#rest of these are the rest of the normal tags ->

[sparrowwithaquill]

Pls do Saja Boys x Popstar!Reader. The popstar could be a Sabrina Carpenter type! Thank you!

You got it my friend 😘 I’ve been simping HARD for the Saja boys ever since the trailers and movie came out.

Saja Boys x F!Reader; otherwise called reader is nervous at all the attention from a group of hot guys.

I tried to make it as ambiguous as possible as to what the reader looks like, the only thing that’s set is that the reader has at least hair on their head 😅

Summary: Coming back from your world tour, you expect to rest for a bit before going back to performing. What you didn't expect was gaining the attention of five super attractive men that just can't seem to leave you alone.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I might make a continuation of this with some nsfw bits for each member, let me know if that’s something y’all would be interested in

Tags: @floredaqueen

Getting back to your home from your tours has always been a highlight that you treasure, especially from how exhausting performing is. Still, there is nothing that you would change about your life. Currently, you just got home and cleaned yourself up and decided that going for a walk would be nice. The city is beautiful and getting some fresh air would do you some good.

That's how you now find yourself roaming the street in the market section of the city as you people watch. Occasionally, watching some of the birds as they're flying. One bird grabs your attention from the others though in the way it seems to be watching with... purpose, eventually landing on a sign that is nearby where you were standing.

Normally it wouldn't really be something that you pay attention to, despite you liking birds, but something about this particular bird just gets your attention.

The bird must have thought the same as it stays on the sign despite you getting closer.

"Well, you have some interesting patterns, don't you little guy?" You say to yourself as the bird just watched you, something flickers in your peripheral, but before you can turn to see it, the bird lets out a chirp bringing your attention back to it.

“Hm? Guess you don’t like being ignored, understandable, you’re a very handsome bird,” you smile at the bird before turning to leave, slightly waving to it as you continue to walk around, oblivious to the eyes that follow your form as you leave.

Some time passes before you decide to go back to your home, using the time to listen to some of the songs on your next album to feel out if they're up to your standards.

Days pass with you enjoying your short break and taking the time to slowly get back into your routine of dancing and singing practice. You had just finished your latest practice session when you decide to go back to town to get some groceries, maybe try out that new recipe you've been meaning to indulge in. You’re walking in the direction of the store you most frequent when you see the same bird, a smile coming across your face as you slightly wave to it again.

“Hello my little friend! Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you smile until a cough sounds from behind you.

You quickly turn face going red at being caught talking to a bird of all things, before it lands on an incredibly handsome stranger who has a small smile on his face. One that also shows he definitely saw you talking to a bird.

“You always talk to birds, or did I just get lucky to see it?” He says with a small smirk on his face.

“I- uh, no not,” you clear your throat trying to will the heat from your face to die down, “I try not to make it a habit,” you stammer out eventually calming down enough to meet his gaze.

His very handsome gaze that is, the heat slowly returns to your face while your eyes dart around.

You eventually get your bearings, clearing out your throat as you look at him eyes quickly flicking across him, really getting a look at him before finally retorting.

“Do you always watch girls when you’re out or did I just get lucky?” A small smile unintentionally making its way to your face before you quickly choke it down with an eyebrow raise, seeing a near drop dead gorgeous man definitely isn’t something you’ll complain about, but still a man is a man no matter how hot.

The stranger just lets out a low chuckle before stepping a little closer to you, eyeing the bird before it flies off to seemingly nowhere.

“Not really, only the pretty ones,” he says, hands in his pockets of his jeans while he looks you up and down. Before you get the chance to stammer out a reply, four other equally just as gorgeous men come around to him before one of them, the one with a shirt that is clearly hanging on for dear life, claps him on the shoulder.

“Yo, Jinu, we’re waiting for you man- woah,” the man who you would definitely say could call you any time looks at you with a look of recognition, one that you try to shake your head as fast as you can without looking insane.

“So you have a name! Love that for you, sorry for being weird- you guys have fun with whatever you were doing!” You quickly make your way out of there with a hand covering your face to shield it from their eyes as you could practically feel steam coming off it.

The one who recognized you still has wide eyes as he realizes that yeah you are that one definitely famous singer and oh my gosh he can't believe that you ran into them. He quickly clues in the other men who are just confused at both of your reactions, the news making Jinu smile as he starts to think maybe he was right to send his little bird to watch you.

“Oh my gosh I looked like an idiot, a complete moron in front of five hot guys. Ugh girl you need to get your shit together,” you mutter to yourself as you continue walking towards a clearing where some people are talking about a boy group performing there.

You pull your sunglasses on and pull up your jacket a bit to avoid being recognized as you stand in front of a gathering crowd as some music starts. To your shock and horror, the same men that you’d bumped into are performing and singing.

“Oh my gosh I’m so dead, I have to die of embarrassment now, no I need to leave the country,” your muttering is interrupted as you make eye contact with who you now know as Jinu as he winks at you, your face erupting into heat as you pull the strings of your jacket to cover your face. Meanwhile the women and men behind you scream as they think it’s for them.

The action causes the Saja Boys to smile wider as they notice you hiding your face. They continue with their song, you still listening and your shoulders unintentionally bouncing up and down to the music. They notice with glee, their song ending as they send out finger hearts to the crowd watching your reaction as you try to look anywhere but their faces.

They finish their song, officially making their debut as they seemingly disappear into thin air. This gives you the chance to finally go to the store and get all the things you need for your dinner. You're heading back to your home when you hear someone call out to you, you are turning with fear that it's a crazy fan. Instead, you hesitantly turn around to see that it is instead the five hot guys with handsome smiles on their faces. Maybe the fan would have been better, you think as your grip tightens on the groceries in your hands.

The one with long pink hair in the shape of a heart is the first one to greet you as he waves with a large grin on his face.

"You saw our show, right? Did you enjoy it? My name is Romance,” He smiles at you, the action has you lowering your shoulders a bit at his smile. He's pretty friendly, still devastatingly attractive though.

"Uh, yeah I did! It was really good, you were really good!"

You smile back a bit shy, eyes darting between the five men as their eyes zero in on you. The action causing you to get a bit bashful at the cropped shirt that leaves your stomach and cleavage slightly exposed. The men barely try their best to avoid being obvious at their shameless staring, but let their eyes wander a bit.

Jinu is the next one to speak, offering a hand as he speaks.

"Did you now? You need any help with those groceries; we'd be more than happy to help you~" He purrs out, a wolfish grin taking over his face as your face heats up at the look he gives you. Curse you for your dry spell, just looking at these guys is enough to bring some heat to you.

"No! No I'm- I'm fine really and I don't want to stop you guys from whatever you're up to," you let out as the one with mint hair has no shame in smirking at your bashfulness as you make eye contact with him. Who you later learn is Mystery, silently makes his way around you as you slightly back away from the hungry looks they give you. Your back hits his chest as you look up, you making a surprised sound to see him. He has a slight smile on his face at the look of shock on your own.

"We're not too busy, especially not when we could help a gorgeous woman out~" The one with the ill-fitting shirt says tilting himself down a bit to stare directly into your eyes, as he smirks at your nervous expression.

"No really! I wouldn't want to impose," you let out with a small laugh making your way into the direction of your house. They let you back away looking at you with a gaze that screams they would eat you up if given the chance.

A week passes by from the interaction you had, the memory playing in your head like a broken record. The memory is still playing during your practice in your dance studio as you hear voices passing by. You're in the middle of a break as your backup dancers are casually speaking to each other while you leave the room to grab more water and a sports drink. You're at the vending machine when you can physically feel eyes on you, you turn your head a bit to see the most muscular member of their group behind you.

He looks you up and down before letting a coy smile make its way to his face as he leans against the wall across the vending machine. You whip your head around, face getting heated up as you can feel it creeping to your ears.

"So, how's practice going for you?" You hear his deep voice close to you as you turn around a bit and see him now down to your ear, you let out a sound that could be comparable to unholy as you realize just how close he was. Immediately, you start stammering as you try to put some distance between you.

"It's- um, you're so close, it's going," you clear your throat as he just smirks at you, "It's um good; it's going good we were just going on our break for the next hour, rest a bit y'know? Hehe how's uh how's your practice going? What's your name by the way, never uh never got it..."

God, you have been out of the game for so long, can you speak to even one person normally?

He raises his eyebrows, not really expecting you to give a response, but gives a small smile, "names Abby, guess we never really introduced ourselves, huh?"

Your shoulders lower themselves at his response, a small smile gracing your features as you finally make eye contact.

"No, you really didn't, so new group, right? Your performance was really good, really catchy too!"

You smile at him before reaching to grab your drink from the machine, having forgotten about it, but Abby beats you to it, reaching down and grabbing the drink before holding it out to you. You grab it, but he holds it a bit tighter before letting go, his hand brushing yours.

"Well, if you get bored during your break feel free to come watch us practice in room four, I'm sure the guys would love to see you," Abby waves at you as he leaves.

You're left at the vending machine, heart thundering at the brief contact as you watch his back leave before he turns the corner to go back to their dance studio. You are so about to make a mistake going to see them, is all that you think as you're returning to your own room.

After getting back to your room, your dancers and you disperse to do your own thing for the next hour. With some thinking, you decide fuck it and head down to where Abby said they were practicing. You can hear music playing as you look through the door and see them taking a break and make eye contact with Abby who smiles before going to the door to let you in.

"So, you decided to join us?” Abby leans on the door covering your body form view as the other guys in the room wonder who he’s talking to.

“Yeah, figured why not not everyday you can watch a hot new group in their element,” you chirp out before realizing what you said.

“Sorry not hot! I mean you are hot, but I didn’t mean that hot I meant hot as in really popular!” You wince at Abby holding in his laugh as he leads you into the room.

As you enter the room, all their eyes fall on you and your hit with the feeling that you’ve walked into the lions den.

“Welcome princess, didn’t realize we’d have a guest or else I’d have cleaned up,” Jinu says as he looks your form up and down. He’s wearing a loose shirt and grey sweatpants that does nothing to hide his physique.

The other guys in the room all have looks of hunger at your outfit, still breathing heavily from their practice. The one with lilac hair covering his eyes is the second to approach you as he offers you some water.

“Figure you’d want water, I’m Mystery,” he quietly says before going to sit on the floor one leg propped out as he continues to catch his breath.

You’re holding the water to your chest when Abby leads you to where the speaker is, now turned off since they’re taking a momentary break. They sneak glances at you while you sit a little awkwardly just listening to them chat.

Eventually, Jinu calls them back to practice. They start with Soda Pop, as they dance your shoulders bop along to the music while they pour their attention to you making your face flush from the looks they give you.

"Cause I need you to need me," Jinu points at you and smirks, you look away before turning your attention back.

"I'm empty, you feed me," Romance licks him lips while looking you up and down.

"So refreshing," Abby winks at you while pulling his shirt a bit to expose his chest.

"My little Soda Pop," Baby turns towards you and gives you a sultry look before continuing with the dance.

They dance through the chorus while their attention remains on your form, you feel slightly exposed and flush a bit at all their gazes. They finish their dance, and you clap for them, "nice! You guys are good!"

Abby is the first one to approach you, leaning down breathing heavily as he cages you between his arms.

"Any notes you could give us, any suggestions," He asks lowly, voice slightly raspy. You swallow the spit in your mouth as you hold eye contact with him, stammering a bit.

Romance is the next to approach you going to your right side and leaning down a bit to your ear.

"Any pointers you could give us? Any moves you could show us?" He breathes in your ear, his hair tickling the side of your face. You start to breathe a bit heavier at the attention they give you, you lick your lips as they feel impossibly dry.

The action only grabs Abby's attention. He leans in closer so close he was only a hair away from your mouth and lets out a breath as he smirks.

"You nervous?"

You silently nod, leaning back the slightest bit as your back hits the mirrored wall of the studio leaving you trapped between the two men.

"Use your words, princess," Romance chides you from your right as your eyes dart to him. Breath leaving you at his words and your face heats before you stutter out a yes.

Abby takes some mercy on you and eases up on the barely there space and backs away leaving you to Romance as he gets a drink.

These boys are going to kill you.

Romance soon leaves the teasing as he goes off to get his own drink and talk with the other guys, you finally are able to grab a full breath, and your face finally calms down.

You bid goodbye to the boys as you go back to your own studio, mind reeling at the attention and proximity of the boys. These men are much too attractive to be doing this to you.

God help you, your heart can hardly take this.

[dollgxtz]

Can you write a short somno fic for Sylus but he’s already been doing it for awhile? And he feels so damn guilty about it but genuinely can’t stop because it’s like an addiction to him now? :)

In Somno

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, nonconsensual somnophilia, noncon, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, facials

Summary: Sylus just can't help himself when it comes to your sleeping body <33

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

AN: Sorry anon, I know you said "short" but I got really excited and got carried away. So lets just say this is my version of a short fic LOL. Also thank you thank you thank youuuu for requesting this, I've been itching to write another somno fic hehehe. Btw the title means “In slumber” in Latin!!! :33

He hadn't intended for things to escalate to this point.

Normally, Sylus was a master of self-control, able to reign in his desires with ease. But on that particular day, something had been stirred within him, something that he couldn't quite explain. It had started when he saw you lying in his bed, fast asleep and naked, after a long and exhausting mission. You'd taken a shower and had passed right out. Your fatigue had been palpable, and he had gone to cover you with a blanket, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast.

Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't meant to touch you like...that. His hand lingered for a moment, a mere whisper of contact, before he moved it away as if it burned. He stared at you, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his innocent touch had ignited within him. He had always prided himself on his ability to control himself. Yet here he was, his heart pounding, his body betraying him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was just a touch, he told himself. A harmless, accidental touch. But his body refused to listen, his mind refusing to let go of the softness of your skin, the warmth that had radiated from you. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to touch you again, to trace the curve of your breast, to feel more of your warmth.

He knew he should leave, let you rest, should respect your sleep. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He had seen you naked before, had seen you sleep countless times. But this was different. This time, he felt something stirring within his groin as he watched your naked chest rise with each breath. Your beautiful, peaceful face was messing with his senses. He tried to dismiss it, to attribute it to the fatigue of the long day, the heat of the room, anything but the truth.

The truth was, you two hadn't had much time for each other lately, and even less for anything intimate. The lack of physical connection had left him pent up, achingly so. He couldn't remember the last time you'd both had a moment to yourselves, a moment to explore each other's desires and needs.

As he sat there, looking at you, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself down, but it was no use. Better to quell the urge to touch you now, and then forget about this, he figured. He reached back over, his hand gently touching the soft roundness of your breast, giving it a light squeeze. The touch sent a spark of electricity through his body, and he felt his cock harden in his pants.

Shit. He had definitely just made it worse.

You stirred, letting out a soft whine, and he felt his heart skip a beat. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a sweet melody that only added to his arousal. He quickly withdrew his hand, however, as you began to shift and turn your body away from him in your sleep.

Your butt was now completely visible to him. His heart dropped into his stomach. You had always been the only one to undo his calm, to make him feel this way. He ran his fingers through his hair, now having an internal battle within himself. It felt wrong...undeniably wrong...and yet…

One thing had led to another, and he found himself carefully pushing his fingers inside your wet folds. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he was breathless as your cunt sucked in his fingers bit by bit. The feeling of your inner walls clamping down on his fingers sent his mind into a frenzy, and he couldn't help but think about how much he wanted to be inside you.

How wet you'd be.

How tight you'd be.

His cock was rock hard and throbbing in his boxers, pressing against the back of your leg. He pressed himself against your butt lightly, trying to relieve some of the ache that had been building up inside him.

It wasn't enough.

You began to squirm, your body shifting slightly in your sleep, and he froze. He didn't remove his fingers, but ceased his motions...as if pausing could erase what he’d just done. He watched you closely, heart pounding, waiting to see if your eyes would open. If they did, he told himself, he’d just say you two had dozed off like that. Just a sleepy accident.

The lie formed easily in his mind, but the weight of it hit hard. He had never lied to you before...and now, standing on the edge of it, he felt something bitter twist in his gut. Shame crept up his spine, hot and sharp, settling in his face until his skin burned. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. He smothered the guilt with silence, burying it under the oldest excuse in the book: what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.

As you pressed your backside against him, unknowingly in your sleep, he felt a surge of desire wash over him, replacing all guilt and shame with a primal, aching need. The pain in his groin became almost unbearable, and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else except satisfying his craving for you.

Within the next few minutes he had rid himself of his underwear, lifted your leg and slowly began to sink his aching, throbbing cock inside you, only a little bit at first. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he felt himself plunging into you over and over, his hips moving in a slow, rhythmic motion. His hand gripped the roundness of your ass, holding you in place as he thrust into you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin.

"Ah...fuck. Kitten, Im sorry..."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan as he sunk himself deeper, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. The room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the creaking of the bed, and his ragged breaths. He could feel every inch of you, tight and warm around him. He wanted to savor this moment, to imprint it on his memory forever. He reached around, finding your clit with his fingers, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You moaned softly, still deeply asleep, arching your back to meet him.

"Mghn...S-sylus..."

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was worried that you had woken up, that you would discover him inside you, and that everything would be ruined. He lay there, holding his breath, as he frantically thought of excuses, of ways to explain what was happening.

But as the seconds passed in silence, and you didn’t move, he began to ease—just slightly. He glanced over, searching your face for any sign that you were awake, that you knew. But your eyes stayed shut, your expression calm, untouched. Still lost in sleep.

You looked so docile, so innocent and soft with your mouth agape, small snores escaping your lips. He hates that he feels a rush of arousal looking at you in such a vulnerable state, peacefully sleeping in his bed.

He wondered if you were thinking you were having a dream, if your subconscious was responding to his presence inside you. The thought sent a thrill through him, and his cock twitched in your inner walls. Maybe you wanted him too? Even in your dreams?

As he began to thrust again, this time with a bit more force, he could feel the pressure building up inside him. The ache in his groin was becoming almost unbearable, and he knew he was on the verge of cumming. He groaned, the sound choked out of him as he struggled to maintain control.

But as he looked down at you, still asleep and unaware of what was happening, he knew he had to pull out. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't risk finishing inside you. Surely you'd put two and two together when you woke up and he'd be caught.

With a strangled groan, he forced himself to pull out, his cock throbbing with the effort. He gripped the sides of your hip, holding himself up as he shot a hefty, sticky load of his cum all over your inner thighs. The sensation was intense, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he finally released the pent-up tension.

As he looked down at the mess he had made, he felt a pang of guilt and anxiety. What would you think if you woke up and found out what had happened? Would you be angry, would you be scared? He didn't know, and the uncertainty was eating away at him.

