#if you're wondering what you're looking at

[tender-rosiey]

hello, love! i hope you're doing great! i love reading your works and thank you so much for writing such beautiful pieces 🫶🏻

soooo... i was thinking of making a request! i'm not sure if you've written about this or not and please feel free to ignore it if you're uncomfortable with writing it or if you've already written it but here's the request:

satoru with newborn twin daughters 🥹

i noticed that there are almost no twin dad gojo fics and we already know that he's a girl dad. plus, i love your writing style. hence this thought. again, thank you so much for your hard work, rose! stay hydrated and have a great day! byeeee!

twin girls (and gojo ig) — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: i cant believe it took me like 7 months to finally post this; i am so sorry 🙏 BUT i am so so happy that you like my works and srsly thank you for your sweet words. they mean the world 🥹 hope that you like this as well! have a wonderful day!! 🫶🫶

the only thing worse than having one girl you can’t say no to is having two.

add to that the fact that satoru is already a softie when it comes to his daughters, and it’s a recipe for disaster—if you’re not there to intervene.

"papa, I want a dress!" one of your twins looks up at satoru with wide, sparkling eyes, her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

her sister quickly chimes in, her voice a little shyer but just as determined. "I-I want a dress too, papa!"

satoru crouches down to their level, hands on his knees as he looks between his two little girls, his white hair falling messily into his eyes.

“two dresses, huh?” his voice takes on a faux-serious tone. “what kind of dresses are we talking about?”

“sparkly!”

“twirly!”

“pink!”

“blue!”

their voices rise with excitement, and satoru’s grin only grows wider as he listens, nodding as though their demands are being carefully cataloged in his mind.

you can’t help but smile from the doorway, watching the scene unfold. his enthusiasm when it comes to them is both endearing and ridiculous.

"satoru," you call out, interrupting his train of thought. your arms are crossed, and a teasing smile plays on your lips. "we agreed they only need one dress each, remember?"

he turns toward you with a playful pout, the twins following his gaze.

“they’re my princesses, wifey! how can I deny them a little extra sparkle?” he says, completely unbothered by the parental negotiations you both agreed on just yesterday.

you raise an eyebrow, taking a few steps closer and placing a hand on his arm. “you’ll be sleeping on the couch if they come home with more than one each.”

satoru's expression shifts immediately, an exaggerated look of surrender plastered on his face as he straightens up, holding up his hands. "alright, alright. one dress each. promise."

later that evening, when you return home, your twin girls are twirling around in front of you in two dresses each—one sparkly, one twirly, naturally.

your gaze falls on satoru, who stands casually leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, whistling as if he’d done nothing wrong.

“satoru,” you pout, “I thought we had an agreement.”

he gives you a cheeky grin and a shrug, completely unbothered. “they were on sale,” he says as if that justifies everything.

the girls, oblivious to your exasperation, giggle and show off their new outfits, spinning around in excitement.

"mama, look! don't we look pretty?"

"yeah, mama! we look pretty, right?"

you press your lips into a thin line, but the fondness in your eyes betrays you. you sigh and ruffle their hair, "yes, very pretty, both of you."

the girls squeal in happiness and run around the house in their excitement. your husband nudges your arm gently with a teasing smile. you quirk an eyebrow before pushing him away with a chuckle.

you can never deny that you love seeing them so happy, even if it means satoru has bent the rules—again.

of course, life with your husband and your twin girls is a whirlwind. even bedtime is an adventure (read: a battle).

one night, the girls are bouncing off the walls in their matching pajamas, their giggles filling the room as they run circles around satoru, who’s sitting at the edge of the bed, utterly failing to get them under control.

"alright, time to settle down," he says, his tone light but lacking any real authority. the girls shake their heads as their dad is simply not cut out to be the strict parent in their eyes.

however, when he opens his arms, one of the girls takes the chance to climb his lap. his hand ruffles her hair, and she hums happily .

"papa, can we have three stories tonight?" the twin on his lap asks, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

her sister, not wanting to miss out, rushes over and clings to his other arm. "no! I want four stories!"

satoru sighs dramatically, glancing over at you for backup. you are sitting like the boss you are on the loveseat in the room. you look up when you feel your husband's eyes on you.

“they only get one story,��� you remind him, trying not to laugh at his predicament.

satoru looks between the two girls, their wide eyes fixed on him. “alright, alright,” he finally concedes, holding up two fingers. “two stories. that’s my final offer.”

he hears you groan, and his heart breaks at disappointing you, but he can’t just say no to them. the twins cheer as if they’ve won a war, grabbing their favorite books from the bedside table.

it takes you a few moments before you smile helplessly as you watch him negotiate with them like it’s a high-stakes sorcery mission. it's not long before your daughters fall asleep. satoru's voice has always been comfort incarnate for them.

"you’re too soft," you tease as you walk over to him, pinching his nose—he yelps as quietly as he can, so you plant a soft kiss on his temple.

he leans into your touch for a moment, closing his eyes. "can’t help it," he mutters, "they’ve got your charm.”

afternoons are no less chaotic, especially at the park, where the twins drag satoru toward the swings, their little hands gripping his fingers as they bounce excitedly.

"papa, push me higher!" one demands, already settling onto the swing.

"me too! higher!" her sister echoes, scrambling onto the swing beside her.

satoru stands behind them, cracking his knuckles.

“higher, huh? I think I can manage that.” he gives the first swing a firm push, sending one of the twins soaring up, her laughter filling the air.

you sit on the third swing, smiling at the scene.

satoru looks over at you, his grin softening as his eyes meet yours. the way their laughter fills the atmosphere fills your heart, and you can tell that satoru feels the same.

at least, until he decides to push you and make you take full 360s on the swing.

“wow, mama is swinging!”

“in a circle!”

“satoru, I will kill you!!”

"waiting for that, wifey!"

dinner, as always, is an ongoing fight. tonight, the twins are in full protest mode against their vegetables.

"I don’t like broccoli," one twin pouts, pushing her plate away.

"me neither," her sister adds, crossing her arms as if this decision has been made final.

satoru, ever their ally in mischief, leans back in his chair, his expression far too relaxed. "well, I guess no one’s eating broccoli tonight," he says, clearly enjoying this little act of rebellion.

while you're proud of your girls backing each other up, you rather it not be right now. you shoot satoru a warning glance, shaking your head with a sigh. "they need to eat their veggies, satoru."

he shrugs, smirking lazily as he glances at the twins. “they’re gojo kids. I think they’ll survive without a little broccoli.”

the twins giggle, clearly siding with him. but you know how to play this game too; otherwise, you would have never been able to handle the man child beside you. “okay, fine,” you say with a sly smile. “no dessert if they don’t eat their veggies.”

the girls’ eyes go wide in horror, and they quickly turn to their father, their last hope. “papa, no! we want dessert!”

caught between you and the twins, satoru sighs dramatically, like he’s being asked to sacrifice everything.

“alright, alright, princesses,” he concedes, hands raised in defeat. “but you’ve gotta eat the broccoli if you want dessert. we gotta listen to mama.”

the twins reluctantly pick at their plates, eyeing the broccoli with disdain, but determined to make it to dessert.

you exchange a triumphant smile with satoru, who just rolls his eyes playfully.

and in the quieter moments, when the twins are asleep, and it’s just the two of you, he wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I don’t know how you do it,” he murmurs softly. “keeping us all in line.”

you smile, leaning into his touch, “someone’s gotta make sure we don’t end up with a house full of sparkly dresses.”

satoru laughs quietly, pulling you closer. “what can I say? I’m weak when it comes to you three.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author

@libbyistired @anon1412@maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1@sad-darksoul@ko-fi-heart@pumpkindudeishere@suyaaachin@babyqueen17@chaosguy352@murakami-kotone@sukun4ryomen@yumieis@hearts4itoshi@sleepyxxhead@dunixxd@sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08@spacebaby1@arabellatreaty@viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe @enidths @mwtsxri @peppersapro @uranosbaaee @lifeisadumpie @guacam011y @kurooandkenmasslut @callmemirro

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize

check out my buy me a coffee!

[lufyuu]

Dragon's Offsprings

Tw/s: voyeurism, double penetrating, rough Zihao, breeding, inserting eggs(?)

Description: a drabble of the freaky Zihao

Pitter patter

The rain seems to never stop. It has been raining for almost 3 days straight. Despite the heavy rain, Liu Zihao would always travel the long way to the courthouse to work. The rain doesn't stop criminals from commiting crimes, it encourages them in a way. Though that doesn't include you who have been in the manor for a long month. You got used to this lifestyle a long time ago. Waking up whenever you want, going to bed whenever you want, having whatever food you wanted. The only restriction is that you are not allowed outside without Zihao being there by your side. It's not too bad, better than being chased all the time anyways.

Today's not too bad, at least so far. You're home alone, the chefs and maids having left as per your request. Despite being home alone, you can't escape, you've tried before and it's really no worth all that work just to be tracked down again in just a mere minute. Liu Zihao always knows where you are. You look at the clock which points at a quarter to 6pm. Usually Zihao's home for dinner around this time. Whatever, probably had more work to do today. You'll just eat dinner by yourself.

The aroma of delicious food floods your nose. Your eyes are drawn to the two plates placed on the table. You take one plate and start munching on food while sitting down. Even if it's a large yet quiet and empty house, you pay no mind to that as you've lived alone for a while before all this luxury. The steal is cooked just to your liking, it's juicy and delicious with the right amount of spices added to make sure it's not too salty yet not bland at all. After chewing on the steak, you take the fork and grab some pasta plates next to the steak. Twisting it and lifting the fork to your lips. It's creamy and flavourful, the saltiness and creamy flavour compliments each other very well. You enjoy the meal to the fullest in silence, enjoying every second.

You throw the empty and dirty plate in the sink, not bothering to wash it. Zihao will deal with it like he always does. No reason to waste your time with that. 'Now what do I do?' , you wonder to yourself while walking up the flight of stairs, heading to your bedroom. Oftentimes, your bed is also Zihao's bed. He loves cuddling up with you and just making sure you're within his grasp. "Agh", you plop face first onto the soft bed. For some reason, the atmosphere is off without Zihao. Usually by this time, he'd already be fucking you dumb until you pass out or get too tired to continue. You wouldnt ever admit it but it became a routine. Your body's gotten used to it and so have you. Because of this, you feel like you need to do something about this itching feeling you have.

"Ah...ngh", you moan, face flushed with a vibrating dildo deep in your hole. Your teeth's biting onto your lifted shirt, your dominant hand pushing and pulling the dildo in and out. "Z-Zihao..mm..!", you unconsciously moan out his name, your other hand now on your dick going up and down to stimulate yourself even more. No matter how much you stimulate yourself, you can't seem to cum. You need something bigger to please you. Usually you'd be ashamed to even think about Zihao let alone his two cocks but right now, as you're trying to chase your climax, it doesn't matter. "More...aagghh", you moan out even louder than before, not noticing the piercing purple eyes staring at your sweaty and horny figure from the top of the stairs.

You close your eyes, imagining it was Zihao inside you right now and not a silicone wannabe. "F-fuckk..!", you almost yell out, getting so close to cumming. When you hear footsteps close to where you are, you immediately freeze and look at who it is. Your ego instantly crushed, the embarrassment getting to you, hard. You reach over for the fluffy blanket only for it to be thrown at the wall and fall onto the floor by a mere gesture of Zihao's fingers. With another snap of his fingers, a comfortable chair appears infront of the bed. He sits with his legs crossed, head leaning on his hand which is cushioned on the chair. "Do continue", his expression remains unchanged, it's a plain expression, neither a smile nor frown, his eyes are relaxed but at the same time, they're demanding you to continue on your little action. Despite this, you remain frozen long enough for him to demand once more, "was I not clear? Continue your little activity, now.", it sends shivers down your spine, as if he's a predator and you're his prey.

Without a way out of this, you spread your legs and continue letting the dildo go in and out of you, each time faster and faster than before. Now with a pair of eyes watching you do this to yourself, it's embarrassing, you feel like crying due to how bad of a fall your ego took. Never in your life did you think you'd be putting on a show for anyone. "Ngh...", you try to cover your own voice, biting your lip to prevent your moans from getting too loud. This doesn't amuse Zihao at all. "Stop biting your lip", his voice alone makes your body shiver in fear. Reluctantly, you stop biting your lip, "a-ahh...aggh..", the pleasure overtaking your thoughts, in the heat of the moment, you blurt out: "Z-Zihao.."

