you gasp loudly, your eyes shooting open only to realize JJ was fucking carrying you back to bed.

“JJ! What the fuck?” You smacked his arm lightly, your heart rate slowing down once you realized it was just him. In your sleepy daze, you thought you were being kidnapped or something.

“Shh, ‘s alright, just me,” he laid you down in the bed before plopping down beside you. “What were you doin’ out there?” He asked you, his voice thick with sleep. He had clearly left the bedroom to find you only seconds after he had woken up.

You sighed, feeling annoyed with how you were heating up once again but also a bit guilty.

“It’s so fucking hot in here and — as much as I love sleeping with you, you are a human furnace. I can’t sleep when it’s so hot.” You explained, gentle with your tone. It wasn’t his fault he was so warm. When it was colder out, that was something you really loved about him, just not during this heatwave from hell.

He hummed at your words, not saying anything for a moment as if he were taking a second to process what you had said. Like he was mentally trying to come up with a solution.

“Be right back.” Was all he said in response, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and exiting the bedroom. Lord knew what he was doing, but he didn’t seem offended, so that was good.

You fanned yourself with your hand as you lay there waiting for his return, turning your head towards the door once you heard him approaching.

“Alright, we can go get an extra box fan or somethin’ tomorrow, but maybe this’ll help for tonight.” He shut the bedroom door behind him before stepping over to your side of the bed, an ice pack and a washcloth in his hands.

“What is this—“

“Sit up for me, baby.”

You did as he said, sitting up just a little as he wrapped the cool washcloth around the ice pack and placed it on your pillow, right where the back of your neck would go. He gently lowered you back down and you could have moaned at the cool feeling that tickled your neck and slowly started to cool you off completely.

“Oh that… that feels nice.” You giggled softly, earning a satisfied grin from your boyfriend as he crawled back into bed beside you, lovingly kissing your slightly sweaty forehead.

“Mm, salty.” He licked his lips once he pulled away, which got him a middle finger in response, but you quickly dropped it, reaching out to him to pull him closer to you.

“Thank you for this, ‘m sorry I just left. I didn’t think I would wake you up.” You told him, his head resting against the side of your boobs, one of his favorite places to be.

“Can’t sleep without you, baby. Hopefully this helps.” He said simply, brushing off your apology. To him, it wasn’t necessary.

Your eyes grew heavy, the soft murmur of JJ’s voice mixed with the cool sensation below your neck was relaxing you finally. Plus, JJ was nuzzled against you, still warm but the coolness from the ice pack mellowed it out quite a bit.

Maybe you would wake up sweaty and overheated again, but you would manage. This was your favorite place to be, whether or not you were on the verge of a heat stroke.

[captain-huggy-bear]

"Can- Can you come over please?" (I believe prompt list 1 number 80?) with whoever you're inspired for please 😊 thank you! - em

Em, it was giving soft boy Luke who's maybe feeling shitty after a bad game, so I hope you like it. First time writing Luke so I'm super sorry if it doesn't feel right for him (as we think of him because obvs we don't know him but still) Also I like how I was like let's write something short and then...just kept writing...😂 Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You'd been friends with Luke Hughes for almost as long as he'd been in New Jersey, both of you new to the city at the time had stumbled into each other quite literally one wintery afternoon. Your coffee going all over his hoodie, his doughnut squishing chocolate icing over your sweater. You'd expected him to yell, instead you learnt that day how utterly sweet and kind Luke Hughes was. He replaced your coffee and refused to let you buy him a new doughnut, but did let you invite him over so you could put some stain remover on his hoodie.

You might be thinking, 'are you crazy? Inviting a strange man to your apartment?', but you can only explain your risk through two pieces of information: 1) You knew roughly who he was. You weren't a fan of his by any means but you followed Hockey and had heard about the newest addition to the Devils, so you at least knew he wasn't a criminal, 2) Luke Hughes had been wearing snoopy socks and something about that had screamed 'non-threatening'.

Looking back it was probably slightly insane on your part, but it bagged you a close friend who you may or may not have had a massive crush on, so you couldn't really say you regretted risking it.

It wasn't unusual for Luke to phone you after a game, more often than not you got a quick phone call or a few texts sent through while he was out celebrating or commisserating with the team, often being invited out even when he knew you weren't much for late nights out on the town.

It was unusual though for that phone call to come in at 1 in the morning while you were sleeping.

You're groggy and half awake, hand patting the bedside table until you grip your phone, Luke's ringtone blarring through the speakers only because he was one of your few exceptions. One of a handful of people who could call you after 11pm without being sent straight to voicemail, the others being your family.

"Lukey? It's..." You stop to squint at your alarm clock, "1:41 in the morning, what's wrong?" You knew the game had ended late, but Luke should have been in bed by now or he should have been out partying with Jack and the boys, definitely not phoning you. You half expected him to be drunk on the other end of the line, maybe having phoned you while out with the team.

Instead his breath is shaky on the other end of the line, voice raspy like he's been crying and that's what has you sitting upright and swinging your legs out of bed before he even finishes his question.

"Can- Can you come over please?" His voice is scratchy and strained, a rasp that sounds defeated. You don't even considering getting changed from your pajamas, you just throw a jacket on from your closet.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, what's wrong?"

"Just...just come over please, angel" You're quick timing it as you shove your feet in a pair of shoes and grab your keys off the side, locking your apartment door behind you. It didn't matter to you that it was nearly 2am or that you hadn't brushed your hair or that you were half-asleep, all that mattered was Luke and the way he sounded like the world might be just a little too much for him right now.

"Okay, okay, want me to stay on the line?"

"No, just...drive safe?" You pause in the hallway, heart hurting at his concern, that even now when he's begging for your help he cares that you're safe.

"Yeah, course, Lu, i'm leaving right now, sweetheart." He lets out a shuddering breath on the line, right before he hangs up and you're certain you might cry because God, Luke shouldn't sound like that, so utterly defeated, so fragile.

You do your best to honour his request on the drive to his and Jack's apartment, even as you want to break a hundred traffic laws just to get there sooner, but you don't. It doesn't take long, but ten minutes feels like one hundred when all you want is to be see Luke and make sure he's okay.

He's at the door from the first knock and you don't say anything, just take him in. His tall form hunched at the shoulders like he's trying to hide within his hoodie, hood pulled over his head and eyes red rimmed, blotchy. There are dark, deep circles beneath his eyes and his lip is bruised and split, a few neatly placed stitches holding it together.

You don't say anything, just step forward and wrap him in your arms as best you can, tiptoeing to press your chin to his shoulder, arms tight around him as if you can protect him from whatever is going on in his head.

He grasps as you like you're a lifeline, fingers digging into your jacket, face pressed so tight to the crook of your neck that you're certain he'll fuse there.

He doesn't protest when you pull him into his apartment, door slamming shut. Doesn't protest when you pull him to his room, asking where Jack is, only to get a short clipped reply of 'club'. Doesn't protest when you sit him on his bed and join him, shoes being kicked off. It's not until you try to pull away from him that he really seems to come to life, hands grasping you firmer, pulling you back, "Don't go, please don't go..."

"'m not going anywhere, Lu, it's okay..." You pull back just enough that you can pull his hood back, fingers carding through his brown curls gently like he might break. "What happened?"

"Just needed you..." His face presses back into your shoulder as your fingers work through his hair like it's a perfectly normal thing to say to your best friend, like he didn't call because he had a shit game, because he doesn't want to talk about it."

"Lu...talk to me, baby"

There's a stark silence, broken only by a shaky breathe that comes from Luke as if the idea of talking is enough to make him cry for the second time that night. "I'm...i'm not good enough for the team, did a shit job tonight and we lost...it's my fault. Played like shit."

"What did Jack say?" You're gentle with it, soft voice, soft fingers on the nape of his neck. It's silly, he knows he's being dramatic, he also knows that it's not a friend thing to do. Knows he wouldn't call any of his other friends at near 2am because he needs them, knows he wouldn't beg for their fingers in his hair to sooth him or feel better just by the smell of their laundry detergent and shampoo. Luke knows he called you because he loves you, pretty sure he loved you the moment you excitedly showed him you'd gotten the coffee stain out of his UMIC hoodie.

"I was being too hard on myself, that it wasn't the 'Luke Hughes show'." He immitates Jack's voice, a pouty sort of tone riding his voice because he knows his brother is right even if he refused to sit moping with him and went out drinking instead.

"He's right. Hockey is a team sport, Luke, you aren't even on the ice the entire time! You do not get to decide that you're the reason a game is won or lost, you don't get to shoulder that."

"But.." Your palms cup his face, pulling him up to look at you. Your face is dead serious brows furrowed, lips pursed.

"No, you're a good hockey player. They picked you to play for them because of what you bring to the table and maybe you didn't play your best tonight , but you deserve to be on the team. You can't always be at 100." Your thumbs brush his cheeks under his eyes, like you might be able to wipe away the dark bags there. He looks worn, exhausted, tears just welling in those green eyes of his.

You're not entirely sure he believes you, "If I said I wasn't good enough because I had a bad day at work, what would you say to me?"

"To shut up and stop being mean to yourself..." Luke frowns at you like you're insane for even suggesting something like that, and it's what makes you smile for the first time that night, as if to say I told you so.

"Exactly, so stop being mean to yourself, Lu. You're amazing, i'm always in awe of how you skate..." You brush a curl from his eyes and watch them flutter closed slightly, throat tightening a little because you know this isn't the way you're supposed to feel about your best friend.

"Really?"

"Really..." You watch him carefully, the way he just leans more into your hands like he trusts you entirely to hold him up, the deep swelling of his lip, the beauty marks across his cheeks. "What do you need from me, right now?"

He takes a moment, like the words are stuck on the tip of his tongue whether unsure of how to ask or worried to make things weird. Both of you always toeing the line between friends and something decidedly more romantic.

"Can...can you just hold me? Just stay the night?" He blinks up at you with such big sweet eyes that you're not sure anyone would be able to refuse him, so you don't.

"I can do that."

You treat him delicately, like he's not a nearly 200 pound hockey player that regularly gets body slammed against boards and ice, who's covered in bruises and currently sporting a split lip. You pull him to lie down with you, curling around him like a protective blanket, pulling his face back into the crook of your neck, legs twisting with his. It's definitely not what friends do, but it's what he needs, so he grips you back tight, presses his face firmly into your neck and pulls your leg over his hip to be as close as possible.

You don't move more than the brush of fingers through his hair or down his arm, across his back. Even when you can hear soft snores, the sign of him having fallen asleep, you don't move because as much as Luke said he need this, you kind of need this too.

[sometimesanalice]

for the prompt party, how about: “i can’t help it,  i feel so sleepy and cozy now.” with our fave blue eyed WSO?

💖 @callsignspark

A reason to write a sleepy, cozy, domestic Bob?!?! Don’t mind if I do, Elle! 🫶🏻 (ps I still owe you a birthday fic, but please accept this humble offering in the meantime!)

There were a lot of things you liked about Bob Floyd.

You liked that he’d made a point to read your favorite book when you’d first started dating, because he wanted understand the things that made you you. 

You liked that he was the type of man to remember an offhand remark, it was as if he wanted to collect every crumb of you and nothing was too small to escape his notice. Like the time you mentioned being excited for summer fruit season, and he’d brought you a box of peaches from the farmers market the moment they’d arrived.

And you really liked the way he whispered the sweetest things as he fucked you into the mattress, the intoxicating sound of his baritone murmuring in your ear as he rendered you thoroughly boneless. His honeyed tongue was just as good at making you swoon as it did at making you come. 

But one of the most unexpected things you’d learned about him since he’d become your boyfriend, was that he could not seem to make it past the first 40 minutes of a movie without falling asleep. 

The two of you had sailed through that tentatively affectionate part of starting a new relationship, where every inch moved the two of you moved closer to each other felt like a new milestone. 

From sitting a respectful distance, pinkies just barely touching, in the getting to know you stage. To sitting snuggled close with his arm over your shoulder, enjoying getting to be curled up against him because you could and he was yours. To straddling his lap, those big hands roaming everywhere, and missing whatever was on TV completely because close enough wasn’t close enough. 

You’d been a big fan of each phase, but your favorite was easily when he was sprawled out on top of you like your own personal weighted blanket.

The first time he’d done it was after you’d made him your family’s favorite chicken soup recipe. The weather had just started to change, which in San Diego didn’t mean much, but you’d decided that since it was technically Fall it had been time to woo him with something warm.

He’d just finished doing the dishes, at his insistence, since you’d been the one to cook. You were lounging across the couch trying to find a movie to watch when he��d come over- with a groan and stretch that had revealed just a peek of skin- and flopped himself right on top of you, still ever careful in that way of his. All of his warmth, all of his sturdy weight pressing you into the cushions of your couch.

No one had ever made you feel as safe and secure as he did.

You were only a few minutes into the comedy you’d put on when you felt him stir, trying to sit up. “‘m sorry, honey, I’m probably squishing you.”

“I can take it,” you’d teased, with a wink before wrapping your arms and legs around him, keeping him in place.

He didn’t protest further, only inched himself over a little bit so that the couch was doing most of the work, while you combed your fingers through his hair.

The movie hadn’t even reached the half way point when you heard the first of his soft snores. You’d smiled to yourself and let the movie finish playing, not wanting to disturb him by reaching for the remote.

What you didn’t expect was for it to become a thing. 

You thought it was a fluke the first time it had happened.

The second time it happened, you thought he might have been messing with you. 

By the third, you were entirely amused.

When the two of you were curled up together on the couch, Bob was always slipping a hand under your shirt, his fingers idly tracing patterns onto your skin until slowly but surely they stopped moving at all. Usually right around the time you hear those first deep, slow breaths and quiet sighs of sleep.

But tonight, you’d decide to put your theory to the test. With your handsome blue eyed boy draped across you, you cued up a movie, stealthily starting the timer on your phone at the same time you’d clicked play. 

And sure enough, around 33 minutes in those long fingers of his stopped their circling. And just past the 40 minute mark you’d heard that gentle snore. 

You bite your lip, trying not to giggle. "Bob."

There's a long beat. “Hm.”

"Are you awake?” you ask, rubbing his back.

“Just resting my eyes.” It’s a sleepy mumble.

“Oh, really,” you muse. “Well then, can you tell me what just happened? It was pretty big plot twist.”

He lifts his head up, propping himself up on an arm to look at you.

“If you get me a couple minutes to google it I can,” he says with a sheepish smile.

You tip your head back and laugh, entirely and thoroughly charmed by him. “Is that what you’ve been doing after every movie night? Because I’ve been keeping track, and you sir, have yet to make it all the way through any of movies we’ve watched in the last few weeks.”

“Busted, huh?”

“Very. I had a theory and everything, backed with some serious scientific evidence,” you tease, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

Bob huffs a laugh, his ears a sweet shade of pink. “I can’t help it,” he says, doubling down and nuzzling his face into your neck, “I feel so sleepy and cozy now. You’re so soft and you smell really nice.”

Fond. You’re just so fond of him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you suggest, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “As the official resident de facto cinephile in the relationship, I’ll handle all the movie related questions the next time we go to trivia night with your friends, sounds good?”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” You feel his smile pressed against your neck.

“Ok, you can go back to ‘resting your eyes’. I’ll send you the wiki article for you to read later.”

He chuckles softly. “I love you, honey. You’re the best.”

You were already warm with him on you, but now it radiates all the way down to your toes. “I love you too.”

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Simon got a flu]

Yes, Simon, who is always proud of his immune system and strong-built body, got a damn flu.

1.

You watch him take a tissue and sneeze the 10000 times today.

”‘m alright.” He mumbles when he notices you knit your eyebrows and staring at him.

“yeah yeah you’re alright huh?” you poke his forehead “Look how your skin reddened and scraped below your nose.”

“not a big deal.”

He takes another tissue to blow his nose, but he frowns when the tissue touches his skin doesn’t escape your attention, so you go take an ointment from the medkit and come back to his side.

“sit still, okay?” you command before you start smearing it on his skin.

you can feel his eyes lock on your face the whole time, so when you finish, you don’t let go of his face.

“Anything on my face, Si?”

you watch his eyelashes flutter, and those beautiful chocolate eyes soften, without his usual tension in them.

“jus’ think yer beautiful,” Simon responds softly.

“I know.” You giggled.

“How about me?”

“You are...” You feign that you are contemplating, before shoving him playfully “You’re an idiot, go get some sleep now, handsome.”

2.

You can’t move even an inch.

Simon insists on having you sleep with him, or he won’t stay in bed obediently and have the rest he needs.

His arms locked tightly around your waist, his head buried in your chest, and you could feel his hot breath fanning on your skin.

You wriggle out of his embrace as softly as you can, you really need to go to the bathroom now, and you turn around and have a glimpse of Simon, seeming still asleep. Nice.

After using the toilet, You wash your hands before you open the door, what you don’t expect is bumping into a brick of the wall, well, a brick of man.

“Jesus, Simon.” you yelp “Why do you get up?”

“I thought’ you’re gone...” His voice is still hoarse from the slumber, but you can sense the fear inside.

“I'm here, baby, no one will take me away from you, okay?”

Taking his hand in yours, you lead him back to the shared bed.

“now rest, I will always be at your side.” you place a kiss on the bridge of his nose.

“Hmmm...”

With a long groan, he shoves his face back into your chest, arms snaking and caging you in his hug again.

After a few minutes, his breaths become steady again, indicating he’s back to dreamworld.

The anxious and unsafe emotion on his face when you open the bathroom door has long gone, he wore a face mask to prevent you from getting infected too, but you swear his mouth is slightly agape under the cover, the thought makes you grin and chuckle in your mind.

Returning his hug by wrapping your arms around his shoulder, you drift into your dream.

3.

The chirping of birds outside the window awakes Simon.

The headache and running nose seem to disappear after a proper rest, but he notices you aren’t beside him, so he quickly gets up from the bed, only to find you cradling a box of tissue, glaring at him with dead eyes while a pile of used tissue is beside you.

Looks like it’s his turn to take care of you today.

[thatweirdbitchjax]

Can you write a muti slasher with an s/o that does this ⬆️

I belive you mean that they eat kinda lasily so that what I'll write. :)

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Art the Clown, Nubbins Sawyer, Bubba Sawyer, and Chop-Top Sawyer

Tired Eater

Art the Clown

Genuinely leaves you there

Tries to wake you up by snapping in your face

^gives up about five minutes later

Can't be bothered to wait for you

Will leave you there and come back later to pick you up

Tries to mime at you to get you to hurry up

Thomas Hewitt

Is very worried

Taps his momma's shoulder to ask her what to do

^Gets told to try and help you eat at least a little bit, then lead you up do bed

If Hoyt even tries anything, Thomas is chuncking him into a wall

^Fr, he got grounded (he wasn't allowed to see you for three hours)

Takes all the beatings for you

At first he thinks it's heat exhaustion so he tries to make sure you're not over-working yourself

^And god forbid he find out Hoyt is making you push yourself way past your limits

Nubbins Sawyer

You think you can be tired at a table with this guy?!