So he simply cleaned you up as best as he could, and when you awoke the next morning you were none the wiser. You did question the ache between your legs, but fortunately for him you simply chalked it up to pushing yourself too hard during the mission. Besides, your entire body hurt already. What was one more area?

He swore that would be the last time.

Except it wasn't.

You didn’t always spend the night, but when you did, it was usually because you were too tired to head home after a long day. Sylus would swing by and bring you back to Onychinus’s base without complaint. You’d shower, get comfortable, and eat whatever dinner he’d ordered the chef to make you—just like always.

Then the two of you would settle in. Maybe you’d watch a movie, maybe listen to one of his new records. It was an easy routine. Comfortable. Soothing.

Eventually, you’d get too tired to keep your eyes open, and drift off beside him on the couch.

Then he’d carry you to the bedroom—slow, careful, as if you might break in his arms. On the surface, it was about comfort. He wanted you to sleep well. To feel safe.

But underneath that was something more selfish. He wanted to test the limits. To see how close he could get, how much movement he could do before you would stir, how long his hands could linger on your skin.

Most nights, you didn’t even move. You stayed limp and warm in his arms, face tucked against his neck, breath slow and even. It should have calmed him.

Instead, it made things worse.

Guilt curled in his chest like smoke. You trusted him. Implicitly. You let yourself go completely in his care. And he hated how that trust made something coil low in his groin, thick with heat and desire to strip you down and plunge himself in your wet walls.

And that's exactly what he did. Night after night, he'd start carefully moving your underwear to the side, swiftly inserting the head of his hardened cock inside you, and fucking you until a creamy white ring of your juices formed around the base of his shaft. Touching your breasts, butt, and pussy in ways you'd never let him before. And just as he felt himself about to release, he'd quickly pull out, covering your soft skin in his cum. Sometimes it was your thighs, sometimes your back. He'd even gotten bold enough to do your face at one point.

To compensate for the guilt that gnawed at him every time he let himself fall into his dark cravings, Sylus had started buying you more gifts.

At first, it was subtle—a snack you liked, a book you’d mentioned in passing. But it escalated quickly. If you so much as glanced at something in a store window while the two of you were out, or paused a moment too long while scrolling on your phone, it would show up in your hands within days. Sometimes hours.

You noticed, of course. It was hard not to.

“Another one?” you’d ask, brow arched in amused suspicion as you unwrapped a new plushie, or a piece of jewelry that matched your favorite dress, or a gadget you’d casually mentioned needing just once.

When you asked him why he was suddenly giving you so much, he’d just shrug—casual, like it meant nothing.

“You've always been spoiled, why question it now?” he’d chuckle.

As if that explained everything.

And maybe it did. At least, enough to keep you from pressing further.

Because to him, each gift was a way to say I’m sorry I touched you too long, I’m sorry I wanted more than I should, I’m sorry I’m not being honest. I love you so much.

It was his way of trying to be good for you.

Even as the craving got harder to ignore.

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

He found himself unable to stop. Would you really blame him if you found out? You must clearly want it too...the way your body greedily sucked in his cock, squeezing around it like a warm, wet vice. It was as if your body was begging him not to pull out, to keep going, to keep giving you more. Every time he thrust into you, your muscles would contract, holding him in place, and then release, allowing him to slide back out, only to repeat the process again. It was a sensual, intoxicating rhythm, one that threatened to consume him whole.

And the soft little whines you made when he was stretching you out or when he pumped into you a little harder than he meant to drove him absolutely crazy...

He'd promptly cease his movements, gently shushing your little noises while he waited for you to calm.

"Im sorry, baby. I didn't mean it, stay asleep for me," he would coo, his voice a soft, gentle whisper, as he gazed down at your sleeping face. He would pause for a moment, his chest heaving with desire, as he struggled to control his own needs. But then, with a quiet sigh, he would resume his movements, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of you with a smooth, gentle rhythm.

As he moved, he would continue to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his words a soothing balm to your sleeping form. "Just need to see you covered in my cum one more time..." His voice was a gentle hum, a vibration that seemed to resonate deep within your body, as he continued to pump into you.

He did this for several weeks, reassuring you whenever you began to grow concerned at the continued ache between your legs. Of course, you'd trust him. Relax after. He'd feel terrible but he'd tell himself it was for your own good. You just felt too good. Too soft, so warm.

Tonight was no different. You both were watching a new movie in his home theater this time, when you promptly yawned. Immediately he felt his breath get shallow, and his pants get tighter.

“Tired, kitten?” Sylus asked, his voice lower than usual—rough around the edges, like he was holding something back. He reached for the remote and shut off the screen, the soft click echoing in the quiet space between you.

You nodded through a sleepy stretch, arms lifting lazily above your head before collapsing into your lap.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes already heavy. “We never finish these movies. I just…I don’t know. I’m always so tired now.”

There was a faint furrow in your brow as you said it—genuine regret, like falling asleep beside him was some kind of failure.

He leaned in without hesitation and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. His lips lingered there a moment longer than they needed to, soaking in the warmth of your skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for being sleepy,” he said softly, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “You’re welcome to come back and finish it any time.”

You didn’t respond.

He was rock hard now.

As he rose to his feet with you cradled in his arms, your body melted into him completely. Your head dropped to rest against his collarbone, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep. He felt the small puff of your breath against his neck—warm, steady.

Halfway down the hallway, he glanced down at you.

Out cold.

He smiled. There was something in your face when you slept—unguarded and soft. Your lashes fluttered faintly, cheek pressed against the curve of his chest like you belonged there.

“They must be working you to the bone,” he muttered to no one, voice barely audible.

Unfortunate for you.

But for him…

You felt incredibly wet and tighter tonight. He'd boldly set you on your back this time, not wanting to miss a single facial expression or noise. Even if it meant being more gentle than usual. He watched greedily as your breasts bounced up and down with his movements. He leaned down, hands on either side of your head, trying with strained effort to quiet his groans.

"How am I ever going to stop doing this to you? You feel so good," he hissed through his teeth, his voice a low, tortured whisper, as he struggled to keep his gentle rhythm. His cock was buried deep inside you, and with each thrust, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. The sensation of his tip grazing your cervix was almost unbearable, threatening to overwhelm him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched in a fierce effort to hold back, but it was no use. The feeling of being inside you, of being surrounded by your warm, wet flesh, was too intense, too addictive. He couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get enough of you. And as he looked down at your sleeping face, he knew that he was doomed, trapped in a cycle of desire and pleasure that he couldn't escape.

His hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, as he chased the sensation, as he sought to prolong the pleasure. And with each stroke, he felt himself getting closer, closer to the point of no return, closer to the moment when he would finally succumb to his desires and let go. "Hah...gonna cum...," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic snarl as he felt his orgasm building.

"Mmmm..."

As you began to squirm under him, your eyes peering open just a bit, but still not enough to be considered awake, he felt a surge of panic mixed with excitement. Were you waking up? He should stop, he knew he should, but he couldn't. He was too close, too caught up in the moment, too desperate to cum inside you.

He leaned in closer, his large body encasing yours, his warm breath whispering against your ear. "Shh...I'm almost there baby...don't wake up..." He pleaded, his voice a low, husky whisper, as he tried to calm you down, to keep you from waking up and discovering what was happening.

But you whine, sleepily grabbing onto his arms, your hands wrapping around his biceps like a vice. You clearly aren't aware enough to even realize what's happening, and he takes advantage of that, using it to his benefit. He continues to thrust into you, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into your wet flesh with a relentless rhythm.

As he looks down at your face, he can see the faintest glimmer of awareness in your eyes, but it's not enough to stop him. He's too far gone, and he knows that he's going to cum inside you, no matter what. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Fuck..."

As he pushes as far as he can go, his hips stuttered, jerking forward with a mind of their own, as his cock pulsed, throbbing with the intense force of his release. As he came, he felt his cock unleash a torrent of cum, wave after wave of it flooding into your body, filling you to the brim.  A wave of relief crashed over him, drowning out the relentless hunger that had been gnawing at him all night.

As he looked down at you, Sylus noticed you were starting to squirm again, your body shifting slightly under the covers. You were clearly on the verge of waking up. Your brows twitched, your breathing changed, and your fingers gave a small, unconscious twitch.

Thinking quickly, he moved to wrap himself around you, encasing your body in his arms in a way that was both protective and possessive. His chest pressed against your back, one arm curling securely around your waist, hand resting just beneath your ribs.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering open for a brief moment—glazed, unfocused—before slowly slipping shut again. He felt your body melt against his, the subtle tension in your shoulders and spine easing as sleep reclaimed you. Your breathing evened out. You relaxed fully in his grasp.

Relieved, Sylus allowed himself a quiet breath of his own, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissipate as he gazed down at you. He looked down to see the remnants of his cum slipping down the trails of your thighs, a warm, sticky liquid that glistened in the dim light. 

He would definitely have some explaining to do when you woke up...guess it was time to buy that cart full of items you'd been begging for...

[vingtetunmars]

Uncharted Territory

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: During a study session that turns into something more, a simple kiss on the forehead unexpectedly leaves Eddie completely hot and bothered.

Tags: fluff, humor, teasing, implied praise kink, new couple, established relationship, first time, reader is sunshine incarnate, tender intimacy, virgin!Eddie Munson. No description of Reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: This fic is inspired by this post by @sheneedsrocknroll92 , I thought it was funny and probably something that would happen to Eddie. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 1.8k

masterlist

You weren’t supposed to notice him.

Not in the way that mattered.

Eddie Munson knew his place at Hawkins High. Resident freak. Satanic panic poster boy. The kid teachers gave up on and parents warned their kids about. People stared, sure—but only long enough to whisper, then look away.

But you never looked away.

You smiled.

The first time was in the cafeteria. You were sitting with your friends, those pastel, soft-voiced types with glitter pens and locker decorations. You didn’t look like someone who would know his name, let alone say it. But when he passed your table, you lifted your head and smiled straight at him. Bright. Simple. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He almost dropped his tray.

The next day, you waved in the hallway. He looked behind him just to make sure it was actually for him. You laughed. Said, “Hi, Eddie!” like you’d done it a thousand times.

He spent the rest of the week convinced someone put you up to it.

Except… you kept doing it.

You showed up near his locker. Lingered near Hellfire with a soda and a snack in hand. Laughed at his dumb jokes even when no one else did. It was like you orbiting around his life was normal, like he didn’t have to prove he was worthy of it.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Because you were sunshine in a person. The kind of girl people opened up to without meaning to. The kind who said things like “you look handsome today” with complete sincerity, not even knowing the chaos it would cause in someone like him. Eddie was used to being mocked, dismissed, at best tolerated. You were different.

The scary part was how fast he got used to it.

He started looking forward to you. Every hallway run-in. Every shared lunch on the bleachers. Every time you curled your fingers around his wrist like it was no big deal. And then, the moment that flipped his world upside down—you kissed his cheek and said:

“I like you, Eddie. Just putting that out there.”

Then you smiled and walked off like you didn’t just detonate a bomb in his chest.

It took him a week to build the courage. A week of sweaty palms and bad dreams and practicing in the mirror. Then he found you after school, heart in his throat, and said something completely idiotic like, “I also like. You. Like-you. You, I like.”

You just grinned, slid your fingers into his, and said, “Cool. Because I think we look good together.”

Like it was that simple.

And, god, maybe it was.

You made it easy.

Eddie had no idea what the hell he was doing. You were his first everything. First kiss. First girlfriend. First person to call him “baby” like it belonged to him. He thought he’d mess it up. He still thinks that, sometimes. But you’ve never once made him feel like he was falling behind.

You make him feel… like he could be good at this.

You play with his hair when he’s sprawled out on your couch. You cheer for him when he wins boss fights in Hellfire, even though you barely understand what’s going on. You bring him peanut butter M&M’s and wear his Hellfire shirt, even though it’s baggy on you and smells like his cologne. And you hold his hand like it’s just what people do.

He doesn’t always know how to respond. He’s still learning. Sometimes his brain fries when you lean into his side or call him “pretty boy.” But he loves the way you look at him when you do.

Like he’s something precious.

Like he’s not some loser hiding behind loud clothes and louder words.

And two months in, Eddie Munson is still stunned every single day that he gets to have you.

That someone like you wanted someone like him.

That maybe—just maybe—he’s not entirely unlovable after all.

It’s late afternoon and the sun is doing that lazy golden thing through Eddie’s window, casting long, warm streaks across his bed. The two of you are sitting cross-legged on the mattress, notebooks and worksheets spread in a hopeless mess between you. Eddie’s handwriting is still a disaster, half the math problems are half-finished, and somehow there’s a doodle of a dragon in the corner of the page.

You should be annoyed.

But instead, you’re beaming.

“Okay,” you say, tapping your pencil against your knee. “You didn’t totally flunk that one. That’s, like, a B-minus effort. Maybe even a solid B. I’m proud of you.”

Eddie groans, flopping back dramatically on the bed. “I got five out of twelve, sweetheart.”

You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “You got two right last week. That’s progress.”

He peeks at you through his hair. “Baby steps, huh?”

“Exactly.” You crawl closer, lifting a hand to brush the bangs from his forehead. He freezes beneath your touch, a familiar stiffness he still hasn’t grown out of. It’s not discomfort—it’s reverence. Like he still doesn’t understand how you touch him so gently, like you don’t think twice about it.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

Simple. Sweet. Warm.

And that’s when it happens.

You pull back like nothing’s changed. But Eddie is suddenly dead quiet. His body tenses, his arms shoot around his torso like he’s guarding something, and before you can even blink, he’s curling up into himself like a human shield.

“Eddie?”

He lets out a strained noise. High-pitched. Embarrassed. “Yeah, no—I’m good. Just. Just need a minute. Maybe a few minutes. Don’t look at me.”

You blink. “Wait… are you—?”

“Don’t say it.”

“…Did a forehead kiss really just—?”

“Don’t say it,” he groans, pulling a pillow into his lap like it’s a weapon, dragging one of his old Metallica hoodies across himself in record time. His ears are bright red. His hair’s a mess from how fast he moved. He looks like he’s about to combust.

And you… start laughing.

Not cruel, not mean. Just startled, delighted giggles spilling out before you can stop them. Because this boy—this five-ten, metal-loving, D&D-obsessed chaos gremlin—just got hot and bothered over a forehead kiss.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes. “You poor thing.”

He groans again, flopping backward like he’s dying. “You don’t understand. It was too sweet. Too nice. My brain short-circuited. I didn’t even know that could happen.”

You slide closer, biting your lip to suppress another laugh. “Eddie, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! You just kissed my head and now I’m having a hormonal crisis. That’s not normal. People don’t just do that.”

“Actually,” you say gently, brushing your fingers through his curls, “they do. It’s just that most people don’t feel everything all at once like you do.”

You duck your head until your forehead rests against his. “It’s okay, Eddie. I love that about you.”

He stares at you. Flustered. Overwhelmed. And still very much refusing to move his pillow.

“…Okay, but like, next time maybe warn me before doing something that affectionate.”

You didn’t stop smiling.

Even after his dramatics. Even after he tried hiding under the pillow like it was a shield from the embarrassment of having a boner caused by a forehead kiss. You just kept looking at him like he was the cutest thing in the world.

Which, unfortunately, did not help his current situation.

You leaned over him, voice light and teasing. “Y’know… this is kinda flattering.”

He peeked up. “You’re flattered?”

“Yeah,” you giggled, poking his ribs gently. “It’s nice to know I can wreck you that easily.”

Eddie let out a low, half-strangled groan. “You are so unfair.”

“I’m very fair,” you said, tilting your head. “I just didn’t expect forehead kisses to be your weakness.”

“It’s not,” he muttered. “It wasn’t. It—god, I don’t know, it felt like you were taking care of me.”

You stilled a little at that. Your voice softened. “Well… I was.”

He looked up at you.

You bit your lip thoughtfully, then reached down, brushing your fingers through his curls. “You know… I could keep doing that. Taking care of you.”

Eddie blinked. “Wh—what, like… now?”

You nodded. Your voice was calm, careful. “If you want. We don’t have to. But if you do want… I’ll be gentle. I’ll go slow. I just want you to feel good.”

Eddie swallowed hard, pupils blown, breath catching in his chest. He was pretty sure his brain had left his body a few minutes ago. You were so soft, so sweet, so stupidly beautiful, and you were looking at him like he was the precious one.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “Yeah. I… want you to.”

You smiled at him like that was the best answer he could’ve given.

“Alright, baby,” you whispered, removing the pillow and climbed into his lap with slow, careful movements.

Eddie’s hands found your waist instinctively, holding you like you might vanish if he let go. You brushed your nose against his, pressing a light kiss to his lips first—then another, and another, deeper each time.

It started slow. Gentle.

Then his fingers tightened.

Then your hips rolled.

And by the time his head tipped back against the pillow, both of you breathless and warm, you were rocking slowly together, hips bumping in a soft rhythm, mouths never parting for long.

Your hands cupped his face.

His arms circled your waist.

And the world outside his bedroom melted away as you kissed him deeper—teaching him, guiding him, loving him like no one ever had.

Eddie was still staring at the ceiling when you flopped beside him with a satisfied sigh, your limbs brushing his.

There was a long pause.

Then, in a dazed voice, he mumbled, “I think I saw God.”

You burst out laughing, burying your face into his shoulder.

He turned to you, blinking slowly, curls a mess, skin flushed pink across the cheeks and down his chest. “Like. I’m serious. She looked just like you. But like—glowier.”

You nudged his side with a grin. “Are you trying to flirt with me after we had sex?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Because now I really don’t want you to leave me.”

You laughed again, kissing the tip of his nose. “Baby, I’ve been your girlfriend for two months.”

“Yeah, but now I feel like I need to propose. Or like, write a ballad. Or get your name tattooed on my—”

“Eddie.”

“I’m kidding. Mostly. Unless you think the tattoo thing is hot. I’ll do it.”

You rolled your eyes, cuddling into his chest. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

He let out a breathy chuckle and pulled the blanket over both of you, his arms curling around your shoulders. “Ridiculous and lucky.”

You smiled into his skin, fingers drawing slow shapes across his ribs. “You did great, baby.”

There was a pause.

Then, a groan. “Don’t say that again right now.”

“Why not?” you asked innocently, already giggling.

“Because last time you said that, I got bodily betrayed, and I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to recover twice in one night.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you rest… for now.”

“Threat noted,” he muttered, but he was smiling—broad and crooked and deeply in love.