Just one word. One singular word. That was enough for Zihao to widen his eyes and instantly get up, "that's enough.", he looks down on your figure which is laying on the bed, all prepped and ready to take his cocks and maybe something more.

In a blink of an eye, he pushes you to the bedframe as you are now sitting up, your back laying against the bedframe. He takes off his coat and throws it aside, not caring if it got dirty or wrinkled. "My mate can't even stand a few hours without me, how cute", he smiles a bit, blushing while you're up against the bedframe, horny and wanting him to be deep inside you already without so much yapping.

As if reading your mind, he grants you your wish and shoves his two hard cocks in your hole almost immediately after you thought about them. He guides your hands to wrap around his neck. Then, he holds the sides of your hips and begins to pound in and out of you, you cursing everytime it goes in. Thankfully, your hole is already lubricated, giving the cocks an easier time in fucking your hole. You feel so full but usually it takes Zihao a long long time to decide it's finally time to stop. His thrusts are rough, not in the slightest bit gentle. The bulge on your stomach is very much visible, it moves up and down your lower stomach in a fast pace. "Agh..m", he grunts and moans, feeling the tightness of your hole as you clench down, feeling close to cumming. Your moans get progressively louder by the second. Zihao makes sure it does by pounding even harder.

"Cu-cumming..! Aggghh", you moan loudly while cumming, the cum splurting all over your own body while Zihao is still pounding you. He's chasing his own climax. You feel overstimulated as he's pounding so roughly. It's a lot rougher than usual but you barely notice due to your brain being so foggy by this point. "You're ready to take my children, aren't you my dear mate?", he asks but it's more of a rhetorical question. Before you can answer his absurd question, you feel something being pushed into you, something big. Multiple of them. "Z-Zihao..ah, what's tha—aghh", you feel him cumming inside, his cum thicker and much more than usual. You don't notice it but the mark on your lower stomach started glowing for a mere 3 seconds before returning back to its solid purple color.

Zihao pulls out both his cocks yet despite that, your stomach still has a visible bulge. You feel so so full and not just because of his cum. "Zihao, what's inside me..?", you ask him, confused on what he put inside to make you look bloated. "Oh my dear, those are my eggs", your eyes widen immediately and you try to jump up or out the bed but he stops you, "we can't afford you getting hurt when you're carrying our children", he frowns and looks at you as if this is common knowledge. He's ready to take the role of the father of his kids and your one and only husband, but are you?

══════════════════════════════

There you have it freakies, you're now gon' lay eggs/hj

[chrissturnsfav]

𝒻𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 | 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰

chris sees you walking around the house in nothing but one of his black fresh love hoodies and black lace panties. he can't help but stare, thinking about all that he wants to do to you right now.

ᰔᩚ smut, unprotected p in v, use of y/n, use of pet names (mama, baby, ma), dom!chris, bf!chris, teasing, established relationship, dumbification kink, backshots, LOTS of dirty talk

ᰔᩚ w.c. 1,621

ᰔᩚ this one-shot was inspired by a very similar scenario from another creator, however i can’t find the creators @ :( if you find it, please tag me so i can give credit!

chris is sat on his bed, mindlessly scrolling through tiktok as he waits for you to come back downstairs. you had left a few minutes ago to grab a drink, but chris was wondering why the fuck it was taking you a few minutes to get a drink.

your boyfriend is snapped out of his thoughts when you open his bedroom door again, returning. his eyes widen at the sight of you, the clothes you'd been wearing earlier had been discarded. now you were in just one of his black fresh love hoodies and your black thong you already had on, you're holding just a bottle of water.

chris scoffs, sitting up in his bed and resting his hands on his knees, licking his lips, "the fuck did your clothes go?" he says, watching your every move as you climb back onto his bed next to him.

you smirk, shrugging as you twist off the cap on the water, "i dunno. i got kinda hot, i guess."

chris chuckles dryly, looking you up and down as he takes in your body. your bare thighs, the way the straps of your thong sat highly above your hips, the hoodie baggily laying on your body—obvious that you rolled up the bottom so your ass was out.

he shakes his head, clearing his throat before speaking again, "you know what you're doin', y/n."

you chuckle, confused, pretending like you didn't know what he was talking about—knowing damn well you did. "what are you saying, chris?" you say in a sassy tone, putting the water bottle to your lips and taking a few sips.

chris kisses his teeth, looking at you with lust in his eyes as he shifts his position slightly close to your body. "tryna play stupid now? is this what you're doin'?" he says in a low tone, suddenly running a hand up from your knee to your thigh.

you swallow the water, shuddering slightly at his touch before speaking, trying to hide the way he was making you feel, "i don't know what you're talking about," you say softly, staring into his eyes as his blue ones pooled with desire burned back into yours.

chris smirks, his gaze not leaving yours as he rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "yeah. you do," he insists. his hand that ran up your thigh trails to the waistband of your thong, tracing it along your hips and his smirk grows wider when you gasp. "barely even touched ya and you're already gettin' all worked up."

you shake your head, knowing he was right, but you wanted to remain calm and confident, "i'm not worked up," you lie, watching as chris' hand continues to trace the lace pattern on the waistband of your thong.

chris scoffs, looking at his actions, then back up at you before leaning close to your ear, "bet you're all wet down there. should i check?” he teases.

you swallow hard, shaking your head again, "i'm not, chris," you lie straight through your teeth, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second.

chris tilts his head, swiping his tongue across his lips as he looks at you intently. he chuckles dryly before his hand moves down to run his middle finger across your damp thong. he scoffs when he feels how wet you are, smirking as he hears you gasp at his actions. he leans close to your ear, whispering in it, "liar."

you shudder, gasping again when his hand moves inside your thong, running a finger through your sopping folds and he laughs dryly, watching your eyes flutter closed before he speaks in your ear again, "told ya. soaked."

you whine in response, gasping once again when his two fingers move to rub circles on your clit. your head falls back as chris watches you, his own crotch growing tight at the sight of you.

"p-please..." you whine with your eyes pinched shut, head against his pillows. he chuckles, his actions on your clit only getting faster, "what do ya want, then? tell me," he says, the smirk never leaving his face.

you open your eyes slightly, looking up at him, "i want...i want you to fuck me..." you let out through deep moans.

chris chuckles under his breath, licking his lips, "gotta ask nicely, baby. only good girls get what they want, right?" he growls.

you hum out a moan in response, nodding. "p...please, chris...please i need you now."

chris smirks, nodding his head as he takes his hand out of your thong, "atta girl," he purrs, flipping you over onto your stomach swiftly.

he pulls down his sweatpants just enough to let his now rock-hard length free. he pulls your panties down and off your ankles, throwing them across the bed. your head is pressed against the pillows, anticipating chris' actions as your body overflows with desire.

chris would normally be taking your hoodie off, but you were wearing his brand, and he wanted to fuck you in it. it only made sense. the thought of him fucking you in fresh love only turned him on more.

chris strokes himself a few times, humming quietly before pressing his tip against your core. you groan softly in response and he smirks at your sounds.

without warning, chris pushes into you fully. his lips part as a small moan leaves his mouth, earning a loud one from you.

chris picks up a quick and hard pace, watching as you moan loudly. profanities and his name fall from your mouth and grunts leave his own. he has one hand on your ass, grabbing it roughly and the other on the small of your back, pushing it down to force you to arch.

your eyes are rolling back into your head, brows knit together in pleasure and your lips parted as chris mercilessly pounds into you. "fuck...so fuckin' tight f'me, ma," chris groans and you moan softly in response.

chris' bottom lip was tucked between his teeth, his eyebrows pinched together and he reached a hand around you, pulling your head up by your neck as he leaned his body down so his face was inches apart from yours.

"y'like this shit?" he grunts into your ear, panting against your face. you couldn't respond, only able to focus on the pure ecstasy you're receiving.

chris chuckles out a groan at your expression, watching as you struggle to form words. "'s the matter, ma? 'm that fuckin' good, you can't even talk?"

you force yourself to nod, trying desperately to answer him as his hips only move faster into you. "m...m....y...yeah," you manage to let out in between heavy moans and deep pants.

chris scoffs, watching your face twist in overwhelming pleasure as you practically drool. "look at you. gettin' fucked dumb by my cock," he groans into your ear.

you feel yourself getting closer, knowing you're not going to be able to hold on for long if he asks you to. you whimper out a loud moan, chris' grip on your neck getting tighter. "c...c....chris....s...so close!"

chris chuckles dryly, moving his hand on your ass to your clit, rubbing fast circles on it as he continues to pump in and out of you, "mmm, yeah? already?"

you nod eagerly, moaning as your high gets closer and tears pool at the corners of your eyes at the immense amount of pleasure. "p...p...please...chris...i...can't....can't hold it...." you barely speak.

chris licks his lips, grinning a smirk. "nah, you wanna walk around in that thong wearin' my shit, bein' a tease?" he tuts, "nah, you're gonna hold it f'me."

you cry out a moan, giving everything you have to not cum right on his cock and feeling overstimulated as his thumb on your clit rubs faster. "c...chris! p-pleease...i...i can'ttt!"

chris groans, feeling himself getting close and watching as you struggle to hold back, "ya better not...hold up...almost there—fuck," he grunts.

at this point you're not able to hang on any longer. your eyes are rolled all the way back, mouth fallen open, brows pinched together as you ache for release, "chrisss...fuck! i...i gotta...c...cum! p...please!"

chris feels his orgasm seconds away as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. he moves his thumb on your clit off, placing his hand back on your ass. his grip on your neck becomes slightly tighter and he groans. "shiiit...cum for me, baby."

you waste no time in cumming all over his dick as you yelp out, face grimaced in pleasure. you open your eyes, vision blurred as chris continues to fuck you, helping you ride out your high.

"fuuck, you're gonna make me cum," chris grunts. he hardly thrusts one last time into you before pulling out, releasing his cum on your ass as his eyes roll back and his lips part.

chris breathlessly rolls over next to you, watching your body go limp as you lay on your stomach trying to catch your breath.

"fuck, chris..." you breathe out, closing your eyes in exhaustion as chris pulls his sweatpants and boxers back up.

chris chuckles dryly, looking at you with tired eyes, "wore ya out, huh?"

you nod, moving your body closer to him. he wraps his arms around your waist as you pull the covers over your bodies. you nuzzle your head against his chest, draping an arm lazily across his back.

"want me to get you anything, or you're good?" chris mumbles before resting his chin on top of your head.

you shake your head, eyes fluttering closed. "no...i'm okay...just take a nap with me."

chris chuckles, pulling your body closer to him and intertwining a leg with yours, "yes ma'am," he mumbles.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: yay first smut woohoo (sorry if it wasn't that good, i'm still learning LMAO)! kinda sappy and i don’t love the theme but guys pls lmk if you liked this and what else you would wanna see bc i love love love feedback and wanna give u guys what u want ofc! this also turned out sm longer than expected lol oops...

thank you for reading!! <3

@chrissturnsfav ™

[mapis-putellas]

𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 2203

Warnings: none

Summary: when Alexia is sick and more stubborn than ever, yo do everything possible to make her feel better. [Based on this request, though I did change it up a little to make it fit alexia better. I hope that’s okay.]

[prompts]

It was rather late when you wonder into the living room from your shared bedroom, spotting Alexia sat on the couch clad in one of your shirts and a pair of baggy sweatpants just where you'd left her a few hours ago. In her hands was a small notepad and pen, and her eyes were fixated on the TV in front of her where one of her last Barça matches was playing.

It was against Sociedad, and they'd won, of course, but win or lose Alexia always had to watch the match back. There was always something she was under the impression she could fix. Always something she or someone else could do better.

Analysing, is what she likes to call it. Obsessing is what it actually was.

Normally, you were content to leave her be. However, today, you weren't so keen to let her do so. She'd woken up somewhat under the weather this morning. Nothing too terrible. Just the sniffles and maybe a light fever if her flushed skin was anything to go by, but despite that all you wanted her to do was relax. Maybe take some medicine or eat some soup. But getting Alexia getting her to admit she was sick was like trying to find something to watch on Netflix; almost impossible and always ends in a fight.

And so you had simply watched. You'd watched as she'd stifle somewhat heavy sneezes into the back of her wrist. You'd watched as she'd swallow heavily before wincing and reaching for the warm tea you'd purposely left out for her. And you'd even watched as she laid her head back against the couch before rubbing at her temples. All you had wanted to do was to pull her into your arms and convince her to let you look after her. But you hadn't, despite how much it had pained you to do so.