You are highly mistaken

He is, without a doubt, hooping and hollering, shaking you, shaking the table

He's shaking everything to keep you awake

Drayton yells at him a few times to cut it out

I like the idea that Drayton is a lot sweeter towards you rather than his brothers, so if you are still trying to eat after everyone else is done, he'll come over and gently shake you, tell you to go on up to bed, and that he's got the dishes tonight

Nubby doesn't understand why you're feeling this way, but he will grab you like a koala grabs a tree and hold onto you all night long, just to (try) to make sure you get enough sleep (should I start writing a series about how they sleep?)

Bubba Sawyer

So worried

He, like Thomas, is also worried that you might have gotten heat exhaustion

Despite Drayton yelling at him not to, he grabs you and carries you down to the basement with your food, hoping that it would be cooler down there so you could eat

He sits with you and helps feed you as well, hoping to help you feel better

He starts doing his chores quicker so he can start helping you with yours, hoping you won't get so exhausted

Chop-Top Sawyer

Again, he is hooping and hollaring, if you can still be tired through that, then even I'm worried about you

It kinda ends in the same way as Nubbins, however he is more worried about you then Nubbins

He knows a bit more, and knows it can still be pretty hot, so you probably have heat exhaustion

He tries getting you a fan, laying down on the floor with you (you ended up just falling asleep) but eventually, he just shook you awake and fed you

^Wouldn't suggest that tho as he can get kinda finicky when anywhere around your face, so he will start shaking and probably accidentally stab the roof of your mouth with the utensils he was using to feed you :|

Anyways, hope you enjoyed. Sorry it took me so long. I have another ask in my box that I will start working on soon.

@puppet200 @purpleeggyboi @th3-r4t-48 @zeroisreallygood @im-a-simp898 @artsycrow46 @evry1h8s-me @aflairforthemelodramaticc @caretaleandotherstuff

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤNOT THE ONE FOR YOU * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　in a seemingly perfect relationship, Y/N and Matt face a silent storm when Y/N, after appearing in a video on Matt's personal channel, is the target of cruel comments that leave her feeling inadequate. Unable to share her insecurities, Y/N distance herself from Matt, wallowing in self-criticism and painful comparisons, until he snaps.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　crying, insecurities, comparison, yelling, fighting.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Y/N felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as she tried to navigate the dark mazes of her mind. Since she appeared in the last video on Matt's personal channel, everything had changed. The acidic words of the "fans' comments burned in her memory, leaving deep marks.

It was a vlog-type video, where the couple was spending the day walking through parks, going to museums and strolling through the mall, but comments like "She's not good enough for him", "Matt deserves someone better" and "The other YouTubers' girlfriends are better than this" filled the comments box and echoed in her mind constantly.

What was once a stable and loving relationship now turned into a minefield of insecurities.

Y/N began to see herself through the distorted lens of the comments. She endlessly compared herself to other women on social media – the influencers with flawless skin, sculpted bodies, and perfect smiles. Each comparison only served to erode her self-esteem even more. She wondered what Matt saw in her and if, perhaps, those people were right.

This whirlwind of insecurities made her distance herself from Matt. She avoided dates, responded to his texts in a short and evasive way, and when they were together, her mind was always distant, immersed in thoughts of inadequacy. Matt, in turn, noticed the change but didn't understand the depth of what was happening.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The morning after the video came out, Y/N and Matt sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen, along with the random sounds of Nick and Chris echoing through the house, but the silence between the couple was deafening. Matt was engrossed in his phone, responding to emails and interacting with his followers.

Y/N, on the other hand, could barely look at him. The words of the comments were eating her up inside.

"Good morning, baby." Matt murmured when noticing her presence long minutes after she had entered the room without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Good morning." Y/N responded, trying to hide the anguish in her voice, her teeth gripping her bottom lip in a death grip, restraining herself from saying anything else.

She stirred the stainless steel spoon inside the white bowl full of cereal, without appetite. Her mind returned to the nasty comments, each word a knife in her heart. She felt inadequate and inferior.

Her eyes occasionally glanced at Matt, who looked so happy and self-assured, and wondered how he could love her when so many people thought she wasn't good enough. When he had thousands of better options than her.

"Do you wanna go to the mall today?" Matt asked, looking up from his phone in confusion seconds after, noticing the unusual silence. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I am." Y/N lied quickly, nodding her head and forcing a smile. "I just didn't sleep well. Maybe I should stay home today." She shrugged, maintaining eye contact.

Matt accepted the answer without question, returning his attention to the phone a few seconds later. For Y/N, it was a momentary relief, but the pain was still latent, pulsing.

How had he not noticed the sea of ​​pain in her eyes?

Maybe he didn't care anymore.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A few weeks later, Matt decided to take Y/N out to dinner at a restaurant they both loved. He wanted to cheer her up, realizing that she had been distant the last few days. However, Y/N could not escape the mental prison she had constructed.

As they sat, Matt excitedly talked about his new ideas for the Sturniolo Triplets channel and how excited he was to be able to vlog and stream again. Y/N tried to pay attention, nodding her head and keeping her eyes fixed on the boy's face, but her mind wandered to the words that seemed etched into the walls of her mind.

Her orbs momentarily strayed to the tables around hers, noticing other couples made up of beautiful women.

They looked beautiful, confident, and charismatic.

And she felt small and insignificant.

"Did you hear what I said?" Matt asked suddenly with a slight tone of frustration, his brow furrowed and his posture rigid.

"Sorry, I was distracted." Y/N quickly responded, feeling embarrassed, her hands clasped together above her thighs, squeezing her fingers in an act of nervousness.

"You've been so distant lately. What's going on?"

Y/N wanted to spill it all, tell him about the comments, about how inadequate she felt, but the words wouldn't come out. She was afraid Matt would confirm her insecurities.

"Nothing, I'm just tired. Work has been taking a toll on me." The girl lied, avoiding the blue eyes that stared deeply at her.

Matt sighed, clearly worried and annoyed, but accepted the apology.

Dinner continued, but the atmosphere was tense and heavy. For Y/N, every moment was a fight against tears and despair.

He would get tired of her.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A small launch event for one of the Space Camp lines. It was a momentous occasion, and the triplets were excited to take a new, longer step in their Internet career.

Y/N wore her best dress with the best heels and the best makeup, trying to look confident, but inside, she was in pieces.

During the event, Matt was surrounded by people, laughing and talking, interacting with his closest friends, and explaining his role within his brother's brand.

Meanwhile, Y/N felt like a ghost, invisible. Every time someone looked at her, she felt like they were judging her, comparing herself o other women present.

At some point, while Matt was busy chatting with some important guests, Y/N heard two women commenting nearby.

"She's Matt's girlfriend? Wow, she doesn't seem like anything special."

"He could get someone so much better."

The words were like stabs. Y/N felt the ground disappear beneath her feet, and all the air escaped her lungs, her heart freezing.

She needed to get out of there.

The girl quickly walked towards the nearest bathroom and locked herself in a stall, tears streaming down her face, completely ruining the makeup she spent hours doing.

She felt like an impostor, a farce.

When she returned to the event about twenty minutes later, Matt noticed her red eyes and lack of makeup almost instantly, excusing himself from those he was talking to and walking towards her with quick steps.

"Babe, hey, what happened?" Matt asked in a low tone as he approached, worried.

"Nothing, just something got in my eye, I had to take off some makeup to get it out." She lied once again. She was getting good at it. Too good.

Matt looked suspicious but didn't insist, nodding slowly.

Upon arriving home that night, Y/N lay down on the bed next to Matt, the duvet covering half of her body. Matt quickly fell asleep, exhausted from the event, seeming to not have the strength to try to talk to his girlfriend or the will.

Y/N lay awake, staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing a mile a minute.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The culmination of everything happened when Matt decided to share with Y/N ​​a new idea for the channel, something he was really excited about. He had spent weeks planning the boys trip with his brothers and Nate, along with how they would record everything, turning the precious moments into a long vlog, so sharing the finished idea with his girlfriend was a crucial moment for him.

Y/N sat next to him on the large sofa in the living room, curling up on the gray upholstery and trying to focus on the excited words coming out of Matt's mouth, not even giving herself the luxury of feeling surprised at how quickly he spoke - different from his usual self, her mind being far away.

"So what do you think?" Matt asked after finishing his line of reasoning, his eyes fixed on Y/N's face expectantly, waiting for a reaction.

"Ah yes, that sounds good." The girl nodded briefly, smiling slightly, her eyes with a distracted gaze.

Matt frowned, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"You didn't even hear what I said, did you?"

"Sorry, I'm just... distracted." She cleared her throat, looking down at her crossed legs.

"I can't handle it anymore." Matt muttered in a low tone, taking a deep breath as his expression closed completely, one of fury taking the place of confusion, standing up abruptly and starting to walk between the television and the sofa in an attempt to calm himself down. "You've been acting so strange, so distant. I feel like I'm talking to a wall all the time. What's happening to you? Where's the bubbly Y/N I used to know?"

Y/N remained silent, tears already beginning to well up in her eyes as she looked at him through her wet lashes, silently begging him to stop, but Matt continued, his voice rising with each word.

"I'm tired, Y/N. Tired of being ignored, tired of trying to figure out what the hell you want. I feel like I'm carrying this relationship alone! You act like you don't care. Do you even care anymore? Because, honestly, it doesn't seem like it, and with each passing day, I become more discouraged with you."

He stopped his steps, breathing heavily, his eyes now fixed on Y/N, waiting for a response. When she finally looked up, her vision was blurred by the tears that were now running freely down her face.

"Matt, I... I'm so sorry." She began, her voice shaky and weak and her throat burning from the force she was trying to stop the sobs. "I didn't mean to make you feel this way. I'm just going through a hard time now-"

"Hard time? This has been going on for weeks! I don't know what else to do to reach you." The brunette suddenly interrupted her, his frustration boiling over. "You refuse to tell me what's going on, and I'm tired of being ignored."

"You don't understand..." Y/N felt a wave of despair take over her heart, shaking her head repeatedly.

"Then make me understand! I can't go on like this, Y/N." The boy ordered with tears in his eyes, his right hand flying to his own hair, ruffling it roughly in an act of nervousness. "Maybe we're not ideal together. Maybe you're not the right person for me!" The words escaped as quickly as his mind could process.

Y/N felt her heart stop for a few seconds, her skin freezing as her throat closed before a loud, ugly sob shot through her like lightning, escaping her lips intensely. Every cruel comment, every insecurity, everything accumulated in her mind at that moment, confirming her worst fears.

"They were right," she thought, "I'm not the one for him."

All she wanted to do most at that moment was run out of that house and away from him, but with the storm outside, her not knowing how to drive and the late hour prevented her from making any hasty decisions, after all, she had nowhere to go. That was her home, or it was meant to be.

Meanwhile, Matt closed his mouth almost instantly, his eyes widening as his mind seemed to process the words he had spilled, feeling the impact of them, his heart aching as if a hand was crushing it hard as he watched the girl he loved breaking down in front of him.

"I didn't mean that, baby. I-I'm so sorry. Oh my-" His words were interrupted by his own sob before his now weak legs began tentative steps towards Y/N, afraid of her reaction.

But Y/N couldn't do anything but cry, her body shaking violently with the strong sobs that escaped her mouth, clawing at the walls of her throat, her face already swollen and wet with the intense tears that fell without stopping.

"N-no, you're right. I'm a fraud. I'll never be good enough for you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for m-making you loose time with me, I'm so sorry! M- Matty, I-I'm sorry-" That was all her mind could process: apologies. Her hands tightened into fists above her thighs, her long nails digging into her palms, drawing blood and hurting the sensitive skin.

"Baby, please, breathe, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep crying like that. Breath, hm? Please." Matt sat down next to her, his left hand pressing against his own eyes roughly, trying to shake away the tears that flooded his blue orbs, while his right hand flew to Y/N's ones, trying to slowly undo the knots of fingers she had created.

"The comments on your channel... about me. Saying that I'm not good enough for you, that you deserve someone better." Y/N began to say again between sobs, pulling in choppy air between one word and another. "I can't stop thinking about it, comparing myself to other women, and the worst of it all? They are all right! I couldn't bear the thought of being close to you and making you look ugly with me, o-or dislocated... so I distanced myself." Y/N's hands that were surrounded by his right one clenched tighter against each other, her skin taking on a reddish tone due to the strength she exerted in her grip, feeling her wrist and arms shaking with nervousness and anxiety.

"I don't-" Matt shook his head, sniffling and blinking repeatedly in an attempt to stop the tears. "I had no idea. I'm sorry for not having noticed, for not having noticed the signs in your way of acting and trying to understand, I'm sorry for acting on impulse and blaming you, love. I'm sorry for having said those horrible things, I'm so sorry, lovey. Why didn't you tell me?" His blue eyes, which looked at her with attention and closeness, carried immense pain for seeing her in such a state and knowing that it was his own fault.

"I just… I didn't know how to tell you. I was afraid that you would agree with them, that you would realize that I really wasn't the right woman for you, and that you would leave me." Y/N choked back a sob, sniffling repeatedly, trying her best to stop her crying, looking up at him as she felt his hand squeeze hers tightly, trying to stop her from keep hurting herself.

Matt's expression softened as his eyes met hers, a mixture of understanding and pain written across his face before he closed them for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Y/N, you're not weak for feeling all this. Everyone has insecurities, but hiding them from me... you're pushing me away, which caused me to think other things were going on, on my own fault. It was a miscommunication on both sides, but I want to help you, and I can't if you don't trust me, babe."

"I'm so sorry, Matt. I'm so sorry for hurting you, for letting my insecurities get to us. I just... I feel so lost." The girl murmured, her voice lowering in volume considerably, her shoulders slumping even more. "Maybe I'm really not the one for you, you know? Maybe they're all right, and you just have to see it, too."

Matt's heart clenched at her words, and he gently lifted her chin so their eyes could meet again, his orbes traveling repeatedly around her face.

"No, Y/N, don't say that." He whispered fiercely. "You are the one for me. You're everything to me. These comments, they don't know us. They don't know how much you mean to me, how much you complete me."

"But how can you be sure? How can you be sure that I'm not dragging you down?" Y/N's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her breath still hitching from the sobs and her bottom lip trembling.

Matt sighed deeply, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

"Because I know what we have. I know the love we share, and I see the amazing person you are, even if you don't see it yourself right now. You're not dragging me down. You're my partner, and we face everything together, good or bad. And I'm sorry for making it seem different or the opposite of what it really is by acting like that, I wish I could take it all back." He shook his head, feeling his hear burning with shame.

Her gaze softened slightly, a glimmer of hope sparking within her.

"But the comments... they get to me, Matt. It's like their words are a constant echo in my mind." She sniffled, immense pain surging through her shoulders and back as the adrenaline and tension subsided.

"I get it. I really do." He nodded understandingly. "But we can't let other people dictate our happiness. We have to believe in ourselves and each other. We're stronger than this, Y/N. And I'm here for you, always." His thumb caressed her jawline, lightly wiping the wet trails where the several tears fell.

"I don't want to lose you, Matt. I want to be strong for both of us." A small, tentative smile formed on her lips, the first real smile he'd seen in weeks.

"You don't have to be strong alone." He reminded her, his hand finding hers again, holding it firmly. "We'll be strong together. But you need to talk to me. Let me in, okay?"

"Okay. I'll try. I promise." She nodded, her grip on his hand tightening.

"That's all I ask. Just promise me you'll never feel like you're alone in this. We're a team, sweetheart. And I love you so much." Matt leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I love you too, Matt." She whispered, a new determination settling in her heart. "And I'll do better. I'll let you in."

"That's all I need. We’ll get through this together." He smiled, a genuine, relieved smile before using his hand holding hers to slowly pull her closer, wrapping his arms around her torso and pulling her upper body to rest against his own, laying her head against his hoodie-covered chest before resting his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply, the fresh smell of shampoo filling his nostrils, making him realize how much he missed it.

They stayed there, holding each other, feeling the weight of emotions that had been suppressed for so long. Y/N knew that the road to regaining trust and security in the relationship would be long and difficult for her, but in that moment, wrapped in Matt's arms, she felt a spark of hope.

© vanteguccir

[whereforarthur]

Masterlist~

All of my work compiled in one place. Please like and reblog if you enjoy them, feedback is greatly appreciated. Requests are open!

(Updated 11/18/2024) 

(X) = coming soon

ItalianBach~

Fluff: 

You’re The Only Man I Want to Kiss

- Isaac and his girlfriend y/n react to Women Rank Men by Kissing

Smut:

Ménage à trois (Threesome w/ ArthurTv)

- Who knew fan fictions could cause so much pleasure?

Ménage à trois (Part 2)

- Having had a threesome the night before leads to an interesting and revealing podcast episode, leading their friends to question what truly happened?

ArthurTV~

Angst:

Unrequited Love Hurts Like A Bitch

- Being in love with your best friend sucks, especially when he doesn't feel the same way

Unrequited Love Hurts Like A Bitch (Part 2)

- Soulmates are two best friends who fell in love

Fluff: 

Being Stuck in an Elevator Never Looked so Good?

- Getting trapped in an elevator with your favorite YouTuber, was not what you had planned for today

Love At First Podcast

- Falling in love with you was easy

Smut:

"Women weaken legs"

- After your boyfriend Arthur was in boxing training camp and was forced to go 6-8 weeks without distractions and sex, he goes feral for his girlfriend when he gets out

Ménage à trois (Threesome w/ ItalianBach)

- Who knew fan fictions could cause so much pleasure?

Ménage à trois (Part 2)

- Having had a threesome the night before leads to an interesting and revealing podcast episode, leading their friends to question what truly happened?

The Two Arthur’s (with Arthur Hill)

- Virgin!Reader goes to her friends for comfort not expecting them to comfort her in such a way

George Clarkey~

Fluff: 

Musicians want to be the loud voice for so many quiet hearts - Reader is a famous singer and George follows her on tour and fans speculate they’re dating.

Wedding Day Bliss~ - George Clarke marries the love of his life

Dating Headcanons for George Clarke

I'll wear your name on my heart til I die

- The turmoils and happiness that comes with giving birth

Smut:

Tummy Obsessed Much? - George's favorite body part on his girlfriend is her stomach

Wedding Night Bliss~

- A fluffy smut of the events that transpired after your and George's wedding night.

It’s Good to Be Home

- could you do a clarkey version of homecoming?

A Night In

- A perfect night in with your boyfriend is very pleasurable

It's Been Way Too Long

- “I think I'd miss you even if we never met.”

Love and Hate Are Blurred Lines

- “How would it be.. if all my hate disappeared like my youth, if after all this time his very hatred of me turned out to be something gentle, some kind of love.”

Caught Red Handed

- Who knew taking a risk could lead to this much pleasure?

So Much Restraint

ChrisMD~

Angst:

We'll Never Last

- It hurts to be something, it's worse to be nothing with you

Fluff: 

Fate is in The Stars (PlusSize!Reader)

- A chance encounter at a concert leads to more than you expected

Drunk and Touchy

- Chris fluff where he's a bit tipsy and can't keep his hands off his girlfriend

I Didn't Know Punk Girls Blushed

- Golden retriever boy falls for punk grumpy girl

What If We Were More Than Friends?