And so were you.

[hansrkive]

NO I LOVE YOUs? (SVT)

You did the “not saying i love you” prank.

౨ৎ PAIRING: bf!seventeen x gf!reader

౨ৎ GENRE: fluff and just pure old romance.

౨ৎ TAGS: seventeen as your boyfriend and one-shot.

౨ৎ NOTES: no thoughts tbh i was bored and i saw a prompt on twitter :/

౨ৎ HYPERLINKS: pinned post, ko-fi and seventeen’s master-list.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL:

His eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Normally, you would say ‘I love you’ and kiss him goodbye, but as you decided to prank him, the normal things you do before he leaves for work were nowhere to be found. “I love you,” he repeated, quickly striding over to you, his hands immediately touching yours. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his tone laced with worry.

"Nope?" you laughed. "Go and work out, Cheol."

"But you haven't said it yet," he groaned like a five-year-old kid.

"Fine, I love you," you said in defeat. You immediately knew that your prank would backfire, knowing Seungcheol would use his handsome face to lure you back in.

YOON JEONGHAN:

It was probably the worst prank ever. The prank lasted the whole day, and Jeonghan was not having it. For the first few hours, he tried clinging to you like a child. But as he felt that you weren't budging, the room fell into a deafening silence for the next few hours.

"Hey, I'm going grocery shopping. You wanna come?" you asked, entering your bedroom. You waited for an answer, or even a nod. But to your surprise, he just hugged you tightly.

"Whatever prank this is, it's not funny," he mumbled, making you laugh out loud.

"I'm sorry," you chuckled. "I love you."

HONG JISOO:

Pranking Jisoo was not easy. You were scared that he may take it seriously. “Did you learn that prank from your friends?” he asked, his face screaming ‘you’re busted.’

“What do you mean?” you asked, playing dumb.

“You haven’t said ‘I love you’ whenever I say it,” he laughed, scooting over to you. He then planted a kiss on your forehead. “Nice try, babe.”

"Okay, then. I love you," you smiled as your lips touched.

WEN JUNHUI:

"Okay, babe. I'll be back by dinner. I love you!" Junhui said. He was currently at work, and you didn't know how you would do the prank with him miles away from you.

"Have a good day!" you said, quickly ending the call, not giving him a chance to talk. Thinking that he wouldn't call back, you placed your phone on the granite countertop and went back to stirring the soup you were cooking for lunch.

Ring, Ring. Ring. "Hello?" you said.

"I said 'I love you,' babe." It was Junhui, his voice laced with worry. "Is there something wrong?"

"What do you mean, babe?" you laugh. "Go work! Goodbye!" you tried saying fast, but Junhui cut you off.

"Say 'I love you' back, babe!" he moaned out of frustration.

"God, you're like a baby!" you laughed so hard. "I love you."

KWON SOONYOUNG:

To say that Soonyoung was dramatic was an understatement. He was more than dramatic. Once he didn't hear the three words that made his heart flutter, he started groaning, moaning, and crying. "Babe, please!" he sobbed, clutching his heart as if he were having a heart attack.

"You should be an actor, Kwon Soonyoung," you chuckled, pinching his cheeks.

"Before I take my last breath, please, just say it," he gasped, his hands on his throat.

"You are so dramatic." you rolled your eyes. "I love you."

JEON WONWOO:

You thought he couldn't hear you not say 'I love you' since he was busy playing games with his friends — but you thought wrong. "I can't play another game," he said, removing his headset and coming to bed to lie beside you. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his face resting on your shoulder.

"What do you mean?" you asked, setting your book down on your lap.

"Are you mad? I won't play anymore," he mumbled, kissing your shoulder softly.

"Oh, Wonwoo. It was a prank I saw on TikTok," you uttered. "I love you, baby. I'm not mad.

LEE JIHOON:

Jihoon was probably the 'chillest' person you know. When you did the prank, you thought he just didn't care. "Where did you learn that prank?" he asked as he joined you in bed. "You really thought I wouldn't know?" he laughed, spooning you tightly, his body heat radiating onto you.

"I saw it on TikTok," you admitted, feeling embarrassed that he knew all along."

"Don't do that again, please?" he pleaded. "If I hadn't known, I would've pulled what Soonyoung did."

"What did he do?"

"He cried all day." you both laughed.

LEE SEOKMIN:

He thought you were mad at him. You didn't talk to him the whole day because let's face it, you would've laughed at the first chance you get. So, as you and Seokmin were doing your nighttime skincare routine, Seokmin reached for your hand and looked at you with puppy eyes — with a sheet mask covering his face. "Why aren't you saying 'I love you' and why aren't you talking all day?" he groaned.

"Nothing's wrong, babe," you laughed.

"This isn't funny," he sulked.

"Oh, god. I'm sorry," you laughed out loud. "It was a prank. I love you."

"I love you, too," he finally smiled, giving you a kiss.

KIM MINGYU:

Not even ten minutes into the prank, and you couldn't resist Mingyu's charms. "Come on, say it, love!" he laughed, knowing that you were just pranking him.

"I don't know what you want me to say!" you chuckled as he hugged you tightly.

"Say it, love," he mumbled.

"Ugh, fine. I love you." you rolled your eyes. "I can't even prank you."

XU MINGHAO:

You were trying to make breakfast, but for some reason, Minghao couldn't keep his hands away from you. "I love you," he whispered.

"Thank you," you chuckled, starting right away.

"Thank you?" he asked, confusion plastered on his face.

"What's wrong with that?" you questioned.

Instead of questioning you, he started tickling you instead. "Is this a prank or what?"

"Fine, fine! I love you," you said as the two of you were now on the floor, giggling.

BOO SEUNGKWAN:

Even in texting, Seungkwan was the most expressive person you know. So, when you decided you'll do the prank on him, you knew that he would give you a great reaction.

mr. boo seungkwan: ok i'll talk to u la8er. i love you!

you: okay, bye!

mr. boo seungkwan: huh?

As you were about to type, you suddenly got a call from Seungkwan. "Hey, what do you mean?" Seungkwan groaned. "I said, I love you."

"You are so hard to prank, Seungkwan," you said, giving up in just a matter of minutes. "I love you, too."

CHWE HANSOL:

"I love you, I love you, I love you." Hansol yapped in your ear as you tried to ignore him. You have been doing the prank for almost five hours now, and Hansol has reached his tipping point. "I'm not gonna stop, babe. I have all the time in the world."

"Are you not tired?" you laughed as you folded your clean clothes.

"Like I said, babe, I can wait for days," he laughed.

"You're so insufferable," you chuckled. "I love you, too."

LEE CHAN:

You tried to do the prank, you really did. You ignored him all morning, yet it all backfired. "I love you!" you yelled as you were about to leave for work. "No!" you groaned.

"What's wrong?" Chan asked, getting worried as you slumped on the floor.

"I tried doing the 'not saying I love you' prank on you," you fake-sobbed.

"Oh, babe, you're so cute."

[ohlawdthevoices]

PLS PLS PLS MAKE A MEETING SHOTOS FAMILY FIC I NEVER SEE ANY OF THEM 🙏

I literally love the way u write Shoto

him ->🧍

Meeting Shoto’s family | prohero!shoto x gn!reader

tags : pro hero shoto x gn!reader, mostly fuyumi and natsuo, fluff, shoto is very aloof but we love that, new years dinner, not proof read

word count : 1.8k

a.n : i had fun with this one lol so thank you so much for your request !!

shoto didn’t want to make his relationship public, so except his closest of friends, no one really knew you or even knew he had a partner.

that was sure annoying at times since shoto doesn’t get a hint when someone is flirting with him and usually doesn’t end the conversation, but you knew he did that for your own safety from all the medias.

so it was only when he took a very awkward selfie of the two of you— an almost constipated expression on his face, holding his phone with both hands like a father taking a picture, and sent it to his sister asking if you could join on their new year’s celebration— that his family finally learned about your existence.

shoto’s phone was blowing up the next 40 minutes or so, mostly his sister asking about you, your favorite food and dessert… you were nervous, sure, but fuyumi’s enthusiasm was definitely helping, you knew the rest of his family wasn’t like that but you still hoped somehow endeavor would be secretly chill.

still, when the day finally came and you were standing in front of the todoroki household—gift bag in hand, dressed in something that screamed “respectable but please still like me”—you couldn’t help the nerves climbing up your spine.

“last chance to pretend you forgot me at home,” you whispered. shoto glanced down at you, completely unfazed. “too late. fuyumi’s watching from the window.”

he wasn’t wrong. the door opened before either of you could even knock.

“YOU MUST BE Y/N!!” fuyumi beamed, launching forward to engulf you in a hug so sudden it nearly knocked the gift bag out of your hands. “i’m so glad you came! oh my god. you’re real. you know for a second a thought shoto photoshopped you in the picture.”

“why would i do that” he furrowed his brows,stepping into his home and taking his shoes off. you followed his actions a bit overwhelmed but still trying to keep up the polite and respectful act.

te house smelled like grilled meat and expensive furniture. it was quiet, warm, and intimidating in a subtle, rich-people way.

you barely had time to take your shoes off before someone else appeared around the corner—tall, broad-shouldered, and immediately recognizable.

endeavor.

your body tensed involuntarily, like your survival instincts kicked in. he nodded stiffly.

“welcome.” shoto didn’t say anything, just stepped a little closer behind you, like his presence would shield you from any lingering tension in the room.

“hi… thank you for having me,” you managed politely, though you weren’t totally sure your voice came out.

endeavor nodded again. the silence that followed was suffocating. you could feel Shoto regretting everything.

“anyway!” fuyumi saved the moment with a clapping gesture. “dinner’s almost ready, you can go sit in the dining room !”

dinner was… surprisingly normal. since his father left due to a work related emergency, the discussion seemed to be much more open.

at one point, fuyumi leaned over with a warm smile and asked how you two met. you blinked and said, “oh, at a coffee shop actually.”

“she yelled at me,” shoto added, like he was just stating the weather. “i did not yell at you,” you said immediately, glaring at him with no real heat.

natsuo raised an eyebrow. “this sounds promising.”

“she cut the line,” shoto continued, between two bites. you turned to him, raising your eyebrows “okay, wow. no that wasn’t it” he looked at you, calm as ever.

“there was a clear order. you broke it.”

“i was literally just going to grab a straw.”

“you had intent in your posture.” natsuo laughed while his sister clapped her hands like this was the best dinner she’d ever seen.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “anyway, he accused me of cutting, i told him to mind his business, and then five minutes later he offered to pay for my drink because he ‘felt bad about the misunderstanding.’”

“i did,” shoto said, already sipping his tea like none of this was unusual. “you were wearing a shirt that said ‘caffeine and violence.’”

“…and?”

“i was scared.” he went back to eating as if he didn’t just admit that.

after dinner, you all insisted everyone help clean up, which turned into shoto getting kicked out of the kitchen for trying to load the dishwasher wrong.

“how do you even mess it up that bad?” natsuo muttered, yanking a plate out. “you put a bowl in the plate rack.”

“It fit,” shoto replied simply, as if that were the only criteria.

you were drying dishes nearby, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing. honestly, it was endearing. shoto could calculate the trajectory of an ice attack down to the centimeter but apparently couldn’t grasp modern appliances.

eventually, you were shooed into the living room with a mug of tea, tucked beside shoto on the couch while fuyumi and natsuo bickered over whether or not anyone wanted dessert.

the tv was on in the background playing some new year’s countdown show, all loud music and glittery stage lights. you leaned into Shoto a little, warm and full and weirdly at peace for being in the house of japan’s most emotionally complex family.

“they like you,” he whispered, you turned to him. “yeah?”he nodded “i can tell. fuyumi didn’t start stress-cleaning, and natsuo only insulted me twice.”

you laughed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I like them too, they’re nice.”

there was a pause.

“…did you really tell fuyumi my favorite food?”

shoto didn’t answer right away. then: “i made a powerpoint.” you blinked. “you what?”

“for her,” he added casually,his eyes on the tv. “so she’d be prepared. she asked for a list of things you like, so I made one. it had slides.”

you stared at him. “you powerpointed me.” he nodded, entirely calm. “It had transitions.”

youwould’ve teased him, but honestly, your chest just swelled with affection so fast it kind of short-circuited your brain.

the countdown on the tv hit ten. fuyumi ran back into the room, waving sparkling cider and glasses, while natsuo complained about missing the remote.

everyone gathered around for the final countdown, and when it hit midnight, the room filled with cheers, clinks of glass, and confetti from god knows where (you suspected fuyumi).

shoto turned to you, eyes soft, and asked—completely monotone—“would it be appropriate to kiss now?”

“let’s not do that here yeah ?” you smiled at him as he nodded not really trying to understand why but he accepted it.

[azuremist]

I did not cry about you saying “racism is bad even when you jerk off to it”. I agree with that. I said I agree with the rest of the post in my original tags, which you cropped out.

I was sad because my tags were, after agreeing with the sentiment of the original post, screenshotted for the explicit purpose of being publicly making fun of, for “lacking reading comprehension”.

After clarifying that, I’d like to start over, if you’d be so willing. This is quickly evolving into a stupid internet slapfight, which is not productive.

Hello. I’m sorry if I came across as aggressive in my original tags — I was being flippant about the general state of how Tumblr culture is hostile to those with OCD, and the cursing was not about you specifically.

I agree with this post, but I find that the final statement does not apply to everyone, and, in fact, sounds very similar to the thought patterns of someone with moral OCD, and may trigger someone with moral OCD.

I do not expect or desire an apology for that, though. Perhaps just consider how disordered individuals may have a tough relationship with morality and guilt in the future. If you consider it, then decide that you did not do anything wrong, then that’s alright, too. I would appreciate the thought, regardless of any confusion.

Under normal circumstances, I would not directly voice such concerns, as indicated by my keeping my original statement in the tags, but, since this conversation is now a reblog chain, I’d like to clarify my viewpoint.

Once again, I sincerely apologize for any misunderstandings, aggression, or general callousness on my own end. I did not intend to start an argument, although I understand how those tags may have gotten on your nerves, as my flippant language and cursing can be read as aggressive towards you — which, again, I apologize for.

Additionally, my initial reply to being made fun of was very emotional. I was having a very rough morning, and I got sad when I was mocked, so I responded with my emotions, but I should have de-escalated when I saw that my tags were being read as aggressive, and as dismissing the concerns posed in the original post.

I hope you can understand

porn should be exempt from criticism is CRAZYYY look at our sex positivity dawg we’re never getting out of here 😭

[writeslikeanaria]

GLITZ & GLAMOUR & GLOOM

chapter two — mr castillo

boss!harry castillo x assistant!reader

synopsis — during your two week break, harry takes you out shopping, forcing you to get new clothes, and just insisting on getting them for you. additionally, harry sorts out some of his own business. sugar daddy!harry AU

word count — 6k

warning tags — 18+ for eventual smut, some misogynistic dialogue, reader is described as feminine, kinda perv!harry but not really, references to cum and masturbation, references to vomiting

series masterlist | read on ao3

previous chapter | next chapter

The sun had set hours ago, allowing the moonlight to seep through the cracks within the dusky curtains, illuminating Harry’s office with a dim aura. The rest of his employees had dissipated out of his office, leaving just Harry, hunched over his desk, pouring over his work.

A looming headache had erupted against his forehead, continuing to bloom in pain, refusing to disappear, even after he had thrown back painkillers like it was nothing but water. Nothing had worked. His anxiety was through the roof, reaching new levels he hadn’t felt in years.

He felt dirty. He had done something bad and was struggling to deal with the consequences of his actions. 

On his desk, your CV sat, sitting on top of other paperwork, seemingly more important paperwork. However, he couldn’t bring himself to actually fill in any of the contracts, spaces blank as his mind remained distracted on you. 

Job no. 12. It had been a while since he had had a bright, young girl enter his office, shining smiles as they queried about his most elusive position within the company. A role completely paid for by himself, that was solely talked about in his office. Outside of the two floors that belonged to him and his crew, no one was allowed to discuss job no. 12.

It wasn’t regular to keep a girlfriend on the payroll, but desperate times had come to desperate decisions.

Last “relationship” had disintegrated quickly. Too many demands, too many maxed out credit cards, too many arguments that just left Harry feeling worse about himself than before. This job was supposed to take a weight off his back, to keep his parent’s eyes and nose out of his personal business. With a beautiful lady clutched onto his arm, able to be shown off at important events, and to be brought to every family dinner, he felt stronger, more secure. He could almost feel normal, like his brother, able to date successfully, and give his heart over to a woman of his choosing.

Except he messed up.

Harry continues to stare at your CV, his eyes gliding carefully over your name, memorising every letter. He had re-read this singular piece of paper more times than he could count, feeling himself connect with this condensed version of you. His head spun. Were you actually like these seven hundred words in front of him? He desperately tried to analyse your personality through your written tone, but it was no use.

He wished he had just talked to you when you were here, instead of immediately handing over a job, and a bonus. There hadn’t even been a proper interview process. He just looked into the eyes of the woman sitting before him and crumbled. 

Maybe it was just pity. Maybe it was something more, but he had a desire to keep you by his side.

A sharp knock at his door knocks Harry out of his reverie, his eyes flicking up to his doorway. He thought that everyone else was done for the day, leaving him as the last remaining employee on the floor. However, he must’ve been mistaken. Shoving your CV underneath some important contract that he really should just fill out, he coughs, clearing his throat. “Come in!”

A shrewd figure cracks open the door and emerges out from the doorway. Sanders’ mousy head appears through the crack, followed by his scarlet face. He looked out of breath, his eyes bloodshot from stress. Harry’s head fell into his hand, a sigh escaping his lips as he took in Sander’s evidently stressed exterior. 

Sanders’ voice escaped his lips in a squeak. “Are you busy, Mr Castillo, sir?”

“Not anymore,” Harry’s finger beckons Sander’s into his office, inviting his poor assistant into the unorganised chaos that encases him and his work. “Please, come inside. Is there anything you need from me?”

Sanders wasn’t a bad assistant, per se, but he certainly wasn’t up to Harry’s standard. He constantly rushed his work and looked as though he was about to cry whenever anyone pointed out a mistake. To Harry, it felt like walking on eggshells just to get anything done properly. He needed to break the news soon and without completely stressing out the poor man, whose blood pressure was surely already through the roof.

Harry needed to break the news to Sanders that he had hired a new assistant. It was an accident, not trying to fill Sanders' position with a new hire, however, something happened. 

He had looked into your eyes, eyes so desperate for a job, and created a new position for you on the spot. Sanders was replaceable anyway.