With a quiet exhale, you make your way properly into the room and sit down on the opposite side of the couch. Due to the fact that she was still so enthralled with the TV, you're able to give her a quick once over without her noticing. She appears okay, you think to yourself as you watch her scribble something on her notepad. A little sleepy maybe, but that was to be expected after a long day at training. But despite your longing for that to be the truth, you knew for a fact that it wasn't.

Alexia was amazing at hiding the fact she was sick. The last time it had happened was almost six months ago, and you'd been none the wiser until Mapi had snitched on her one night after training.

Alexia had cursed at her. Mapi made a sarky comment in response and whilst the two of them had chased each other around the house yelling obscenities at each other, you'd been left to sit on the couch trying to figure out just how you'd been so oblivious. There were no signs. No symptoms. She went to work, slept and ate fine and was still her usual stubborn self at home with you. In the end, it taken Ingrid comforting you to realise you weren't at all oblivious and Alexia was simply just really good at pretending to be okay.

It tells you now that despite the nonchalance she was currently displaying on the outside, beneath the surface was an completely different story that for some reason she doesn't want you to see.

It wasn't that she doesn't trust you because you knew for a fact she does. You'd been through way too much together for that not to be the case honestly. It was just how Alexia was, So, so stubborn.

The room goes quiet a few moments later, and you flicker your gaze away from Alexia and over to the tv to see that it was now off. In the reflection of the screen you could see Alexia setting her notepad onto the table along with the remote and pen. You look back at her just in time to see her stifle a quiet sneeze into her the back of her wrist.

"Bless you." You murmur, speaking for the first time in what feels like forever. Alexia does no more than nod with a smile that looks more like a grimace, settling back against the couch with a quiet sigh.

You do no more than watch her for a second before turning around in your seat and holding out your arms. Alexia raises an eyebrow, and you were quick to shrug as you spread your legs, one on the ground and one laid flush against the back of the couch.

Right now, you had no ulterior motives, you just simply wanted to hold her. Seeing the fact that you were being genuine, Alexia crawls over to you and all but collapses against your chest. She curls up on her side, letting out a congested sigh as she secures her arms around your waist with her cheek flush against your sternum.

You wrap your arms tightly around her shoulders, your hand cupping the back of her head as you press a kiss to the top of it and let out a quiet sigh. No words were spoken. They didn't need to be. You both knew for a fact she wasn't feeling all too great but neither one of you were willing to admit it for completely different reasons.

Right now, however, you weren't too concerned. She was allowing you to hold her, to comfort her, and that was way more than she'd done the last time and for that you were incredibly grateful. As you lay there in a comfortable silence, you feel Alexia slowly but surely growing more limp against you. Her breathing slows; her arms loosen, and when you look down, you see that her eyes were now closed.

Not quite knowing if she was completely out for the count just yet, you make sure to keep as still as possible as you trail your hand up and down the length of her back. Her head shifts slightly, now buried into your neck, and you feel more than hear the slightly raspy breaths that hit your skin. It takes a further ten minutes before you were sure she was actually asleep, allowing you to reach for one of the many blankets you kept on the back of your couch before laying it over the both of you.

You tuck it beneath her body, making sure it covered all of her so that only her head was peeking out. Alexia doesn't make a peep as you scoot a little further down the couch so that you were properly laying down, and you sigh a little in relief as you allow your own eyes to close . If she didn't want to admit she was sick, or take any medicine or eat any soup, you were at least grateful she was allowing herself to get some much needed rest.

*

You wake up the next day feeling uncomfortably hot, your skin damp with sweat and your cheeks deeply flushed. There was a heavy weight on top of you, and as you force your eyes open and glance down, you see that it was Alexia and that she hadn't moved a single inch throughout the entirety of the night.

With a quiet groan, you yank off the blanket in hopes it would help cool you down a little. It doesn't, and it makes you realist that it wasn't the blanket that was making you hot, but a very fever induced Alexia.

You take a few seconds to contemplate your next actions before slowly and reluctantly slipping out from beneath her. You land on your knees, soothing Alexia's furrowed brow with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"It's okay. I'll be back." You whisper hoarsely, blinking the sleep out of your eyes as you rise to your feet and head through to the kitchen to grab the things you would need to help Alexia feel at least a little better.

You grab a cloth, soaking it with cool water before squeezing out the remanence and placing it onto the counter. You then grab some cold medicine along with some Tylenol, taking a mental note of the dosage Alexia was allowed to have as you carry everything back through to the living room.

Alexia was thankfully still asleep, although now she was laid on her back. Her breathing was so hoarse it almost sounded like snoring, and you can't help but smile slightly as you perch on the end of the couch and place the cool cloth on her forehead. Her brows furrow as her head turns a little to the left, and you place a gentle hand on her chest, rubbing it in gentle circles in hopes it would help sooth her.

It appears to do so, but her eyes do flicker open, her gaze hazy due to her fever.

"Hey, you," You murmur, stilling your hand before bringing it up and gently cupping her cheek. "You're pretty sick."

Alexia simply blinks as she brings a clumsy hand up to try and push off the washcloth on her forehead. You shake your head as you take her hand in your own, giving it a gentle squeeze and guiding it back down to her side.

"No, baby. Keep that on. You have a fever."

Alexia blinks again, her face scrunching up in mild discomfort as she lets out a single, hoarse sounding cough. You wince a little at the sound as you reach for the cold medicine, pouring the allotted dose onto the small plastic cup before holding it to her lips.

"No." She grunts, clumsily trying to bat your hand away. Her efforts prove futile as you move the cup before it could be hit, earning yourself a rather grumpy pout.

"I know," you sooth, reaching up to adjust the wash cloth slightly. "But it'll help you feel better, baby. You know this."

Alexia sniffles before once again shaking her head. She eyes the cup in your hand with a dirty glare, almost as though it was offending her by simply existing. You can't help but laugh a little despite the concern you were feeling.

"Alexia..." you trail off.

"No." She murmurs.

"Baby, come on," You shift a little closer, leaning down to press a kiss to her flushed cheek. The heat the greats you makes you all the more determined to get some medicine into her. "For me, please?" You weren't against begging if that's what was necessary.

Alexia hesitates before letting out a quiet whine. It was evident she didn't quite know what to do. She didn't want to take the medicine, but she didn't want to upset you by not talking it either. She stares at you with a pleading look on her face, her bottom lip quivering just slightly.

"I know," you whisper in understanding. "How about we come to a compromise?"

Alexia's gaze flickers over to the cold medicine you hands before looking back at you, almost as though she was saying anything but that.

"You don't have to take the cold medicine right now, but only if you take some Tylenol to help get rid of that fever." You say, and though Alexia hesitates again, this time she nods her head making you let out an almost silent sigh of relief.

Progress.

"Good girl," You praise genuinely, switching the cold medicine with the Tylenol pills, holding a single one to her lips. Alexia's lips part, and you set the pill on her tongue before helping her swallow it down with some water. "Good job. One more, baby." You assure, repeating the process once more before capping the bottle of water and taking her hand in your own.

Alexia squeezes weakly as she sniffles again, heavy lids threatening to close as she stares up at you with a pleading look on her face.

"What do you need baby?" You ask, trailing the pad of your thumb over the back of her hand.

Alexia wets her dry lips with her tongue as she reaches to loosely grab your shirt. "Cuddle." Is all she says, and though you internally wince about being once again trapped beneath your own personal furnace, you don't hesitate to nod your head as you slip back beneath her in the same position you'd been in before.

Alexia coughs hoarsely as she clings to your shirt, her cheek flush against your chest as her eyes once again slip closed. You use one hand to hold the still cool washcloth to her forehead as the other slips beneath her shirt to trail gentle circles on the too warm skin of her bare back.

"Thank you for letting me look after you." You whisper into her hair as you press your lips against the top of her head in a lingering kiss. Alexia says nothing, but she does crane her head up to press a kiss to your neck although it was more so just a brush of lips against the skin.

"Go to sleep baby. I've got you."

**

Tags:

@simp4panos @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @xxnaiaxx @marysfics @liloandstitchstan

[sukunasweetheart]

Sukuna, a middle aged man jaded by the harsh realities of his life. He steps outside for a smoke nearby a convenience store, completely bored out of his mind.

A lady is handing out flyers nearby, although nobody is bothering to look her way, including sukuna himself.

You approach the man who's getting irritated by the lighter that refuses to work in his hand.

"Hello there, sir. Would you be interested in taking up classes for arts and craft?" You offer the cute flyer up.

Sukuna scoffs. Is she serious?

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you could use a bit more colour in your life."

He's too exhausted at this point to get angry at a random woman on the street.

"...You're not too far off, i suppose," sukuna mutters, still trying to get the spark to stay on his lighter. "Even so, I'm not interested in the likes of arts and craft. Do i look like a child to you?"

You withdraw your offer of your flyer, and inspect him for a moment.

"Arts and craft can be enjoyed by anyone, regardless of age. But moving past that... you seem a bit down. If you'd like to confide in a stranger for a night, I'm happy to listen."

What a strange, persistent woman. Sukuna gives up on his lighter, and takes out the unlit cigarette in his mouth to think back for a moment. One thing does come to mind.

"I'm not feeling down. But i remembered something, now that i think about it..." he confesses, feeling weirdly compelled to tell you about it.

"Today is supposed to be my birthday."

Birthdays have never been special to him. Nobody celebrated his birth as a child, and in turn, he's never paid attention to the birthdays of others.

"Oh, happy birthday. Are you doing anything special for yourself today?"

"No. I've never cared for birthdays. And I'm getting too old for that anyway."

"Well, that won't do... Hold on for a second."

Puzzled, sukuna looks back at you but you've already gone inside the convenience store. Whatever you're up to now, couldn't possibly be more enticing than getting in a proper smoke right now. Sukuna begins to zone out.

He only snaps out of it when something mildly cold grazes past his cheek, leaving a ticklish and moist sensation on his skin as it disappears upon impact.

Bubbles. Bubbles are flying past him, and floating away into the sky.

For a moment, he gets mesmerised by the swirl of colours that are harboured in each one. Even just from the light of this dingy street, they fly up while holding a multitude of different colours inside them. Time seems to slow for a split second, and he doesn't understand why.

His gaze follows the trail to identify it's source. And unsurprisingly, it's you, standing behind him. You blow a couple more out, and then grin at him childishly. He finally looks at your face properly for the first time.

"Birthday bubbles. For the birthday man," you chuckle sheepishly, knowing that you probably look a bit silly right now. You put the bubble wand back into the small bottle of the soapy mixture, and screw it tightly.

"Here, you can have it. Next time you're feeling a bit antsy, why don't you try blowing some yourself? They're pretty, aren't they?"

You also hand him a different small item.

"And i also threw in a little something else, while i was at it."

He looks down, and sees that it's a new lighter. He slowly pulls his hand out of his pocket to take both of them from your hands.

"I hope you get to do something more special next year. Birthdays are supposed to be joyful, after all," you comment.

"Thanks for putting up with my nosiness. Farewell."

And then you leave him after a quick wave.

Sukuna stares wordlessly as you walk off, wondering what to name this ticklish feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

The small bottle in his palm reminds him of a moment in his childhood. Kids in the park bragging about their bubble wands that were gifted to them. the laughs that resounded as they all ran off to catch the fragile spheres as they blew away in the wind. The tiny feelings of envy in his heart.

The item he tucks away into his pocket is the lighter. And when nobody is watching, he blows a couple more bubbles into the night sky.

-

Every time he passes by that convenience store, the thought of you comes to his mind. A flashback of your smile in the back of his mind. Every so often, he comes to this particular store. Despite having closer options, he comes to this specific one.

At times, sukuna regrets not taking one of the flyers that you were handing out. He wouldn't have had to mope around a convenience store in hopes of running into you again.

Today is a rainy day, and this calls for a hot piping cup of instant ramen. He doesn't usually enjoy convenience store food, but he wants a reason to stay around inside for a bit longer.

He needs to wait five minutes for the noodles to soften. In this time, he stares out the glass frame of the store, and watches the various rows of people walking past with their umbrellas opened.

There appears to be one anomaly in the crowd, however. Running without shelter from the rain, clutching her bag as if it contains something important in there. Sukuna realises that it's you.

Forgetting about his instant ramen, sukuna grabs his umbrella and dashes out the door.

You're mildly panicking about being stuck behind the red light at the zebra crossing without anything to save you from the rain, but the sensation of the droplets hitting your body come to a stop all too suddenly.

You look up, and there's a black umbrella sheltering you, big and strong looking. You spin around and recognise the stranger with pink hair and sharp eyes. Seemingly out of breath.