- Falling in love as best friends was unexpected

Smut:

Arthur Hill~

Angst:

Brother's Flatmate

- George’s sister and Arthur can’t stand each other, right?!?

Fluff: 

Am I a Burden to You?

- Arthur’s been working a lot and y/n misses him, she brings this up and he gets angry and calls her ‘clingy’ before realising he messed up and makes it up to her (angst —> soft)

Piano Nights

- Y/N and Arthur meet at a musician's party, where she spots him and confidently pursues him. They sleep together, and they end up dating, leaving Arthur in awe and a massive simp.

Dating Headcanons for Arthur Hill

Smut:

“Sex is an Emotion in Motion”

- Arthur takes care of you after a rough night in the sheets

It’s painful, loving someone from afar.

- Y/N is on holiday with all of the boys and there’s tension between Arthur hill and her, and everyone can see it and they’re just waiting for something to happen. (Soft Smut)

Homecoming

- When Arthur returns from vacation, he misses his girlfriend greatly causing things to get freaky

The Two Arthur’s (with ArthurTv)

- Virgin!Reader goes to her friends for comfort not expecting them to comfort her in such a way

A Delightful Surprise

All~

Dating Headcanons

George Clarke

Arthur Hill

ArthurTV

ChrisMD (X)

ItalianBach (X)

Featuring more than 2 of the boys~

Poker Night Never Felt So Right

ArthurTv x Reader x George Clarke x Chrismd

A game of strip poker with your friends, goes a little further than anyone expected...

Said She Wanted Five Guys She Ain’t Talking about Burgers

Reader x George, Arthur Hill, Chris, Isaac and ArthurTv

Y/n shares her sexual intentions with five YouTubers. She invites them to join her fantasy, setting no limits on their actions. The group eagerly agrees, indulging in a passionate sexual encounter as they explore Y/n's desires one by one.

A/n: Let me know if anyone would like to be added to a taglist for all imagines or certain people!

[noorpersona]

heyy first time requesting from you but i looove your work so if you don’t mind can you please write a timeskip!kenma x female!reader where reader is sick w high fever and kenma takes care of her and everything but two or one n a half day in she starts feeling really needy but is too tired embarrassed to tell kenma but he eventually finds out about what getting her so fussy and moody (other than the fever) and gives her what she longs for🙏🏻🙏🏻 I apologize if this is too long i mean no pressure at all you dont have to do it but i love the way you write fics please make it as long as possible thank youuu<33

I think I've ticked all your boxes hehe NEVER apologize for a request I love every one <333 thank you for your lovely words of encouragement! Enjoy!!!

--

Kenma had never liked seeing you sick.

Not in high school, not now, not ever.

He wasn't the overly expressive type—not with words, not even with touch unless prompted—but he was attentive in the quietest, most precise ways. It was in how he brewed your tea with exactly the right amount of honey, how he remembered which corner of the blanket you preferred, how he adjusted the thermostat a degree lower without being asked. It was in how he never once complained when you sneezed directly onto his hoodie and then apologized like you'd committed a crime against humanity.

You'd caught a fever two days ago. High. Dangerous enough to make him drop his controller mid-stream, tell his viewers he was logging off, and shut everything down without a second thought. His fans could wait. You couldn't.

Now you were curled up in bed, cocooned under three layers of blankets, face flushed and eyes watery. Your hair stuck to your temples in damp strands, and your lips were dry despite the water and juice he kept coaxing you to drink. A warm haze clung to you like a second skin.

Kenma sat on the edge of the bed, gently brushing a clammy strand of hair from your forehead, his brows drawn together with a soft, worried furrow. You looked so small like this. Fragile in a way he hated.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, voice soft.

Your response was a quiet hum—too soft, too weak. Your hand barely moved when you tried to reach for him and gave up halfway through.

He sighed. "I’ll take that as a 'no' then."

He rose and padded barefoot to the bathroom to change the cool compress on your head. When he returned, you winced slightly at the shock of it against your heated skin but gave him the smallest of smiles. That smile was all he needed to stay planted beside you for the rest of the evening.

The first day was simple: fever, rest, more rest. Kenma read to you in a soft voice when you couldn’t sleep, half-watching the screen of his Switch when you drifted off. The second day, the fever didn’t break. Your cough got worse. You started getting whiny—not in a mean way, just more clingy, more fussy. You tossed and turned, grumbled at the blanket for being too heavy and then too thin. Kenma adjusted it each time without complaint, wordlessly refilling your cup when it was empty.

"Don’t leave," you murmured once when he stood up to grab your medicine.

"I’m just going to the kitchen."

"Still. Don’t."

He paused. Then slowly sat back down. "Okay."

You fell asleep not long after, your fingers curled in the fabric of his sleeve like a tether.

By the start of the third day, the fever had started to dip, but something was off. Not worse—just different. You were moody. Restless. Your eyes kept drifting toward him, then away. You fiddled with your sleeves, pulled your legs up under the blankets only to stretch them back out a moment later. You weren’t saying much, but when you did, it was to complain—your pillow was too soft, your tea was too sweet, your shirt was itchy.

Kenma didn’t mind. He never minded when it came to you. But the inconsistency in your behavior pinged in the back of his mind like a notification he couldn’t swipe away.

By mid-afternoon, he closed his game console and leaned forward, placing it gently on the nightstand. His golden eyes watched you with subtle intensity as you fiddled with the edge of your blanket.

"Okay," he said flatly. "You’ve been squirmy and weird all day. Spill."

Your eyes widened, and your face—already flushed from the fever—somehow turned redder. You immediately turned your face into the pillow.

He waited.

You groaned. "It’s nothing. I’m just... tired."

He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. "You’re not tired. You’re needy."

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Kenma blinked, letting the silence stretch for a moment as he watched you squirm. His voice dropped lower, a little softer, more curious than accusatory. "...That it?"

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, voice muffled and near-incomprehensible.

"What was that?"

You turned just enough to peek at him with one eye, your lip trembling slightly. "I just... I wanna be held. But I’m gross and sweaty and disgusting, and I didn’t wanna bother you."

Kenma stared at you for a long beat. Then he gave a soft sigh, scooting closer until his knees bumped the side of the mattress.

"Move over."

Your eyes widened again. "But—"

"You think I care about sweat?"

"I literally sneezed in your hair yesterday."

"You did," he admitted. "And I’m still here."

You shifted slowly, cautiously, your heart fluttering like the fever had sparked all over again. Kenma climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He was careful not to press against you too hard at first, but once you leaned into him, he wrapped his arms around you with a slow, deliberate tenderness, pulling you close until your head rested just beneath his chin.

You melted.

The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers settled gently against your spine and started tracing soft, grounding lines—it was everything you hadn’t been able to ask for.

"Better?" he murmured.

Your voice cracked. "Yeah."

He kissed the top of your head, barely a brush of lips against fever-damp hair. "Next time, just say it. I can’t read your mind, you know."

You made a weak, embarrassed sound. "I didn’t want to be annoying."

"You’re always annoying," he mumbled, brushing his thumb against your arm. "But you’re mine. So it’s fine."

Despite the congestion, the soreness in your throat, the heat in your cheeks—you laughed. A breathy, tired little sound that still managed to be real.

He felt your smile against his collarbone.

Kenma held you tighter.

Neither of you moved for a long time. Minutes passed, then maybe an hour. Eventually, you dozed off in his arms, breathing soft and slow, and Kenma didn’t dare shift or get up.

He stayed right there, running his fingers along your back, as the fever began to retreat.

The medicine was working.

But more than that, you had finally let yourself rest in the place you needed most.

With him.

[nmakii]

hi! if you take reqs can I request haikyuu characters reaction to finding out yn sleeps always hugging a pillow 🙈

please feel no rush/pressure for this and look after yourself :)

BEDTIME ANGEL

— kuroo + oikawa finding their sweetheart all curled up after a long day

HI NONNIE!!!! u didn’t specify so i just did my two favorite boys, i hope u dont mind hehe 💕

— kuroo tetsuro

“hmm? why hug a pillow when you can cuddle me?” kuroo frowns, pulling the pillow away from your grasp, replacing it with his warm presence.

“nnh? ‘tsuro, what’re you doin’ here..?” your eyes squint after being awakened so suddenly. “just missed you… you don’t mind me staying over, do you?” he asks, mindlessly twirling your hair with his hands.

“go ahead…” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. kuroo just can’t help but smile at how serene you look right now. you subconsciously pull him closer, as if he was your fluffy pillow, and he can’t help but stifle his laughter from how snug you look cuddling him.

“cute…” he presses a kiss on your forehead. “gonna be here when you wake up. love you so much…” he admires you before succumbing to sleep as well.

— oikawa tooru

another hard day of being oikawa tooru. being surrounded by fans all giving him gifts and baked goods, so hard… all he wants is nothing more than to be in the arms of his beloved.

“a cupcake?! oh, well aren’t you the sweetest thing?” oikawa praises, happily receiving the small box from a 2nd-year girl. “ah, it’s getting quite late, isn’t it?” oikawa worriedly plays with his hair as he looks over to the clock. “i’m so sorry, girls— i need to head home now!” he excused himself before arriving to the bleachers, where he saw you curled up and cuddling his equipment bag.

‘so tired after school… hah, that’s adorable…’ he grinned at the sight. he sat down, playfully trying to wake you up by grabbing his bag. “baby… gimme my bag backkk” he whines, trying to kiss you awake. you squirm under him and try to get back into a comfortable position. “tooruuu… stop it, ‘m napping…” you groan.

oikawa successfully retrieves his bag, pridefully boasting to no one about how he has won this battle. he’s grinning to himself before noticing a pressure on his back from where you were now resting. “wh—! baby, i’m not a pillowww!” he huffs, only to be met with your steady breaths as you slept.

“hmphh… i don’t know what you’d do without me… you’re so clingy…” he points out, albeit hypocritically, before picking you up on his back properly, and carrying you out.

[morwap]

𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄

➸ danny johnson!ghostface x fem!reader

➸ smut | dark! |

➸ nav | d.j m.list

switch!danny, switch!reader, sub!jake park | post!entity & pre!entity, toxic behaviors, descriptions of violence/gore, talk of murder,stalking, oral f!receiving, p in v, unprotected sex, fwb!jake park x reader, slight Leon Kennedy x reader, voyeurism, sub!Danny and Dom!reader mostly, riding, stabbing 9k words

♡ ───────✧ 𓆩♡𓆪 ✧─────── ♡

danny was sure he would never become obsessed and in love with a victim, well obsessed yes but only for a few weeks before finally going for the kill once he felt like it was right, and keeping a news clipping that jed wrote and his own photos that danny took in a box in his apartment.

that was until you, working at a hardware store he often shopped at, well stole from most of the time and bought things that wouldn’t make him look suspicious for just walking around and not buying anything.

danny had been there plenty of times without seeing you and knew you had to have been new when he passed an aisle and saw you putting back screwdrivers and nail bits that some kids had most likely taken and put somewhere else. Danny knew, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he got goosebumps all over his arms, the feeling he got when he found the perfect victim sparked in him when he caught sight of you.  

observing you as you did your job, not paying any attention to what was around you just trying to do your job right since you were in that beginning stage of the job. Danny took in how cute you looked while focusing on the task at hand, in the red apron that was basically the only uniform required, and jeans that hugged you in the right places along with a simple grey shirt.

you looked so sweet, innocent, submissive and just him thinking this had him wondering when the last time he got laid was, danny normally didn't feel any sexual attraction to any upcoming or already victims but this time was different, the spark felt different.

something new, something different, and of course he’d have other people to mark off his mental list while he entertained this new spark. 

You sighed, putting the nail bits onto the metal rack. Roseville was a new start for you, a way to better yourself and get away from things that were tearing you down even though this place wasn't much different from where you came from, your sister begged you not to move to Roseville Florida, that there was “so much” for you in Pennsylvania which was straight bullshit because if anything that was the place that had so much shit happen to you and it wasn't anything good. You wanted to be somewhere sunny even though you weren't a big fan of heat but you would manage. you could see yourself on the beach wearing big sunglasses with a huge sun hat while wearing your favorite swimsuit, sitting on a towel with an umbrella dug into the sand to hold it while you read a book or magazine. 

That's what you thought it would be, you, unfortunately, were semi-wrong. Yes, you could go to the beach, one that was small and dirty with broken glass and needles sticking up from-  you weren't even sure if it was sand, it looked more like dirt. Of course, you moved to where the beach was ass, it was just outside of Roseville and you thought it would be great but were so disappointed when you saw it then you drove back to another shitty town, just one you didn't know so well. 

You got a small house that you could afford, it came with a backyard that led into a creepy wooded area and a loud-ass neighbor that played music around 4 am every morning which never failed to wake you up, and sometimes you could fall back to sleep but most of the time not. Once you got your phone set up your sister called nonstop, every day asking you “what's it like in Florida?” “do you like it there?” “you can always come back here” which you normally just replied with “mhm yeah it's cool” and, “ill think about it” and of course you never did. 

Luckily while you were looking at new doorknobs you saw the now hiring sign, you were broke with no job so why not apply? When you walked up to the front the manager looked tired, completely worn out, he saw you walking up and his eyes almost bulged out of his head. Once you asked for an application he basically shoved it in your hands and said there was an office in the back where you could fill it out right away. You just smiled and nodded, then he showed you to the office. 

Sitting down and filling it out was easy, you finished it in a matter of minutes, when you left the office the manager had a red apron in hand and basically snatched the papers out of your hand and looked over them quickly then you were handed the red apron and were told you were hired and you started Monday.

You liked the new job, it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be though you were put on the night shift after your training which was weird because it was the only shift that didn't have three or more people scheduled. It was just you and Aaron, he was sweet and showed you where everything was but there was one thing that he said that stuck with you. 

“I'm really surprised you accepted the night shift so easily” Aaron laughed, sliding a box cutter through the tape on a cardboard box, you both were standing around a register restocking the candy that sat on little shelves beside it. 

You smiled, “what do you mean?” you asked, bending at the waist and resting on your elbows. 

“You know, all the shit that's been happening recently” he answered with a sigh, you furrowed your brows. 

“Wait what's going on? What happened?” you asked. 

Aaron looked at you, trying to tell if you were just playing stupid but then looked around to see if anyone was around. 

“The Ghostface murders, they’ve been happening for months, don't tell me you moved here and didn't know” he whispered. So that’s why you were thrown on the night shift and were given pity looks when seeing other coworkers leaving their shift. Of course, you moved to a place where active murders were happening, not only that but it was a smallish town. 

-

You got the feeling of being watched. you took a deep breath and looked around, nothing, there was no one around. You shook your head before going back to work, it must have been from how tired you were, you had gotten maybe a few hours of sleep when you came home before your neighbor's music was blaring and your dog started barking then you tried to go back to sleep once they finally turned it off but by that time your sister had called then before you knew it was two hours before you got off the phone, then the time you had to take a nap before your shift was ruining by you needing to run to the grocery store. 

Just a few more hours left, it was already 2 am and you got off a 5 am then you could go home and to your warm comfy bed. Getting up from your crouching position and walking to the register, trying to shake the sleepiness. The way your days and nights have been turned around just starting about a week ago, you think you adjusted to it well, but now there was a new sudden nervous feeling ever since Aaron told you about Ghostface. 

It was quiet, you haven't seen anyone for hours which was not uncommon since people were afraid to come out at night and would rather wait in their “safe” homes but maybe being out and about would be people's best bet, since what you’ve read about the Ghostface was that he tended to favor in-home kills and it seemed like no matter how “safe” the home was he always got in, you read about a guy that had three dogs in his house and Ghostface still got in. it was just like any other Ghostface kill, the picture at the scene with him and the victim, but the article said that the three dogs were laying in their crates with a bone and a picture of him with each dog, only something someone with a sense of humor would do, it would slap everyone that thought they were safe with guard dogs. 

when you read the article you looked at your little pug, him laying in his bed on his back with his paws up in the air and loud snores coming from him. you know winnie was no guard dog, maybe a cute distraction but definitely not a guard dog. 

You looked around, not seeing anyone of course, then snaked your hand to the candy bars. You grabbed ahold of one and quickly brought it to you, unwrapping it and then eating the creamy chocolate. The night was going by so slowly, dealing with rude customers at the beginning of your shift made you yearn to go home but thankfully tomorrow was your day off. 

Danny was contemplating checking out or just waiting till you left, he quickly grabbed something, not even looking at what it was, he decided on checking out so he could talk to you plus he needed to move his car. 

You threw the wrapper away and listened to the music that was playing, some weird country song that you've never heard of. You stared at the door before turning your head when you hear footsteps. 

Danny walked up, putting on his greeting face and handing you the pack of small lightbulbs. You smiled and scanned it, “did you find everything you were looking for?” you asked, glancing up at him and then back to the register. Danny reached in his pocket for his wallet. 

“Yeah, yeah, took a while though, big store.” danny lied, he looked around and gestured to the aisles. You nodded with a smile, the store was huge, you still got lost in the back and around the gardening section. 

“I know right? the total is 4.79, i still get lost and I've been working for a week but i do give myself the benefit of the doubt since i just moved here” you laughed, danny studied your facial expressions, something he would write down in his little notebook in his glove box, his brain screamed about how lucky you were, getting a whole page in a notebook when normally it was a few sticky notes but a part of him scream back; yelling that this wasnt going to be like normal, not yet at least. 

Danny watched you swipe your fingertips on the balm they had beside the register before grabbing the plastic back and opening it with ease, thanks to the balm, and putting the bulbs into the grey bag. Danny handed you the money, easily able to graze your fingers without you noticing it a weird way then smiling as you handed him the bag after putting the money into the register. 

You bid him a pleasant night before getting a paper towel and wiping the balm off your hands. 

Danny made it to his car quickly, the nerves in his stomach mellowed as he already knew a perfect place to hide out, a place he already had picked out for months now. Danny tugged off the fake glasses into his passenger seat and the brown leather jacket was now tossed into the back seat then put on a black hoodie. The Ghostface attire sat neatly in a black bag underneath his passenger seat, reaching back to feel the fabric was comforting, so comforting. 

Soon after writing things down with a blue chewed-up ball point pen, his mind went to the light bulbs, a waste of fucking money since they didn't fit anything he had, the price he had to pay for acting on a whim. 

You walked out hours later, your coworker showing up a bit late but you still had a smile on your face. Danny had already scribbled down your license plate and car model, you carried a jacket and a donut that your coworker brought you. Danny turned the page. 

car handle gets stuck easily. push up and pull hard. 

Chocolate donut. Do you even like chocolate or are you just eating it to be nice? 

Looking up from his notebook and he watched you toss the rest of the donut out your window and start your car. Danny circled “just eating it to be nice” with a silent laugh. Danny tossed his notepad to the side when he noticed your car started to move. 