“You wanted to talk with me today?” Sander’s voice was too small–it freaked Harry out, “You never fetched me, so I waited unti–”

“You’ve been just waiting for me to call you in?” Harry expresses, his hands flailing around in surprise, “You should’ve gone home. It’s late.”

Sanders gulps, searching for something to stay. Yet, he keeps quiet, waiting for Harry to continue. The older man sighs, rubbing his temples, wishing his headache would just ebb away. He did not desire for this conversation to happen tonight, but it had to happen soon. Reaching for his drink beside him–a whiskey that had been mulling in his glass for over an hour–and shooting back the fiery liquid in one gulp, he built up as much courage as he thought he needed.

“Sanders, I’m letting you go.”

The colour from his face disappears in an instance, with a ghostly white sheen spreading across his cheeks. After a pause, his eyes begin to water, tears threatening down his cheeks. He rushes to Harry’s desk, crouching at Harry’s side. There’s something pathetic in the way he begs that makes Harry scrunch his nose up. Displeased, he attempts to push the ex-assistant away from his desk.

“Please, sir, whatever I’ve done, let me apologise.” Sanders’ words come out in a word vomit, piling into Harry’s ears. The grovelling affects Harry too much, forcing him to turn his body away, unable to make eye contact. “If I’ve done something wrong, let me fix it–”

“There’s nothing that could change my mind.” Harry’s voice was clipped, not allowing himself to feel any emotion, certainly not towards Sanders. “You’ve been underwhelming in your work performance for months now. Forgetting items, running late, always never neat and tidy. It lets the company down, and you are constantly letting me down. I’m not changing my mind.” He ponders his next words for a second, before they slip from out of his lips. “Besides, I’ve already hired someone new.”

Sanders mulls this over, suspiciously quiet. His hands shake at his side, a fact not unknown to Harry, who watches Harry like a hawk, anticipating an explosion of emotion. However, Sanders stays calm, until he finally brings himself to speak again.

“It was that girl who came in the other day.” Sanders sneers, his voice laced with venom, completely void of any warmth. Any expression of fear has been wiped from his face. “I thought she was supposed to be the hired whore you keep around–”

“Out!” Harry points at the door, unable to find the courage to continue this conversation. However, Sanders continues with his hurt words.

“–but oh no! She’s taken my job. Does she even have any experience? Did you just get sick of staring at me all day and needed someone to lust over–”

“I said, out!” Harry feels the fury build inside of him.

“–some stupid girl, who’s just going to make this worse for you. She came in to be your fake girlfriend, why is she stealing my job–”

Harry’s fist encloses around his phone, dialing the number to the front desk, and barking “Security!” through the phone speakers, before directing his attention back towards Sanders. “You have been incompetent and your standards have slipped. I no longer have the need for you anymore. That is all.” Harry frowns deeply. “And that is no way to talk about women. If I knew you were such a misogynist, I would’ve thrown you to the curb months ago.”

Just as Harry’s words had left his mouth, two tall security guards burst through his door, taking in the scene in front of them. Immediately, they zone into the anger filled Sanders, looping their hands around his arms and dragging him away from Harry’s office.

Desperately attempting to zone out any words coming from Sanders, Harry turns his attention back to his paperwork. Yet, anger still pulses through his blood. He’s boiling over. 

He thinks of you at this moment. Your soft face, your kind voice. You appeared so organised and ready, such a stark contrast from Sanders. It didn’t matter that you weren’t fully aware of what you had signed up for. You were going to be the perfect personal assistant, and he hoped in time, you were going to be the perfect girlfriend for hire.

––––––

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough. 

After nearly a week of being out of a job, you have realised that you were not made for a life of spontaneity and freedom. You had anxiously paced your apartment all week, drilling holes into the floor with your furious footwork, pain-stakening performing every and any household chore you could think of.

Currently, you were practicing your new hobby of choice for the day, which involved deep cleaning every inch of your kitchen. With your hands furiously scrubbing the linoleum behind your fridge, which was caked in a thick layer of grime and what you hoped wasn’t mold, a buzz at your apartment speaker caught your attention. Begrudgingly, you stand up from your hands and knees, trudging over to the speaker.

Without any caution to politeness, you speak into the microphone, your finger pressing at the stiff button. “Who is it?”

“Hey babe!” Marlene’s voice rings through the speaker, taking you aback. You were confused as to why your ex-coworker was at your door, but lethargy was the dominant force in your head, and you no longer had the energy to care.

You sigh into the microphone. “You wanna come up, Marlene?”

“Well duh,” her voice calls back, her giggling muffled by the static of the speaker, “it’s cold out here. Do you want me to freeze to death?”

Without responding to her cheeky remark, you buzz her up to your apartment, unlocking the door, and heading back into the kitchen. If you were to have company, you should really put the fridge back to where it belongs.

Just as you manage to move the fridge about two inches, your front door bursts open, and Marlene hurries into your warm apartment, peeling off layers of clothing. Her scarf goes first, flinging it to what you suppose was the hook on the wall. Unfortunately, you walk into the living room just as the scarf becomes airborne, allowing the string of fabric to make a safe landing on your head.

“Hey Marlene,” you peel the scarf away from your face, letting your eyes land on Marlene’s sheepish expression, laced with embarrassment, “Having a good day so far?”

Marlene grins, her cheeks pressed tightly to her face. Clasping her hands together, she darts to sit on the couch, inviting you along to join her. Rubbing your eyes to fight off any sleepiness that threatened to seep into your upcoming conversation, you made your way to sit beside Marlene, sinking into the comfort of your couch.

“I’ve been missing you at work.” Marlene says quietly. That doesn’t surprise you. Other than Marlene, you weren’t that friendly with your other coworkers, always keeping your distance to not overstep. You were quiet, not antisocial, but you struggled to converse with those around you, opting to keep conversation with Marlene instead. Similar age group, same gender, it was just simply easier to have Marlene as your only friend, never having the energy to start a friendship with your male coworkers. You assumed it was the same with Marlene. While she was most certainly more sociable than you, she too kept her distance. It was very rare to see her sharing words with other coworkers, outside of work conversations. You frowned at Marlene’s words, feeling a hit of guilt for leaving her alone, something that Marlene noticed.

“No, no, no, don't feel bad,” Marlene wraps her arms around you, pulling you tightly into a firm side hug, resting her head against your shoulder. “I don’t fault you for leaving. I’ve been thinking of doing the same, y’know? Maybe you’ve become a trendsetter.”

You laugh at Marlene’s words, your body heating up at her friendliness. “You shouldn’t leave just because I did. You’ll end up in the same position as me–jobless.”

Marlene furrows her brows at your statement, her head tilting downwards as she considers what you said. After a moment’s pause, she looks back at you. “So I’m assuming that the job I referred you for didn’t end up going anywhere?”

You pause. Oh, right. “Nevermind. Not jobless.”

A gasp leaves Marlene’s lips as her face lights up in excitement. Her hands leave your body as she repositions herself in front of you, staring you dead into her eyes. Her eyes have an incredulous expression, unable to fully believe you.

“You never told me you got the job!” Marlene shrieks, clasping her hands together in a string of sharp claps. “Have you started yet? I’m assuming not, looking at–” she gestures to the mess of your apartment, and the bucket of dirty, soapy water, perched upon your bench, “–all this.”

You smile, your next words spoken calmly. “I start next week. I have a couple things I need to do before I start—like buy new clothes apparently—”

“Well, naturally,” Marlene says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder smoothly, “I assume he gave you money for clothes?”

You pause, unable to answer. It was a strange thing for her to say, something she shouldn’t have known. You glare at your friend for a moment, confusion in your eyes. 

You are unable to respond to Marlene, as your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking you out of your conversation. Quietly, you slip your hand into the fabric and pull out the vibrating brick. Flashing across the screen is HARRY CASTILLO BOSS, a sight you have yet to see. 

Anxiously, you raise your pointer finger to your lips, forcing Marlene to stay silent. She looks at you with wonder in her eyes, unsettled by your irrational behaviour. Hissing at your friend, you take yourself into a different room, not wanting to be overheard.

Carefully, you press the ‘accept’ button on the screen, pushing the cool phone against your hot ear. Taking in a deep breath, you hiss out a small word of acknowledgment. “Good afternoon, Mr Castillo. How can I help you?”

On the other end of the phone, you can make out the sound of someone laughing, a fact that makes you slightly uncomfortable. You gulp, waiting for a reply which, in your opinion, is taking too long. Through the phone speaker, you impatiently wait for Harry to begin speaking.

At last, he replies. “Please, Mr Castillo is my father. I want you to call me Harry—we are coworkers and we work together. Try not to think of me as someone above you.”

You cock an eyebrow at Harry’s word, unable to process his strange command. “But, sir, you are above me. You are my boss. It’s a sign of respect to call you Mr Castillo,” you purse your lips together, “Mr Castillo.” You pace around the room, keeping your body busy.

Another laugh seeps through your phone speaker. “Not so obedient now, are we? Careful there, I might have to get rid of you before you’ve even started.” Harry says it with a tone of amusement, yet the colour drains from your face, unable to distinguish his humorous jab from the actual threat of termination.

“No, no, no, wait—” your voice escaped your lips in a frantic prayer, desperately looking for a moment’s pause to express your apologies. “I’m so sorry, Mr Cast- Harry. There’s no need to get rid of me.” You inhale a sharp breath, bringing your thumbnail up to your lips, and biting down. “You’re the boss, I’ll call you whatever you want. Mr Castillo, Harry, hell- I’d even call you da—”

You cut off your ranting. Too far. 

Harry didn’t seem to notice, his laughter continuous and stretched over the phone. At least someone was finding this exchange funny. You frown at his amusement. What a strange man. 

Eventually, Harry speaks again, breaking his streak of chuckles. “I must apologise.” He speaks your name delicately, as if it were poetry. “I didn’t mean to cause any panic. Please, call me whatever you want. Whatever makes you comfortable. Mr Castillo is entirely acceptable, I’m sorry for my teasing.”

His end of the phone goes quiet as you patiently wait for his next sentence. You can tell that he’s searching for the next words to say. 

Harry’s next words take you by surprise, his tone flipping back to his professional voice. “Have you prepared yourself for work next week?”

You blink twice. “Yes, Mr Castillo. Well, I believe I have.” You begin your ramble about your previous day’s adventure. “I had a call with the IT department yesterday, and I have been added to the company’s system. I, also, have been granted access to your calendar. Everything should be smooth sailing from Monday forward.”

Harry hums on the other end of the phone, his deep timbre sending goosebumps up your spine. After a short cough, he speaks. “Did you find time to get yourself some new clothes?”

Your blood runs cold. Fuck. You had forgotten that important task, the one thousand dollar cheque still sitting on your cabinet, waiting to be cashed at the bank. It was haunting you, dread filling you every time you thought about the sheer amount of money Harry had dropped on you after five minutes of knowing you.

You gulped. “I haven’t had time, yet.”

You hear a disappointed sigh on the other side. Before you can present another excuse to Harry, he beats you to it, speaking first. “You haven’t had time?”

Cringing, you shake your head, despite knowing that Harry can’t see you at this moment. “I’m sorry, Mr Castillo, it just hasn’t been a priority to me.”

“Well, it’s a priority to me.” You hear commotion over the speaker, which sounds like movement. On the other end of the phone, Harry checks his calendar for tomorrow’s schedule, frowning as he looks at the basically filled out day.

Sighing, he mutters a couple short words to himself, beforing speaking up to talk to you. “I have an hour break over lunch tomorrow. I will send a limousine to pick you up from your apartment. There’s a nearby boutique that I’m friendly with. I may be short on time but I believe I should be available to help pick out some work appropriate attire.” He pauses. “I’m assuming you’re available?”

“No prior plans for me.”

“Well, naturally.” He chuckles over the phone. Rude. “Right, send me your address and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The phone clicks off without any goodbyes. Turning around, you notice Marlene lurking at the door frame, eavesdropping on your conversation. Smiling innocently, she bats her eyelashes at you, like she had done nothing wrong.

“Trouble in paradise?”

You scowl at her. “You already know what that phone call was about.”

Marlene giggles. “Have fun shopping!”

––––––

As the limousine pulls up to the boutique, an overwhelming sense of dread is thrusted upon you. Anxiously, your eyes flick over your surroundings, searching for something, anything, to ground yourself in this moment. The boutique reminds you of Harry’s workplace immensely. They both share similar architecture, with beautifully tall windows, inviting wandering eyes indoors. Displayed on the other side of the panes are mannequins, dressed in the most high quality outfits you had ever laid your eyes on.

You are unsure of Harry’s expectations of you at this moment. Without a sense of determination, you wander through the large doors, letting your eyes trail over racks and racks of clothes, shoes, and accessories. 

Naturally, you let yourself be drawn to one mannequin in particular. Her wig is pulled back, dark hair thrown in a messy, but slick bun. It’s stylish, but also casual, in a way you could never replicate. The mannequin’s form was dressed in a simple blouse, with the pearlescent white silk reflecting off the bright store lights, and a dark, sexy pencil skirt. It was so unimaginably tight at the hips that you wondered how the poor sales assistant must’ve put the skirt on. Clutched onto the mannequin’s arm was a bold handbag, with a price tag that made you uncomfortable to just be in the presence of.

You reach up to the silk blouse, feeling the softness of the material between the rough pads of your fingers. It was soft, and you were positive that it was the most comfortable feeling blouse you had ever come across. You were so enchanted by the feeling, that you didn’t notice the sales assistant standing behind you.

“Can I help you, dear?” You spin around, eyes locking with the tall lady behind you. She reminds you immensely of the ladies in Harry’s office, polished and perfect, that could trade their office lifestyle for a modelling career anyday. You blush under her gaze, as a realisation runs through your head. Had Harry taken the other office ladies shopping as well?

You imagine Harry, hand in hand with Liza, pulling out the tightest outfits he could find, forcing her to dress how he pleases, just like a real-life Barbie doll. You imagine the way she would preen at Harry, offering a sickly giggle at one of his poor jokes, her sweetly manicured hand pressed against his firm chest, that little portion of touch and intimacy sending sparks between the two of them. You cringe at your imagination.

However, the sales assistant’s steady gaze pulls you out of whatever daydream was being forced upon you. She’s studying you, looking at you like you are one of her mannequins, ready to be made up, dressed, and presented to the world. 

“I’m just waiting–”

“For Mr Castillo, yes.” The sales assistant smiles, taking your arm in her hand, and pulling you to the back of the store. As you walk through the rest of the boutique, you can’t help but gape at the sheer amount of designer clothes that decorate the walls. The sales assistant follows your gaze and smiles. “Is anything taking your fancy?”

Before you can reply, you notice a figure appear from a separate door. Harry emerges into the room, his phone pressed against his shoulder and his ear, a fury of words slipping from his lips in an effortless rant. His eyes press together, stress radiating from his body. His shoulders are currently holding an egregious amount of tension, visible from where you stand. However, as you enter his eyeline, his body softens in an instant, a small smile spreading onto his lips.

You can hear a small, “I’ll call you back,” before Harry removes the phone from his ear, shoving it far away in his back pocket. His body opens up, no longer tense, but welcoming to his surroundings. To you. You can’t help but feel special. 

Harry speaks your name softly. “It’s good to see you.” His hands clasped in front of himself with excitement. “I was severely concerned when you had informed me you had yet to buy yourself a new wardrobe for your new job. I’m surprised this wasn’t easier for you–how could you not be ready to reinvent your wardrobe?”

You turn away, desperate to hide the scarlet flush rising onto your cheeks. “I apologise, Mr Castillo,” you take notice at the way Harry rolls his eyes at your formality, “I had been busy, preparing for my new job in other ways–”

Harry dismisses your words, appearing to only be taking in half of what you were saying. “I told you that you needed new clothes.” His eyes scan your current choice of outfit–bleach wash jeans and a cotton shirt that was beginning to pill at the edges. “Appearances are very important in my office. You are to work close by me, which means I expect you to be presentable at every moment of the day. Understood?”

Nodding, you return his eye contact, offering a shy tilt of your head in an understanding gesture. “I understand, Mr Castillo. I will put appearances first over my work. I am allowed to slack in my productivity and efficiently, but god forbid I wear socks with sandals.”

Your attempt at a joke was met with laughter–thank god. Harry chuckles, heading towards the fitting rooms. Proud of how well your joke was taken, you hold your head up high, following Harry to the draped curtains. The fitting room area was comforting, with a soft couch, smothered in cushions, looking out at the rooms. Harry sits himself right in the centre, finds himself a nearby table, and places his phone away from his person. “Where would you like to start?”

Awkwardly, you stare at the sales assistant for some assistance. In all honesty, who have no idea where to start. Luckily, the sales assistant recognises your hesitation, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. She smiles. “I saw you interested in the mannequins near the front of the store. Should we start there?”

Dry mouthed, you nod, struggling to formulate words through your anxiety. As the sales assistant walks away, it leaves just Harry and you, alone together. You bite your lip, taking in the way Harry watches you, like he’s studying a work of art.

You speak up first. “I’ve never been here before.”

Harry nods, affirmatively. “I figured.” He looks around, his eyes trailing the sales assistant, watching to see when she is coming back. You both look on in slight amusement as the sales assistant attempts to take the blouse of the mannequin, unfortunately, in a less than graceful manner. “I would’ve taken you somewhere more,” he struggles to find the word, “high-end, however I didn’t want to stress you out anymore than you already sounded on the phone.”

You let out an unknown sound. “Mr Castillo, I say this earnestly, but this is genuinely the most high-end clothing boutique I’ve ever been to.”

You don’t miss Harry’s smirk. After a moment’s pause, you hear him speak once again.  “I know. I’m enjoying this.”

Biting your tongue, you fight the urge to argue with Harry as the sales assistant appears once again, clothes draped over her arms and shoulders. She had taken off the blouse you were admiring, emerging with the white colour, with the additional black and mauve shade as well. On her other arm, the matching pencil skirt lounges, the velvet texture appearing divine against the lights.

You squeal. With the invitation from the sales assistant, you take the clothes off her body, and make your way into the fitting rooms. Hurriedly, you throw off your current shirt, allowing it to fall somewhere. You feel like a kid in a candy shop, not worried if any dirt or dust bunnies rubbed against your personal cotton shirt.

As you pushed your arms through the holes, you nearly moaned at how good the shirt felt. It was softer than you had ever imagined, leaving you rosin feeling healthy, a stark contrast to the itchiness you are used to. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you gawk at how you look. Sophisticated, sexy, and professional. Sure, you had worn “office” clothes at your previous job, but none of those items of clothing made you feel special. Not like how you felt in this blouse.