He signals to the light that has now turned green behind you, and ushers you forward to cross the road before you can say anything to him.

Now safely on the other side of the road, you begin to converse with him.

"It's you! Hello. Thank you for sheltering me. How have you been?"

"... So-so. Nothing's changed since the last time we met."

"I see. You look better than last time, though." You get the feeling that his eyes have a little more light in them.

Sukuna doesn't really get what you mean, but he moves on.

"What’s in your bag that's so important for you to be protecting it like that?" He asks, effectively changing the topic.

"Oh, this? I literally just bought some brand new origami paper... i can't risk getting them wet and unusable. The children would be disappointed."

"Origami, huh? How original."

"Hey! That's not all... there's a lot of options i offer them. They voted on origami this time."

"You got a lot of people signed up?"

"Not really... but I'm sure it'll start picking up soon. Slowly, one at a time."

You smile up at him hopefully.

"...is the offer still open?"

You cock your head to the side slightly, confused. Sukuna grits his teeth, feeling a little bashful about having to ask more specifically.

"You know. Lessons for grown adults."

"Oh! Of course, anytime! Would you like to come sign up today?"

"Do you offer one-on-one sessions too?"

"Yes, I do."

"Alright. Let’s go."

Sukuna can't fathom the words that are coming out of his own mouth. But fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You've somehow intriged him, and he can't think of a better way to approach you.

You chatter his ears off along the way, and he nods along while his shoulder gets wet from the way he leans his umbrella closer to your side.

[hermetiqa]

What will your future spouse's friends think of you?

Reminder: it doesn't matter if you saw this reading a day or a week or a month or a year after posting this. My readings are timeless. You'll see this when you're meant to see this and receive your message.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath before picking a pile. If you feel drawn to more than one pile, it's alright, you may take the piles that you're drawn to. What's important is to take it how it resonates and leave what doesn't.

PAID READINGS | TIP JAR | FEEDBACK | MASTERLIST

NOTE: Please feel free to give me a feedback on my asks about the reading! I would highly appreciate it and it'll be a huge help for me to improve as a reader.

PILE 1

Hello, Pile 1! I'm seeing that your future spouse's friends will think of you as someone who's very hardworking and career-oriented. I can see that you have some strong masculine energy here. You could have fire and air signs in your chart, I'm hearing Aries, Leo, and Libra mostly. I can also see that they'll think of you as someone who's very changed your future spouse. It's like your future spouse is someone who likes to play games and never ever became serious in relationships, but that changed because of you. And because of this, your future spouse's friends are scared that you might be the one playing the game now (this is when you're still dating/in a relationship, basically not yet married). They'll think of you as someone who's untrustworthy, it's like they can never trust you with something because you might snitch on them or betray them in some way. Basically, I don't see that they'll like you much at first. Despite their admiration for your great qualities especially when it comes to your independence and goals in life, they're scared that you might hurt your future spouse (when you're still dating) and not hesitate to leave them anytime when it's not working out, and they know that your future spouse will never get over you because again, this will be the first time that they'll get serious in a relationship. But after a while and when you're married, your future spouse's friends will eventually warm up to you and like you, and they'll start to be friends with you and realize that they're wrong about you all along.

PILE 2

Hello, Pile 2! So I'm seeing that your future spouse's friends will think of you as someone who's very has good judgement in almost everything. You know how to see things in different perspectives at the same time, you're almost never biased in anything even in difficult situations. I can see that you have the tendency to make difficult situations often, but you still make the right decision most of the time (if not all). They have a lot of admiration for you and they look up to you. They see you as a great person, even a role model for the younger ones. They'll think you have a lot of good things in the future with your future spouse. You'll have a wonderful future ahead of you together. There might be times that you need some time alone, but you still manage to socialize. Your future spouse's friends will see you as someone who's very friendly and charming. You charm a lot of people. You're also very smart for them and you know a lot of things. You have a wide knowledge when it comes to information, especially social issues and/or anything related to business. I feel like some of your future spouse's friends will even come to you for some advice because they see you as a really matured person who can handle everything. They look up to you and they think you're such a lover person. It's like you care for everyone and you take good care of everyone as much as you can, especially the ones who need it. 01:10 on the clock. Do I need to say more? They'll like you sooo much. I'm happy for you, Pile 2!

PILE 3

Hello, Pile 3! I feel like your future spouse's friends will think of you as someone who's very competitive and likes to argue about anything. You're quite stubborn in their eyes and they don't want to be in a conflict with you ever. They know they'll never win against you and you'll defend yourself and stand on your stance at all times. You always find your way around things and despite their admiration for this trait of yours, they also get annoyed by it. It's quite too much for them because it reaches to the point that you upset or hurt them without realizing it, whether intentionally or unintentionally, though it's mostly the latter part. You're good at communicating but you reallh have the tendency to be stubborn. If something doesn't make sense to you, you want them to make it make sense. Otherwise, you'll set it aside and forget about it later. You have this trait that you want honesty and the truth all the time. You want justice for everything. If someone does you dirty, you'll make sure that they'll pay. And your future spouse's friends see and know that, which is why they do their best not to upset you in any way. They don't want to be in a conflict with you because you have the tendency to be in a conflict with people and this is something you're not scared of. Your future spouse's friends also see you as someone witty but at the same time, has the tendency to be impulsive most of the time. You tend to let your emotions lead and control you, not the other way around. Your future spouse's friends like you, but not on a deeper level.

It's feels so good to be back! I haven't done any readings for a while because I got reallyyyy busy. But anyway, I hope this reading helps! If you like it, feel free to check my paid readings.

[choso-is-bbg]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐔𝐘...

choso's the type of guy who gives you back hugs at random. you could be cooking and next thing you know, strong arms are wrapped around your waist. even in long lines. he just likes resting his head in the nape of your neck and breathing in your scent.

choso's the type of guy who's happy to see you getting along with his brothers. just you all being there in the living room either playing a silly game or just talking about nonsense. he's just happy that his favourite people can get along.

choso's the type of guy who apologizes immediately after a fight. even if it's not his fault he just has to. which makes it hard for you to stay mad at you. he doesn't want to go to bed with a heavy heart thinking about the fight the entire night. he's always grateful and makes it up to you as soon as you forgive him.

choso's the type of guy who loves it when you play with his hair. it's just something about the way you massage his scalp lightly that has his eyes lidded and feeling completely relaxed. some days he just lets you style his hair for the day because he believes you just do it way better.

choso's the type of guy who yaps about you when you're the topic of discussion. when you're name is mentioned he starts ranting none stop. he could be asked "how's your girlfriend doing?". " she's absolutely wonderful. especially with what she did for me....", and he just goes on and on not letting the other person leave.

choso's the type of guy who always makes sure to take pictures of the both of you. whatever date that you go on or whatever activity you decide to do at home he makes sure to take a picture of it. they're for memories so that he can look back when he misses you dearly or when you're old and wrinkly, as he likes to say it.

choso's the type of guy who speaks up for you at restaurants. he knows you're not yourself at crowded places and he knows you get anxiety when you even think about ordering or even correcting the order. he understands because he goes through this too, but he has to speak for you and he does which you greatly appreciate.

choso's the type of guy who loves receiving forehead and cheek kisses from you. he finds it so intimate when you press your lips on either his cheek or forehead. his cheeks dusting pink and a stupid smile spreading across his face. he likes to think it's a silent way of you telling him that you love him.

choso's the type of guy who values your opinion on certain things. on whatever it is, be it what he's cooking, ordering or what he's gonna wear to sleep, he must ask you because he really values your opinions, even if sometimes that could be a bit off he still asks you anyways.

choso's the type of guy who dreams of starting a family with you one day. just the thought of you carrying and taking care of something that you made together makes your heart race. he spaces out when he sees a beautiful ring on display and imagining your reaction when he gets down on one knee. but he's gonna have to wait...wait for the perfect moment

[writersdrug]

omg! I read your goth reader x Simon and I’m not sure if you’ve already made a post but I’d love to see how Simon met reader or how he did pull her 😂😂 love it btw

Augh I've wanted to write more for Simon x Goth!Reader

He drops the 3-pack of men's black t-shirts on the counter, digging into his sweatshirt pocket for his wallet. He takes out his card and looks up.

You're sitting with your back to him, hunched over on a small stool with your face stuck in a mirror. He can see your one eye magnified in the reflection as you held your cheek taught, slowly dragging an eyeliner pen across your lid.

He stands there another moment, wondering if you even know he's behind you. He politely clears his throat.

"One sec." You say, concentrating hard on making the line perfect. You have your mouth hanging open, your one eye closed and the other wide as a dinner plate. Simon huffs quietly. You remind him of a zombie, dressed in a typical retail uniform.

You eventually put the eyeliner pen down and stand, grabbing the shirts from the counter. He watches you as you scan the item - only one of your eyes are done, beautifully enhanced with an artistic flourish of eyeliner, mascara, and eye shadow; your other eye is untouched.

"Is that all?" You ask, looking up at him, and he has to stifle a laugh. Thank goodness for his balaclava.

"Yea." He responds, sticking his card into the reader. You bag his shirts and hand them to him - he accepts the bag and puts his card back, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Receipt?"

"No thanks."

You nod - he stays there, staring at you with a rather blank expression. You purse your lips and tap the counter, adverting your gaze to anything but him. You were used to getting stares because of your makeup, but this guy in particular wasn't even subtle about it.

"Is that all?" He says, jutting his chin towards you.

You blink, staring back at him. Does he mean my makeup? "Oh- heh, no. Still gotta do my other eye."

He nods. "Looks good."

"Thanks..." You say. You're not sure if he's being honest or sarcastic. But before you have the chance to question it, he turns on his heel and walks out the door, the bell clanging behind him.

You shrug to yourself and sit back down, digging inside your makeup bag for a brow pencil.

You're uncapping your lipstick when someone slaps something on the counter - not aggressively, but it still makes you jump. You turn around to find that same guy from last week, the one with the balaclava and the moody eyes.

You head to the register and look down. There's another pack of black shirts on the counter. You scoff and look up at him. "More? What, are you eating these?" You say as you scan them.

"See you finished your other eye." Simon grumbles, pulling his card from his wallet. "Did it take ya the whole week?"

You glare at him, shoving his shirts into a bag. "It did." You say sarcastically, and he grunts, taking the bag as you hand it to him.

Simon watches as you turn to the side, assuming he was already on his way out the door. You popped the cap off your lipstick and parted your lips in front of the tiny mirror on the counter - he felt something akin to surprise when your lips were smeared in black, rather than the red he was expecting.

You feel a pair of eyes on your back. You turn around - that guy is still there, and you fight back a frown.

"Can I help you with anything else?" You say, trying to stress the weirdness of the situation in your tone.

"I like this." He says, using his free hand to circle his face. "Looks good on you. Unique."

You smile, genuinely pleased with the compliment. Most of the time, if people (other than your friends) weren't ogling at you, they were saying how strange and "ugly" your makeup looked (this was a common comment among the older ladies that came to the store).

"Thanks." You reply. "You want a makeover?"

Simon chuckles quietly. "Nah, not really." And then, as quick as he came, he's gone again - out the door before you can even try to carry a conversation with him.

Simon comes back the next week - this time, for a pack of smokes and some new gloves. Uncharacteristically, he finds himself a little excited to see you again, despite never saying more than fifty words to you in total. He gets to the counter and places his items down - his heart sinks a bit when he isn't greeted by you and your half-finished goth makeup.

An older lady steps forward and scans his items. "Do you have a rewards card with us?"

"No."

Would you like to sigh up for one?"

"No."

She doesn't even look at him as she slides the cigs and glives back to him. "Fifteen twenty-seven."

He slides his card in. He can't help but wonder where you might be; not that he misses you or anything, he's just a curious man. He doesn't like not knowing things, and you're a rather difficult, raven-haired puzzle to decipher.

"S'cuse me, but-" he shifts his weight as he pockets his wallet. "Where's the other girl? Y'know, the one with all the-" he waves his hand in front of his face. "She usually works Thursdays."

The woman looks at him with a tight-lipped, glazed-over expression. "I'm not allowed to share any employee's schedule information, sir." She drones in a monotone, customer service voice.

He blinks for a moment, wracking his brain for a response. "I'm 'er uncle."

"Oh - she quit."

"Really?" Simon says - he's rather upset that you, an artistically-talented cashier he's met twice, is no longer employed at the lackluster retail store. "What happened?"

"Manager told her all that shit had to go." She leans her hip against the counter. "All that ugly face paint - it was freaking the customers out. She threw a hissy fit and stormed out."