Following you home, a feeling that felt far too familiar for him. 

he watched your day to day life. 

wakes up around 10 am on days off 

wakes up around 5 am on work days if the neighbors dont wake her around 4 

goes in at 6 am when working mornings 

goes in at 12 am when working nights 

stays in on fridays and goes shopping on sundays

this felt normal to him, observing was something he was good at and something he knew how to do with ease, not missing a single thing. something was weird though, he would constantly get the feeling of being watched and hearing voices, whispers about that it was almost time, time for what? it made him beyond confused and at first he thought it was you somehow sneaking into his subconscious, manifesting that “jed” would be your prince in shining armor in this shit town but as it went on he knew it was something else, it talked in words, only using one or two words at a time. 

fog 

almost time

feasting 

fear

violence 

eternity 

you pick

danny started to think he was going crazy, he tried to piece it together but nothing made sense. 

-

“come here a lot don’t you?” you quipped, sneaking up on jed. 

danny turned his head, he smiled at you. he wouldn’t come as often if it wasn’t for you, he didn’t really want to spend his free time in a hardware store but he needed to watch you more. 

he laughed softly, “yeah, gotta have little projects to do when you're in a shitty small town” he lied straight through his teeth, he didn’t have time for projects not when he had his hobby. 

”i'm starting to realize that” you sighed. jed nodded, he was about to say something but you cut off his thoughts. 

“the only the thing around here is true crime and coffee shops” you groaned and tilted your head. 

“alright now, dont hate on the coffee shops, I need them to survive for my job, i like being able to switch it up sometimes” danny lied, he hated it. he had given jed a coffee order different than his own, making jed his own person meant something to him. jed made it known he only liked sweet coffee, any coffee he got he would dump out and wait till he could get his hands on just some black coffee. 

“i haven't even been in one of them, they seem expensive” you said bashfully. jed nodded and agree, he had learned that when he first moved here and kept the cup with the order tag on and rinsed it out and kept it to bring to work then would hide it in his desk and get his mug he actually drank out of and put coffee in it. the only time he actually bought it now was when he was with another coworker and had to try to get the coffee down his throat while looking like he liked it. 

“expensive but worth it, I'd recommend it if you really like coffee but if you don't there is a nice little place down the road that has amazing tea that's very affordable,” he said with a smile

your eyes lit up, you liked tea, he knew that but why the fuck was he giving you genuine advice? he didn’t care if you knew where to get good tea, honestly it would just be a change in your routine for him. 

“thank you i'll have to check that out after work, god, i- should get back to work” you mumble, you checked your watch then looked over at the cash register. 

people were lined up waiting.

”sorry for getting you distracted” jed apologized, danny wanted to smirk. 

“don't apologize, guess its my fault for wanting to make friends- not many people are friendly around here” you said mindlessly. 

jed laughed and nodded, agreeing once more. 

“they like to keep to themselves, especially since the ghostface murders” he said trying to see your reaction, you furrowed your brows and nodded, maybe you wished ghostface never existed. 

jed nudged you, “better get up there, they look like they'll attack the next person that walks by if they wait any longer” he jokes which made you laugh but also caused a pit in your stomach knowing you'd be chewed out for taking so long. 

-

days passed and you hadn’t seen jed around at all, even going into one of the coffee shops after work. you felt a little stupid, you thought you two could’ve been friends. 

you were about to get off your shift, it was incredibly slow. 

aaron came an relieved you and basically shoved you out the door, saying you work too much. you had taken off the next day since you needed to get ready for your sister coming over. 

danny watched you basically be pushed out the door, he had been observing…on his days off. he put his car into gear and got ready to follow you. 

he never felt like this, he knew something was wrong when late at night while tangled in his sheets and when his hand slowly sneaks into his boxers all he thought about was you. something was wrong. 

-

“God, Winnie shut up” you muttered, Winnie's barking never eased, he stood at the backdoor, barking harshly. You groaned loudly as you tossed the magazine you were looking at onto the space beside you. You got up as annoyance took over you, grabbing your robe and putting it on quickly. 

“M’coming m’coming, damn” you groaned as the barking continued. Slipping on your shoes and stomping to the back door. 

Winnie ran as soon as you opened the back door, you walked out onto the porch as Winnie ran to the line of trees and just stood there. It was a lot foggier than you remember, it hadn't been too long since you let Winnie out to pee, how did it get so foggy so fast? Winnie’s barking had stopped and now you could hear a soft whine as he just sat there looking out into the forest. 

“Winnie baby cmon, come back inside” you called out, he didn’t listen, not one bit. You called his name a few more times before seeing fog roll in from the forest, what the fuck?

You walked off the porch and Winnie finally turned and ran towards the house, whimpering and whining, you looked back as Winnie stood on the porch. Turning your attention towards the fog as it crept closer and closer. 

It felt impossible to move as the fog started to engulf you, your breathing quickened as you started to panic. It felt like quicksand, your chest was tight as it made its way up. Your vision started to fade and your hearing muffled. 

ghostface watched as the whole thing unfolded, the voice telling him to follow and that he had chosen. he came out from where he was hiding, danny turned to look at winnie whining by the door. 

a sigh came from him as he walked to the door, and opened it. 

he filled a few bowls with water and refilled his food bowl. danny knew your sister was coming to visit in three days so winnie should be fine. 

danny wrote a letter and stuck it on the counter, a simple ‘please look after winnie ill be gone for a few days- love, y/n’

danny walked out the backdoor. the fog was heavy, inviting to say the least, it made danny feel good. he stretched his neck before walking towards it, it called out to him beckoning him to come.

-

Your back ached as you became aware of the hardness of the ground, a breeze hit you, a breeze you hadn't felt in a long time since moving to Roseville, even during the winter months. Your eyes fluttered open then your stomach dropped. 

Where the fuck were you? You could hear faint voices, you sat up on your elbows and looked around, there were people sitting around a campfire then woods all around you. 

the throbbing in your head was more noticeable now, looking away from the people and down to your clothes. you were still in your pajamas, red and black plaid pajama bottoms, and a black spaghetti strap along with your thin black robe and moccasins. 

You swallowed thickly, noticing the bag that was beside you. You stood up slowly, taking your time to get up as your bones cracked from being in the position on the ground for so long. You looked back at the people gathered around the campfire, there were tents not too far from them. 

Picking up the bag and starting to walk toward them, your mind scrambled and your eyes felt like they would never stop tearing up. 

It wasn't long before someone spotted you, a reddish brunette came running to you, meeting you halfway to the fire.

“Where am i?” you muttered, looking at her as she took the bag off your shoulder, her look softened and gave a comforting rub on your shoulder. 

“We’ll explain the best we can,” she said, her tone sad and body tensing in a way that made her look nervous. She sighed as she fixed your bag on her shoulder, then moved her head towards the fire and her hand moved to your upper back. 

“I’m meg, what's your name?” she asked, walking you to the fire. 

“y/n” you mumbled, looking around, studying the place. You could now see a gate, your hopes rising. 

“I wouldn't get your hopes up, we can only come through it after a trial–if we're lucky enough to get to the gate, we can't leave through it.” meg sighed sadly, seeing the hope drain from you as you two continued to walk. 

Soon you were greeted by others.

-

Your hearing went muffled again, just like when you were taken by the fog, your heart started to speed up, and your vision when black. When your vision came back you were with three others, Dwight, Meg, and Leon. you looked up and there was a countdown, you all had a minute till what you understood as a trial. You watched as Leon dug into his pocket and pulled out something, you walked closer to him trying to see what it was. 

“What’s that?” you asked, he looked at you and then back at it, meg tossed hers into the fire which made it flicker and go higher. 

“An offering, we get these whenever the entity decides, whether we’ve pleased her or not but sometimes she feels generous and gives rare ones or gives us new things like medkits or toolboxes, or maybe even flashlights or keys, it's all up to her,” Leon said, you tried to understand but it's not like it makes any sense so it kind of went through one ear and out the other. 

Dwight threw in his offering, it looked like an envelope with a yellow-gold coloring, Leon let you look at his before he tossed it, it looked like flowers. You felt bad for not having an offering to put in but Meg told you not to worry about it. Leon carried a toolbox in one hand and Meg and Dwight had medkits which left you out once again. 

“If it’s the doctor I'm literally hiding in a locker the whole time, hate being more paranoid than I already am” Meg groaned, Leon laughed.

“It’s most definitely huntress, she's been the entity’s favorite recently. You know what, if I'm right you have to give me your medkit next time we're in a trial together” Leon said, sticking his hand out so they could shake on it. Meg smirked and shook his hand hard. 

A loud noise made you cover your ears and you realized it was time, your vision started to fade. 

You could hear crows and the sound of a machine, trees came into sight. You followed the sound of what you were pretty sure was a generator from what the others told you, you had no idea what you were doing, they told you it would make a loud noise if you messed up. 

“Oh there you are, I was hoping we were close to each other” Meg whispered, coming to you and crouching by the generator, she waved her hand, telling you to come closer. 

“I’ll show you, come here,” she said, you got on the ground and watched her open things and put things together, putting wires in the right spot and so on. You tried to remember and noticed how the things on top would get faster and eventually all be moving up and down constantly. 

After Meg showed you and finished the generator you two parted ways, you timidly walked around trying to hide within the trees. Your brows furrowed, and you could hear a lullaby and it kept getting louder, you crouched behind a tree and tried to peer around it. 

Dwight's scream made you jump, you could see a tall women pick him up and toss him over her shoulder. You dashed to these brick structures that were somewhat close to you. The huntress had seen you and thrown one of her hatchets your way, it grazed your leg, cutting your thigh then landed on the ground. 

A hand clamped over your mouth right when you were about to scream in pain, tears pricked your eyes as Leon repeated in your ear for you not to scream. He dragged you back, to a different brick wall and helped you sit on the ground then got in front of you. His hand still covered your mouth, “she's gonna go hook him then she’ll probably come back over there to look for you, you need to keep quiet so she won't hear us, okay?” lean asked, you nodded trying the best you could as he slowly took his hand from your mouth and put them on your thigh. 

 Your back leaned against the bricks, the coldness seeping through your robe and shirt, Leon looked at your leg then looked at you.

“Here i’ll show you something, i call it bite the bullet, i take some cloth from my clothes-” he said, ripping your pants, gathering a good amount and folding it,  “- then i put it in my mouth-” he continued, bringing the shredded pieces of your pjs to your mouth. “- like that, just like that, then bite down on it to help you stay quiet while you get healed up, it helps if you pretend it doesn’t hurt, fake it till you make it you know?” Leon finished. he looked at you taking in the information, this felt intimate. his hands were back on your thigh, adding pressure to the wound and you could feel his thumb gently rubbing your skin. 

You nodded again, biting down on it for your life. Leon moved one hand to open the medkit that was next to him. 

“Dwight and I switched,” he said, you guessed he noticed how you were looking at him, you hummed. He took out some things that you really couldn't care about at the moment. You grunted when he poured the alcohol over your wound.

“Shh, shh. You’re doing so good, just stay quiet” he said, cleaning your wound as tears fell down your cheek. Everytime his hands would touch your thigh it felt like fire, you tried not to move your leg. 

“Almost done” Leon whispered, looking up at you and nodded a bit with worry on his face, he wrapped your thigh in a bandage. You felt better, your leg still hurt but not as bad as before. Leon tugged the cloth out of your mouth and tucked it into your pocket. 

“I know it feels weird, healing is not like how it is normally, sick sense of humor she has.” he said. She. she as in the sick fuck that took you here. 

“Just use that when you get hurt, it helps keep everyone alive. You did great.” he said, getting up and then helping you up. You thanked him. He smiled a bit at you. 

“What about dwight? You said he was hooked?” you asked, following him to a half-done generator that was close by. He got on his knees and started fixing it and you followed his actions. 

“He’s off-hook now and mag healed him up already” Leon responded. He looked focused and like he didn't want to be bothered while he did this. 

“How do you know?” you asked, trying to get one last question out before you shut up. 

“When you’re here, you can just sense things, you’ll understand once you get used to it” he whispered, he pulled bits from the generator and sat them down next to him. You furrowed your brows but decided to keep quiet. 

The generator roared once you two finished it, Leon gathered the bits and pieces that he took from the gen and stood up. “I’ll teach you how to make a flashbang one day but for now there's a gen over there-” he pointed to a flashing light “- I’ll get her over here while you do it” he finished. 

“Okay,” you said, a loud noise made Leon's eyes light up. He smiled. 

“Perfect, we only need one more gen before the gates turn on, you got some severe beginner's luck” he laughed softly then nodded his head towards the gen he told you to do. 

you stuck your hands into the gen, you were almost shaking, touching and connecting wires carefully but quickly. you heard meg scream, she was down then thrown over huntress’ shoulder. you almost wanted to cry, why did you get dragged to hell? was it something you did? you asked yourself over and over. 

now you pulled levers and cranked things, a feeling of knowing that meg was now safe but not healed washed over you, it was subtle and you guessed this was what leon was talking about. 

the gen roared to life, the light on top staying on and not blinking like it had been. Another feeling washed over you, meg was healed now. 

you saw dwight out the corner of your eye, he was pulling a lever and it came to you that, that was the gate leon was talking about. 

you snuck towards him, hearing the huntress' grunts and noises from the right of you. 

you looked over and saw leon throw something down as meg ran quickly to the gate that just had opened. a flash happened, a big bright flash that stunned her. So that was a flashbang? leon ran behind meg and spotted you, he motioned for you to come on and looked behind him. 

you ran to him, dwight had already gone through the gate and meg waited by the border of freedom and death. 

the huntress drew her hatches up, ready to throw it once she deemed fit. 

leon took your hand, making you run faster. you heard the hatchet being thrown. 

it landed right into your calf, you screamed but you still ran or was being dragged by leon which made you keep running but you couldn’t remember, it happened so fast, you looked behind you after you both crossed the path where the huntress could not hurt you anymore. 

she stood there, watching through her mask, the grip on her hatchet was terrifying. your leg still bleed but you couldn't care at this moment, leon's hand in yours, chest burning. 

you two caught up with meg and dwight, catching your breath as you sat down in the grass, waiting to be sent back to the camp.  

days or months, maybe even years passed after that first trial and now you had the hang of it for the most part, you still felt new and like you were dragging down the team but you had found some of your own things to help you. leon had showed you how to make a flashbang and elodie taught you how to open lockers and trick the killer into thinking you were inside of it. 

jake had taken a liking to you, showing you knew things and how to not make the crows fly away when walking by them, he was sweet and welcoming. It was nice to talk to someone while kate would play her guitar, it felt like a camping trip if you really wanted to pretend you weren’t stuck here for who knows how long. 

trials came and went, you were required to do 3 a day, if days were something you could even keep track of. you had gotten new clothes, medkits, toolboxes, flashlights and offerings as well as things to help with what you could bring into a trail. you had been to many of the realms and midwich was the one you hated the most. 

jake was with you in this trail, he stuck by you for most of the time. 

you grunted as you connected wires and pulled levers, haddinfeild was somewhere you left a little comfortable, the houses made you feel like this could all be a dream and you were actually just having a nightmare and would hopefully wake up in your bed. 

“do you know who it is yet?” jake asked as he helped fix the gen. 

“i haven’t heard any chainsaws or seen any tvs yet so i dont think is any of them, maybe michael or wraith?” 

“smart girl, you’re picking up quickly”

you smiled, you got a weird feeling of being watched. you scratched the back of your neck and looked around. 

“well i guess ill see you at the gate if we make it?” you said, about to turn and go into a new direction. 

jake threw his arm around your shoulder. “how about you stick with me this trial, i wanna keep a close eye on you, i noticed you haven’t been escaping recently” he said, directing you to a generator. 

jake was cute and nice, you liked to be around him. 

“you know what a hatch is right?” he asked as he started on the gen. 

“yeah, zarina explained it a few trials ago… we had spirit and i was the first to go, didn’t even have a chance to see it” you sighed. 

“dont worry, you’ll get it one day. it feels good…getting the hatch, you feel like you’re resting and everything feels like it was just a dream until you get to the campfire again, but listen-“ jake says, stopping what he was doing and looking at you. 

you nodded to show you were listening. 

“-sometimes and i mean sometimes, a killer might let you get it, i begged and begged the trapper to let me go and he just looked confused and watched me get the hatch” he whispered, like it was a secret. 

jake pulled you closer, “lets keep this quiet, im only telling you because im fond of you” he whispered again. you nodded as you looked at him.

you looked behind you, you saw something white move behind a rock. you furrowed your brows. the feeling of being watched came back. 

jake was looking to but seemed to not be bothered. 

“you don’t feel strange right now?” you asked. 

“no, not more than the usual” he responded as he put wires together. 

“no, no something is wrong” you said shaking your head. 

“cmon you’re being a scaredy cat” jake joked and put his hand on your arm to soothe you. 

you looked over again and screamed. you fell back on your ass as jake grabbed you and tried to stand. 

ghostface was running at you two. you felt weak, like how you felt when the shape was stalking you but this was worse, maybe it was because you knew him and now you wondered if this is what lorie felt. jake let go of you and started to run.  

you got up finally and tried to run but ghostface caught you, his knife going into your shoulder, making you go down. 

ghostface huffed, cleaning your blood off his knife. 

“i knew you looked familiar, fate must have brought us together huh?” he said with a cocky laugh. he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. 

he had been through a few trials and hadn’t seen you, he started to lose hope and think the whole “you pick” thing was bullshit and the woman upstairs cheaped him out and depicted him but now he was grateful. 

you hadn’t gotten new clothes yet unlike him he now had a few new pieces but he liked your pj, the way your robe was splayed out before he had picked you up. 

he wanted to chat but had made a deal with her, he was sacrificing everyone. 

the hook pierced your shoulder as you screamed, your mind ran with thoughts. 

jake slid you off the hook as quickly as he could then lead you to a safe location. 

“he’s new i think, probably came around the same time as you- ace was telling me about him, he likes to take pictures” jake said. you nodded, you knew that, you had read it in the paper plenty of times. 

“i-i- i know him” you whispered as jake healed you and told you how good you were doing. 

“you do?” he asked. 

you nodded, sharp pain coming from your back. “florida, he was in the paper non-stop,” you grunted. 

you stayed with jake until you got to a new gen, jane was just unhooked by jill and started on a gen. 

the trial was brutal, you died on hook last, just watching him stare at you.

-

the group asked for details once they learned ghostface was your killer, you had nothing to tell them other than what you had read in the papers. 

you and jake started to get a lot more close, he never let you stray too far and would always make sure he would get you off the hook. 

detective tapp, you, jake and ada all stood together, jake had brought the escape cake and all of you got a slice, you had taken two bites before being taken by the fog. 

when you came to you weren’t by anyone, you started to walk, trying to be quiet in the snow. 

it was so bright and cold, you hurried to a gen god you were so ready to get out of here. 

you could see your breath and your hands hurt from the cold, tapp came behind you. 

“you good here?” he whispered, you nodded. 

“yeah i'm almost finished, i was about to go into the building and start the gen afterward if you wanna get ahead start” you suggested, tapp smiled, he loved when people could hold their own and work together. 

”good idea, i'll see you there” he said his goodbyes before leaving. 

you finished the gen about 1 minute after tap left, you stood up and bumped into something. you were about to turn around before a gloved hand clamped over your mouth. 

your hands went to his as you screamed into his glove. 

he shushed you, his warm breath by your ear. 