Putting on the matching pencil skirt, you gasped at how it all worked together. You had never looked so good. The thick material hugged all your curves in the most perfect way, accentuating the femininity of your soft body. For once, you felt comfortable within the clothes you wore, allowing the material to feel like an extension of yourself, rather than just a way to hide yourself from the world.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. “And I found some appropriate heels for work!” The sales assistant calls out to you, pushing a pair of slick, black kitten heels under the curtain. You had never worn something like this before. Slipping on the heels, you push down your discomfort, trying to picture yourself as someone different. What if you were a successful CEO yourself? Would you wear this every day? Would you have your own personal assistant? Would the boutique workers know you by name?

“Are you going to show us, dear?” The sales assistant’s voice interrupts your daydreams. Begrudgingly, you muster up the courage to rip open the curtains, stepping into the limelight.

Your eyes catch Harry’s gaze, drinking in the way he stares at you. With a single hand movement, he commands you to spin, and you do so, unable to fight you submission. You put on a show for your boss, laughing and giggling as you show off the way your body moves in these clothes.

“They fit well.” Harry says, sipping at a drink that he must’ve been offered. You try to ignore the way his eyes trail down to your arse, believing that it must be just a trick off the light. However, his presence doesn’t last long, as he stands up, turning his eyes away from you. 

You try to ignore your disappointment. However, it is short lived, as you watch Harry reappear with a dress clutched within his hands. It’s a flowy teal dress, seemingly floor length, with a soft sweetheart neckline. Almost invisible ruffles border the edge of the dress, adding a layer of texture. It’s utterly gorgeous. 

“In three weeks, I have an event.” Harry begins to monologue. “It’s a gala, and as my personal assistant, you are expected to attend with me. I’m assuming you have no ball gowns yourself, so I have pulled a couple options myself.” His arm points to a rack beside you, and you realise where he got the dress from. Next to your dressing room, someone–you’re assuming both Harry and the sales assistant–had pulled three dresses from the store, all in your size. “I expect there will be more events in the future, so I have picked out a couple dresses that I expect you to wear to these events.”

You sigh, taking in the masterpieces of gowns in front of you. Unfortunately, there's one looming thought creeping your way in the back of your remind. You force out a pressed smile. “Thank you, Mr Castillo, for the options. However, with just normal work clothes, I don't think I can afford all these dresses.”

You don’t miss the way Harry stiffins, like a shockwave rippled through him. He chokes on his own spit, before sputtering out a short response. “I will pay for all of this. Do no worry.”

You step back, aghast. Surely, not everything. “Mr Castillo, don’t be ridiculous. I appreciate your continued generosity, but you have already given me an allowance of one thousand dollars. I don’t expect you to spend even more money on my wardrobe.” With the way Harry’s body reacts, you are beginning to believe he likes the way you talk about his money. How rich he is. 

Harry reaches for his wallet, taking out an elusive black card, and handing it to the sales assistant. You swear you could hear a soft gasp fall from her lips. “Everything goes under this card. Get her every colour in the blouse, and two additional skirts. Plus, the dresses I had picked out.” His eyes trail to your feet. “And those heels. Multiple pairs.”

You wouldn't believe your ears. All these clothes have already added up to well over triple your original allowance, and the idea of making such a dent in Harry’s wallet stresses you out. You whimper gently, unable to find the proper words for the situation.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I have to use the bathroom.” Harry excuses himself, walking back through the door he originally appeared through.

In a daze, you follow the sales assistant up to the counter, helping her out with the mountain of clothes that were now yours. At the till, you purposely stare away from her screen, refusing to look at the ever growing numbers, closing your eyes, and taking in the continuous sound of beeps sounding out from her scanner. 

Luckily, she notices your uncomfortable posture, and does not read out the total, electing to just simply swipe the card, and bag up the items. She does it like it's an art, folding each item as if it could break at any moment, and wrapping the individual item in tissue paper. It didn’t matter to you, however, you appreciate the extra level of luxury. It isn’t every day you receive new clothes.

Eventually, Harry reappears, heading straight to the counter. Effortlessly, he takes an ink pen from his shoulder pocket, and removes the cap with his teeth, scribbling a signature on the receipt sitting on the counter.

Harry turns to you with a smile on your face. “Happy?”

You aren’t sure that’s the correct word. “Overwhelmed.”

Harry hums in agreement, but doesn’t press further. Reaching his hand out, he invites you to take his hand in a shake. You oblige. It feels strange but you don’t press it any further. Harry continues. “I will see you Monday morning. I hope to see that you have prepared for your first day correctly.” He softly says your name. “Goodbye, for now.”

You watch as Harry exits out the main doors, studying the way he leaves. It hasn’t quite hit you yet that he has been a ghastly amount of money on your wardrobe. However, a sick feeling creeps up on you.

In an instant, you feel sick, overwhelmed with the weight of what had just happened. It wasn’t just dread though–you actually felt like you were going to throw up.

The sales assistant seemed to recognise it immediately, pointing to the doors behind you. With a thanks on your lips, you push your way through the swinging doors, and into the nearest unisex bathroom, locking the door and crouching onto the cool tiles.

Luckily, nothing comes out of your throat. After a short period of dry heaving, the sick feeling that rumbled inside of you, dissipates. Potentially, just stepping away from the franticness of the boutique was enough to calm you, but as you settle amongst the tiles, your stomach returns to normal.

Realising your eyes are clenched tight, you open your eyes, taking in the room around you. It’s clean–exactly how you imagined a boutique bathroom. 

Turning your head, a shiny substance catches your eyes, so small you could almost miss it. You don’t even realise what you’re looking at at first. Squinting, you crawl up to the towel bowl, analysing the ceramic. 

There’s something streaky on the side of the bowl. 

You are certain your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you. There is a sticky, white substance, still wet, dripping down the side of the toilet bowl. It drips to the tiled floor in an abundance, yet to have dried up fully. You can tell a haphazard attempt to clean it up had occurred, with a certain smudge around the toilet rim, but it wasn’t good enough.

Someone’s cum was dripping down the toilet.

You didn’t want to believe it. You knew who had just been in these bathrooms, the thought making your head spin.

Had Mr Harry Castillo just masturbated in these toilets?

——————

a/n — i need a nap. i wrote this and forgot to post this for a couple days. it’s been a long week. but yay new chapter yippee !!!

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

making needy marc fuck your thighs,,, i know he gets so whiny and teary eyed,,, begging you to let him fuck you properly<333

I am on the floor.

Plead

Marc Spector x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals  •  Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? | request info • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc begs for things he doesn't want.

A/N: I have lost my mind.

Warnings: Thigh fucking, lube, vibrators, begging, swearing, pet names, typos, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 590

“Fuck, baby, please, shit-” Marc gasps for air, one hand squeezing your hip desperately while the other clings onto the headboard for dear life. 

He presses closer, pushing his chest up and against your back, both of you on your sides. The squelch of lube echos loudly, highens Marc’s thoughts and makes his cock ache to the point of pain. It throbs, his balls so tight they are ready to burst at any second. 

“Please let me fuck you properlly,” he whines, the sounds music to your ears. “Please!”

You arch your spine, thrusting back to meet him harshly, keeping your legs pressed firmly together as he fucks your thighs messily. His sharp, presion like movements long abandoned to desperation. 

“Please, please, please?” He repeats, the words rapidly hamonising with the manic beat of his heart. 

But you know that’s not what he wants, at all. 

“Why would I let you do that?” You say, somehow managing to keep your voice sounding vaguely normal, even, controlled. Even though you are so close you’re ready to scream his name and come at any second. 

Marc lets out a sob, thrusting particularly hard. The very tip of his leaking cock brushes against the edge of the vibrator your holding against your clit. He gasps, his eyes rolling back. 

His body keeps moving, keeps chasing his pleasure wretchedly, like he can’t do anything else. He trusts again, chaotic and out of time and then stays close, pressing up against you as much as he can. 

Hastily, he covers your hand with his own, angling the vibator a fraction so that it still buzzes against you just right, but also manages to hit the head of his length. 

“Shitshitshitshitshit,” he groans, low in his throat, his sweat soaked skin burning with need. He rocks his hips, not even pulling away from you a centimetre, letting your shaking thighs squeeze him and the vibrator push him closer and closer to the edge. He rubs his heavy balls against the swell of your ass. 

“I’m gonna come,” he sobs, needing you to let him. Needing you to tell him it’s okay. 

“You like my toy that much?” You moan and he whines, nodding rapidly, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

“You can come.” 

The second the words leave your lips he’s spurting all over you and the vibrator, thick, white robs splashing onto your stomach and the bedding. He moans loudly, shivering and convulsing while he whines out your name like a prayer. 

His cries of pleasure sink into your skin, twist in your stomach. Fuck if you couldn’t just listen to them all day. 

You reach back and stroke his hair the second he starts to relax, but he moves quickly before you can. 

“Marc?” You barely get a chance to say before he’s manhandling you onto your back and pulling your legs wide as he kneels between them. He grabs the vibrator, smearing it with his own cum before he pushes it inside you. 

You gasp in surprise and then groan as he presses it high to your walls to pulse against your g spot. Your walls stretch, pulled deliciously wide over the thick toy as he holds it in the perfect place to make you lose your mind.

“Marc,” you gasp and he groans, still looking so spaced out and gazed behind the eyes. 

“Need you to come too.” He whines, leaning down and sucking your clit into his mouth. 

You moan loudly, your back arching off of the bed and towards him.

Thank you for reading!

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[brattysx]

#O2 — “Some Monsters Don’t Hide in The Dark”

Han Su Gang x reader | Brave Citizen Universe | +18 mdni!

Tags: psychological thriller, dark themes, obsession, toxic dynamics, slow burn, fear, emotional manipulation, stalking, unsettling tension…

O1 — O2

It was never just words.

What Han Su Gang had done to me for years wasn’t some fleeting kind of cruelty, the kind masked by sarcasm or hidden beneath silent disdain. It wasn’t just bullying. It was something else — something calculated. It was a method. An art form, almost. A deliberate, structured way of destroying someone from the inside out until even the broken pieces were ashamed to exist.

That morning, the sky was too clear. That kind of dishonest blue — clean, soft, almost comforting. The kind of sky that lies. The kind of sky that, if someone passing by happened to glance up at it, would make them think everything was fine. Peaceful. Normal.

But it wasn’t.

Inside the classroom, the heat clung to every surface like a second skin. The air conditioner had broken again — for the third time that week. Everyone was complaining, fanning themselves, peeling off their jackets, trying to breathe through the discomfort.

Everyone but him.

Han Su Gang sat beside me as if he were made of another temperature entirely. As if heat didn’t touch him. His shirt collar was slightly open, his sleeves casually rolled up to the elbows, and his legs stretched carelessly out from under his desk like the rules of posture, of space, didn’t apply to him.

He looked like he owned the room.

And in a way, he did.

When the teacher turned to face the board, I heard it — the sharp, unmistakable sound of crumpled paper behind me. A soft crackle that shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. To me, it was a trigger. A warning. My whole body went still.

A second later, something hit the back of my neck.

Cold. Damp. Immediate.

Laughter followed. The worst kind. Stifled, guilty laughter — masked behind fake coughs, disguised by palms covering mouths. It wasn’t loud, but it cut through everything. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to.

It was always him.

“I’m testing your sensitivity,” he whispered, leaning just close enough for his breath to brush my skin. “Still seems to work.”

The paper landed on the floor beside my chair. A used napkin.

Disgusting.

And humiliating.

My fingers trembled as I reached for my pen again. I took a deep breath. Tried to focus on the whiteboard in front of me. But all I could see were shadows. His presence stretched in every direction, wrapping around me, smothering.

The rest of the day dragged on in that same blur — numb, heavy, exhausting.

But that day, something changed. He decided to push further. To cross one more line.

During break, I headed toward the water fountain in the far corner of the school courtyard — the part near the back wall where no one really went. It was quiet there. Overgrown. Forgotten. It was one of the few places I could go to breathe without being watched.

Or so I thought.

I leaned over, letting the cold water trail down my chin, eyes closed for just a moment — just long enough to let my guard slip.

Then I felt it.

A hand. Pressing against my back.

And then, impact.

My body slammed forward. Metal met bone as my hip collided with the edge of the fountain. My thigh scraped hard against the concrete below.

I twisted back instinctively.

I already knew.

Han Su Gang stood a few steps away, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Not even a flicker of guilt. Not anger. Not pleasure. Just that blank stare — like he had shoved me out of boredom. Like I was nothing more than a pawn that had served its purpose.

“Didn’t mean to,” he said, voice flat. Almost polite.

“You’re sick.”

The words came out before I could stop them. Pain flared in my leg and hip, but the heat in my chest burned hotter — anger eclipsing fear, if only for a second.

And then I regretted it.

He took a step forward. Then another.

Not fast. Not threatening in the way people expect danger to be. Just steady. Just inevitable.

Each footfall felt heavier than the last, like the ground was folding beneath his weight. He stopped when there was only a breath of space between us.

His eyes didn’t stay still. They scanned me — from my face, to my shoulder, to my hand clutching the edge of the fountain. Then back up. Methodical. Exact. As if he were cataloging me. Deciding which part to break next.

“Say it again,” he said, softly.

I didn’t.

Because up close, his scent — sweat from the sun, dust from the courtyard, something human and wrong — clung to the air around us. I felt it more than smelled it. I felt it like a prison.

The prison was him.

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he smiled. That same twisted, arrogant smile.

And spit on the ground next to my leg.

“Watch your mouth,” he muttered, before turning and walking away.

I stood frozen, the burn in my chest crawling up to my throat. The need to cry rose fast and brutal — like acid. But I swallowed it. Swallowed everything.

I wouldn’t cry in front of him.

He didn’t deserve to see that.

But he knew.

He always knew.

That inside, I was already breaking.

When I returned to class, no one said anything. A few glanced my way, then quickly looked away. Some giggled quietly. Others pretended they hadn’t seen.

And his friends — his loyal audience — stayed close. Laughing when expected. Sitting in all the right places. Blocking out any potential help with their presence alone. They were his barrier.

No one ever called me the victim.

To them, I was just the weird girl who had some “issue” with Han Su Gang.

That’s what they whispered. “The dramatic one.” “The one who doesn’t like him.” As if I were the problem. As if the fact that I saw him for what he truly was — a predator — made me dangerous.

Even the teachers saw.

And still, they did nothing.

That afternoon, in science class, he didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me.

He just reached across the table, picked up my pen, and scribbled something at the bottom of my page.

No request. No glance. Just ink on paper.

When I finally looked down, I saw the words:

You’re not getting out.

Four words.

But within them, there was an entire sentence. A verdict. A cage. A life.

And somehow, I already knew —

he meant every one of them.

⸻

At the end of class, when the final bell rang, I stayed seated a little longer than I needed to. I made a show of packing my things slowly, adjusting the position of my notebook, closing my pencil case carefully, as if I were trying to keep everything perfectly in place. But it was a lie — a quiet, desperate performance. I was only waiting for him to leave first. Just this once. Just give me a few seconds to breathe.

But it didn’t work.

When I finally stood, he was still there. Not walking out the door like the others, not even pretending to be in a rush. He was standing beside my desk — unmoved, unbothered — with his bag slung over one shoulder and his eyes fixed directly on mine. That expression of his, impossible to read, settled like ice against my spine. There was no surprise in his face. No curiosity. It was as if he had been waiting. As if he knew what I was trying to do — and had made sure I couldn’t.

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” he asked, his voice soft, casual, disturbingly natural. The kind of tone someone might use with a girlfriend, a classmate, a friend. But not me. Not like this.

I didn’t answer. I walked past him as quickly as I could, willing my shoulders to shrink, to disappear. I wanted him to forget I existed — just for one minute.

But he didn’t let it go.

“Tomorrow is your birthday.”

I stopped in my tracks.

The words were like a blade: short, sudden, and surgically placed. There was no emotion behind them — just knowledge. Cold, undeniable, weaponized knowledge.

I turned around slowly, something tightening in my chest. He was still looking at me, still holding that unreadable calm. There was no anger in his voice. No warmth, either. Only that lethal stillness — like he could destroy you without even raising his voice.

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. Like this kind of violation was a natural part of how things were.

“I know everything.”

The sentence didn’t hang in the air — it settled, like poison. Heavy and invisible. He didn’t explain himself. Didn’t offer a story about overhearing someone mention it, or seeing it on some class record. No lie to soften the truth. Just a declaration — absolute and final.

“October third. Thursday. You’ll be seventeen. You hate whipped cream on cake. You prefer dark chocolate. You’ve worn the same brand of sneakers for three years. Your blood type is O-negative. You’re allergic to shellfish. You wore glasses between the ages of nine and eleven. Your uniform number is nineteen. You’ve written three essays about the concept of freedom since you transferred here.”

Each word struck with precise force. Not because of volume, but because of what they revealed. The detail. The impossibility of it all.

It wasn’t possible.

He spoke as though he had read a journal I never kept, listened to conversations I never had. As if he had been there beside me through every second of my life. Watching. Recording. Memorizing.

And maybe, in some terrible way, he had.

My throat closed up. I felt my stomach twist slowly, the nausea creeping in like smoke.

“You’re sick,” I muttered.

He smiled — that smile he always wore when I tried to wound him with words. That same infuriating, controlled curve of the lips. Not because he didn’t feel the insult, but because it confirmed something he wanted: that I still felt something.

“No. I just care more than you’d like me to.”

I didn’t reply. I just left.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I sat on my bed, knees hugged tightly to my chest, my back pressed against the wall. The blanket wrapped around my shoulders like armor, even though I knew it wouldn’t protect me. The room was quiet — too quiet. Every sound stood out: the ticking of the clock, the whisper of wind outside the window, the occasional bark of a dog in the distance.

And running beneath all of it was his voice. Echoing. Repeating.

“I know everything.”

I started to wonder how much he truly knew. How deep it went. How far.

Did he know I sometimes locked myself in the school bathroom just to cry, just to feel alone where no one could watch?

Did he know I’d already tried to leave?

Because I had.

Two weeks earlier, I went to the school office. Alone. My heart was a fist in my throat. I sat across from the director, my hands cold and folded on my lap, and I asked — quietly, but firmly — for a transfer.

“Why?” he asked, though the tension in his face said he already knew.

“I’m not adjusting,” I said. “I need to go. This place… it’s not good for me.”