He hummed, thiugh he took what she said with a grain of salt. "Right. Thanks." He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The woman sighs. "I mean, people paint themselves to look like the devil and expect to be treated like a normal human. Is that crazy, or am I just old?"

Just an old hag. "Dunno." He shrugs.

"Oh-" she holds up a finger, signaling for him to wait as she meanders to the end of the counter. She grabs an envelope and comes back to the cash register, handing it to Simon. "Give this to your niece. She never came back for her last paycheck."

He hesitates, wondering if he should make up some excuse like "Oh I'll tell her to pick it up." But, he said he was her uncle - now he has to deal with the responsibilities of it. He takes the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Nodding towards the lady. "I'll make sure she gets it."

Simon hasn't tracked you down yet. Truthfully, he hasn't realy tried to; he wants to respect your privacy and chose not to look for you on social media - but he does frequent the restaraunt across the street from your old workplace, hoping to catch you if you ever decided to come back for your check. He's getting worried at this point - what if you show up and he doesn't see you, and then you start freaking out about getting your paycheck stolen by some random guy? That would be the highlight of his vacation leave. He isn't sure if Price would bail him out of jail for that one.

He's inside the restaraunt today, sitting in a booth and sipping on a mug of tea. Rain pelts against the windows, providing a background of white noise to his ever-active mind. He scrolls through his email on his phone, but as always, he's focused on work. The briefing doming up within the next week, that sergeant that failed the sniper placement, having to listen to Soap talk about how he spent his leave with his girl... it muddled around in his head, nothing staying in the forefront of his mind, but never dissipating, either.

He hears the door open, just as a peal of lighning crashes through the sky. Someone stomps their boots on the entry mat a ways behind Simon, and he hears the jingle of metal with each step towards the bar.

"I'm here for an interview."

Simon nearly snaps his neck with ho hard he turns his head. There you are - you've got your hair down, definitely not as teased as the last time he had seen you. Your makeup is less goth, although you've outlined your lips with a black liner that fades inwards to a crimson red, and your eyes are still sharp and smokey. You're wearing black jeans and a deep, red top, and an interesting pair of boots, decorated with small chains and studs.

Professional, but still incorporating your style. He can appreciate that.

Someone comes out from the back and walks over to you - you shake his extended hand with a smile, and he leads you to a booth farther away from Simon. He thinks he must look like a creep, staring at you in broad (rainy) daylight, but he can't help himself. He doesn't even know why, but you've got his attention like the moon pulls the waves of the ocean.

He stays there for a while - he can't hear every word you say, but he eats the comments and laughs that do filter through with a hungry mind. You sometimes model for any Goth-forward magazines; you're relieved that the owner of the restaurant doesn't care about toning down your style; you're honest - your roommate hadn't paid rent for a month and a half so you let them go, and now you need a little bit more cash than what a measly retail job can provide.

He can hear it in the man's tone: you're hired. He likes your forwardness and unique charm, and frankly, so does Simon. He's addicted to it. The last time anything had his attention like this was when he found out Gaz could do the splits - the shock factor had him surprised with how easily it truly wis to distract him when he comes across something so unusual. But this time, there was less of a ridiculousness, and more of an admiration.

He hears a lilt in the conversation; he turns to see you standing with an excited smile. Of course you would get the job, just look at you. You shake the owner's hand and grab your bag, a black canvas ine with all sorts of studs and spikes, and start heading towards the front door.

Simon can't let you slip away that easily.

"Movin' on from retail?" He says as you pass his booth.

You turn, looking confused, staring at him for a moment. It takes a few seconds before you recognize him, though your smile still holds some wariness to it. "Hey, weirdo...!" You say, standing next to his table. "You stalking me or something?"

He decides to be honest. "Was tryin'."

You furrow your brow an bit, your hands curling around the strap of your bag. "You were?"

"The clerk from the store gave me your check." He clarifies, pulling the envelope from his pocket. "Figured you weren't comin' 'round anytime to get it, so I tried lookin' for ya."

You wonder how this man was somehow able to get your paycheck, but you were a little less put-off. He seemed nice enough. You dropped your bag on the table and took the envelope, shoving it somewhere in your disorganized pockets. "You waiting on someone?" You ask.

"Was you." He comments, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Now, no one." God, he must look pathetic.

"Nice." You slide into the opposite side of the booth, your boots clacking against the legs of the tables. "Want another round? Some fries?" You look at him with those shadowed, big eyes, and he wants to keep you in this booth with him forever.

He chuckles. "You really don't-"

"Don't tell me what to do." You snap with a smirk. "Just choose. Drink, or fries? Or whatever you want, really. I haven't eaten lunch, and you look like interesting company."

He feels himself melting at your cocky, triumphant smirk as you dig around in your bag for your wallet. What did he do for life to deposit such a pretty thing right in his lap (we'll, a few feet away from it)? "Could go for a burger.

You smile, relaxing into the polyester seat. This big, quiet, lumbering thing has you intrigued, and apparently, the feeling is mutual. "What's your name?"

He smirks. He's not wearing his balaclava, but he doesn't really care about that at the moment. He takes a sip of his whiskey. "Simon. Yours?"

[rosenclaws]

obsessed with your ex || Worst!Logan Howlett smut

summary: In his world you were his wife and he loved you and then you died. In this world you're his girlfriend and he loves you. At least you think he does. Still you can't help the voice in the back of your head telling you that you're nothing but a sad replacement.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY. insecure + jealous!reader, a very very toxic mindset, the reader's mind is very mean to her, reader is a mutant that can make objects disappear, angst, happy ending, rough sex, riding, french kissing, oral (f!receiving), a slight breakdown, soft sex, missionary, Logan is kinda a softie, cockwarming, fingering.

wc: 2.5k

a/n: Okay so it's here!! I need to make this clear that the readers mindset is NOT healthy and that relationships need good communication. That being said here's my fic idea that I've been thinking about for a bit. I love Olivia Rodrigo sm (I even saw her in concert!!) and this song was just begging to be written into a fic. Anyways I really hope you like it and that it's not too insane lmao. Also i made the graphic but i kinda hate it but i dont wanna change it so here we are I know it's ugly but its FINE

How long have you been here? Staring. Observing every little thing about you. Your nose, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your chin. The way your arms fall by your sides. Every. Little. Detail.

Did she have the same colored eyes? Did she talk like you? Was she smart? Was she powerful? Did he look at her the same way? Did he fuck her like he fucks you?

You clench your fists as you stare angrily at the mirror. He loves you. He says he loves you and yet it feels like you can never compare to her. She was the love of his life. She was an X-Men. She died. She was you. You're his dead fucking wife in his universe while you were nothing to the Logan in this one. 

He looked at you like a kicked puppy that first day you met. A lost little pet that had been searching for its owner. Dragged through hell and back just to get to you. It was easy to fall for him. Handsome, a little rough around the edges. You hadn’t even been dating for that long but it didn’t matter right? He worshiped you. He loved you. He promised he loved you.

But sometimes in the back of your head you wonder if when he's kissing you, does he imagine her? Does he close his eyes while he's pounding into you and imagine it's her? How could you ever compete? She was perfect, she was kind, she was everything to him. Spiraling deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of doubt and envy. There's a heavy pounding on the door but you choose to ignore it. Too wrapped up in your twisted mind to care. 

"Sweetheart, let me in." Logan's gruff voice was slightly muffled by the door. 

You clench your jaw as you finally tear your eyes away from the mirror. You slam open the door taking Logan by surprise. His eyes scan yours for injury, a worried look in his face as he steps into the bathroom. 

"I got worried, you were in here a long time." His arms wrap around your waist. 

He's looking at you with pity. At least that's what your brain tells you. Was he worried that you were hurt because he loves you or because he was thinking of her death again? You know he still dreams of her. He can hide it when he's awake but the nightmares don't lie. It hurts so bad. Love me. Love me. You're jealous you know. She's dead, she's gone. So why can't he love you. You push him off and storm out the bathroom. Nothing makes sense anymore in your head. 

"What the fuck?" Logan follows you and you feel yourself tensing up. 

It's a miracle your powers haven't started to go haywire yet. So many different emotions swirl around in your head until it mixes together to form one single feeling.

Need.

You grab Logan's shirt and pull him into you. Smashing your lips onto his with a hunger that you've never felt before. Logan hisses as you bite his bottom lip harshly but you don't give him time to say anything as you slip your tongue into his mouth. He groans as he starts to take some control back. Hands slipping up your shirt and ripping to shreds with ease.

You pull back from his lips, chest heaving for air as you paw at his shirt. Silently demanding he take it off which he happily does. Your lips are back onto his in an instant. He slowly walks you back until you fall onto the bed. You fall onto the bed and lick your lips. The bugle in his pants is evident as you flick your hand and the belt disappears. 

"I liked that belt." You pay no mind to his comment as you unbutton his jeans and pull them down, leaving him in his boxers. 

"Easy there sweetheart," Logan pushes you back gently and crawls on top of you. Logan kisses down your chest, teasing each nipple with his tongue. 

"Let me take my time." He purrs.

His hands touch and squeeze your breasts roughly making you whine. You watch his arms move, god he's so hot. He's close to making you forget. He kisses down, down, all the way down. He sneaks out the tip of his claws to pop open the button of your pants and he yanks them down until they're all the way off.

"There she is, my perfect girl." His girl. That's right your his girl. No one else's.

Logan pulls your panties to the side as he situates himself between your legs. He stuffs his face without shame, licking hungrily and practically moaning at the taste. You arch your back as Logan devours you. Watching his back muscles move are mesmerizing. He's yours. He loves you. He promises he does.

You can't stop the thoughts that begin to invade you. Overwhelmed by pleasure from Logan and pain from the horrible ideas that pop into your head. Did he do this with her too? Did he worship her? Do you taste like her? Is that why he can't get enough? 

"Fuck!" You hiss as you sit up and tell Logan to stop. He does immediately, wondering what the hell is going on. 

"Can't fucking wait." You scratch down his chest with your nails. He groans and tries to crawl on top of you but you shake your head. 

"I'm going to ride you until you can't come anymore." You growl.

You bite his shoulder harshly making him hiss. It heals right up much to your dismay. How badly you wish you could mark him. You make his boxers disappear but before he can make a smart comment you sink down on him all the way. You whimper as you start to bounce on his cock. Loving how much he fills you.

You need to be fucked stupid. You're desperate for Logan to fuck every bad thought out of your head. To promise that he loves you so that you can believe him. You want to believe him. Please, you have to believe him. 

"Sweetheart." Logan's breath is labored as you relentlessly fuck yourself on his cock. You feel so damn good but fuck he can tell something is on your mind. 

"What do you need, let me help you." He sits up on his hands, placing one on your back as he tries to get you to slow down. His words make you want to scream. What do you need? You look at him and the only thing your rotten brain can tell you is that he is thinking of her. 

"I need you to fucking love me!" You yell.

The dam of built up feelings breaks down as tears pour out of your eyes. Ugly, horrible sobs that make your body shake. Logan watches with horror in his eyes as he stills your hips, using his strength to lift you off of him as you continue to cry. 

"I do love you." He says softly but you shake your head. 

"No!" You shout. You pound your fist against Logan's chest over and over again but he barely moves. 

"You love her! I know you do." Logan's heart breaks at the sound of your sobs. 

"I'm not your dead fucking wife Logan!" You should regret the words coming out of your mouth but you can't stop them. 

"You look at me and you see her. Like I'm just some fucking placeholder!" You let out an anguished scream as Logan captures your wrists in his hands. You know the stories. She was a hero, she was perfect in every single way. 

"How can I compete with, with her?" You say completely defeated.

Your head falls against his chest. There's a sense of relief that washes over you. Thoughts that have plagued you for months are finally out in the open. Yet the fear of what comes next overtakes any other feeling.

"Look at me." Logan tilts your head up but you push his hand away. 

"Sweetheart." He sighs and lets go of your face.

Logan's never been good at this. Talking. Being vulnerable. Then he lost everything and he hardened even more and he just. This was a new chance at life and even though it's hard he can't lose it all again. 

"I know you're not her. Of course I do." Logan presses his forehead against yours, trying to get you to look at him. 

"You loved her..." You croak out. 

"I did love her. She was my wife. But I love you too. In a different way." He's a different man. Having gone through tremendous loss. It shaped him into who he is now. 

"You're different people. Your powers act differently, you talk differently, you feel different. You are not a replacement." He says firmly. 

When you finally look at him he feels this horrible pit in his stomach. He wipes away your tears but doesn't make any other move. It's not the right time.