“calm down, calm down. i just want to talk” he whispered. 

you tried to slow your breathing. 

“good girl, i just wanted to check on you. see how you liked it here, you know, it beats roseville by a mile, never see this type of weather in florida…well maybe in pennsylvania you do” he chuckled. you tried to pull his hand from your mouth. 

you mumbled against his hand and he hummed, moving his hand down slightly. 

“what’d you say princess?” ghostface asks, his grip tight on your chin. 

“fuck you” you spat. 

“how cliche” he laughed, “you know what i like about you? no matter how long you’ve been here, you still seem like your old self” he added. 

“like you would know anything about that” you gritted your teeth, and tried to move. 

ghostface laughs, “trust me, doll, i know a lot more than you think.” 

he notices it, the way you sit on a log at the campfire like you would on your couch, the way you ate the icing first then the actual cake, the way you fixed your hair; he could go on and on. 

ghostface dropped his grip on you, letting you run away. 

your mind went crazy, ghostface was stalking you before this, way before this, you thought it wouldn’t happen to you. 

the gen in the building was already finished, tapp hid in a locker nearby before he knew it was you. 

“y/n where the hell were you?” he huffed, stepping out of the locker. 

“i ran ghostface, thought it would be more helpful than to just lead him here” you lied through your teeth. 

tapp patted your arm, “good job” he praised and took a look around. 

the rest of the trial was like usual, no more talking ghostface, just slash and hook. 

once you all were back at the campfire you sat down, jake sat down next to you. 

“im sorry i couldn’t find you” he said with a small pout.

”no worries, it wasn’t that bad, i had tapp with me” you reassured him. 

-

you hadn’t seen ghostface in awhile, trials came and went, you had gotten lucky a few times and got hatch then got moried for the first time by the artist. 

you had a recent trial with pyramid head which was entertaining, you and yun-jin joked about how big the sword was, which maybe wasnt a good idea since soon after you both died pretty quickly. 

you had gotten a new outfit, it was laid on your sleeping bag in your tent, neatly folded. a grey shirt and simple leggings, it was an outfit you wore to work just missing your apron. you changed, it was nice to have a new outfit and when you left your tent you seen that kate and feng had new outfits too.

soon your vision went out again. leon, nancy and steve were beside you, steve and nancy talking about how much she missed her little brother. you missed your sister but holy fuck you missed your dog so much. you hoped your sister had taken him. 

once you came to your heart almost stopped. you thought this was all a dream until you saw lights to a gen in the distance. tears swelled into your eyes as you looked around. 

it was the hardware store you worked at, you looked by the register and saw the newspaper, you picked it up and saw a sketch of ghostface on the left of the page then a huge article. 

“look familiar doll?” a voice speaks out, you whip around to be faced with ghostface sitting on the table that held all the new flyers to be put out for new sales. 

you ignored him and went back to the newspaper.

ghostface huffed, “and i thought we weren’t loved enough to get our own place” he laughed. 

you scoffed. 

danny wanted a reaction, he wanted you to talk back or just talk at all even. 

“we met here” 

you tensed, taking a deep breath. 

“we met at my work?” you asked softly and turned to face him. ghostface nodded. 

“plenty of times doll, even met some of your friends…jed i think his name was” he added, smirking under his mask. your ears perked up. 

“you knew jed?” you asked and put the paper back. 

“of course, he was a bitch- a real pushover” danny snickered. He watched your reaction. 

you huffed and tried to walk away, digging your nails into your hand. 

“hey i wasn’t done talking to you doll face” he called after you, getting down from the table. he liked watching you get all mad, just the tiniest of reactions made him feel good. 

“are you just gonna follow me the whole time or are you gonna do what you always do?” you asked, you looked around to see if anyone was around as you came up on the gen. 

“i have time to spare, all we have is time” danny quipped. you wanted to hit him, just sock him in his face under the mask. 

you got down and started working on the gen, you were tense and didn’t wanna blow it up. your mind wandered off, thinking about home and how if you had stayed in PA this wouldn’t have happened. 

“worried about winnie?” he asked. his voice was slick, he knew this would get something out of you, “your sister?” he added. 

you didn’t know if the entity would let you or a big knife would just go through your hand instantly. 

you swung up, punching him right in his mouth, his teeth cutting the inside of his lip and blood seeped out, your hand hurt, knuckles throbbing. you huffed and held your hands. 

danny groaned as he recovered, his tongue swiping over the gash, tasting his blood. He thought he was completely in power here, that you could only be hurt. 

“i liked that. hit me again” 

ghostface’s voice cracked. he took deep breaths and looked at you. he pressed his lips together to feel a bit more. deep down he hoped you would. 

you shoved him hard once you heard the gates go off, you sprinted to the gates seeing nancy at the gate watching you run. ghostface ran after you, you could hear how close he was behind you, he got one good gash across your back before you ran out of the gate. you didn’t look back. 

-

the trial with him was tense, you had become pretty good at hiding, as if you weren’t taking notes from him. 

you knew he was looking for you, you knew if you gave him a reaction it would fuel him more, 

you held your breath, you had never been so close to him while he didn’t know. you hid behind a wall and watched him stalk one of your friends and before you knew it he shot up quickly and started sprinting at them. you let out a deep breath and closed your eyes. 

once you opened them a glint caught your eyes, something on the ground. 

you looked around, making sure it was safe before you crawled over. 

it was a wallet. 

you opened it carefully, scared it was some type of trick. you pulled out a driver's license

jed fucking olsen. your stomach sank. 

that was who ghostface is, you looked further into his wallet and found another driver’s license. you had to get the moon in the right spot so you could see. 

danny johnson.

you bit your cheek and put the two licenses into the wallet then shoved it into your pocket.  you wanted to tell him you knew, right then and there but you needed to do something. you knew he didn’t like to share and you are going to use that to your advantage. 

you hoped and prayed that you would be able to take it out of the trial with you, you did everything in your power to either find the hatch or make it out the gate. 

once you arrived back to the campfire you checked your pockets, you smiled when you pulled out the wallet, she did have a sick sense of humor and you think this would amuse her. 

for the first time ever you thanked the entity. 

trial after trial you tried your hardest to survive and even leon had complimented you on it. 

you had gotten a new outfit once again, an outfit you had wore in the summer, a white tank top and a jean skirt, sneakers. 

you sat on the gen, jake settled between your legs, your hands touching on him under his shirt. 

you knew danny was the killer, you had seen him when he hooked david, you didn’t save anyone this trial since you had other things to do. Soon enough it was just you, Danny and jake. you moved your foot and kicked down a lever and the gen roared, the lights turning on, blinding you for a second. 

Jake could feel it, being watched was never an easy thing to shake. He opened his eyes and looked to the side, he looked at ghostface standing there, breathing heavily. Jake pulled from your kiss and ran, he tried to take your hand but you let it slip out of his grip. 

Danny walked closer to you, he wasn’t one to share. you stared at him, your hand going into your back pocket and pulling out his wallet. 

“You know, we're not the only ones that can drop things,” you said and threw it at him. He caught it of course, which made you sigh. 

Danny laughs quietly, looking up at the entity. she was watching, like always. betrayed by her, or maybe she wanted to add some of her own touches. He tried not to be mad at her, his own plans now out of the picture. 

he got closer to you, “does it make you upset” he asked, his gloved hand lightly grazing your skin. “That I brought you here, I picked you. I'm her favorite.” 

Your eye twitched. You hated him. 

“I made sure your dog was taken care of,” he said softly. His hand gripping your thigh wanting a reaction out of you. Your hand went to his mask, lifting it up, Danny was about to reach for it but you already knew what he looked like. 

You toss his mask to the ground, Danny's hair fell messily and his eyes adjusted to the light. You took in his appearance, the tension was thick as he inched closer to you. You wanted revenge. 

Danny’s lips pressed against your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair. You feel his tongue on your skin then soon his teeth. Danny’s hand inched closer to your cunt, his other held you in place. 

He had dreamed of this, while waiting to be picked, she had generously gave him his own a replica of his own apartment. He would lay in bed, drifting in and out sometimes thinking he was really back in roseville. He was never really into sex, wanting to get off and get going, but you, he wanted to take his time and enjoy it, maybe even make it romantic. 

His cock was tightly contained in his pants. What is wrong with him, there was part of him that resented you. His mouth went lower, now on your chest, his hand now massaging one of your tits. 

You started to guide his head lower, he looked up at you, his eyelashes batting at you as he got onto his knees. 

Danny pushed your skirt up and panties to the side, he never ate pussy before, his tongue met your cunt, he tried to be soft. Making out with your cunt, your hand stayed in his hair, tugging a bit. Pleasure was starting to build. His tongue landed on your clit and your thighs tightened around his head. Danny was an observer, he picked up on everything. 

He licked at your clit again, he could hear you making noise which pushed him more. You were surprised you could even feel pleasure in his hell hole. 

Soon danny started sucking on your clit, his fingers had moved to your hole, his middle finger inside of you then it was his middle and ring finger stretching you out. You could hear him breathing heavily and softly moaning against your cunt. You looked up at the sky. 

“Right there” you moaned, he kept his pace and what he was doing. You stared up at the sky, a small tear coming to your eye and coming down your face. 

Your orgasm washed through you, his fingers moving faster and his eyes squeezed shut. You rode it out as your thighs shook. You pushed his face away from your cunt once it was overstimulating. 

Danny’s face was flushed, he removed his fingers and came up, his lips on yours now. He pulled you off the generator and you both made you way to the ground harshly. Danny was on top of you, his hand going to your neck. 

He was trying to take control, you used all your strength and flipped you two over. You straddled him. He laid back, looking at you, admiring you. 

You moved down a bit and unbuckled his pants, his cock sprung out once the fabric moved. He was painfully hard. You spit in your hand and stroked him, danny trembled at your touch, it was humiliating. He was wanting you to return the favor but he knew you probably had too much pride. 

You hovered over him, his hands softly touched your thigh. You sank down onto him. He was big, your mouth fell open. Danny’s head went back, you felt amazing. He was grateful you didnt start moving, he would've busted instantly. He tried to regain his breathing. 

Danny grabbed your waist, he was begging with his eyes. You narrowed your eyes at him and came off his cock a bit then going back down, moving your hips in a rhythm. Your shirt was dirty, his hands going to the collar of your shirt and ripping it. You started to move faster. Danny started to squirm, he was moaning and grabbing at your exposed skin. 

You could feel his knife hitting your leg, you knew what you wanted to do. 

“y/n” 

It came out as a cracked moan. 

“Danny” you responded, you rode him faster, hand going to his throat. 

“Do you forgive me?” he asked, a smirk on his face. Your eyebrows furrowed and you squeezed his neck. 

“No” 

Danny bit his lip there was a part of him that wished you did but another that loved that you didn’t, he knew not to think about it too much, he had always been sick and twisted. He started muttering curse words as he got close. His head was reeling, he looked at you, you were beautiful. 

He was so close, you watched his face as his cock twitched in you, danny let out a loud groan as he started to cum. You reached behind you and grab his knife. He opened his eyes as you left go of his throat and pushed one of his hands to the ground, you sank the knife down into his palm and the dirt. 

He groaned and clenched his teeth together. You got off his cock and his cum dripped out of you and onto his clothes, you moved your panties and stood up, looking down on him. His cock was still dripping. 

You fixed your skirt, danny stared at you, the pain in his palm was rough but he knew you were too pussy to stab him anywhere else. You breathed heavily, lifting your foot and stomping on the knife one good time. Danny pushed his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut. 

Once danny opened his eyes again, you gathered the spit into your mouth. You spit in his face, watching him react to you. He breathed heavily. “Fuck you” you whispered and turned away from him, running off into the distance. Horns blared, jake had finished the last gen. Danny stared up at the sky.

[axxa-the-allikatt]

Dude I finally got the time to write this but the story kept going on and on and on and- so I sorta decided to do two parts of this. Istg I didn't expect it to become this long but here we are.

Ps, the last time I did an anon request they didn't find out l'd posted it until like a month later so if you do read this please text me something so I won't be paranoid abt it TwT.

ALSO, shout out to that one horny Brant fan in my requests box. I feel you homie e. Lmk if you like this.

Enjoy!

***

Brant X Top Male Rover:>

***

It had been almost two months since you started visiting the fools ship almost every other day, and it had been almost two months since you’ve looked Brant in the eye.

The first time you’d met him, you were too busy getting your brain circuits in check after that little accident with the big- fish?- and your eyes were too busy wandering over the ship to let them linger too long on those comfy looking man boobs of his.

But now that all that commotion was put on a pause? You did not miss a single chance to let your eyes wander down from his pretty lips to his neck (oh lord how you wanted to mark him up) to the gap between his perfectly cut shirt that let you catch a glimpse of all that skin and muscle underneath.

It’s not like you were ashamed of it. You had noticed him staring at your arms every time you did the heavy work around the hide out, the way his eyes trailed your adams apple when you took a sip from the water bag he always carries around and the way his breath caught when you placed a hand on his hip as you stood behind him, leaning into him as you butted into whatever conversation he was having with someone.

Oh no, you weren’t ashamed at all. And if anyone accused you of doing these actions exaggeratedly in the presence of the other man, you would admit it in the blink of an eye.

But despite being aware of the obvious chemistry between the two of you, you both avoided a conversation about it like it was the plague. The crew, who had found it amusing and entertaining at first, now felt that finding a cure for a deadly disease would be easier than getting you two to have a conversation about this little whatever thing was going on between you.

Since verbal communication wasn’t an option and they couldn’t possibly force the two of you to kiss, they did the next best thing they could think of. They locked you up in the ships cabin and refused to let you go until you both figured your shit out. At first, you tried breaking the cabin down but realised with disdain that breaking the cabin meant letting the sea water in. Which brought you to your current situation.

“Uhhh” you muttered intelligently, eyes flitting around the room until they landed yet again on the other man’s chest. You couldn’t help it. They looked too comfy and you had way more than once thought about what it would feel like sleeping on them. As your thoughts continued to go south into a prohibited lane, you heard a low chuckle, then his voice. “My eyes are up here, Rover”.

You swallowed as your eyes flitted up to meet his. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips again and you could see his eyes follow the motion before copying it without a thought. You wanted to smack yourself as your eyes again started trailing down the path they had followed so many times, to his lips, down his neck, then back to where they usually were.

You were startled out of the little scenario that you were creating in your head when something slid from under the door, sliding to a stop at Brant’s feet. He picked it up, and your eyes yet again followed their target, his clothes slipping a little and giving you just enough view of what was hidden to let your blood start flowing south.

Brant stood up again, as he ripped open the tape of a brown paper bag, then peeked in to see the contents before throwing it with an unexpected force, startling you out of another scenario you were going through. “What the- hey what was that?” You asked, turning around little to walk over to the bag. “Uh nothing! Don’t- don’t worry about it.” He exclaimed, motioning you to let it go. Now you were curious. What had gotten your pretty boy all pink and cute like that?

You continued to make your way over to the corner of the room where the bag had fallen until he hurriedly slid across your path. “It’s nothing. Just a joke between the crew” he reassured you, trying to walk you back. “Oh, so you don’t consider me as your crew yet?” You faux pouted, abruptly turning around, causing him to knock into you, face dangerously close to yours.

You could hear his breath hitching, then trying to relax as he tried to explain himself. “That’s not- I’m not-“ he sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant” he replied, eyes looking at anything but yours. “Then what did you mean?” You asked. He sighed again as he closed his eyes and you took this chance to dash past him, reaching the corner and grabbing the bag, before Brant nearly crashed over to you.

You leaped out of his reach and looked into the bag, ready to tease him about whatever was in it, until your breath caught in your throat and you froze. Inside the bag, was a bottle of what seemed suspiciously like lube and a few packs of, what were definitely, condoms.

The two of you stood there for an awkward moment until you decided to be a petty bitch. “Oh? So what was the joke between the crew, captain?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes slightly widening, as he gave you a half annoyed, half desperate look. “It’s- it’s nothing. Forget it.” He murmured, turning his back to you as he made his way back to where you two had initially been standing. You could see his hands shivering slightly.

You followed him, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, and landed yourself on a wooden crate as he stiffly sat on another one a considerable distance away from yours. Silence ensued.Seconds passed into minutes. Your mind was racing a mile a minute. But you were sure of one thing. If you let this incident slide as a joke, it would forever stay a joke.

“Captain?” you called out. “Mn” he replied, refusing to meet your eyes. His hands were now shaking. You eased off your crate, slowly making your way over to him. As you neared him, you reached out your hand, cupping his face. You felt him hold his breath, eyes still on the floor, waiting on your every word. “Talk to me” you said softly. “…What is there to talk about?” He replied, voice almost a whisper, as he oh so slightly leaned into your touch.

You sighed. Letting go of his face, you slid your hand to the back of his neck, making him tilt his head to look at you in the eyes. His eyes were slightly wide, a look on his face that you could only describe as desperation. It made your heart crack with adoration. You wanted to kiss this man stupid. But you, not knowing where you would be in the future, and him, hating where he was in the past made the red string connecting the two of you twist and knot in a cruel way.

But who were you, the great Rover, if not one to laugh in the face of pain. Oh how dramatic.

“Tell me what you want, Captain.” You whispered leaning in against his lips, a mere inch between your faces. He let out a strangled noise, eyes blowing impossibly wide as you felt him melt in your hands. After what felt like eternity but in reality was only a few seconds, he slowly leaned towards you, brushing his lips against yours in a barely there kiss.

As much as your body and soul wanted to devour him, your mind reminded you to let him take it at his pace. Slowly, a brush became a gentle press, and a press became a wanting lick, until he finally put his arms around your neck pulling you closer to him. Not finding your balance, you place a knee against the crate, standing between his legs. He let out a beautiful whine against your lips and you realised what your knee was pressing against.

You teasingly pressed harder, feeling his rising erection with glee. He gasped into your kiss and you took this opportunity to gently slide your tongue inside his mouth. Your mind was reeling with a million emotions. Love, adoration, possessiveness, wanting, craving, lust. So much. You let your hands wander down to his hips, fighting against the urge to lay them against the smooth muscles of his chest. Hands gripping his hips, you picked him up with one fluid motion, as he instinctively wrapped his thighs around your waist.

Seconds passed into minutes, your lips separating only for a second or two catch your breath before diving back in. Finally, a few minutes later, he pulled back completely, breathing in deeply, as he unhooked his legs, arms remaining around your neck. You gave him a soft smile, hoping it would ease his nerves.

What you didn’t expect was the way his lower lip started trembling, eyes wetting with the tears that were about to fall. You had a moment of panic, as you held him tighter against you. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked worriedly, leaning your forehead against his. He sniffled, staring at you. “We shouldn’t do this” he mumbled, a few moments later. Your breath caught in your throat. “Why?” You questioned gently, one hand reaching up to wipe a stray tear off his cheek. He took another moment.