He stared for a moment. He didn’t ask for details. Didn’t press. He just nodded and told me he’d review the request and let me know.

I left with something small inside me — not quite hope, but close.

The next day, Han Su Gang walked into class late. Everyone noticed. It was rare for him to be late. He didn’t seem worried. He looked at me — only me — then walked straight to the teacher, whispered something I couldn’t hear, and left the room again.

That afternoon, I was called back to the office.

The director’s demeanor had changed. He wasn’t pretending anymore. His tone was clipped. Detached.

“Your request for transfer has been denied,” he said.

I blinked.

“But… why?”

He looked away, pressed his lips together, and answered almost under his breath.

“It’s better this way.”

And I knew.

He knew. He always knew.

Han Su Gang had known from the beginning. And through silence, through backdoors and influence and fear, he had made sure I stayed exactly where he wanted me.

After school, I saw him again — leaning against the far wall behind the building, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world. He didn’t look like he was waiting. But the second he saw me, he slipped his phone into his pocket and walked toward me.

“You tried to run, didn’t you?”

I froze. My face flushed hot. My hands trembled.

“One day,” I said, my voice barely steady, “I’ll leave. And you won’t know where I went.”

He kept walking. Slowly. Like he was moving to a rhythm no one else could hear. A dance of control. Of inevitability.

“I always know where you are,” he said. “And even if you disappear, I’ll find your path. Because your path always leads back to me.”

His words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. They were something worse — true.

And the worst part? Some small part of me believed him.

He wasn’t just dangerous. He wasn’t just obsessive.

He was the only person who had ever really seen me — every crack, every shadow, every quiet part of who I was.

And he was the only one who made it his mission to destroy it all — piece by careful piece.

⸻

After that moment, everything around me seemed to slow down — not in a gentle way, but in the suffocating stillness of dread, like the air itself had thickened into something I had to wade through just to move. School stopped feeling like a place. It became a corridor with no end, a series of echoing footsteps I couldn’t escape, a daily ritual of endurance. The classrooms turned into whitewashed boxes, sterile and airless, and every face — teacher, student, staff — blurred into anonymous, indifferent shapes. No one spoke to me. No one looked at me for longer than a blink. It was as if my mere presence had become radioactive, and getting too close risked exposure.

I was a virus. And he was the threat that kept everyone away.

Each time I entered the classroom, I felt him before I saw him. His presence came first — a pressure, an energy, a static field that made my skin tighten. It was in the air, like heat before a storm. My body braced for it without thinking, recognizing the subtle warning signs: a shift in the atmosphere, the change in background noise, the prickling sensation along my spine. He didn’t have to speak. He didn’t have to move. Just existing near me was enough.

And he knew. He knew how it made me nauseous. He knew how my hands turned clammy, how my heart pounded when I heard his name whispered down a hallway. He knew I felt his eyes on me before I even entered a room — and he enjoyed it.

But then… something surfaced.

A memory.

Not loud, not clear. Just a faint, flickering echo of something I’d buried because it seemed meaningless at the time. But now, it was different. It clawed its way back into my mind like a ghost, demanding to be seen. I couldn’t sleep. Sometime after midnight, I climbed out of bed, careful not to make a sound. I went to the old wooden wardrobe in the corner of my room — the one with chipped paint and hinges that squeaked when they moved too fast.

I reached into the back, beneath a stack of neatly folded clothes, and pulled out a box. A battered shoebox, taped at the corners, its cardboard worn soft from age. I didn’t even remember the last time I had touched it.

Inside were remnants. Leftovers from a life I rarely acknowledged. A crumpled piece of paper covered in childish doodles. A plastic keychain with my mother’s name written in shaky pen. And then, at the very bottom — the doll.

She was still there.

Wrapped in a gray scrap of fabric, her yarn hair tangled, one of her button eyes hanging by a thread. Her dress, once white with tiny blue flowers, had yellowed with time, but remained intact. I had received that doll on my fifteenth birthday. And I had never known who gave it to me.

That morning, she had appeared on the kitchen table, resting inside a small box with a simple bow. My aunt barely glanced at it.

“Some neighbor must’ve dropped it off,” she said. “Or someone from school. Weird.”

She hadn’t touched the gift. She hadn’t cared. But I had kept it. Because it was the only one. The only birthday present I’d ever received. No one had ever written me a letter. No one had ever handed me a flower or left me a note scribbled in secret. That doll was the only thing that had ever arrived for me.

And now, three years later, it burned in my hands.

Because I remembered the words.

“Tomorrow is your birthday.”

That voice. That certainty.

And suddenly, I knew. It wasn’t a neighbor. It wasn’t someone from school. It had been him.

Han Su Gang.

I dropped the doll onto the bed like it had scorched my skin. My stomach turned, but not with fear. It was something else. Something sicker. A disgust laced with a shameful curiosity. A twisting realization that even then — even then — he had already been watching. Already keeping track. Already deciding who I was.

Why would he do it?

Why go so far to know me, only to hurt me?

Why observe every part of my life if all he wanted was to own it, to crush it?

Why stop anyone else from getting close, if he was the one doing the damage?

Why… keep me from drowning, only to ensure I stayed under?

I didn’t have answers. Only more questions. And each one made my head spin harder.

Because this was the truth:

Han Su Gang knew more about me than anyone else in the world.

He knew what I liked, what I hated, what I dreamed about, what I feared. He knew my habits, my weaknesses, my footsteps. He knew the clothes I wore. The books I chose. The way I wrote the letter e in cursive.

And he used all of it — every detail — not to protect, but to control. To dismantle.

The next morning, I walked into class with my skin pale and my stomach heavy. The doll was in my bag. I didn’t know why I’d brought it. Maybe I needed to feel it again. Maybe I needed proof that this was real.

He was already there.

Of course he was.

He looked at me. Smiled. Said nothing.

But I knew. I knew he knew. And he knew that I knew. And the silence that hung in the space between us was more suffocating than any word could ever be.

At lunch, he sat across from me without asking. Without hesitation. Just slid into the seat like it had always been his. He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“How’s the doll?”

The spoon fell from my hand. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Just breath. Just panic.

“You…” I tried to speak.

He leaned back, arms folded, watching me like he was measuring how far the knife had gone in.

“I figured you’d have realized by now,” he said.

“Why?” I whispered.

He stared for a long time, like he was deciding just how much I deserved to know.

Then his voice dropped to a murmur — smooth, soft, horrifying.

“I don’t let anyone have you. Not even the loneliness.”

I froze.

“Not even the loneliness?”

“Not her. Not freedom. Not anyone. You’re mine. You always have been.”

⸻

My hands were cold. The cafeteria still surrounded me — the metal tables, the flickering white lights above, the steady murmur of voices that didn’t belong to me — but I wasn’t really there anymore. My body remained seated in front of him, but my mind had shut down. It was as if some part of me, maybe the last piece of my sanity, had retreated into a dark corner, hiding, waiting for the storm to pass. But even that, he took from me. He took everything. The sounds around me faded into a distant hum, as though the world itself had pulled away and left only him — and my involuntary submission to his presence.

“And the doll…” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “…wasn’t just a gift.” Leaning against the table, one elbow bent, he brought his face closer to mine. His eyes locked with mine like invisible blades, cutting from within without leaving a trace. “That doll was you. Small, fragile, quiet. Just the way I wanted. The way I still want. The way you’ll always be.” I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, but it didn’t stop his words from crawling into me. He never touched me. He didn’t need to. Every syllable he uttered felt like an invisible hand wrapped around my throat, pinning my arms down, pressing my consciousness to the floor. I felt his control not through touch, but in the air — as if every molecule of my being had to pass through his gaze to exist.

“Do you think you’re real?” he asked, and for a moment, the world came to a halt. “Do you think you exist outside my vision? That if I stopped looking, you would keep being?” The question hit harder than any threat. It was absurd, sick — and yet it struck something raw inside me. Because, in some awful way, he was right. He shaped the space around me. His eyes followed me when I walked, when I wrote, even when I thought. He was the filter. The lens. The frame that gave my presence its form. “I’ve been looking at you since before you looked at yourself. Since before you knew what fear was. I’m the reason behind your silences. Your stutters. The way you walk. The way you dress. The way you write.” I couldn’t breathe.

“Stop…” I murmured, my voice weak, trembling, barely audible.

“You exist because I allowed you to exist. And if one day I decide you shouldn’t, you won’t.”

I stood up violently. The chair screeched across the floor with a sharp, dry sound that shattered the bubble of silence around our table. A few heads turned. Some people glanced our way for a moment. But no one moved. No one came closer. Because it was him. Because no one ever stepped between Han Su Gang and whatever he decided to claim. I crossed the cafeteria with my stomach in knots, tears brimming in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not there. Not in front of him. I ran to the bathroom, locked myself in the last stall, and collapsed onto the cold floor, my back pressed against the wall, breathing unevenly like my body was trying to escape itself. I still had my backpack. The doll was still with me. And without understanding why, I pulled it out and placed it on my lap, as if I needed to see it to believe it was real.

My fingers trembled. That little fabric figure, stitched with such strange care and tucked away for three years without reason, was a replica of me. It was the mold. The symbol. The sign. He didn’t just watch me — he constructed me.

And I hated myself for still holding it gently. For not throwing it away. For not tearing it to shreds. For being unable to fling it far from me, like it had rooted itself into my skin. Because, despite everything, a part of me still wanted to understand. A weak part, a stupid, confused part — but alive. I wanted to know why he did it. Why he hated me so much, yet knew every detail about me. Why he watched me so precisely while claiming to want to erase me. Why he kept other boys away from me, even though he was the one hurting me the most. Why, even as the weight that pulled me under, he never let me drown completely. It was as if he wanted me to survive just so I could keep existing inside the prison he had designed for me.

That night, when I returned home, I placed the doll on my bed and stared at it for over an hour. I didn’t cry. I didn’t speak. I just looked. And for the first time, I started to fear myself. Because deep within me, hidden and silent but present, there was a part that could no longer separate pain from presence. A part that was growing used to it. Used to him. To this cage disguised as routine. To this corrupted bond that, through repetition, had begun to feel familiar. It had started to feel like mine.

And that was more dangerous than any direct violence. More lethal than any spoken word. Because fear can be fought. Anger can be turned into fire. But what I felt was something worse. It was a diluted identity — the slow, quiet erosion of whoever I had been before him. I wasn’t even sure if I had ever been whole. Maybe I had always been the doll. Maybe he never needed to break me. He only had to convince me that I was never whole to begin with.

And little by little, he was succeeding.

a/n: you really liked it, i was really hoping that when you read it, you would! even though it’s dark, some people don’t consider it that way, but i’m telling you, this shit is truly a dark fanfic! i hope u scared 😱😉🥊

[aventurineswife]

Jiaoqiu and his s/o navigating thru his blindness (like from when it was a new thing to them slowly getting used to it) <33

Silent Eyes, Knowing Heart

Summary: After Jiaoqiu loses his sight due to a self-inflicted poison, he struggles with the challenges of his new reality. Despite his initial reluctance to accept help, his partner offers unwavering support as they navigate the emotional and physical adjustments of his blindness together. Over time, Jiaoqiu learns to trust in his loved one, finding comfort in their companionship and understanding that healing isn’t just for the body, but for the heart as well.

Tags: Jiaoqiu x Reader, Comfort, Blindness, Healing, Emotional Growth, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love and Trust.

Warnings: Mild descriptions of physical and emotional vulnerability, Themes of grief and loss, Mentions of self-inflicted harm (poisoning).

The evening air in the Yaoqing base was unusually calm, the only sound the soft rustling of trees swaying gently in the wind. Inside Jiaoqiu’s quarters, the subtle aroma of medicinal herbs and warm food filled the air, a familiar comfort to both of you.

It had been months since Jiaoqiu had lost his sight, the tragic consequence of a self-inflicted poison, meant to protect his comrades but leaving him with a permanent reminder of his sacrifice. At first, the change had been jarring, not just for him, but for you as well. The sharp, commanding glint of his eyes had always been the window to his thoughts, but now those eyes were closed, perpetually shut to shield his injured optic nerve.

You were still learning how to navigate this new chapter of his life together.

It had been strange, those early days after the accident. Jiaoqiu had tried so hard to pretend everything was normal, masking his pain with his usual quiet grace. But you knew him too well—you could see the tension in his shoulders, the subtle tremor in his hands when he reached for something.

"Jiaoqiu, you don’t need to do this," you had told him one evening, watching him struggle to find his way to the small table where his alchemical formulas rested.

"I am fine," he had said softly, but there was a shadow of frustration in his voice that he couldn’t hide. "I’ve healed many, this is just another test."

But it wasn’t. Not for you, and not for him.

It was one evening, as he sat at the edge of his bed, attempting to assemble ingredients for his healing elixirs, that you gently placed your hand on his arm.

He flinched for a second, his body instinctively reacting to your touch, as though it were foreign to him. You had never seen him flinch before.

"Jiaoqiu, please," you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here."

His lips parted, but no words came. He had always been so self-sufficient, so independent, and this new reality—one where he had to rely on others—was a challenge he hadn’t yet come to terms with.

"I..." he started, his voice thick with emotion. "I don’t want to burden you."

You gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek as you met his gaze. "You don’t burden me, Jiaoqiu. I want to be here for you. Let me help."

A slow breath escaped him, his usual calm demeanor wavering for just a moment. The pain of his blindness was something he didn’t want to show, but with your touch, the cracks in his façade began to show.

"I… I feel lost, [Name]," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was never someone who needed help. Now… now I can’t even see the world around me. I can’t heal as I once did."

You smiled softly, bringing your forehead to his. "Jiaoqiu, you’re not lost. You’re just learning to see in a different way."

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, the two of you found a rhythm. Jiaoqiu learned to rely on you in ways he never had before—from navigating the halls of the base, to preparing meals, to reaching for the right herb when his hands trembled.

In return, you learned how to understand him without his eyes. You learned to read the small signs of exhaustion in his voice, the slight curve of his lips that betrayed a moment of discomfort, the way he paused for a moment too long when a memory weighed on him.

One evening, as you prepared a simple dinner for the two of you, Jiaoqiu sat at the table, his fingers lightly tracing the surface.

"Tell me," you said, handing him a bowl. "How does it feel now? Not being able to see?"

For a long time, he said nothing. But then, in his quiet voice, he spoke.

"It’s strange. At first, everything felt… dark. I thought I had lost my way." His fingers curled around the bowl as he continued. "But now, with your help, I can feel my way through it. My hands have become my eyes, my senses sharper than before. The darkness isn’t as scary anymore. Not with you here."

You sat beside him, your hand slipping into his as you leaned against his shoulder. "You’re not alone, Jiaoqiu. I’ll always be here to guide you."

His fingers gently squeezed yours in return, a silent promise that he would learn to lean on you, and not just for the physical help, but for the emotional support he had long denied himself.

As time passed, the two of you grew closer, navigating through the trials of blindness not just with patience, but with love. Every moment with Jiaoqiu felt more precious now—the way he would lean into you when the weight of his past became too much to bear, how he would sometimes allow himself to smile fully when he knew you were by his side.

One evening, after a particularly long day of battle preparations, Jiaoqiu found himself resting against the windowsill, his head tilted back, as if seeking solace from the night sky. You joined him, sitting next to him as the silence settled between you.

"Sometimes I wonder," Jiaoqiu began, his voice soft in the stillness, "if I’ll ever truly come to terms with this… this blindness. It’s more than just the loss of sight. It’s the loss of control, the feeling of being… powerless."

You rested your head against his shoulder, your voice steady and comforting. "I don’t think it’s about control, Jiaoqiu. It’s about trust. Trust in yourself, in me, and in the world around you. We’re all learning, aren’t we?"

He said nothing. But then, with a quiet exhale, he spoke again, his voice steady despite the vulnerability he rarely showed. "I trust you, [Name]. More than anyone else."

And in that moment, the world outside didn’t matter. In the darkness, with Jiaoqiu beside you, you both found a new kind of light.

[l0singsdogs]

dickkory fics by l0singsdogs.

As some of you may know, I'm writing Dickkory fanfics to expand his tag. In this post, you can see Dickkory fics with different themes and categories. Some feature Dickkory as the main couple, and others feature him as a background. Remember the following as you read: there will be mentions of Jayrena, Jason Todd as a good older brother, Timkon as a couple, Batcat, comic book references, and even TV series references. But especially: the Batfamily slowly healing.

good older brother. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 3,719. chapters: 1/1

Dick Grayson always liked the idea of being an older brother, but the downsides of it were something no one ever told him about. Or simply, a moment where Dick Grayson tries to have a date with Kory Anders without his younger brothers bothering him — and, of course, he clearly loses that battle.

Or just a scene of Dick acting like the older brother while also trying to have a date with Kory at the same time.

i feel so close to you right now. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 7,104. chapters: 1/1.

Their love was written in the stars.

Maybe Dick Grayson and Kory Anders weren’t together anymore. Maybe their relationship was just a memory now—unforgettable, but in the past. But when one night of celebration changes everything, they’ll realize that destiny had always tied them together. That no matter what, they were never truly apart.

Because that night, Dick Grayson had never felt closer to Kory Anders.

He couldn’t control his heart, let alone his emotions, when he held her in his arms again. And a few months later, when a surprise entered their lives, there was no denying it—fate wasn’t done with them yet.

(A story about how Mar’i Grayson came to be—the doubts, the emotions, and most of all, how they learn to survive this new chapter in their lives.)

of quiet tomorrow. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 4,027. chapters: 1/1.

Beloved. Our Little Star.

Part Two

Dick Grayson tells Bruce Wayne he’s going to be a grandfather. Bruce had never expected to receive such wonderful news. And Dick Grayson-Wayne never imagined he’d ever say something like that to his friend, mentor—especially his father.

A quiet moment between father and son, two vigilantes who never thought they'd live to see this stage of life.

hija de corazón. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 922. chapters: 1/1.

Kory Anders isn’t one to celebrate many human customs. She doesn’t quite understand most traditions, though she’s grown used to them over time. She finds Halloween amusing, even the way people exchange gifts. But when it comes to Mother’s Day, there’s always something deeper behind it.

Or maybe—maybe it’s just a quiet moment.

Koriand’r, on her first Mother’s Day.

A protector.

Cradling her baby in her arms.

nuestra pequeña estrella. by l0singsdogs. language: english.  words: 11,874. chapters: 2/2 

Telling Bruce Wayne he’s going to be a grandfather? Surprisingly easy.

Telling the rest of the family they're about to become uncles and aunts?