"Would you have even given me a second thought? If I didn't look like her?" You ask, that question has haunted you for a while now but you never asked, too afraid of the answer. Logan is silent, unsure of how to answer. 

"When I first saw you it was like a punch in the face." He starts. "For a moment I was 20 years in the past. Then I snapped out of it. You look like her, yes but you’re not her.” He gently traces a small scar on your jaw that you got when you were a child. 

“I’m not the same as your Logan right? He was a leader, a hero and I was an angry drunk murderer.” 

“I’m not gonna start listing all your fucking differences sweetheart, but I swear on my life that I love you for you.” He pulls you into a tight hug as you start to cry again. You cling onto him as tight as you can. The bad thoughts don’t just stop, even if you want them to but Logans whispering sweet words in your ear. Pushing out every bad thought for now.

“Logan,” You take a deep breath, letting Logan invade all your senses. Tobacco and whiskey. 

“I need you.” He’s hesitant, not sure if it’s the right time.

“Please, I just need you.”

“Okay sweetheart, you have me.” He slowly rolls you over and lays you on your back.

He captures your lips into a kiss. His hips rolling slowly making you moan softly. His lips drift from your lips to the corner of your mouth to your cheek, trailing down. Each one so gentle, so full of love.

“You have this spot, righttt here.” Logan nibbles on your neck and you gasp when bites right at this spot that drives you wild. You melt into the mattress as he kisses over it.

“Always makes you relax.” He crawls lower, kissing down your body. He sits up on his knees and grabs a pillow to place under your back.

“I know you like to be slightly elevated because it means I can go just a little deeper.” He purrs as he takes his cock in his hands and gently rubs the tip of it along your folds. He slides two fingers into your cunt slowly.

“Know that my fingers drive you absolutely wild, that you need me to go slow to start.” You nod absentmindedly.

You never realized he picked up on all these things. His fingers start to slide in smoother, your cunt getting wetter for him. He leans down and takes a deep breath, groaning at the scent. He slips them out and licks them clean.

“Relax sweetheart,” He spreads your thighs and slips in all the way. Going slow but unrelenting, stretching you just how you like.

“So impatient, you never let me take it easy on you right? Just wanna be full all the time.” He leans down on his elbows as he rolls his hips nice and slow.

There will be no rough sex this time, this is about love. To show you that he truly does love you for you.

“Look at me,” He tilts your head so that your eyes meet. He smiles at the desperate look on your face.

“You can pretend it makes you all embarrassed, but I know you like eye contact.” He hums as he angles his hips so that he hits that perfect spot.

You jolt as pleasure rocks through your whole body but he keeps you under him. He’s slowly and methodically tearing you apart. Every touch, every word out of his mouth just makes it better. He knows. Of course he does.

“I love you Logan.” Your hands cup his face as you stare into his hazel eyes.

This time not filled with lust, but with a true deep love. He looks at you like you’re everything.

“I love you too.” He kisses you as he starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts. He smirks as he feels you start to squirm under him. You could never help it when you were close.

“Come on sweetheart, just let go.” He whispers in your ear.

His deep voice paired with the unrelenting feeling of his cock is all it takes. He holds you in his firm arms as a warm and wonderful tingling sensation runs through your whole body. A blissful smile on your face as you tilt your head back.

You feel your whole body relax as your mind calms. Logan tries to hide his growls as he fucks into you a little faster, until he’s coming hard and deep inside of you. He sighs in contentment as he stays inside of you. He taps your cheek lightly and you look up at him.

“I love you. No one else. Just you.” He moves to pull out but you whine. You need to be close to him right now. He chuckles as he slowly moves to your side. Spooning you tightly with his cock still deep inside of you.

“Can we talk?” You ask shyly.

“About what?” Logan grunts as he pulls you as close as he can get you.

“Anything?” He’s not much of a talker so he asks the questions instead.

How did you discover your powers? How did you meet wade? Just anything and everything and you tell him.

You talk for who knows how long. Staying wrapped in each other's arms. It helps, it really does. Logan listens, he really does listen. He wants to get to know you. He loves you. You rest your head on his chest, tracing shapes into his palm as you talk.

For the first time in a while your mind seems to settle. Ignoring any thought that may try and ruin your mood. It’s just you and him right now. There’s no looming figure of your alternate selves, not anymore.

Just you and Logan. Forever.

[deerspherestudios]

Hi there! I just wanted to let you know that I love your games! Mushroom Oasis especially has an especially place in my heart. Mychael is such an interesting character and one of my favorite types of yanderes—not violent towards his object of affection but still manipulative and willing to cross lines even if he feels guilty about it. Thank you so much for the work you have done; it’s obvious this game is a labor of love and I am looking forward to see how the story progresses.

In the meantime, I have to ask, do you think there might be a future option where the player can cook for Mychael? Totally okay if that is a little too specific. Cooking is just a love of mine and I love to cook for people I love and I feel that is something that Mychael would appreciate.

Also—and forgive me if you have answered this already—but I was curious to see where Mychael’s affection lands on the scale you created by the end of day 3. Or would there be more than one answer since it seems actions taken on this day might start to split between the platonic and romantic routes.

Thank you again for your time and for creating this wonderful game. Your art is so lovely and you have a real knack for fun character design.

HELLO!! Thank you so much for the kind words!! For me personally I've never been a fan of "if I can't have you no one can <3" type yanderes so knowing that it's a shared sentiment means a lot!!

I actually have something of an idea where MC does something nice for Mychael for a change in Day 4!

It was closer to buying a gift and the players can choose what they'd get for him but adding a cooking/baking option (or a more diverse set of gifts rather than just shopping for it) seems like a good idea! As usual the script is still cooking so we'll see!

As for the charts, they're answered here and explained here!

Also,,, idk if you'll ever read the addition below but I'm holding back on gushing rn because uh, this is for you personally but it's basically an appreciation post for being one of my fave authors <3!!!:

AAAA A A 11 !! ??

I'm gonna try and articulate myself in the best way I can but I have been a FAN of your writing since??? Gosh, 2015??? I was following your blog back when the pfp was a torchic (and a treecko i think??) and the header was Swiggity swiff Gotta Yiff ?? Idk if you're comfortable with people knowing of your writing but let me know if I should edit anything here!!!

I LOVED your writing so much it was silly and witty but you can do drama and heart and spicy just as well it was a major inspiration!!! I genuinely though it was a little goof when I saw you were following my blog the other day and THEN YOU SEND ME AN ASK??? IM, , , THROUGH THE ROOF, I would mention my fav fics of yours by name but I'd be outing myself but the scope is huge <3

I've been thinking of how to respond to this all DAY and decided to just be honest but but just know I love what you do <3 Admittedly idk if you still write these days but either way I hope you're doing well!!!! <3

[yuvany]

PAINT ME LIKE MONA LISA

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 with an artist!reader

OT7 ENHYPEN x fem!reader . . . CONTENT / WARNING(S) : fluff + est relationship + not proofread . . WORD COUNT : 812 . CHECK MARK !!

( REBLOGS + FEEDBACK APPRECIATED !! )

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

"Hee, don't move." You suddenly warn, your pencil balancing in between your fingers as you hold your palm up. "Please don't tell me a bomb is gonna detonate, babe." he jokes, and you chuckle, the sound of your pencil stratching the paper fills the room. "Are you drawing something?" He asks, and you hum. "Yup, wanna take a guess what i'm drawing?" You try to do this quickly while Heeseung is standing as still as he can. "Not sure. Care to tell me, pretty girl?" Heeseung itches his nose quickly, which goes unnoticed by you. "Obviously Mr.Handsome is my muse today."

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

Saw you placing a bowl of fruit on the table, adjusting it and looking at it from all angles. Jay starts getting interested in what you're doing, so he gets closer to you from his hiding spot behind a corner. You hum delighted and return to your seat, but see Jay standing there. "Hello?" You ask with a chuckle. "Hey, sweetness. What's going on here?" Jay asked. "Nothing much, just an art project for school, they want us to do realism." You go on and explain the assignment. "So, like in the movies?" He asks, referring to how most movies use a bowl of fruits. You nod your head, and Jay gives you a kiss on the cheek for good luck.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

Jake walks into your room and sees the painting resting on the floor, the paint still looking moist. It's like the canvas is whispering for him to come closer, because he does, his eyes observing each detail. Without noticing, Jake's finger gets closer to the canvas, brushing against the edge softly. "Aye! Don't touch!" You exclaimed upon entering your room and seeing him hunched on the floor. "sorry babe, but this is absolutely gorgous!" He says, a wide smile presenting itself on his lips. "Thank you, but you gotta be careful, babe." You laugh awkwardly, hunching down beside him to admire your art with him.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

He sees you pull out a sketch book and a pen, his eyes glued to the movement of your wrist. "Are you drawing me?" He asks with a smirk as he poses jokingly. "You wish." You chuckle and turn the block around so that he can get a view of it. Sunghoon takes a while to look over the rough sketch, and you start to wonder if he's actually observing it, or just zoning-out. You raise and eyebrow, and he says, "You know, I am a much better view than a simple window." He glides his arm around your waist and pulls you in. "I'm sure you are." You say, pressing you lips to the corner of his mouth.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

You and him went to an art museum, his hands holding yours while you take your time to watch each exhibition before either taking a picture, which Sunoo knoows you'll use later as reference, or pulling out a small piece of paper form your bag and a pencil as you sketch the art while explaining the history behind the artworks. "That's really interesting." He says, and follows you around while you repeat the pattern of taking a photo, sketching and explaining. "Imagine if they one day put up your art, angel." he says in awe, and you reply, "then I'll tell them that the history of it is my love for you."

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

He sees you curled up in bed with your art block on the bed as you sketch on it lazily while laying down, waiting for inspiration to flow into your head. Jungwon sees you through the door when he walks by, and walks back to make sure of what he saw. Naturally he walks in, catching your attention. You hum at the sight of him and he plops onto the floor after grabbing a pencil from your desk causing yiu to stop drawing and look at him confused. So far, you've only drawn sunflowers and fishes very sloppily. Jungwon sees them and tries to copy the best he could, but let's just say he did his best. "That's a cute one." You giggle, seeing his attempt.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

Your first date with him was an artistic and creative one. He took you to an art cafe and challanged you to a paiting conset, but he underestimated you and drew a nice sunset instead, confident that he'd win the bet easily. "Times up!" He says with a smirk, and you smile brightly and let go off the brush. "Do you wanna go first?" You ask, and Riki shrugs. "Alright, but be prepared to be blown away." You clap the sight of his scenery, and he urges you to show yours. As you turn the canvas to him, his jaw drops and you chuckle. "So what do I win?" you ask after he was done gaping. "How about a kiss?" He asks, and delivers.

[strwberri-milk]

I heard the raphael tipsy audio (omg he’s so sweet and attached) and now I cant hep but wonder how all the guys would react to MC going on a long mission.

Zayne doesn't mope - or at least that's what everyone thinks when they see how he goes about his day normally regardless of the fact that you aren't currently home with him. He's perfectly professional at work - almost too professional. In actuality he's trying not to let the fact that you won't be there to welcome him home bother him too much.

When he goes home he finds himself more distracted than usual. He watches the clock until it's time for you to call him, noticeably calmer during the call. He doesn't want to talk about his day at all - he just wants to listen to your voice talking at him for as long as possible. He manages to trick you into speaking about your day the entire call, looking at you with such an affectionate gaze you can't help but melt under it.

He counts down the days until you come back, planning a nice quiet evening for the two of you to celebrate a job well done for when you finally come back to him.

Xavier tried to get assigned to the same mission as you in hopes that the two of you could spend the entire time together. When he failed to make that happen he pouted a little as you packed for the mission, trying to convince you to call out or do something that would let you stay home with him.

He's even more quiet at work, finding that there's not too much that catches his attention if it's not you. He makes conversation with the others at least but he doesn't seem to be all there. Everyone knows exactly why that is but they choose not to tease him because it's like kicking a dog while it's down.

He plans little online game dates for you two to do while you're working. Even if it's just card games and he has to hold up your hand to you he's more than happy to do so because he wants to spend time with you doing anything.

When you come back he's definitely a little clingier, not wanting you to go anywhere without him in a subtle manner. You can tease him all you want but he won't admit it, just saying that he's allowed to miss you since you were gone for so long.

Rafayel isn't very happy you have to go but he understands that you have to. He will complain a little despite also packing your bag for you, asking you to text him or call him - preferably video calls - whenever you can so he can see your cute little face. He doesn't want you to forget about him after all.