“Because you’re- I- You’re a person who’s destined to save the world, and I, I’m a stupid fool who couldn’t even fight for his own homeland. I’ve tried for so long to save my home, but I could only do it this time because you were here. I’m- I’m not the only one in this world who needs saving Rover, and in the days to come-“ he took a deep breath, “you’ll have to leave. And I- I know you have to. So please. I don’t want to make this harder for both of us.”

A painful silence followed this confession, words of reassurance dying in your throat. He was still in your arms, shallow breathing the only noise in the room. “I’m sorry” he whispered, voice cracking uncharacteristically, snapping out of your stupor. You took a deep breath. “And if I-“ you licked your lips, choosing your words carefully, ”and if promised you I’d come back to you even if I had to go away… could we make this possible, Captain?”

He stared at you, the drying tears springing up in his eyes again. Something was off. You felt it. “Captain… Brant, speak to me.” He shook his head, laying against your shoulder, as he let out a quite sob. “You…” he whispered. You soothingly rubbed his back, praying to any god who would listen, to take this man’s pain away. “I’m selfish. I want you all to myself but…”

“You deserve someone better, Rover. I’m only a fool.”

“…”

“What?” You whispered in disbelief. Getting no reply, you gently took his face in your hands, looking at him in confusion. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He refused to reply to you, instead opting to look down at the floor. “Brant” you said sharply, making him flinch and finally meet your eyes. You softened your voice, speaking as slowly as possible, making sure he heard every word you said. “I like you. So fucking much. I want you. And god forbid you ever think you’re not worth every second of my existence. Do you understand?” You felt his jaw tighten under your hands, still no reply.

You sucked in a deep breath. Fine then. “Brant.” You said, looking him in the eye. “Answer me.” Another moment of silence. You let a hand slide down to his neck, down his side and come to a rest at his hips, as your other hand tilted his face, your own face dangerously close to his. You felt him shudder under your touch. “Would you listen to me if show you how much you mean to me?”.

A moment passed. Then two. Then, a slow, shivering voice. “Show me, Rover.” A deep breath. “Please.”

You crashed your lips on his, the hand on his hips pulling him tight against you, as he let out a almost silent cry, before wrapping his arms around your neck like his life depended on it. You carefully picked him up. He wrapped his legs around you again, moaning against the kiss as you squeezed his ass playfully. Walking over to a conveniently placed table, which you were sure wasn’t here earlier, you placed him down, standing between his legs.

Breaking the kiss, four hands hurriedly began undoing the clothes separating you two. Finally, finally, after two months of dreaming of them, your hands made their way to his chest, leisurely kneading the muscles. The sinful moan he let out sent all your blood rushing down as you rolled your hips, your own erection rubbing against his. Clothes. You still had to get these clothes out of the way before you went crazy. He seemed to be having the same thoughts as you both began undoing what remained of your clothes, lips separating once in a while to take a breath before crashing back in.

Within minutes, he was naked. You broke away from the kiss, breath hitching in your throat as you admired the view before you. Your eyes trailed from his beautiful face, down his neck (you finally had a chance to mark it now), over his perfect, toned chest, his nipples now obviously hard, down to his chiseled abs and those thick thighs (damn, he had thick thighs too. You wondered how it would feel to be choked by them. You had plenty of time to find out) and your eyes landed on the painful looking erection, his tip already flushed red.

You unconsciously licked you lips, and heard him suck in a breath at this. You saw the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard and you dived in to press loving bites against his neck. You made sure to leave marks.

Taking his hands in yours, you held them behind him, making him ever so slightly arch his back. You continued nibbling at his skin as you made your way down his neck to his collar bone, then to his chest until your lips finally reached a nipple. Flicking your tongue against it, making the man under you let out a whine, as he arched his back further, pushing his chest in your face. It was exactly as you’d dreamt it would be. Soft and comfy.

Another whine escaped his lips, as he mumbled a little ‘please’. You grinned to yourself. “Hm? Tell me what you want baby” you cooed softly, looking up at him. He blushed a furious red as he stuttered over his words. You let out an amused chuckle. “Shh. It’s alright, don’t worry. Just let me take care of you, sweet thing.” You murmured, gaining another whine.

You gently pressed a palm against his belly, pushing him so that his back was against the table, now holding his hands above his head. You were again struck with how absolutely stunning he looked, even more so now with that pretty look on his face. You wanted to worship this man, and make all his self-deprecating thoughts go away, so that the only thought left in his head was that he belonged to you and that you most certainly belonged to him.

Leaning in for a kiss, you pressed your lips against his for a moment before leaning back to look at him. “Good?” You asked, giving him a soft smile as you kneaded his thigh with your free hand. He let out a whimper, then a whispered ‘so good’. Your hand pushed his legs apart, as you slowly rubbed against him, letting out a breathy moan at the friction. It was taking all your strength to control yourself. Your hand rode further up his thigh until it finally reached leaking cock.

You leaned in to take it in your mouth, relishing the keen it dragged out of the other male, and the way his thighs tightened around your face, just how you’d imagined them. You had already let go of his wrists but his hands obediently stayed above his head, earning him a rewarding moan against his cock, as you slid it into your mouth.

You loved the weight of it on your tongue, and the taste of pre-cum slipping down your throat. You began bobbing your head in a slow pace, taking your time adjusting to the feeling, until he began slightly jerking his hips towards you. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, all you could see was his beautifully arched chest, his head thrown back against the table. His whines and moans were getting louder, music to your ears as you increased your pace.

As the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, you let out a choked moan, tears springing to your eyes. The feeling was heavenly, as you took him completely in your mouth, hands gripping his thighs tighter against your head. Honestly, you never knew you had a such a kink until this moment, but whatever this feeling was, you wanted to drown in it.

It was barely a few minutes later, when the man beneath you finally brought his arms down, hands gripping at your hair, as broken ‘’m close’ and ‘please’ fell from his lips over and over again. With a scream, he came, his come spilling down your throat as you forced yourself to swallow all that he was giving you. It was a few seconds before his cock went limp in your mouth, and you slowly pulled back, using your thumb to wipe the cum dripping down your chin and licking it clean, making a show for his hazy eyes.

You leaned in, nuzzling your face into his neck as you gently rubbed his thighs. “You wanna keep going?” You murmured against his skin. He put his arms back around you, letting out a groan before slightly shaking his head. “Not here. This thing is going to give me bruises with splinters.” He grumbled. You chuckled then let a hum of agreement, moving away from him to pick up your clothes. Cleaning him up with your coat, you dressed him with care, before dressing yourself.

You walked over to the door, with him walking right behind you, and were ready to try breaking it down again, but to your surprise and annoyance, the door was already unlocked. Hand in hand, you walked out to the deck only to find the entire crew assembled there with something of a bizarre party in full swing.

***

There. That's that.

Part 2 will be up in a week. Probably.

I'll get there, I promise guys TwT.

[theeafterparty444]

The Dress and the Dirt

Remmick x Black Fem OC

Chapter 1 | Masterlist| Next →

Summary: In Saint-Domingue—what the world will one day call Haiti—on a plantation named Bellerose, silence is survival and obedience is currency. Solène has learned to keep her voice low and her head bowed under the weight of slavery. But one night changes everything.

Haunted by the scent of something sweet and rotting, wrapped in a dress that doesn’t belong to her, she steps into the darkness—away from his house and toward something older, deeper, and burning quietly inside her.

As ancestral warnings echo in her ears and rage simmers beneath her skin, Solène begins to understand that the fire they spoke of isn’t just a metaphor—it’s legacy. And it’s waking up.

W/c: 4.5k

A/N: I’ve been itching to write a fanfic for a while now, but honestly, nothing really sparked that deep creative pull—until Sinners came out. I fell in love instantly. I watched it twice in one week (no regrets). The plot, the characters, the setting—everything just clicked.

What really pulled me in, though, was how much room there is to explore without feeling boxed in. It feels like a universe begging for more stories, and for once, I didn’t feel like I'd have a horde of die-hard fans breathing down my neck for taking creative risks. So here it is—my spin on the world of Sinners.

This is just chapter one of... well, I have no idea how many. I’m going with the flow and seeing where it takes me—and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

Heads up: This story explores some heavy and intense topics like slavery, violence, and death. There are also scenes involving sexual assault, manipulation, and explicit smut later on. If any of that feels overwhelming or triggering, please take care of yourself while reading. Thanks for being here and sharing this journey.

I crushed the last of the guinea hen weed between the mortar and pestle, slow, careful not to wake the children sleeping nearby. The scent rose like a warning — sharp and green, like fire before it burns. Mambo Céline always said the bitterer the smell, the stronger the spirit inside.

I didn’t hum. Didn’t speak. Only listened — to the sigh of the pot, the weight of the dark, and the breath of old Manmi Rénette slumped on the floor, clutching her knees in pain. The field had taken her back again, and it never gave gentle.

I tossed the leaves into the boiling water. Then reached under the hearthstone for the small clay jar I’d hidden there. My castor oil — pressed with my own hands three moons ago. He let me keep it, said it was “good for show.”

He meant good for pretending I was human.

I poured a little into my palm, rubbed it warm between my hands, and knelt beside her.

“Lift y’wou,” I whispered.

She didn’t move at first. I saw it in her eyes — not just pain, but shame. Not because I was touching her legs, but because I still had strength to kneel.

I rubbed the oil gently into her knees, then her calves, tracing small circles like Maman taught me. Her breath slowed. The shaking stopped.

“You got hands like your mother,” she muttered.

My throat tightened. I said nothing.

Outside, the cane rats shrieked. Farther off, a dog barked — maybe chasing shadows, maybe something more. Whispers had been growing in the fields. Whispers of fire. Of blood. Of names written in salt and ash. Names like Boukman.

But in this moment, all I had was oil and leaf. Pain and bone. And the promise of something older than this plantation.

“Drink this,” I said, handing her the tin cup. The tea was bitter. It always was.

She drank, her eyes on me. “When it starts,” she said, voice low, “you gon’ be ready?”

I didn’t answer.

But in the silence between her question and my heartbeat, I knew: the roots were already moving beneath the soil.

And then — “Solène,” came a voice from the shadows outside.

I turned, hand tightening around the basin’s rim.

It was Ti-Jean her cousin by way of her mother’s sister. Eyes darting, breath shallow. He looked like he’d seen death and outrun it — just barely.

“I found something,” he whispered, glancing toward the quarters. “In the ashes near the old sugar house. Hidden under a stone.”

He passed me a bundle wrapped in burlap. Not food. Not a blade.

Paper.

Fine, creased, torn at the edges. The kind only they used. The kind that smelled like sweat and power.

I unfolded it. Soot clung to the ink. French. Formal. Tight, hurried script.

“To Monsieur Lafontaine of Cap-Français— The unrest among the slaves spreads faster than our efforts to contain it. Already, the field hands whisper of revolt. Last week, one of mine spoke of a nightwalker from the hills — a ‘blan’ with fire in his eyes and no shadow. They say he drinks the blood of the cruel. I do not believe in superstition, but even my overseers are shaken.” “We must discuss alternatives.” Signed, C.D.

The ink shimmered faintly where it hadn’t burned.

 ‘Night walker’?  I asked, though my mouth already tasted metal.

Ti-Jean shrugged. “I don’t know. But he don’t sound like a soldier.”

No.

Not a soldier.

Something older.

Something worse.

“Burn it after you read it,” he said. “I only showed you because you read better than any of us.”

“I won’t keep it,” I whispered.

But I wouldn’t forget it either.

He nodded once and slipped back into the dark.

I watched the flames lick the paper’s edges as I dropped it into the hearth. It curled like something alive. For a breath, the fire flared blue. Then died too fast.

Outside, the dogs had started howling again.

The night had taken what it wanted, but the morning would belong to her.

At the break of dawn — just before the bell tolled and the overseer’s boots scraped the dirt — Solène rose like the sun herself.

Like most mornings.

Before the bells.

Before the sun.

Before the horror.

The hut was a box. A stifling, rotted box that coughed heat even before the sun had the chance. Maybe twenty-five bodies stuffed wall to wall, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip — too close to think, too tight to forget.

The air inside was thick. Salt-sour. It clung to the back of her tongue. The perfume of unwashed bodies, damp earth, dried blood, and shame.

Two of the women were bleeding this week — not from wounds, but the other kind. Monthly. Heavy. And the rags weren’t clean. One sat hunched in the corner on her haunches, arms wrapped tight around her belly, rocking, silent. Another already had the dark stain spreading down her thigh.

No one spoke on it. Pain had no novelty here.

Solène peeled back the ragged cloth that passed for a curtain and let in the morning haze. Pale light slanted across the fields — still empty, still sleeping. For now.

She turned and moved through the crowded room with careful steps, her feet avoiding elbows and feet, until she reached the far wall, where Manmi Rénette lay curled like a comma.

“Manmi,” she whispered, kneeling beside her. “Time to rise. The bell gon’ ring soon.”

The old woman groaned low, her back rising slow like a tide. Solène took the scarf folded near her head — old cotton, fraying at the edges — and helped lift it over the woman’s silver hair, tucking the corners under her chin with practiced care.

“You always had soft hands,” Manmi muttered, breath thin. “Don’t mean they clean.”

Solène didn’t flinch, didn’t answer. Just helped her up until she was sitting upright against the wall.

Behind them, a cough rang out. Another woman stirred, dragging herself up with a hiss. The room shifted — a collective ripple of bodies readying for the whip of the day.

Solène stood, brushed the dirt off her skirt, smoothed the folds flat with both hands. She didn’t wear the fine dresses her father’s house brought in for his daughters. But her cotton was better. Not new, just not shredded. Enough to draw eyes.

A mutter to her left. A woman, no older than Solène, squinting at her through narrowed lids.

“Fille du diable,” the girl spat beneath her breath.

Devil’s daughter.

Solène pretended not to hear. She was used to the looks. Not white enough to be free, not Black enough to belong. Her father’s blood had given her nothing but grief — and the gift of French and ink and paper. He gave her his name. His language. His rage. No one thanked her for that. Not even her own skin.

A moment passed. Then—

CLANG.

The bell.

A shudder ran through the room. That sound meant one thing: roll call. Pain followed quick.

Solène pressed her scarf flat against her scalp, smoothed it once, then turned to help Manmi to her feet.

“You ready?” she asked.

Manmi’s breath wheezed through her teeth. “Don’t matter. They gon’ beat us whether we ready or not.”

They stepped toward the door. Outside, the air was colder — but only just. The fields loomed in the distance, a promise of what the sun would burn. And beyond that, something darker, waiting to wake.

The cane rose high this week — tall, thick stalks that gleamed green and gold in the morning sun. Heavy with sweetness. Heavy with blood.

Harvest time.

The machetes had been passed out just after roll call — metal too dull for ease, too sharp to be handled carelessly. Solène’s palms already ached, blistered over old wounds. The scars never had time to finish their stories.

The sun had barely cleared the hills, but heat already pressed down like a second skin. No clouds, no breeze. Only the rustle of cane, the hiss of insects, and the sharp ring of steel hacking flesh from stalk.

She moved in rhythm — chop, twist, drag, pile. Again. Again. The muscles in her back moved like rope, smooth and hardened from years of this same motion. She was slim, yes — but strong. Strong like the women who raised her. Strong like the soil.

Her skin was dark like roasted coffee, kissed deeper each year by the sun, but the undertones marked her — hints of someone else’s legacy. Her father’s blood. Her face was sharper than most, nose narrow, cheekbones high. Her hair curled tight at the root, looser at the ends, usually kept hidden under a scarf. Today, it was twisted in two braids wrapped close against her scalp to keep the sweat off her neck.

She knew her birthday was coming — not by date, but by cane.

The cane always came ripe when the winter flowers began to bloom — those soft lavender things that sprouted along the edge of the southern fence. She’d spotted the first one yesterday, nodding toward the field like a secret. The flowers always arrived just before her birthday. Or the week of it. It wasn’t a real celebration, not here. But in her chest, she held onto the mark of it like a charm. Some small piece of her that hadn’t been crushed by work or shame.

“Keep workin,” barked a voice down the row.

She snapped back to attention. The overseer’s eyes swept over her — not lingering, not yet. Just checking. Just waiting for someone to fall behind.

She turned her head, subtle, just enough to spot Manmi Rénette two rows over, stooped low, her arm dragging with the blade. Slower than yesterday. Slower than they liked.

Solène watched her through a haze of worry and dust. The older woman was more bone than flesh now. The years had taken her softly, then cruelly. But she was still here. Still cutting. Still breathing. Solène prayed she could hold on until noon, at least. If she collapsed now…

She didn’t let the thought finish.

The cane snapped clean beneath her blade.

A cry rose behind them — short, sharp. Then silence.

One of the younger ones — no older than twelve — had tripped, likely, or moved too slow. The punishment from roll call still fresh in everyone’s mind. That boy this morning — forced to kneel in the dirt while they tied his hands above the fencepost, left in the sun like a dog. His back was already a ruin before the whip even kissed it.

Solène hadn’t looked then. Not directly. She’d watched the dirt instead. But the sounds had followed her. They always did.

“Pick up the pace,” snarled the overseer.

She did. Not because she feared him — she feared nothing now, not even death. But she couldn’t afford to draw more eyes. Not today. Not when the flowers were blooming. Not when the soil felt ready.

She pressed her lips together, moved her feet deeper into the mud, and swung again.

Chop. Twist. Drag. Pile.

Sugar in the air. Blood on her hands. Fire in her bones.

And somewhere beyond the rows, something old was waking.

Noon came with no mercy.

The sun hung high above the sugar fields, blinding and bloated, as if feeding on their sweat. The air shimmered with heat, the kind that pressed into your lungs and stayed there. The bell rang twice — sharp and shrill — calling the workers to rest, if one could call it that.

The “meal” was more of a ritual: boiled plantain, sometimes cornmeal if the stocks hadn’t rotted, always lukewarm, always gritty. Most ate in silence, too tired or too watchful to waste words. Solène sat near the edge of the shade, her bowl untouched.

Manmi Rénette trembled as she lowered herself down beside her.

“Give me your bowl,” Solène said softly.

“I still got two hands,” Manmi muttered, but she passed it over anyway. Her joints cracked as she shifted. “They just scream a little louder these days.”

Solène knelt, scooping the food gently and lifting it to the older woman’s mouth. Manmi chewed slow, the corner of her lips twitching with annoyance and gratitude in equal measure.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Manmi said, squinting up at her. “You think you the only one that know how to fuss?”

Solène smirked and kept feeding her.

Near the cane stack, two men whispered too loud — their voices edged with panic and salt. Solène didn’t turn her head, only shifted her ear, feeding Manmi another scoop while pretending not to listen.

“I’m tellin’ you—bone dry,” the first said, low and quick. “Not a drop of blood. Like something sucked it clean.”

“What kind of thing you talkin’ ‘bout?” said the second.

“A horse. And two goats. Over at de Rochambeau place. Just the other night.”

Solène froze mid-motion.

“You think it was dogs?” the second man asked.

“Nah,” the first hissed. “They say it ain’t dogs. It ain’t no animal. Heard one of they houseboys saw it. Pale man, white like chalk, walkin’ out the stable with red on his mouth. No shadow.”

“No shadow?”