A completely different challenge.

Dick Grayson and Kory Anders take a quiet moment to share their news with the people they love most—that they’re going to be parents for the first time. For once, the Wayne family has a moment of peace, of joy, of something like normal.

And in the quiet aftermath, Koriand’r has a heart-to-heart with Bruce Wayne—about the past, the future, and what it means if the Dark Knight truly wants to be part of his granddaughter’s life.

Part Three of Beloved, Our Little Star.

in another life, we stayed. by l0singsdogs (read tags for trigger warnings). language: english.  words: 6,949. chapters: 1/3

Mar’i Grayson is only eighteen years old, and yet she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. A hero in her own right, she walks the path her parents once did—honoring their legacy, step by step.

But sometimes, she's just a girl who wants to hear her mother’s songs again. To listen to her father’s stories.

So she crosses the multiverse—not to save it, but for something far more fragile. For one more moment. For a chance to see them again.

Maybe this is the story of a different version of Dick Grayson and Kory Anders meeting the daughter they never knew.

Or maybe—just maybe—Mar’i Grayson was always meant to find them.

Because in every timeline, in every universe, she’s the one who always brings them back together.

BACKGROUND.

when the masks fell. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 41,207.  chapters: 7/?

A world where there were no aliens, no metahumans, and no second chances at life. Where the Justice League didn’t exist, and heroes were nothing more than characters in movies. Where the Joker was just a playing card, and Batman was nothing more than a clever turn of phrase. Gotham was just another city. The police did their best to keep the streets safe. A world without heroes. Without vigilantes.

It's a normal world.

Or maybe the Batfamily had fallen into another universe—one where vigilantes, powers, and mutants were never real, where there were no secret identities, only family, goals, and dreams.

Or perhaps, for just a fleeting moment, Bruce Wayne could dream of a normal life.

knightfall eternal. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 18,335. chapters: 5/?

When Red Hood and Nightwing are sent on a mission to take down a new metahuman in Gotham City, they never expected to fall into another universe—one much darker, where the night has always ruled.

It's a Gotham where the Dark Knight is more vengeful. A city where the light never seems to reign. Or simply a world where Jason Todd and Dick Grayson find themselves in a universe where Batman truly works alone. Where the Batfamily never existed. And maybe, just maybe, where Batman is far more terrifying than they ever thought possible.

There was no life left in him.

No humanity.

Or a universe where Batman truly works alone. Where the Batfamily never existed. There was never a Robin. Batman lets himself be consumed by his inner beasts.

[hpiiker]

WHITE FERRARI || HP²⁵ 🪷 ˙⟡

:: HPIIKER’S PROFILE || my inbox is open! 📨

:: white ferrari by frank ocean 🌊 thank u for 1.6k <3

MIND ON THE ROAD, YOUR DILATED EYES — you and hasan constantly etched into each other. his honey, tinted eyes admiring your eyes, no unsettling thoughts or feelings ruining his brain. the bronzed sun, comfortably floating with all the stars, moon and airy clouds in the sky. creating the most warm, golden, shine across each other's skin. glowing, matter of fact. your body is happily sat in front of his opened legs. the hard, wooden shore end you're both sitting at the end of the pier.

every sound that echoed from the bolstering pier or the susurration of the waves arriving at shore, facing your’s and hasan's backs, faded like old childhood photos. rotting away in a withered, wooden draw you haven't opened in years. hasan's calloused hands approaching to cup your jaw, his curved thumbs stroking up and down your cheekbones. you soul feels satiated, giving each other a saintly smile.

STICK BY ME, CLOSE BY ME — hasan wants to melt his skin into your’s. each freckles that spiralled from one to another, creating a splatter of specs across his olive tone skin. from one human being to another, clothes hanging of the human’s curved and edged bodies. the heavy, but somehow delicate cotton blanket spilled over his and your body. droopy eye lids combatting against the fatigue. hasan’s body easing into relief, your body mirroring his motive.

both vicariously feeling... beatific. spending each day of the moment together. no one, no thing, is moving or leaving it's place. everything is right where it is.

I CARE FOR YOU STILL, AND I WILL FOREVER — hasan is forever a scrupulous person to you. the doodle you drew in his past notebook, etched into his brain. your favourite scent, meal or dessert, cotton bedding from a past trip, childhood plushie that was a attached to your hip as a kid, a childhood memory from your catastrophic childhood. your last mark left in his home, the used cup in his sink to a worn top of his by the laundry hamper.

laying your back up against his bare chest, outside. by his outdoor furniture, lighting the fire pit. his chin resting on your shoulder, hasan fiddling with your engagement band. every time you guys weren't going to be in the same vicinity, you always clinked your wedding band together, saying "seni seviyorum." it always happens, you guys couldn't care if them words were said in front of no one to millions of people...

kaya lazily walked her way over, climb up to lay between your's and hasan's legs. hasan is content, everything he loves deeply and securely, it's here.

♪

I'M SURE WE'RE TALLER IN ANOTHER DIMENSION — you and hasan hiding love notes/letters in coats, books, drawers, for each other to find... || you keeping a proof of love box, things that you and hasan are proud of, goals achieved, notes to self, and moments where you guys didn't give up on yourself or the relationship when things got tough or worse. || “now give your old man a kiss” || hasan squeezing your hand three times, to secretly tell "i love you." || hasan catching you staring and sending you a teasing wink, wether that's on or off stream || already thinking about cleaning up the place before you come home for work || hasan nuzzling his head on your shoulder whenever he's sat next to you while your chatting away to friends || "next time, i'm coming. cause i know what your clumsy ass is like" || "how could you do that?", "you would have done the same!".

:: tags — @snowsdiaryy @sunshineblnd @the-phantom-author @fullofgutsndopamine @nfr-girly @haileyisnotcool @exhaustedclown @tiege2000 @cinnabearice @saviorcomplexrry @pupity @moondust-imagines @kqmbr1a @2005irlfawn @feeling-normal @freak4hamzah @issi505 @gotavansleep @ohsorrythen @makeandshift @majknn @hauntedmorgue @greenandyellowfroggies @il0vetopgunnn @rosylnsworld @the-mrs-malik-styles @wakemeupshaking014 @cannotgetoverit @fuckfuckshitfuck @arielijog @slutt4siriusblack @daintyseiren @jimins-favblackie @jollysportsflowerbailiff @nevergonnaloveagain-hey @jimmyjimjim123 @benzodiazepines-withdrawal @xxepherr @buckys-goodgirl @vicravluv @mavericksice @buckybarnesandmarvel @d1g1talxgf @aomi-nabi @colddarkearthworm @raven18 @idkwtfimdoing2 @urfavhornyperson @deliciouskittenarbiter @inhibitionfreewriting

[mattswish]

౨ৎ church boy ౨ৎ

content: suggestive, matt asking reader to wear a certain thong, pet names, intro!

wc: 0.6k

it was a early morning on sunday, it always was. every sunday it was a routine. you would wake up, rub the blur out of your eyes, get dressed then pretend like you give a fuck while sitting in church. it wasn’t always like that. you used to enjoy it when you were little and actually had faith. after your mom died your dad stopped going. he got angry faster, his patience was a thin line, thinner than you would ever assume. he started going again because people were feeding him “the end of the world” bullshit. as if going to church automatically makes you a good person.

it wasn’t always easy to pretend like you cared about what the preacher was blabbering about. it was even harder to pretend you didn’t want to fuck matthew sturniolo. he worked at the church, always came every sunday, sometimes even spoke up for the preacher when he was sick. but something didn’t seem right, he looked a little too good to be a little church boy. if there was a god, you were going straight to hell for the sins you wanted to do with him, he probably knew that too. he would always find your eyes already looking at him, whether you were sitting in front of him or behind him in the booths. today started off normal. you woke up and put your outfit on. you wore a baby pink sweater with a white long skirt on. you sat down in your usual seat beside your father with matt one row behind you. you didn’t even last a minute before turning your head back to see matt over your shoulder. he didn’t notice you at first so you took him in. he was wearing his classic blue jeans with a creamish sweater. you also noticed he was wearing a horse necklace, he always did, it was a matthew sturniolo staple. you always wondered why he came. was it because he worked here or did he actually have faith, he just didn’t seem like the person to wanna be saved. your daydreaming got cut off by his eyes. your head instantly turned back around as your cheeks flushed. no matter how many times you got caught looking it would never not be embarrassing. everyone stood up for the opening song which gave you a opportunity you’ve finally gained confidence to take. you lifted your arms up pretending to stretch just for your sweater to ride up to reveal your white thin thong. you subtly looked at matt and saw him looking at it. he took the the bait.

the rest of church went by slow. it was boring, you stood when you had to, and didn’t sing. it wasn’t natural to you, you’d very much rather be having a date with your rose toy right about now. you sighed with relief as the preacher dismissed everyone. “i’m gonna talk to the preacher for a bit, be good and stay put.” your dad said as he walked away from you, leaving you standing by the door to the now cleared out room. “hey.” a voice rang out behind you. it was matt. “oh uh hello.” a light pink flush went across your cheeks. “your y/n, right? i’m matthew.” you gave him a nod in response. “so you work here?” you asked. “yeah it’s not bad, plus i can see pretty girls like you.” he smirked. ah, so he was the confident type. “think i can get your insta?”

you felt your phone vibrate, instantly you picked it up. it was matt. you opened instagram and clicked on his profile. “2.9 mil?” you say out loud. of course, you let your curiosity get the best of you. you looked at his account for over an over before you realized you never texted him back.

a soft smile left your lips. you finally had matt in your finger tips, figuratively of course. you two talked for hours about meaningless things. some sweet and some..-

a/n: this is basically the intro so it’s ass and not too freaky yet💔

masterlist/taglist

as always, fuck trump

tags: @courta13 @nxvasturns @mattspillowprincess @2prettyysturniolo @darylsmercy @dollifyy

[madpanda75]

To Build a Home Chapter Three

What can I say? Maria and Tommy are the cutest matchmakers ever! Also the reader has an unfortunate reunion with someone from the DC QZ.

As always read with caution! 18+ NSFW, Descriptions of domestic abuse, violence, and PTSD

I used the lyrics from "Everybody's Free" from the Romeo and Juliet movie--seriously if you do anything else--WATCH THAT SCENE! Its gut wrenchingly beautiful! Also there's a lyric in here from Jeff Buckley's Lover You Should've Come Over--another classic!

If anyone wants to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks for reading! 💕

Word Count: 5778

You tossed and turned in bed, restless, anxious, fearful. All of the sudden your body was too hot and you threw the covers off before deciding that you were too cold and put them back on again, but that made you feel suffocated so off the covers went again. 

The moonlight shone from your bedroom window, lighting a path directly to your door as if the answer to your insomnia was so simple. But you refused to give in. For the last week, ever since you had returned to Jackson after your first patrol, you had snuck into Joel’s room, snuggled against him, and fallen asleep. 

After that night at the lodge had brought you such a peaceful rest, you couldn’t help yourself. There was something about the proximity of his body that made you feel protected. It was soothing to listen to his deep breathing, feel the warmth of his skin, take in his woodsy, spicy scent. In an attempt to avoid awkward morning encounters, you would always wake up before dawn and sneak back into your own bed as if nothing happened.

Sometimes he would talk in his sleep-usually calling out for someone–Sarah, Tess, Ellie or even just panicked mumbles. During those moments, you would gently shush him, run your hands through his graying curls, and within a matter of minutes you would hear his soft snores again. 

But you knew this new sleeping arrangement couldn’t last. You were going to have to learn how to sleep on your own. Unfortunately, the ominous threat of nightmares lurked at the horizon of the setting sun and you would cave. Tonight would not be an exception. After all you had patrol duty tomorrow, you needed a proper night’s rest. At least that was the rationale you told yourself while creeping across the hallway.

Joel heard his bedroom door creak open, felt his mattress dip down as you climbed in beside him. You were later than usual. In truth, he was amazed at how quickly he had gotten used to sleeping in the same bed as you. There was a comfortable familiarity. A familiarity that he missed. He had that once with Tess, but was too closed off to allow that type of intimacy into his life.  With you it was different, he wanted to let his guard down. Which is why, he turned and wrapped his arm around your shoulders while your head rested on his chest. A contented sigh escaped your lips as he gently stroked your arm before both of you fell asleep. 

“How much do you love me?” Dina asked on your way back to Jackson the next day.

You arched a brow at the petite brunette. “Depends on what you’re asking for.”

“Well, I noticed that you have patrol again tomorrow and I was wondering if you would be willing to switch with Ellie and do KP instead.”

“I don’t know,” you said with an exasperated sigh. 

“Please. I wouldn’t normally ask except Valentine's Day is this weekend. I wanted to do something special for Ellie. It's our first holiday together.”

“I thought guys got together on New Year’s Eve or something?”

Dina rolled her eyes. “Ok, it's our first romantic holiday together and anyways I thought you loved working in the kitchen. Seth even has some big meal ideas. I’m sure he needs your help.”

You did love working in the kitchen. You missed the chopping, sauteeing, baking, but KP was also where a lot of the new DC QZ folks were working and you just weren’t ready to face them all yet. 

“Please….pretty please.” Dina pouted her lips and batted her lashes.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” you grumbled.

“Yay! And will you also help me make pot brownies for Ellie when we get home.”

“Alright! Jeez, why am I such a sucker for you two.”

“Because you loooove us,” Dina teased before narrowing her eyes at you. “Speaking of love, how are things going with your roommate?”

“What do you mean?” you asked with a furrowed brow.

“What I mean is I went to the bathroom early this morning and on my way back downstairs I saw you sneak out of Joel’s room.”

“Oh.” You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. “Its not what you think and anyways what were you doing over there. Having a sleepover with Ellie?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Dina said with a wink and a knowing smile as she raised the blue bandana giving the all clear to the people at the Jackson city wall. “I’m just saying I think you guys would be good for each other and I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Before you could ask her anything else, she had galloped off to the stables.

You kept your head down while walking into the kitchen on your way to meet Seth. So far you didn’t recognize anyone from the DC QZ, but then again everyone was too busy cleaning up from breakfast to really notice. 

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” said a familiar voice from behind your back. 

You turned and smiled at Seth. He may have acted gruff and tough, but deep down he was a genuinely good guy. “Hi Seth, Nice to see you too.”

“I figured once you had a taste of your first patrol, we’d never see you in here again.”

“I missed you guys and I’m doing Dina a favor for Ellie.” You grabbed an apron from the wall and tied it around your back. “So where should I start?”

“Follow me.” Seth led you over to a station with fresh herbs and potatoes. “Peel and slice the potatoes and since we have steak for Valentine’s Day dinner, I thought maybe you could use the herbs to make some of that compound butter you whipped up the other day.”

An older woman approached you both. “Found the peelers, Seth.”

“Perfect timing,” he said, introducing you to the newcomer. 

“Nice to meet you! I’m Daisy.” She smiled and shook your hand, holding eye contact with you a  little longer than you would’ve liked. “Sorry for staring, but you look really familiar.”

“I guess I just have one of those faces,” you said with a nervous giggle.

“Well, I’ll leave you both to it,” said Seth.

You both worked in polite silence, peeling potatoes. Every now and then you could feel her gaze on your profile. “So how long have you been here?” she asked.

“Not long. About two months. What about you?”

“I just got here a week ago. I’m with the DC group.”

Your hand slipped and you dropped the potato, nearly peeling the skin off your hand. ‘Why hadn’t you recognized her!?’ Of course DC wasn’t that small a city and you were only allowed out when your husband gave you permission, but people knew who you were.

“Careful there!”

“Potatoes are slippery little suckers.” You tried to laugh it off and focused all your attention on the food.

“You know, you do look very familiar.” Daisy cocked her head, observing you. “Where did you say you were from?”

“I-I-I- didn’t,” you stammered.

She gripped your wrists and turned you towards her so she could get a better look. Then like someone adjusted the antenna of a tv, making the picture clear, she realized who you were. “It’s you,” she whispered, the color draining from her face. “You were the wife.”

Tears filled her eyes. “My father. He was in that stadium.” She grabbed your upper arms, shaking you with emphasis. “I had to watch him die. Did you know that? He never deserved that! You monster!”

You vehemently shook your head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t...I thought that…” Finally you twisted out of her grasp. Her grip was so tight when you freed yourself, you fell back and collided with a shelf of pots and pans creating a cacophony of clangs and crashes. Several people stopped and stared at the commotion.

In a panic, you ran out of the kitchen and collapsed onto your knees at the back of the building, throwing up the contents of your breakfast in the snow.

“Hey.” You turned to see Seth walking toward you. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” you replied, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.

He then noticed the puddle of puke melting in front of you. “Oh no! Hand over that apron. You’re going home for the day.”

“Seth, I swear I’m not—”

“Don’t care. It's bad enough we have cordyceps. Last thing I need is everyone getting the norovirus like we’re on some cruise ship with bad shellfish. Go get some rest.”

Even though you didn’t want to shirk your responsibilities, you were grateful to not have to go back into that kitchen and face Daisy or anyone else for that matter. The only issue was rest would be the last thing on your mind now. How soon would it be before the whole town knew about you? Your past and present were about to converge in a way you were totally unprepared for.

Washington DC QZ

Henry paced the floor of his office, describing down to the last detail how he wanted his birthday to be celebrated while you took vigorous notes. “And of course we’ll need double. No. Triple the amount of food since this will be a three day affair–Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”

You looked up from your notebook, taking the opportunity to give your cramping hand a shake. “But what about the city rations? Since last summer’s drought we’ve had a massive food shortage.”

“What did that French queen say? Let them eat cake.” He waved you off. “The city will be fine for a couple days. It’s not going to kill them.” Henry leaned over you, in a threatening manner, resting his hands on the arm rests of your chair. “Is that a problem?” 

“Not at all.” You faked a smile and stood up, running your hands up his arms and adjusting his collar. “Anything my darling wants. My darling gets.” 

“Don’t forget to wear that strappy blue dress I love. I want to show off my property.” He kissed you deeply, his tongue plunging into your mouth. You fantasized about biting down on that meaty muscle with your teeth, leaving him with nothing but a bloody stump.

Your thoughts were interrupted when there was an abrupt knock on the door.

“Come in,” Henry ordered, irritated by the intrusion.

One of his men from Fedra entered the office. “My apologies, sir. But we have a serious issue.” 

The stench of blood, sweat, and stale urine wafted through the air while you made your way downstairs with Henry and the officer to the cell. Upon arriving, you saw a large group behind bars. It appeared that Fedra had already had their fun with them. The men and women were badly beaten. The women’s clothes were half torn off them. “We found them this morning coming back into the QZ. They also had illegal firearms on them.”