He's significantly more prone to getting frustrated or totally zoning out. His art always somehow comes back to you or he just sits there thinking about you in his downtime until it's time for you to call him. He immediately brightens up and is in a significantly better mood when he can talk to you again, happily working if you're there on the call.

When you finally get back he insists on making back all the missed cuddles he can. He has to make up for lost time and totally insists on doing so by keeping you in bed all day with his face buried in your chest.

Sylus asks if it's really necessary for you to be gone for so long. You have to remind him it's part of your job and he casually tells you that Mephisto will be tagging along for your safety. You know it's partially that, partially because he likes the idea of being able to see you whenever he wants. You also know there's no point in saying no to him and it'd help with his peace of mind so you agree anyway.

He doesn't obsessively check Mephisto's camera, surprisingly. He doesn't want to accidentally scare you off despite knowing that his every thought centers you. He finds himself missing you more than he thought he ever would, attributing it to the fact that now that he's had you he doesn't want to go back to what it was like without you.

When you finally come home to him he's made sure to have your favourite meal and some presents as your homecoming. The calls the two of you had were all poor replacements for your presence and he makes it known with how he laments it to you, telling you that he won't be letting you out of his sight any time soon.

[seresinhangmanjake]

His and Yours

Summary: When you're told your pregnancy could cost you your life, Feyd demands you do whatever necessary to keep yourself alive. When you decide to have the baby anyway, it creates a rift in your relationship. Only when you go into labor, does Feyd show himself for who he really is.

Warnings/ Notes: Very angsty, but ends on a happy note. Very sensitive topics about pregnancy, abortion, and conversations about potential death. It’s Feyd here people, and we can imagine how he’d be with sensitive topics. Please only read if you understand this. Requested by @tgmreader

**While it is not necessary to read my other work to read this fic, this works also as another part to my "His" series. However, (even though it ends on a happy note) if this content makes you uncomfortable, it is not necessary to read in order to understand any future parts in the series. I know people love them together and that this is a difficult issue, so do not feel obligated.**

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Words: 2950

“Feyd…” you sigh as you watch him pace back and forth. He doesn’t so much as acknowledge you until you attempt to get up from your seat to go to him.

With an outstretched arm and a finger pointed directly at you, he says in a harsh tone—harsher than you’ve heard in a long time, “Don’t you move a fucking inch!”

You plop back into your seat. “We have to talk about this.”

“No!” he snaps. He descends upon you with rushed stomps, his hands gripping the armrests of your chair. You have to tilt your head back to meet his fiery gaze. “There will be no talking about this,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “No discussion. No negotiations. No weighing the pros and cons.” You swallow as a tear builds in the corner of your eye. Feyd groans and pushes away from the chair. “Stop crying.”

“What do you expect from me?”

“To not die!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the vast, empty room. “I expect my wife to do whatever she has to in order to keep me happy! That’s your job!”

You glance down. Your hand runs over the slightly bulbous shape of your stomach. A tear creates a dark patch on the fabric of your dress. A dress he picked out for you. He’d been so enthusiastic about every element related to your pregnancy, including dressing his wife in new gowns as you grew with the passing months. This is one of the first he’d chosen. 

“I thought my job was to provide you with an heir,” you say.

“Not at the cost of your life!”

He had almost missed the appointment for more professional matters. Now you wish he had. When the doctor told you that you might not survive giving birth, he gave you a choice: risk having the child anyway or drink a tonic that will terminate your pregnancy while it’s still safe. You knew Feyd’s mind was made up in that very moment. But yours wasn’t. This is your child, a perfect combination of you and the only man you’ve ever loved, and yet, your questioning of what is best has your husband looking at you like you’ve lost your damn mind; like you’re a fool with a knack for selfishness.

“I’m the na-Baron,” he says. “You’re under my authority. I decide for the both of us.”

You shake your head. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care if it’s fair! We can make a hundred heirs, but there isn’t another you!” he screams. You wonder if the rest of the Harkonnen fortress hears—the soldiers, the servants. You wonder if they fear for their lives because of an outburst that has nothing to do with them. They should. Your husband is likely to go on a rampage throughout the place the moment this conversation ends, should it ever.

When you shrivel in your chair, a crease dents the center of his brow. Feyd returns to you, his warm palms cupping your cheeks, his forehead resting against yours. “You can’t ask me to let you do this,” he says with a subtle whimper. “I won’t ever forgive you.”

“What about my forgiveness of you?”

Feyd jerks back. The pain in his eyes shrinks under darkness. “You have nothing to forgive me for.”

Finally, you stand. “You want me to give up our baby,” you argue. “You don’t think I deserve to–”

“No!” You jump. “I care about you! I love you! Not some thing that wants to take you away from me!”

“Feyd–”

“I refuse to continue this conversation,” he says. “I’ve made the decision. It’s done.”

—

He’d tried everything. He had meal preparers mix it in with your usual dinner drink until the nasty sludge color disappeared. He attempted to have your maidservants slip it into your morning tea, your evening glass of warm milk, and, even more desperately, into your bathwater. However, the only servants close enough to you that he could demand such a task from became primarily loyal to you after your marriage six months prior, and as a result, each one informed you of his plans. Five servants fell to your husband's blade before he surrendered that tactic to attempt anew. But with his final effort, what died between you was nothing other than what had been keeping you together—affection. 

With your feelings numb, there was little foundation for your relationship to stand upon. When he took you and made you his concubine, Feyd kept you safe. He did the physical work to protect you in a newly twisted relationship while you did all of the emotional work. You broke down the walls he’d built, got him to open up, showed him that caring for you wouldn’t be the end of the world. Convincing you to get rid of your baby was the hardest he’d ever emotionally worked for you, and since failure was not a thing he had known, nothing was going to stop him. 

He didn’t understand that kissing you with the tonic filling his mouth was too far, even for what he’d already done. He didn’t understand that he had already lost so much of your trust with his deceit and that that kiss was enough to scorch the rest of it. You might have left him had you not been able to wash the substance from your mouth before it could do its damage. 

When you first turned him away, he threw his fits. He screamed at you and for you every day until you made it clear you weren’t coming to him, but even then, he didn’t allow you to neglect the expectations he had for you. In front of others, you were to act as his wife—stand by his side, attend meetings in silence, kiss him goodbye before his trips to Arrakis—but the larger your belly grew, the less he was willing to have you near. 

You don’t sleep in the same bed now. You don’t take your meals together or bathe together or, frankly, see one another. He looks the other way when he crosses your path. His fists clench like he wants to touch you, his Adam’s apple bobs like he’s holding back from kissing you, but his eyes refuse to meet yours, and he won’t go near you. 

You know he's preparing himself to lose his wife. Anger, while present, hasn’t been the dominant fuel for his behavior for a while, and neither is it yours. You were furious, but with your baby due in a month, you struggle to bear the loneliness, and the longer he continues to treat you like you’re a plague, the more you miss him, and the more you fear for your child. Who will love it if you are not here? Who will protect it and teach it and nourish it? Certainly not the one who should and once promised he would. And as the days close in, you wonder if he was right. If you made a mistake. 

—

I need him—that’s all you can think as your baby fights to leave your body. You need your husband here, and the reasons are far too overwhelming, but you can’t focus on anything else. You miss him. You can’t do this alone. And if you die today, you have to say goodbye. You have to tell him you love him and make him swear to protect your child, or it was all for nothing. 

“I need him,” you screech through your teeth with the contraction that hits you.

“My Lady–” one of the nurses begins. Her voice is shaky, worried eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the doctor between your legs who has just reached for another clean rag after discarding a blood-soaked one. “My Lady, the na-Baron–”

“I don’t care! I need him!”

He must’ve been there, listening, because Feyd’s through the door in an instant, and as his eyes lock on to yours, everything else—all the pain and lies—is shoved behind you. He takes a step forward but pauses, momentarily distracted by the wear on your body, before he blinks and continues forward, shoving people aside to get to you. He falls to his knees by your bed and when your hand reaches out, he clutches it tightly in both of his. Too tightly. You can feel your pulse throbbing harder from the pressure on your veins, but you don’t care. 

“Feyd, I–”

“Don’t do this to me,” he mutters as tears well in his eyes. The first you’ve ever seen. He didn’t so much as shed a tear on your wedding day or when you told him you were pregnant, but as the first one falls down his cheek, you realize he’s about to make up for every missed opportunity. 

You can’t respond. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you won’t do anything to him, that you won’t hurt him, that you’ll be fine, and that you’ll be a family. You’re too exhausted to lie. He seems to know it because he doesn’t make the request again. Instead, he kisses your fingers over and over, repeating words of love that are not often said. 

“My Lady, I know it hurts, but if you can shift downwards a bit,” the doctor starts. “At this angle, we might be able to–”

Feyd wipes his eyes and shoots to his feet. “You can save her?”

“There might be a better chance.”

You groan as you maneuver your body. Feyd does what he can to assist, but it doesn’t ease the searing, stabbing feeling at your core. 

“That’s better,” the doctor praises. 

“She’s your priority,” Feyd says sternly.

You gasp. “N-No…”

Your husband’s head whips back to you. “I’m not watching you die,” he growls. 

“For…our baby,” you say to Feyd’s hardened features. You cry harder for the pain of realizing that out of you and your baby, he would still choose you. You don’t know why you expected any different. In the five minutes of his presence, he gave no indication of a change of heart, but it’s disappointing all the same. “P-Please.”

The doctor doesn’t look up from the task at hand but listens for further instruction. “My Lord?”

Feyd stares at you for a long while, his expression unchanged. He doesn’t squeeze your hand or kiss your forehead or brush away the damp hair from your forehead with your next contraction. He doesn’t flinch at your joining shriek. He’s gone, lost in the world of his thoughts until he decides to come back. His eyes close. He grinds his back teeth. His brow pinches and he shakes his head.

“The baby,” Feyd struggles to get out. He pauses before he says, “And then my wife.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The next half-hour is white-hot, blinding agony. You can no longer move—a statue as the doctor slices pieces of you open to accommodate your child’s position. He doesn’t want to come out. He doesn’t want to leave his mother. You can’t blame him. If you had the same fate awaiting you upon joining the world, you might not rush to leave the confines of comfort either. He has no reason to separate himself from everything he’s known to fall into the hands of a man who does not love him. But his unwillingness to leave you is what will eventually take you from him. 

You can feel it. The draining. Of blood. Of life. Your energy is long gone and at this point, you can’t imagine lasting long enough to be saved, even if you survive just in time to hear your baby’s first cry. 

“We’re almost there,” the doctor says. His words are hazy as your brain drifts, struggling to keep you conscious. But then you feel a release of pressure, a missing weight. Emptiness. Solitude.

“Save my wife!” you hear in the aftermath, but you’re not worried about that. You need to know he’s ok and perfect and that he has all of his fingers and toes. You need to know if he has a dusting of hair on his head, or if he’s like your husband. Does he more resemble his father? Complexion and eyes and lips poutier than yours? You need to know these things about your son. 

But you suppose you never will. Your vision is too blurry to make out his tiny form, but among Feyd’s shouts, you hear a beautiful little wail as your eyelids flutter closed. And that’s enough. 

—

The last thing you heard upon your death is the first thing you hear when you wake. And it terrifies you. Surely, you should not be hearing that sound. If you can hear him, then he’s with you, and he can’t be with you because you’re not here. Not really. You don’t exist on the plane he should be existing on. You exist in darkness now, and he was only ever meant to see the light. That’s what you saved him for. That’s what you used every remaining ounce of your will and soul and heart to do. You left so he could stay. So how could he be with you?

“Can you hear him?” 

Yes. You cannot see him, but you can hear him. He sounds so much like you remember. His coos are not the wails, but the noises are brothers. You part your lips to call his name only to realize you never got the chance to give him one. 

“He’s perfect,” the voice says. “Everything about him.” A tear trickles down your cheek. “I need you to meet him. He wants to see his mother.”

You want to see him, too, so badly, and as you feel the desire, a flash of light shoots across your vision. One flash, and then another. Another flash, and then one more. Brightness obscures every image as your eyes shift, attempting to take in your surroundings. You’re not sure this is better. In the darkness, you can rest. This is simply torturous, and your baby is not even here. 

Heat from a heavy, shaky sigh hits your skin. Relief. Lips land on yours for a long beat before finding your forehead. A skull presses to your skull. The breath is taken from your lungs by another kiss. A droplet splashes onto your cheek. 

“You don’t ever do this to us again.” When your vision adjusts, your husband is there. “Do you understand me?”