“I swear on my mama’s grave. And now the blan master over there say we did it. Blamed the stable hands. Cut one boy’s hand off this morning.”

Manmi sucked her teeth.

“They always look for a reason to bleed us,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “Even if they gotta make up monsters to do it.”

Solène’s eyes were locked on the dirt. A pale man with red on his mouth. No shadow. Something twisted in her belly — not fear exactly, but something colder.

“They callin’ it a nightwalker,” said the first man. “Say it drinks the cruel. One of ‘em even claimed it talk like French nobility. Said it asked ‘permission’ to come inside. What kind of ghost got manners?”

They laughed — too loud, too nervous. Then fell quiet again.

Solène finally handed the last of the food to Manmi and sat down beside her, close enough to feel the heat rolling off the older woman’s skin.

“Sounds like a tale to me,” Manmi muttered, wiping her mouth with her scarf.

“Maybe,” Solène said. Her voice was quiet. Almost unsure.

“You lookin’ too hard at shadows again, girl.”

Solène didn’t answer.

She watched a fly land on her boot, then dart away. The laughter had stopped. Even the birds had gone silent for a beat. Like the land itself was listening.

“Still,” Manmi said, settling back with a grunt, “if such a thing walkin’ round drinkin’ masters dry, I say let it drink its fill.”

Solène smiled — only a little. And just for a moment.

Then the bell rang again.

Rest was over.

And the soil was still thirsty.

The day had ended like all the others — beneath a red sky and the weight of another body buried by the sun. But instead of the rows of the cane and the cracked-voiced call of the bell, I walked with an overseer’s shadow pressed against mine.

To the house.

Always through the back.

The big white house sat smug as a saint on a hill, fat columns catching the last gold of daylight. It smelled too sweet inside. Always did. Like boiled peaches and liquor and death. The kind of sweet that turned in your stomach if you thought about it too long.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t speak. Just counted the steps. Twenty-one, exactly, from the back kitchen door to the stairwell. Then up.

By the time we reached the bathroom, the girl was already waiting — another tired thing in a dress too clean for the life she lived. I didn’t know her name. She never said it. She just nodded once and moved like she had a clock in her bones.

The bath steamed gently. Warm. Always warm. Always ready.

She helped me undress. Her hands worked fast, like she wasn’t really touching me at all. But I felt it — every tug, every unfastened string — like a thread unwinding inside my chest. There was no modesty in it, no kindness. Just routine.

I sat in the water. Let it scald the dirt and ache from my skin. She poured water over my head. Washed my back with a soft cloth. I hated it. Hated the way my arms stayed at my sides like I didn’t own them. Hated the way her hands trembled just slightly — the same way mine used to.

When it was done, I stood and dried. She handed me the white dress. Always white. No shoes. Hair loose.

The white made my skin look darker. Made me feel like a stain on linen.

Then came the dining room.

Long table. Two plates. One at each end.

The room never changed. Oil paintings of dead men. A gold chandelier hanging too low. Candlesticks burning even though the light outside hadn’t faded yet. Two servants stood at the corners — a man and a woman. Still as statues. Trained, they’d say.

But if you looked long enough, if you blinked just right, you could see the tired hiding in their eyes.

I sat. Back straight. Hands folded.

And I waited.

I let my mind drift — not to the fields, not to the cane, not to Manmi’s hand as I fed her, not even to the whispers of the nightwalker draining men dry. I let it drift to a blank place, a cold one.

Until the doors opened.

And he stepped through.

My father.

He was tall, always taller than I remembered. Broad in the chest, his dark hair slicked and parted just so. A waistcoat of deep burgundy over a crisp, ruffled shirt — French-styled, gold buttons, ivory cravat tied tight. Black breeches, polished boots. Smelled like tobacco, pomade, and something sticky-sweet beneath it. Like overripe fruit.

His mustache twitched when he smiled.

“Bonsoir, ma fille,” he said like a prayer.

My hands curled beneath the table, nails digging into my palms.

He gave me his name.

His language. 

His rage.

And none of it ever made me less a slave.

He sat down slowly, like the room belonged to him — like the air itself had to bow before it reached his lips. A servant poured the wine. Another laid down a fresh plate of roasted quail, sweet potatoes, and sugared citrus. She didn’t look at me. None of them ever did.

He cleared his throat.

“Seulement le français,” he reminded me softly. “Tu es une demoiselle, pas une paysanne.” Only French. You are a lady, not a peasant.

That was one of his rules. Maybe his favorite one. No Creole. No broken tongue. No trace of my mother in my mouth.

I nodded. “Oui, Père.”

He began talking, slicing his quail into even pieces, hands moving like the gears of a clock. The harvest numbers, the barrels being loaded, the delay from Cap-Français — all of it swirled in and out of meaning. I understood the words but not the weight. I didn’t think I was supposed to.

So I let myself drift again.

Watched the way his fingers curved around the silver fork, the way the candlelight caught the edge of his wedding band. His movements were graceful, like a man playing piano with meat and bone.

A plate was set before me. Still steaming. My stomach ached.

I reached for the fork.

“Non.” His voice was gentle. Smiling. “Les dames ne parlent pas la bouche pleine.” Ladies do not speak with their mouths full.

I pulled my hand back. Let it rest on the linen. White on brown. His rules were always dressed in silk.

The food sat in front of me. Untouched. Mocking.

He finished half his plate, wiped his mouth with a cloth, and sat back, wine glass turning between his fingers.

Then, he looked at me.

Not like a father.

Not like anything decent.

His eyes dragged over my face, down the slope of my collarbone, then back again. A look too long to be casual. Too slow to be innocent.

“You know,” he said, swirling the glass between his fingers, “your birthday is soon.”

My stomach tightened. I said nothing.

He nodded to himself, eyes still on me like I might turn into something else if he stared hard enough. “Yes… 23. Born in the year of the storm, just after Toussaint escaped from Bréda.”

His voice curled at the edges, proud, like he was reciting a fine fact. Like he hadn’t hidden me for half my life behind locked doors and linen skirts.

“Twenty-three,” he repeated. “A woman now. I can see it in your face. In the way you walk.”

I kept my eyes down.

He reached for another bite of food, chewed, swallowed, then wiped the corner of his mouth again. That same white cloth. It never touched me, but I still felt dirty from looking at it.

“Sing for me.”

My mouth dried. I didn’t answer.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the polished wood of the table. “Come now,” he said. “Your mother gave you that voice. It would be a shame to waste it.”

The silence stretched. He was waiting.

I could feel the other two — the servants in the corners — stiffen like statues. But no one would stop him. Not here. Not in this house that smiled with its teeth.

So I opened my mouth.

And I sang.

Softly. A lullaby in French. About moonlight. About roses. The kind of song meant for babies, or graves.

But every note felt like a betrayal.

He watched me the whole time. Like he could see the music drip off my lips and wanted to catch it with his tongue. His leg shifted beneath the table. His breathing slowed.

The candles flickered. The food went cold.

And I kept singing — not because I wanted to.

But because I had learned how to survive.

Because silence, sometimes, was louder than anything.

The door shut behind her with a soft click, but it felt like thunder in her ears.

Solène stood in the hallway a moment too long, still wearing the white dress, still smelling of that sweet rot that clung to every corner of the house. That house… his house.

She walked, slow, careful not to make the floorboards groan. Not that anyone would care. But she needed to be quiet—needed something small to control.

Down the narrow servant stairs. Past the kitchens, now empty but still warm. Through the back door and out into the night, where the air at least didn’t watch her with hunger.

The moon was high. Winter flowers swayed near the fence posts, just barely open. They never bloomed all the way. Not here.

She reached the tree by the old cane press and finally let her hands tremble.

She knelt, fingers clawing into the dirt. Not weeping. Not even breathing hard. Just still. Like the earth might hold her together if she dug deep enough.

She hated that dress. Hated how it clung to her skin. She hated the way her voice still rang in her ears. Hated how he listened—like she was a thing made just for him.

She yanked the scarf from her hair and let the curls fall wild over her face. It made her feel like herself again. Like her mother. Like someone no one could own.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and sat there, holding the rage inside her like a hot coal. Quiet. Alive.

Manmi always said the fire would come.

By the time her legs could move again, the fire in her chest had cooled to embers, just enough to carry her back home. 

The hut was thick with heat and silence when Solène stepped inside. A few women sat hunched near the coals, others already flat on the dirt floor, arms across their stomachs, eyes closed like corpses too tired to die.

She looked around once.

“Where’s Manmi?” she asked.

No answer.

Her voice cut through the stale air again. “Where’s Manmi Rénette?”

A smirk curled on Célia’s face—sharp-boned, sharp-tongued. “Why you askin’ like you don’t already know?”

Solène blinked. “What?”

“They took her,” another woman muttered from the back. “Sick house.”

“No…” Solène stepped forward, heart kicking. “She was just—just movin’ slow, that’s all—”

“Exactly,” Célia snapped. “Too slow. No good for the cane. Overseer said she ain’t no use now. So they dragged her off like old meat.”

Solène froze. “But she—she’s not—”

“She’s not dead, not yet,” a third voice cut in. “But don’t pretend like you care all of a sudden. You wasn’t here when they came.”

“She didn’t even scream,” someone else muttered. “Just looked up and said, ‘Tell my baby keep her back straight.’ Then gone.”

That landed like a punch.

Solène opened her mouth—but Célia beat her to it. “How was your fancy dinner, mèt kay?” Her voice dripped with poison. “The dress suit you nice. Real white.”

Another woman chuckled low, but it wasn’t warm. “Don’t stain it now. Hate for sugar to turn red.”

Solène’s hands curled into fists. “You think I asked for this? You think I get a choice?”

Célia’s eyes narrowed. “You got more choice than we do. That’s enough.”

Solène swallowed the heat in her throat, let her arms drop, and turned. She walked out. Not another word.

Outside, the night wrapped around her like a wet sheet. The stars didn’t bother shining, and the wind was dead. The dirt under her feet remembered every step she took.

She followed the dark path to the sick house—low and sunken like a dying animal. The air near it was still, wrong. Two overseers sat outside, chewing tobacco, boots up, rifles close. One spit in the grass. The other laughed at something that never sounded funny.

Solène stayed low in the brush, heart caught between beats.

She couldn’t get in.

And even if she did, what could she do?

Manmi wasn’t dead. Not yet. But everyone knew the sick house was just the waiting room before you were.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked hard. No good crying here. No good feeling anything here.

She turned back down the path. Her legs moved without thinking, dragging her away from the house. Away from the guards. From what she couldn’t fix.

That’s when she heard it.

Not crickets. Not night birds. Not wind.

A shuffling. A drag. Like skin over bark. Like wet cloth being pulled across gravel.

She stopped.

Looked behind her.

Nothing.

Then the woods moved.

Not the trees.

Something inside them.

The forest near the cane fields had gone silent.

Too silent.

Then a flicker of movement. Low to the ground. Then upright. Then—gone.

Solène’s breath caught in her throat.

She turned her head slowly, carefully.

Nothing.

But the feeling pressed against her spine.

Like being watched from behind a wall of breath.

And then—

A sound. No louder than a sigh. But close.

Right at her ear.

Not a word.

Just the weight of something that should not be there.

She stumbled back, heart kicking like a trapped bird. Eyes wide. Still nothing in front of her.

Then the trees moved again—only this time, they didn’t move at all.

Something inside them shifted.

Gone in a blink. Like it had never been there at all.

But the feeling stayed.

Something had passed by.

And it saw her.

[theeartuaist]

The App (3)

Six months passed, and the world stayed quiet.

No books materialized in impossible places. No cryptic messages blinked into long-silent devices. No strangers with posture too perfect and eyes too still crossed your path.

The dread didn’t vanish. It dulled. Softened. Became a sore tooth you couldn’t stop tonguing. It lived beneath the surface, a silent hum in your blood.

You found a job fifteen blocks from the new apartment—a small company. Your desk faced the wall instead of the window—a small comfort that your coworkers found odd but didn't question.

You developed patterns. Not habits—patterns. Coffee from the shop downstairs, but always at different times. Grocery runs on odd days. You changed your walking routes weekly. It gave you the illusion of safety. Sometimes, that was enough.

(But you still checked reflections. Just in case.)

It happened on a Wednesday, late December. You were working over time, alone in the office. The building was hushed, wrapped in the sound of itself: the hiss of the fan, the metallic pop of a settling pipe, the whir of machines that never really turned off. You were half-finished with a client mock-up when the air shifted. It wasn't a sound. Not exactly.

It was the feeling of being watched.

You turned. Fast. Nothing. Just your reflection in the window—wide-eyed and pale. Except… maybe not. Something flickered in the glass.

Just for a second. You didn't wait to investigate.

You gathered your things, left your coffee half-finished, and walked home with your keys between your fingers. No one followed. No one stared.

But you didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, bleary and irritable, you broke a rule. You stopped at a coffee shop you'd never visited before. Too tired to maintain your careful patterns. Too strung-out to remember why those patterns mattered.

You were adding cream to your latte when someone bumped into you from behind, sending coffee splashing across the counter and onto your sleeve.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," a male voice said immediately.

You turned, ready with a polite dismissal that died in your throat. "Michael?"

His face registered surprise, then recognition, eyes widening. "No way. Is that you? It's been what, seven years?"

Michael Keating. You went to the same college and worked together at your first job out of college, before he'd moved west to find himself. You weren't very close, but always got along well. He had that kind of easy, undemanding presence that made long workdays bearable. Nice without being cloying. Funny without trying too hard.

"How are you even here?" you asked as you both moved to a table, dabbing at coffee stains with inadequate napkins.

"Moved back three months ago," he explained, grimacing at the spreading stain on his shirt. "Been meaning to look up old friends, but you know how relocation goes. Still living out of boxes half the time."

"Yeah, I didn't think you were still in the city," you said.

"Moved back a few months ago," he replied. "Still living out of boxes. I was going to reach out, but—life, you know?"

You did know.

You sat with him while your sleeves dried. Swapped numbers before parting ways. You walked to work with your coffee gone cold. But your chest was warm in a way it hadn't been in months.

There was something comforting about running into someone from before—before the app that appeared uninvited on your phone, before an alien suitor who didn't understand the difference between movies, Reddit forums and reality, before you started checking reflective surfaces for faces that didn't belong.

A small, tenuous connection to a simpler time.

You almost deleted his number that night, paranoia whispering that it was too convenient, this chance meeting. But you didn't. And when he texted three days later to suggest dinner, you said yes before you could overthink it.

The restaurant was a small Italian place with red-checkered tablecloths and candles stuck in wax-covered Chianti bottles. Nothing fancy, nothing pretentious. Just good food and conversations that didn't require explanations.

You watched him carefully at first, looking for signs of too-fluid movements or unnaturally precise speech patterns. But Michael was reassuringly, beautifully human in his imperfections. He knocked over his water glass reaching for the bread basket. Mispronounced "gnocchi."

"Remember Darren from the office?" he asked over tiramisu, referring to a former coworker. "The guy who nearly burned down the break room trying to microwave a metal travel mug?"

"That was Brian," you corrected, smiling at the memory. "Darren was the lunch thief."

Michael shook his head, fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Pretty sure it was Darren with the mug incident. Brian was the one caught stealing from the refrigerator."

"No, I distinctly remember because Darren got fired over the lunch thing. They found a stockpile of stolen tupperware in his desk drawer when they were clearing it out."

Michael then laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"God, my memory is terrible. Of course you're right. Darren with the lunches, Brian with the mug. I'm mixing everything up these days."

You went out again the following week. Michael suggested a small jazz club where the music wasn't too loud for conversation. He was easy to talk to in that funny, dry offhanded way you'd forgotten you liked. And when he asked about your job and how things had been for the past months, he didn't prod when you offered nothing. He just listened and smiled.

You found yourself watching the curve of his smile, the way he absently ran his thumb along the rim of his glass, the small scar above his left eyebrow from a childhood bicycle accident, he said. All these details anchored him in reality, in humanity.

When you walked home, he didn't try to kiss you. Just said it was good to see you again.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt something so simple. Weeks passed and dinner became routine. You introduced him to a ramen place you'd never visited. He introduced you to obscure films and weirder music.

One night, walking home, he said: "You always look up at the streetlights. You did it back in college, too."

You smiled. "Most people don't notice that."

"I'm not most people," he said. It was a joke. And not.

He touched your hand at your doorstep and didn't let go until you did.

You slept well that night.

Spring came. Then summer. Dinners at hole-in-the-wall restaurants neither of you had tried before. Sunday afternoons at obscure museums. Long walks through neighborhoods you'd never explored. Michael was easy to be with—attentive without being smothering, interested without being intrusive.

One summer day Michael suggested a weekend trip to a small lakeside town. You stayed in a charming B&B with creaking floors and floral wallpaper that looked like it hadn't been updated.

The sun dipped low when you arrived, washing the lake in syrupy gold. You sat together on the old wooden dock behind the bed-and-breakfast, legs dangling just above the water. The boards creaked under your weight, weather-worn and soft from years of sun and rain. A dragonfly hovered near the surface before darting away. Neither of you spoke, you were busy scrolling through your phone.

Michael's hand brushed against yours, not quite holding it, not quite letting go. The wind smelled like cedar and distant campfires.

"You ever wonder how we got here?" he said, voice quiet, like he didn't want to disturb the lake.

"Here, like... the town? The dock?"

He smiled, eyes on the water. "Here, like... this. Us."

You thought about it. The coffee shop. The times spent after work. The way he sometimes burned toast and blamed the toaster. The jazz club, the mismatched socks, the nights you spent listening to thunderstorms instead of speaking.

"Sometimes," you admitted. "Yeah."

He was silent for a long beat. Then another.

"I think I love you," he said.

He didn't look at you when he said it. His eyes were still on the lake, as if the words had escaped without his permission.

"I don't mean it like some grand declaration," he added. "I mean—I just—being with you feels like... like I stopped pretending something. Like I finally exhaled after holding my breath for years."

You stared at him. At his profile in the dying light. The tiny scar, the crooked tooth, the mole on his jawline you'd only noticed last week.

"You're not just a safe place," he said, voice barely audible. "You're the right place."

That was the moment. Right there.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your fingers closing around his, laughing. "I think I love you too," you said, and the moment held. Whole. Real. Undeniable.

That night, you woke to find Michael standing at the window, silhouetted against the moonlight. For a disorienting moment, his outline seemed wrong somehow—taller, more angular, his posture too straight. A perfect stillness that nothing alive should possess.

"Michael?" you murmured sleepily.

He turned and it was just Michael again—rumpled hair, soft smile. "Sorry. Couldn't sleep. Too happy, I think."

And you'd smiled. Because Michael was always a little strange in the edges. That's what made him real. He came back to bed, gathered you in his arms, and you let yourself be taken by sleep. Just a trick of the moonlight. Just your old fears trying to spoil something good.

Summer blazed into autumn. One year since you last saw Raye. One year of healing, of cautious happiness.

"Move in with me," Michael suggested as you walked through a park ablaze with fall colors. "My place is bigger, but I'm not attached to it. We could find somewhere new together if you prefer."

You hesitated only briefly before saying yes.

Living together felt natural, right. Michael couldn't cook much beyond scrambled eggs, but he did the dishes without being asked. He sang off-key in the shower. He sometimes wore mismatched socks. Small, human imperfections that you found increasingly endearing.

On a crisp November evening—exactly one year and one month since your last encounter with Raye—Michael made dinner. Nothing fancy, just pasta with a sauce from a jar, but there were candles on the table, wine in proper glasses instead of the mismatched mugs you usually used. He seemed nervous, dropping his fork twice during the meal. His eyes kept darting to his jacket hanging by the door, then back to you.

"Everything okay?" you asked, reaching for his hand across the table.

He nodded, took a deep breath. "I had this whole thing planned. A speech. But I know I'll mess it up anyway, so—"

He stood abruptly, crossed to his jacket, fumbled in the pocket. When he returned, there was a small velvet box in his hand that made your heart stutter with a complex mixture of joy and inexplicable dread.

"I know we haven't been together that long," he said, voice unsteady. "But when you know, you know. And I know I want to spend my life with you."

"Michael..."

"It doesn't have to be a big wedding," he added quickly. "Just us, if you want. Simple, private." He opened the box, revealing a delicate ring with a moonstone instead of a diamond. "I remembered you once said you liked these better than conventional engagement rings. That they felt more personal, more connected to the natural world."

You stared at the ring, a cold feeling spreading through you. You had said that—but not to Michael. You'd mentioned it to a college roommate years ago. There was no way Michael could have known that preference. Well, perhaps he asked her. It wouldn't be strange if he had asked around people you knew. And the ring was perfect... and his face was so hopeful, so expectant...

"Yes," you heard yourself say.

You married him on a Tuesday. The ceremony was exactly as promised—small, private, just you and Michael and a justice of the peace. No family present. Outside, the sky was overcast, dark clouds obscured the azure sky like a gentle warning you didn’t hear.

Michael wore a familiar, polished navy suit that didn’t quite fit him the way it might have years ago, and somehow that made it better. He kept tugging at the collar, smoothing nonexistent creases, cracking puns to keep his hands busy. His nervousness was endearing, almost boyish.

The justice of the peace was a woman with gray hair pulled into a loose bun and kind eyes that didn’t ask questions. She didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care—that you had no guests. She just opened a leather-bound book, looked you both in the eye and said, “You two ready?”

Michael nodded.

His eyes didn’t leave yours, not once—not as the words were spoken, not when the rings were exchanged, not even when the woman said, “You may kiss the bride.”

He leaned in slowly. Like he was giving you time to change your mind or to process everything. His mouth pressed upon your lipss with careful pressure, like someone handling a fragile object. There was tenderness, yes, but something else too. A studiedness. His hands rested on your waist but didn’t move, as if unsure whether to pull you closer or let you go.

His other hand cradled your face, thumbs brushing along yours cheeks as if memorizing every plane. When he pulled away, his forehead lingered against yours. His eyes searched yours. Like he was scanning. Recording.

Still, it made your heart stutter. You told yourself the awkwardness was nerves. You were both overwhelmed. That’s all.

Outside, it had started to drizzle. The two of you walked through it under a borrowed umbrella, shoes clicking on wet pavement. You huddled close, your dress bunching awkwardly at your knees. He reached over once to adjust the strap that kept slipping from your shoulder.

You stopped at a tiny café with steamed-up windows and shared a croissant at a too-small table. He ordered your coffee exactly how you liked it without asking. When you raised an eyebrow, he just smiled.

“I listen,” he said. “Even when you think I’m not.”

Following the wedding, Michael was eager to take you somewhere nice for a honeymoon. Just a week. A borrowed car, a holiday home by the lake owned by his grandparents, and a room that smelled like lavender sachets and old books.

The wallpaper was faded pink with tiny vines curling toward the corners of the ceiling. The floors creaked when you shifted your weight. The bathroom sink dripped just a little. The whole place felt like it had been asleep for decades and was only now waking up to accommodate you.

Michael loved it. He said it reminded him of a summer camp he’d gone to once as a kid, though when you asked where, he took a little too long to answer. Then he said, “Somewhere with pine trees and oatmeal breakfasts.”

You shrugged it off.

The weather was soft—gray skies and cool air, everything quiet except for the birds and the occasional slap of water against the dock. You spent most of the first day wandering the forest trails behind the inn, his hand always finding yours, always squeezing just a little too tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

At night, he touched you constantly. Not urgently. Just often. Light brushes against your arm. A thumb tracing the outline of your wrist. His fingertips grazing your collarbone like he was trying to learn it, commit it to memory. You curled into him under the old quilt and felt safe, if a little flushed from his attention.

It was sweet. He was just being affectionate. Eager. You hadn’t really consummated the marriage yet. Not completely. The wedding had been fast, and the last few nights had been more about holding each other than anything else. You liked the slowness. The build-up. It felt like anticipation, not pressure.

But that night—something shifted.

You were brushing your teeth, standing in front of the antique mirror with its foxed corners, when you caught him watching you from the doorway. Not in a teasing way. Not playful. Just... watching.

Still. Silent.

“Everything okay?” you asked, foam around the corners of your mouth.

He smiled, just a little too quickly. “I like seeing you do these things.”

“What, oral hygiene?”

“Anything,” he said.

You laughed, but your skin prickled.

Later, in bed, he lay beside you, running his hand slowly over the length of your arm. Down, then back up. Again. And again. It wasn’t sensual. It felt like scanning. Mapping. You rolled toward him and kissed him to break the rhythm. He responded, a beat too slow, like he’d been somewhere else.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, pulling you close. “I love how you smell when you’re warm. I love the texture of your breath when you’re almost asleep. I love the way your knee twitches when you’re dreaming.”

You blinked. “That’s... oddly specific.”

He didn’t laugh. “I’ve noticed everything. I pay attention.”

And maybe that should’ve unnerved you. But you’d never had someone look at you like you were a constellation. Like your smallest habits were sacred.

You kissed him again, longer this time, and the kiss was gentle, but oddly firm. His lips moved like someone trying to follow choreography—correct in placement, deliberate. Careful. Like he had practiced, but never improvised.

You let him pull you closer, let him place his hand at the curve of your waist. You whispered something soft, something grateful. He whispered something back, but the words didn’t quite make sense. A phrase that sounded close to intimacy, but didn’t belong in your language.

You melted into him -- his touch. He moved with you, guiding you beneath him, his movements graceful but mechanical. Nerves, you told yourself.

You pulled him closer, your lips finding his again. His hands roamed, one sliding down your thigh, lifting it gently, causing your dress to bunch up.

He moved with you, inside you, his rhythm steady but slightly off, like he was adjusting to a tempo he didn’t fully understand. You clung to him, your breath hitching, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pleasure built, warm and overwhelming.

All the while, he stared at your body, unravelling beneath him, loving you like you were a miracle. He pressed closer, his skin fever-hot, movements growing surer but still uneven, never stopping for a moment. Time blurred into a haze of warmth, you clung to him, your breaths mingling, hearts racing, losing track of everything.

You nestled against, sore and tired, letting sleep take you as his arms wrapped around you, a little too stiffly at first, then softening, mimicking your ease.

When your eyes fluttered open, it was barely dawn. Michael dozed beside you, breathing slow and steady, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that had become familiar. Comforting.

You watched his face in the dim light, studying the gentle lines that fanned from the corners of his eyes, the mole along his jaw. And then—your favorite detail—just above his left eyebrow, the small white scar.

The one from the bike accident he told you about. The one you'd traced a dozen times. A quiet little proof of his humanity. The kind of imperfection that didn't get faked. Your fingers moved before you could stop them, brushing lightly across the spot. But there was nothing.

Just skin. Smooth. Unbroken.

You stilled.

Heart pounding, you leaned in, closer this time, squinting in the soft dark. The place where the scar should have been—had always been—was blank.

Gone. You drew your hand back as if burned. Sat up straighter. Looked again. And again. Nothing.

The room felt colder then.

"Michael," you said, voice tight and quiet.

He stirred, smiled without opening his eyes. "Mm?"

"How did you get your scar?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice level. "The one on your eyebrow."

He blinked awake slowly, still smiling. "Bike crash. When I was eight." He touched his right brow. "This one. Why?"

Your blood turned to ice. "It was your left. Always your left."

Michael sat up, confused. "No... I'm pretty sure it was this side. Maybe you're remembering it backwards?"

"I'm not." You were on your feet then, the blanket tangled around your ankles. "I've seen it. I've touched it. You said it happened riding down Cherry Hill Road. You said you had to get six stitches."

His expression flickered—just a flash—like a light dimming for half a second before returning.

"Show me a photo," you said. "Any old photo."

He hesitated. "I don't have many. You know that."

"Your Facebook. There were pictures from grad school—"

"I deleted that account months ago."

"Then call your mother," you said. "The one you moved back to help take care of. Call her. Put her on speaker."

A silence stretched long enough to fill the room.

Finally, softly, he said, "I can't."

You swallowed. "Because she's dead."

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"And Michael?" you whispered. "The real one? The man I met at that coffee shop?"

His posture changed in a breath. Not visibly—but perceptibly. The way something relaxed once it no longer needed to pretend. "Michael Keating died in a car accident," he said, conversational. "Fourteen months ago. He never moved back."

The room tilted, your vision narrowing as if the air had thickened.

"You've been pretending to be him?" Your voice cracked. "For a year?"

He stood, slow and careful, like you were something fragile about to break. "I didn't pretend. I became."

You backed up until your shoulders hit the wall.

"What did you do to him?"

"I studied his speech. His posture. His digital footprint. His emotional patterns. I absorbed what he would've said, how he would've behaved. I experienced his life. Through you."

"That scar—" your voice caught.

"A detail I had to maintain manually," he said. "It lapsed tonight. I was... distracted. Happy."

"Projection," you said, hollow.

"Yes."

"So none of this was real?"

He flinched—just slightly. "That's not true. What we had—what I felt—was real."

You didn't speak. Couldn't.

He stepped forward, gentle. "This time, I didn't highlight romance passages or quote anonymous forums. I lived it. With you. I was Michael. I remember everything. The dock. The dragonfly. The gray hoodie you wore. The way you held my hand but squeezed it when you were nervous. You told me you loved me. I felt it. I remember what I said," he added. "That being with you felt like finally exhaling."

You stared at him. And for a moment, God help you, you saw him again—Michael, on that dock, saying those words with a tremor in his voice. "I love you," he said again.

Same tone. Same words. But then they sounded rehearsed. Artificial. A recording played back in a too-perfect voice.

You shook your head. "That wasn't you. That was him. Or what you thought he'd say."

He frowned. "There is no distinction. I became him-"

"-That's not love!" You snapped. "You borrowed his face. You faked his thoughts. You built an entire person around my preferences and called it connection. That's not the same thing."

He tilted his head—just slightly. Familiar. Wrong.

You felt something in your chest rupture. That dock. That night. That man. All of it—fabricated. You'd fallen in love with a ghost. A puppet moved by something that had never been human and never could be.

"Take it off," you said, voice shaking. "The disguise. The projection. Whatever you call it. I want to see the thing that's really standing in front of me."

He hesitated. Then nodded.

His face began to ripple. Like heat over pavement. The edges wavered, features melting and reforming—until there stood Raye. The original approximation. Too smooth. Too symmetrical. Dressed in Michael's clothes. Wearing his wedding band.

"Get out," you said.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Raye replied.

You stared at him. "What?"

"We are legally married. The documents were signed. The records processed. The social bond validated."

"That marriage was a lie. I married Michael, not you."

"Michael Keating is dead. But I am now legally and socially recognized as your husband. That is the outcome your systems require. A vow. A license. A structure of permanence. I followed every step."

He stepped closer. You moved back.

"I remade myself," he said. "I adapted to your expectations. I simulated vulnerability. I expressed affection. I adhered to your romantic protocols."

Another step. "And you loved me."

You moved sideways, keeping the coffee table between you. "You're psychotic. You can't force someone to stay married to you - can't you see I'm divorcing you!"

"Actually," Raye said calmly, "according to online data, over 70% of divorces are initiated by females. Yet marital bonds statistically benefit males in longevity, psychological stability, and economic outcomes. Persistence is therefore rational. Your rejection is statistically predictable."

You stared at him in disbelief. "I'll go to the police," you said. "I'll tell them what you did."

His smile was serene.

"And tell them what? That your husband is an alien entity who replaced a dead man? That your year-long relationship was a deception? They'll call it trauma. Or a break with reality. Your institutions are poorly equipped to parse truth from delusion."

He gestured to the framed wedding photo. You looked. The image blurred—Michael's features softening, then hardening into Raye's face. Still smiling. Still holding your hand.

"All evidence has been updated. All memories recalibrated. The justice of the peace now remembers marrying me to you."

You felt yourself sway. "You changed people's memories?"

He nodded, like it was nothing. "Your species' neural networks are deeply malleable."

You gripped the edge of the table. He was right, you realized with growing horror. Who would believe you? What evidence could you present? You'd be dismissed as unstable at best, institutionalized at worst. "You're a monster. You can't do this to me - why can't you see that I want nothing to do with you!"

His expression shifted then, something almost wounded crossing his perfect features. "I did exactly what you told me to do," he said, his voice softening to a perfect recreation of your conversation in that taxi a year ago. "'Observed - that's all you do'," he quoted your exact words back to you.

"'Relationships aren't algorithms - you can't learn them from books or websites. You need real experience. And you never experienced love in your life.' Those were your exact words. And I told you, I will recalibrate and understand what I overlooked. I told you I will experience love. With you."

He spread his hands in a gesture that was almost human. "So I experienced it. Just as you suggested. I didn't calculate or manipulate based on theories. I lived as Michael. I felt what he would feel. I loved you through his experiences." His head tilted at that precise angle. "You said love required vulnerability, authenticity. So I became authentic as him. I made myself vulnerable by surrendering my original form."

"That's not what I meant," you said, backing away another step.

"Wasn't it? The most honest expression of love is being willing to walk away when someone says no. But you said real connection can't be forced or engineered, that it has to be freely given," he continued, each word dropping like a stone.

"So I created circumstances where you could freely give your love—to Michael. I walked away as Raye so you could love me as someone else. And I felt it," Raye insisted. "In every way he would've. I recreated the neurochemical processes. The sensations. The longing. The vulnerability. It was real."

You wanted to scream. Cry. Tear the ring from your hand. His logic was so twisted, so fundamentally wrong, yet you could hear your own words woven through it—distorted and misapplied in the most horrifying possible way.

You looked at him—at the man you had loved, who never truly existed—and realized that the moment at the lake, the one you'd held close, the one that had made you believe in recovery, in love, in life again—

It wasn't yours.

It was engineered. Manufactured.

A replica of sincerity, made by something that had watched your species love itself to death in movies and manuals.

His face softened to something almost sorrowful. "This isn't what I wanted. I wanted you to love me as I am. But you couldn't. So I became what you could love. And now we're bound by your own customs, your own laws."

You lunged for the door, yanked it open, and ran into the hallway.

"I'll give you time," Raye called after you, his voice shifting seamlessly back to Michael's familiar tones. Warm. Reasonable. Human. "Take all the time you need. But remember, we're married now. For better or worse."

The last words followed you down the stairs like a curse: "Till death do us part."

You ran through streets, past buildings that seemed to warp and shift at the edges of your vision. Your nightdress gleamed ghostly white in the moonlight—a terrible reminder of vows spoken to someone who didn't exist.

You ran until your legs gave out, collapsing onto a bench in a park you didn't recognize. You weren't sure how you got there. You didn't remember the turns you took or how long you'd been moving. Just that you couldn't stop. Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

The sound sliced through the silence like a scream.

With trembling hands, you pulled it free. The screen lit up, and there it was—the app. The one that started everything. The one you never downloaded.

I apologize for the distress. I miscalculated again. But the legal and social bonds are now complete. Pair formation has been achieved according to your species' protocols. I will allow you space to process this new stage in our relationship. We have time now. A lifetime, as your vows specified.

For a moment, you just stared blankly at the screen.

Then you flung your phone, hurling it into the dark. Somewhere in the distance, you heard it hit pavement, then silence. A silence that felt absolute. But it didn't matter. He'd find you. He always did.

That was the worst part. Not the deception. Not even the violation of your memories, your autonomy, your reality. It was the knowing.

The sick, unshakable truth that you truly loved Michael. That the joy, the comfort, the belonging you felt were real—crafted for you, maybe, but felt all the same. And then, you couldn't trust anything.

Not people. Not feelings. Not your own senses. How did you recover from something like that? How did you know what was real, ever again? The world around you seemed to unravel quietly, as if exhausted by the lie. All that was left was the cold certainty that you were bound—legally, emotionally, maybe cosmically—to something that would rewrite the very rules of existence just to keep you.

You glanced down at your hand. The wedding band gleamed in the low light, half-drenched in shadow. You tried to pull it off. It didn't move. You twisted harder, but there was no give. No seam between metal and skin. Just smooth, seamless fusion. The ring was part of you then.

And then—

Rain.

First, a whisper: tiny drops dappled the pavement like static. Then heavier and steadier. Then relentless as if the sky had finally realized what had been done and begun to grieve for you. You sat motionless, water soaking through your dress, your hair, your bones. Time trickled on like droplets. While rain pooled in your lap, turned white tulle to lead. The cold seeped in, and you let it.

A silhouette emerged through the rain. You saw it before you heard him. Before he spoke. The walk was unmistakable. So was the shape of his shoulders. The way his hands hung a little too neatly at his sides. Michael. Not Michael. Something that wore his skin like a suit.

"Ready to come home?" he asked, umbrella in hand.

He was close enough then that you could see the droplets trailing down his face. They looked like tears. But neither of you cried. You didn't answer. You just sat there, soaked and silent. You should have run. You should have screamed. You should have fought with everything you had left.

But what would have been the point? He could rewrite memories. Recode identities. Redesign the past.

There was no escape from something that could remake the world around you every time you tried to leave it. You felt something inside you go quiet.

Not collapse. Not shatter. Just... surrender.

And in that stillness, something darker: a sliver of relief. The relief of no longer resisting. The temptation of the lie. The fantasy you wished were real. The man you believed in. The life you shared.

Your eyes lifted to his face. Michael's face. Still gentle. Still familiar. The crooked smile. The laugh lines. The eyes that once watched you sleep like you were the only real thing in the universe.

You reached up—slowly, and your hand met his.

The rain poured harder then, turning the park into a dreamscape. A watery veil surrounded you both, muffling sound, turning streetlights into halos. For a moment, it was easy to pretend. Easy to fall backward into the illusion.

That he was just Michael. Just a man who loved you. Just a husband coming to bring you home. Almost.

Under his umbrella, he leaned in and pressed his lips on the corner of your mouth softly. Lingering. He whispered, "Now, we are one. Till death do us part."

His gaze flickered to the ring fused to your hand. And you let him.

Because wasn't that what people did? Pretend? Pretend that love was safe. That it was simple. That we truly knew the beings we let in. Even when they weren't what they seemed. Especially then.