You nod before you can think not to, before you can think that Feyd is not meant to be here, either. But if he is here, then why does he look so happy? Would he really rather the three of you be gone forever than to raise your baby without you? You scold your idiocy. Of course, he would. 

“You were out for three days,” he says. “Longest three days of my life.”

Out. Not dead. Not gone. 

Feyd helps you sit up. He disappears and then returns with a bundle of fabric. “Look,” he says, smiling, sniffling, and then smiling again. Two of his fingers gently nudge a section of the blanket aside to reveal a tiny face. Tiny nose, tiny lips, tiny eyes. Lashes that rest on tiny cheeks. A much smaller spitting image of your husband. “He’s got your eyes, I promise,” Feyd says, and your son proves it when his eyelids flutter open. 

“Do you think you’ve got the strength to hold him?”

You nod again. “Y-Yes,” you say, like it’s your first word. 

Feyd uncurls his arms from the baby and settles him into your awaiting ones. He’s lighter than you expected—probably to do with coming a little early—but the weight of him snaps the bits of you that were lagging behind in the unconscious world to the present. You gasp.

You’re alive. Your baby is alive. Your husband is here. They’re both beautiful. “I’m alive.”

Feyd sits back down in the chair that is pulled up to the side of your bed. He swallows. “Yes. Barely, for a moment, but…yes.”

You cuddle your baby to your chest and run your finger down his nose. He’s softer than the blanket that snuggles him. Soft like you rather than his father. He’ll grow strong like the man you can’t help loving, but he’ll have more heart, and that balance will make him a great Baron one day. A great man. 

“Do you hate me?” Feyd asks. “For what I did?”

Your head hurts and you still feel groggy, but you’re aware enough to know that you don’t hate him. You can’t hate him. It shocks you that he doesn’t know that, but then again, he’d never done anything like what he did before, and if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t know that he wouldn’t do it again should you fall pregnant with another child. You don’t trust him right now, and there’s only one thing that could ever convince you to attempt repairing that trust. 

“Do you love him?” you say as you gently rock your baby. 

Feyd glances down at your son. There’s no contemplation. “More than anything.”

“You’ll protect him?”

His eyes flick back up to yours. “With my life,” he says. And you believe him. 

You became a mother the second you felt that little life growing inside of you, but you can accept that upon looking at your son, spending time with him, your husband learned to become a father. Had you died, you don’t know what would have happened, but you can’t dwell on that and hope to keep your family together at the same time. He loves the child you made together, and that’s all you ever wanted. 

“Then, no,” you tell him. “I don’t hate you.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

Beach episode with the bad Sanses

Why does "take my idiot henchmen to a secluded beach to blow off some steam" 100% sound like something Nightmare would do? He'll bring you along too. The boys can't relax when their beloved favourite human isn't there. You're like a therapy kitten a bunch of giant terrifying fighting hounds refuse to go anywhere without.

Horror doesn't like deep water, too many bad memories of a certain fish monster, so he's staying away from the sea. But he does like the sound it makes... the waves are wonderful, they're something other than his own thoughts to concentrate on. He'll sit on the sand, with a hat over his face, listening to the ocean and enjoying the sun soaking into his old bones. Might even fall asleep. For the love of God, keep Killer away from him, his 'prank' attempts on the sleeping giant will not end well for anyone. Don't let him catch you when he's looking tired - he'll drag you up against him and snore into your hair until the sun goes down.

It's weird to see Dust without his hood. You half expected him to even wear it to the beach, but it makes sense he wouldn't. There's enough dust on that thing already, he probably doesn't want to get sand on it as well. He'll spend most of his time resting in the shade (why is he wearing sunglasses when he doesn't have eyes?), but if you ask him to, he'll venture into the sun. You're the only one who can convince him to do anything fun. Out of all of them, he's the one who'll go get you something to eat. He'll randomly disappear, then quietly return with ice cream, or crepes, or smoothies. Just three, though - one for him, one for you, and one for Horror because it'd just be rude to not get him food. He won't tell Killer where he got it.

Killer is having a great time. He will be ogling your beach outfit, it doesn't matter what it is, he'll stare and flirt as often as he possibly can. He wants to play volleyball or football, have you bury him in the sand, take stupid posed pictures, stay until sunset and start a barbecue, he's having an amazing time. This is his dream. If you can keep him company, please do, because it'll keep him on good behaviour - if you leave him alone for five minutes he's going to start annoying the other skeletons. By the end of the day someone is dunking him in the ocean, at least once. Probably Dust.

Nightmare will sit on a chair, under the darkest umbrella you've ever seen, without a speck of sunlight reaching him. He won't engage with the other skeletons at all and it seems like they know to give him his space. He'll be delighted to chat to you, if you come up to him, but other than that he just... vibes there, alone. Makes you wonder why he even came to the beach, since he clearly will do whatever it takes to avoid light.

He bought you along because the other skeletons want you around, sure. But he also bought you because he could tell you needed the stress relief. He likes just sitting back and listening to you enjoying yourself, watching the happy feelings roll off you - they're nice to see, even if he can't eat them.

Not that he'll ever say it aloud, but he planned this day out almost entirely for you.

[lxvvie]

Phillip Graves who's obsessed with you.

You caught his eye long before you even knew who he was.

There's something about you, darlin', something that draws him in and he wants to know more. While he's bidding his time, he'll gather all the intel he needs.

Thank god for Shadow Company. His boys are the best at what they do and it's nothing to reward 'em for a job well done. Everything about you, from what you had for dinner last night up to your favorite coffee blend is his for the keeping.

Graves makes it a point to learn your mannerisms, too. He takes notice of the way your nose slightly scrunches and your eyes flick to the right when you're thinking about what to say next to your friend you met for drinks at one of the local bars. He drinks in the way your middle and index finger run over your lips as you contemplate which drink you're trying to order at your favorite coffee shop. You'd never know he did it, either. Thank goodness for plain clothes and baseball caps, eh, darlin'?

But when Graves does make his presence known, he does so in small doses. Your favorite bakery? Oh, what a coincidence, darlin'. They make good sourdough bread. You favorite deli? Oh, darlin', have you had their chicken club sandwich before? The bar you're at? Him and the boys come here all the time to decompress, sweetheart. Their craft beer is fuckin' amazing, too. It's enough to keep your suspicions to a minimum if they even exist. To you, he's just the friendly, well-meaning resident with similar tastes.

And then he finds out you're dating, or, well, you're trying your hand at dating. Same friend you met for drinks was playing matchmaker. The boys did their homework. Your date was a simple fellow, accountant or human resources or some shit, white collar kid with the looks but not the self-esteem to go with them. Regular hobbies not worth mentioning. A boring sumbitch if Graves ever saw one. He's not bad. He's not good for you, either, darlin'. Not like Graves himself is.

And when the time comes, you'd be left wondering what the hell happened. Knowing you, you were dressed to the nines, ready to chow down on some good food, and... he bailed on you. A short text. Nothing more, nothing less. Everything was probably just fine and dandy a couple hours ago. Phillip counts on it, and he thanks his lucky stars that he predicted correctly as he sees you at your favorite dive, nursing the craft beer he recommended. And he makes his move.

By his estimation, it's been about 30 to 45 minutes since he came and sat next to you and helped make your would-be date seem like a bad, faraway memory. Graves has you embroiled in conversation, has you laughing, replacing what would've been a boring ass date with his charm and wit, and before you know it, Graves drops the coup de grâce on your love life. "A bit starving here, darlin'. How about we grab a bite on me?" And shit, you couldn't turn that down. Not when he turned what would've been a bad night on its head. You beamed, accepted without hesitation, and off you two went. For a boring bastard, the kid's got good taste in food.

And when Graves sees the poor bastard again, he'll thank him. For stepping aside, for the dinner reservations, y'know, a friendly conversation between men. And as for his boys, well, Graves figures a bonus is due. After all, he got his. Why not spread his joy around?

[johnbrand]

Recycling

I watched as the next employee entered the chamber. He appeared a bit confused, probably having expected a conference room rather than the dark space with mirrored walls. By the look of it, he had no idea that any one of the panes were one-sided, hesitantly fidgeting with his tie as he announced his presence with a timid “Hello?”

I leaned into the microphone, “Good afternoon.” The nervous boy’s eyes dashed around the room, trying to identify the person speaking to him. His physical characteristics and mannerisms resembled a mouse, small and skittish.

“Am I supposed to be here?” he eventually replied, choosing the speaker above my viewpoint as his receptor.

“Yes, this is the meeting to discuss your annual review.” I replied. “You're in the right place, Mr. Donson. Would you like for me to refer to you by your given name?”

The boy shuffled anxiously, “Drayton is fine.”

Habitually, I continued. “I’m sure you're wondering why your annual review this year is different from those in the past. Don’t worry Drayton, you are still one of our top performers, and your review reflects your incredible performance.”

Feeling a delicate surge of confidence, Drayton let a smile sneak up onto his lips. Being clean shaven and still holding some baby fat, it frankly was quite endearing. Cute even.

“As you are already aware, our company has been having some financial issues recently. And as a high-ranking official in our accounting department, I am sure that you are more than knowledgeable on the details of this subject.”

Drayton’s youthful glee faltered for a moment.

“Unfortunately, we do not have the funds available to keep you on board and give you a raise,” I started. “The company would like to offer you a deal: in exchange for accepting a substandard review and a 19% decrease in pay, we will offer you external benefits.”

Shock emerged from Drayton’s face, “What benefits would be worth a fifth of my paycheck?”

“Unfortunately I am liable to disclose that information,” I robotically replied. “You can either accept or tender a resignation.” 

Drayton took a moment to decide, just like all the other employees typically did. But eventually, they all convinced themselves that losing employment at the company was the worse of the two options.

“I’ll accept.”

“Stand by.” I followed procedure, locking the exits and airways into the chamber. Once that was done, I began flipping the switches. Steam mechanisms, followed by audio machines, followed by visual projectors. I did not even pay attention to the squabbling accountant, panicking as his chamber was bombarded with smoke, abrasive phonics, and commands that flashed against the walls and reflected into every corner of the room. 

Thanks to the padding in my control room, I absorbed none of it. I simply ignored Drayton’s screams and opened my laptop, getting back to my own duties as the process did its work. With all the vapors, I typically could not witness any of the changes that happened anyway–which also meant I could never attest to possible allegations if our company did ever come under some sort of legal fire in the future. But sometimes I did spot little things, flashes of commands that were being ingrained into the employee. MASCULINE, TRADITIONAL, ATTENTIVE. The small letters would pulse by an instant, although they were meaningless to me within my enclosed accommodations.

Eventually, my timer went off, and I closed out of the procedure. I exited the program and flipped the switches back over, shutting off all stimulatory mechanisms. It took a moment for the smoke to clear, presenting me with a new version of the employee. More muscular, more masculine, and more virile.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Donovan?”

"It’s Donson, boss." The man stood tall, stoic. His voice now held much more depth and presence.

"It’s Donovan, Drake Donovan,” I affirmed. “That's what's in our system."

I watched the man process this, the command’s installation literally visible behind his now less-intelligent eyes. 

“I see you were able to find part of your new uniform already.” I was referring to the briefs and sweatshorts that were covering the lower half of Drake’s much larger body. The remnants of the former business casual outfit were scattered across his large feet. “The closet behind you will contain the rest of your attire. Company fitness uniforms and approved footwear that will better fit your size and new position.”

“New position?” Drake inquired, his question curious rather than interrogative.

“The company has decided to reassign you as a security liaison, seeing as that will be a better fit for your paygrade.” I typed away at my reviewal report, adding in details of Drake’s benefits package. Increase in height, dramatic increase in musculature, increase in hair, increase in virility…

To save money, the company liked to recycle its employees. We would bring in fresh graduates to run our corporate operations, and then once they hit their pay ceiling, recycled them into more manual, less intellectually-driven roles. Naturally, no one ever filed any complaints about this procedure as no one realized it existed. And even if they did, they would no longer have the brains capable to file such a complaint.

“Sounds good, boss,” Drake replied, even though I had already known what his answer was going to be. With his dominating size and brutish stature, Drake had been remodeled into the standard male form that we needed for our team. And with this mind simplified to only focusing on traditional objectives (upholding masculinity, working out, fulfilling his role), Drake was now bound to solely focus on the company’s objectives. Thanks to the recycling process, our company would keep the profits high and the employee turnover low. And now, Drake would remain entertained without the extra money by merely following orders and enjoying the simpler things in life, like flexing his muscles.