Henry barely looked at the prisoners. “Are you fucks completely incompetent or do you just expect me to do your dirty work. You know the drill.”

The drill meaning the men would torture the group, then strip them, and drag them through the streets and finally execute them. The majority of the time the prisoners would not even survive for their own execution, having died while being tortured by Fedra or dragged by a car through DC.

One of the older men who had a black eye and what looked like a broken nose came forward. “Please, sir. Have mercy. We’re starving. We needed to hunt to get food to bring to our families.”

The officer took the butt of his gun and hit the man against the head repeatedly. He was going to die right there unless you spoke up and you had to say something.

“Henry, my love. Do you realize who that man is?”

“Just a traitorous piece of shit.”

“That’s James Beard award winning chef, Bernardo Bertucci. Owner of Strada, the three star Michelin restaurant in DC,” you lied. “Rather than executing him today, it might be a good idea to have him help me prepare for the weekend festivities.”

Intrigued, Henry raised his arm, effectively halting the assault on the older gentleman. 

“What about the rest of the group?”

“They can be our sous chefs. You know I love to watch you work, but think of how well this will reflect on your leadership. It’ll boost morale and make you look even more magnanimous than you already are.” You batted your lashes, while coyly rubbing the front of his pants. “Everyone will want to be on their knees for you after such a generous act.”

“Is that so?” A slow smile spread across his lips. “That’s not a bad idea.” 

“Really?!” you exclaimed, shocked that your plan worked so well considering you just made everything up on the fly.

Henry cupped your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Really, now go to the hall and I’ll have the group come over and help.”

You turned to leave when a hand reached out for yours, you saw the old man, fresh blood dripping down his face as a woman had taken her jacket to try and staunch the bleeding. “Thank you,” he whispered.

All you could do was squeeze his hand and hope that this would be enough.

The next morning you woke up happier than you had felt since before you were married. Henry had kept true to his word and allowed the prisoners to assist you in the banquet hall for his birthday celebration. It was more them assisting you when Fedra were watching, but during shift breaks, you would bring them fresh water, food, supplies. There were even discussions of how to get their families out of the QZ using the old metro rail system. 

‘Today was the start of something new,’ you thought while zipping up your periwinkle blue dress. ‘Perhaps this was your calling–to help families out of the DC QZ.’

“Come on, my love. We’ll be late,” called Henry from the living room.

You glanced out the window of the car, noticing your husband go in the opposite direction of the banquet hall. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

A shiver ran through you even though it was a hot September day. When the car stopped, you stepped out to find that you were in front of the old sports center. “Why are we here? I thought Fedra closed this because it was crawling with infected?”

Henry opened your car door. “Not anymore.” With a hand on your back, you were led inside to the hockey stadium where the seats were filled with Fedra and their families, former politicians, and other citizens of the DC QZ. You and Henry were the last to arrive. All eyes were on you while walking up to the steps to take your seats which gave you a prime view.

 Once seated, Henry grabbed a microphone and began to speak. “Attention everyone! I’d like to thank you all for coming out to kick off my birthday celebration.” He then turned to you and took your hand. “Most importantly I’d like to thank my lovely wife for giving me the inspiration for this new exciting game which I hope you’ll enjoy. Now let the show begin.” 

He clapped his hands and the doors of the arena opened and out came the group of men and women you had rescued yesterday. They looked around the stadium, timid and terrified. 

“Daddy!” A young woman stood and shouted from her seat before Fedra forced her to sit back down. A man from the arena looked up to find her and it was then you realized the DC citizens that were present were the family members of the prisoners.

You turned towards your husband. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Just watch,” he commanded.

Another door opened and the crowd screamed in horror when three clickers came running out into the arena. There was still plexiglass between the stadium seats and the arena so some safety precautions were still taken. The clickers each had shackles on their feet and were being tethered to a column by a large metal chain. 

“You wanted to step outside of the QZ where these monsters lurk. We thought, "Why not bring the monsters to you.” Henry announced to his prisoners.

You stood and pleaded with your husband, “Henry, stop. This is barbaric.”

He slapped you across the face and forced you down in the chair, holding your head in a vice-like grip towards where the prisoners were huddled.

“You will sit there and watch until every last one of them has been ripped to shreds,” he whispered in your ear. “You think I didn’t know that you were lying yesterday? You’re a bullshit actress.”

“Then why not just kill them then,” you said, tears streaming down your face.

“Because this is so much more fun.” He kissed your cheek before ordering the chain to be unlocked from the column, effectively releasing the clickers.

Henry ordered one of his men to hold your head so he could sit and enjoy the massacre. “If she so much as closes her eyes, throw her in the arena right along with the others.”

While Henry clapped and laughed like he was at a WWE wrestling match, you were horrified—blood smears on the plexiglass, flesh being bitten, entrails spilling out. Even after the clickers were shot dead, all you could hear were the anguished screams, the pleas for mercy, the cries of terror.

After your day off from being ‘sick,’ Seth was more than ok with letting you switch to another duty, not wanting to take any chances in the kitchen. Whether it was your way of staying out of sight or as a way of punishing yourself, you took the one job no one wanted to do–manure detail. Nothing but shoveling cow patties and sheep shit into wheelbarrows, then transferring it over to the compost area. 

The smell of sweat and dung seeped into your pores and your back began to ache after hour upon hour of shoveling and then balancing pounds of manure in a wheelbarrow, but at least you were alone, free from the recognition, the accusations, the stares. The only thing you couldn’t break free from was the guilt gnawing at your insides.

You dug your shovel deep into a dung pile and flipped it over your shoulder without looking.

“Woah, easy where you fling that!”

Turning around, you saw Maria leaning on the barn door.

“Hi Maria.” You jammed your shovel into a pile and wiped your sweaty face with a bandana. “Sorry about that. I underestimate my own strength.”

“Guess this means you’re feeling better?”

“I was never sick. Seth just overreacts.”

Maria chuckled. “He’s very cautious with his cooking. So what are you up to this weekend?”

“Ummm this,” you said, with your arms spread out showing off the barn.

“I think we can do better than this. What time do you get off?”

You checked your watch. “Two more hours.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll meet you at your house. We can do some trading for new clothes, get some makeup, maybe go to the movies tonight.”

You were taken aback by the offer and quite frankly not in the mood for a night out. “Oh…well..actually–”

“Perfect!” she said. “I’ll meet you at your house.”

Now you were regretting telling her that you were feeling fine. A thought crossed your mind and before Maria left you called out to her. “That makeup. It's not some 25 year old eyeshadow that someone found at an old Sephora, is it?”

“No,” she replied with a laugh. “Just some homemade beetroot and beeswax makeup the ladies make here. Don’t forget to shower too!” 

You huffed out a sigh and leaned against the shovel handle in a daze. What had you just gotten yourself into?

Joel was never one to accept praise or credit, but he was proud of the workaround he thought of to thaw the ground, allowing for his crew to build faster. They were still nowhere near finished, but it was a start.

“Nice job, big brother.” Tommy patted him on the back while the pair observed several families move into their new homes.

“Thanks. Maybe your wife will ease up on me a little,” Joel said as he turned to make his way back home.

“I don’t know about that.” Tommy laughed. “Hey, how ya’ gonna celebrate?”

Joel gave his brother a quizzical expression. “Celebrate what?”

“The build. Getting these folks into a real home.” Tommy snapped his fingers, like a lightbulb had just turned on in his head. “Hey! How about going to the movies with Maria and me. You can bring your roomie. I bet she’d love to go.”

Joel halted in his tracks.“Oh no. I know what you and Maria are up to.”

“What?” Tommy asked, looking all wide-eyed and innocent, like his son after he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Maria and I just thought it would be nice to get you both out of the house. I’d invite Ellie, but she offered to watch Benji.”

“Tommy, please. The movies. Double dating. What are we 13 years old?” 

“Hey man, I wasn’t the one who said it was a double date. You did,” Tommy said as he walked past Joel to the house.

“I’ll go, but I still don’t think this is a good idea,” he replied, opening the door.

“I think it's a great idea,” said Maria greeting them at the door before turning towards the stairs. “C’mon down!”

Joel’s eyes widened as you walked down the stairs in a dusty rose off the shoulder sweater, your lips had a deep red pout, and your hair styled. It looked like Maria had given you a makeover, not that you needed it. You were gorgeous just as you were. Now with the hint of exposed skin, the luscious shade of your mouth, you were temptation personified. 

His mouth watered at the thought of what your lips would taste like. He clenched his fists to keep his fingertips from trembling, wondering how soft your skin would feel under his touch. A kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder. 

Ellie walked over carrying Benji on her back. Wow, don’t you look nice!” After several agonizing seconds of silence, she smacked her surrogate father on the arm. “Joel, tell her she looks nice.”

Joel cleared his throat. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” you softly said, a flush creeping up your face.

Maria wrapped her arm around you.“She looks gorgeous.”

“Yea, she does and so do you, babe,” said Tommy, giving his wife a peck on the lips.

She fetched your coat and hers from the closet. “We’ll be outside, gentlemen. Don’t keep us waiting too long.”

“You look nice,” Ellie said, deadpan once you and Maria had left. “Jesus, Joel. Your date is a knockout and that’s all you can say. 

“Ellie,” he warned, running a hand through his hair while grabbing a warmer jacket from the closet. “And it's not a date. We’re just going to a movie. It’s no big deal.”

She crossed her arms and arched her brow at him, looking every bit a teenager. “Ok, if it's not a big deal then why did you put your jacket on backwards?”

Joel glanced down to see the back of his jacket in the front, his collar practically choking his neck, his zipper dangling by his backside. “Shit,” he grumbled and haphazardly tore off his jacket, shrugging it on the right way. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Tommy snorted as the door slammed shut. “Well, I know my brother and I’m pretty sure he thinks your roomie looks more than just fine.”

The movie being featured that evening was ‘Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet.’ 

“Jesus,” Joel muttered under his breath as your group filed into the lodge transformed into a  makeshift movie theater. “Are you kidding me?”

Tommy shrugged. “Waddya expect? It’s Valentine’s Day weekend. It was either this or Endless Love.”

Maria turned towards you while waiting for the movie to start. “Have you ever seen this before?”

“No, but I read the play in high school. We really wanted our English teacher to show us this version, but he made us watch the one from the 1960s instead. All the girls in my class were so upset. They had massive crushes on Leonardo DiCaprio.

“You didn’t?”

“I was more of a Freddie Prinze Jr./Orlando Bloom kinda girl,” you said with a shrug.

“Oh I see. So you like them tall, dark, and handsome.” She locked eyes with Joel for a minute. “Interesting.”

Joel rolled his eyes, although he couldn’t help the little flip that his stomach made.

The lodge became dark, signaling the start of the movie. Joel shifted slightly in his seat, acutely aware of your body right next to his. How with the slightest of movements he could brush his shoulder or knee against yours. Flashbacks came flooding back when he was 14 years old doing the classic yawn and arm reach over the shoulder move on Becky Garcia during Raiders of the Lost Ark.

The audience swooned while Juliet denied her arranged marriage to Paris, choosing Romeo instead. While he didn’t understand the Shakespearean language, Joel could get the jist of the story and he appreciated the modern setting. Tommy had fallen asleep about 15 minutes into the film and every now and then Maria would elbow him once his snoring got too loud.

Joel was about to nod off himself until the scene when Romeo and Juliet got married. It wasn’t the movie that got his attention. It was you watching the movie. The way you leaned forward ever so slightly in your chair. How you held your breath, when a young boy started to sing a gospel-like song in the choir. Your eyes glossy with tears as Romeo held Juliet’s gaze while she walked down the aisle.

Brother and Sister together will make it through.

Unable to control himself any longer, his pinky finger stroked up against yours causing you to look his way. 

Someday a spirit will take you and guide you there.

Without losing his gaze, your hand inched closer. He then turned his hand palm up, interlocking fingers with yours. Your bodies shifting towards one another. 

I know you’ve been hurting, but I’ve waiting to be there for you.

With the softest touch, so soft you weren’t even sure if his lips met your skin, Joel kissed a tear away and you leaned into him, resting your forehead against his. 

Whether it was the star-crossed lovers, the romantic holiday, or you, in that moment he wanted to convey everything that was being said on the screen. The words that he couldn’t get out that deserved to be said. And you understood completely and thanked the gods that a man like Joel Miller came into your life.

And I’ll be there just helping you out. Whenever I can.

A loud snore from Tommy made you both jump back in your seats. After that, you kept your head forward and your hands to yourself, focusing on the movie, trying to ignore the tingle on your cheek from where Joel had kissed you.

“Well, how was the movie?” Ellie asked when your group walked through the door.

“It was good. Except for when my husband snored so loudly he disrupted the whole theater,” Maria said.

Tommy yawned. “I’m sorry, babe. Benji kept me up late last night and that movie was a bore.”

Maria picked up her sleeping son. “Yeah, well you can make it up to me with a slow dance tomorrow night.”

“Y’all coming to that?” Tommy asked.

“Me and Dina are,” Ellie said.

Everyone looked over at you and Joel. “Umm maybe,” you squeaked while Joel was silent.

“Think about it.” Maria handed Benji to her husband and gave you a hug. “It’s going to be a lot of fun.” You had grown fond of Maria. She was becoming like a big sister. Someone you could confide in.

“You really should come. Even if Joel chickens out and doesn’t ask you, then you can hang with Dina and me,” Ellie teased just before heading out to the garage.

“Ellie!” Joel called out,but she was already gone. He closed the door and turned towards you. “Would you like some coffee? I got a fresh batch the other day.”

“Coffee would be nice.”

Joel and you worked in tandem in the kitchen. Joel grinding the beans and heating the water for his black no frills drink while you preferred to heat up milk and add a touch of honey for sweetness to yours. 

With your steaming mugs in hand, you both walked outside and sat on the front porch rocking chairs. Joel turned on a tiny space heater before handing you a blanket.

The night was peaceful, silent, except for the occasional creak of the chairs. Gazing up at the winter sky, all you could see were stars, no pollution to shield them from view. You tucked your feet under your legs, taking a sip of your drink.  

“So what did you think of the movie?” you asked.

Joel shrugged. “I was never that much of a Shakespeare guy. Even in school, I barely passed English class. I was always in shop or auto class, messing around. What about you?”

You traced your thumb along the rim of your mug and laughed. “Oh I was a total nerd. Honor roll student, President of the Student Council, Future Business Leaders of America, and a rather embarrassing attempt at musical theater where I played Hodel in Fiddler on the Roof.” You took a sip of your coffee. “The picture fits perfectly in the frame you made me. How’d you get so good at stuff like that? Did you used to make things for your girlfriends? ”

Joel snorted and shook his head. “I wish I was that smooth. It took me a while to get comfortable talking to girls. I was a shy guy.”

You slowly shook your head. “I don’t know my grandma used to say that you always have to watch out for the quiet ones.” There was a pregnant pause. You studied Joel’s profile, picturing him at a younger age. “I probably would’ve had the biggest crush on you and you wouldn’t have looked twice at me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” he softly replied. 

A shy smile spread across your face as you stared down at your mug. “So I gather that you’re more of a Curtis and Viper fan over Shakespeare.”

“Ya’ ever seen one of their movies?”

“Nope, can’t say that I have.”

“Well, if you’re not too tired, we could pop in a DVD.” Joel could barely contain his excitement of sharing his favorite series with you.

“Not with this,” you said, motioning to your now empty mug. “I’m too hyped to go to sleep. Let’s watch some Curtis and Viper.” You followed Joel into the living room where he set up the movie. 

Not having been the biggest fan of action films, you enjoyed the plot line of two former commandos going rogue to fight bad guys. It was one of those “its so bad, its good,” type of movies.

A streak of sunlight pierced your eyes, disturbing your sleep. You groaned and snuggled into the pillow beneath your head. The pillow was solid, soft like flannel, and smelled woodsy–like your ruggedly handsome roommate. Your head popped up, realizing that you were still in the living room. You and Joel must’ve fallen asleep while watching Curtis and Viper. 

You should’ve moved. You always did leave Joel’s side in the morning. But this time, you were too tired and way too comfortable and so you chose to stay where you were snuggled up on his chest with the crown of your head tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around your body.

Always running out at dawn, you never had the chance to really look at Joel. He really was handsome, beautiful even. The dark waves and curls with the salt and paper streaks, the prominent bridge of his romanesque nose, the fullness of his lips. 

You found yourself wondering what it would be like to feel those lips pressed against yours and inched closer when his eyes opened, startling you a bit. “Good Morning,” you softly said.

“Good Morning.”Joel groaned and stretched his arms over his head before wrapping them around you again. Instinctually, he rubbed your back with his hand. “Guess we were both more tired than we thought.”

You focused on his shirt, using your finger to trace the flannel lines, feeling exposed in broad daylight. “I…uhh...I have to stop using you as a human mattress.”

“I don’t mind,” he whispered.

With a tentative hand, you reached out and traced his bottom lip with your thumb. Joel’s breath hitched and he covered your hand with his larger one, pressing his lips against your palm. A rapid beating began between your two chests and you weren’t sure if that was your heart or his or both.

Bang. The front door swung open and Ellie stepped in. “I hate to be a cock blocker but it's 9:30. Aren’t you both late?” she asked while walking towards the kitchen to grab food.

“Shit!” you said and scrambled off the couch. “I was supposed to pick up literal shit an hour ago.”

Joel struggled to get his boots on. “I gotta check on the houses. Make sure they’re up to code.” 

You bounded up the stairs to brush your teeth when Joel called out your name. “If….if…you’re not doing anything tonight…would you like…I mean I know its silly…this town celebrates way too much but it's all about community and–”

Ellie came back through, eating a blueberry muffin. “For Christ sake’s Joel, it's not that hard.” She then turned to you. “Roomie, my love, would you like to go to the dance tonight with my dad?” she asked with her mouthful of muffin.

“Yes, I would love to,” you replied.

Ellie swallowed, smiled, and turned to Joel. “See easy.”

“I could’ve done that myself, ya’ know,” Joel said to Ellie’s back while she walked out the door. “Smart-ass,” he muttered to himself before looking up at you, his angel on the stairs. “So tonight?”

“Tonight.”

@orcasoul @smvtwitchmiller

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[emeraldserenade]

Remove The Mask ~ Robert "Bob" Reynolds

synopsis: Your name is finally cleared

tw: fem!reader, none?, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

This is a continuation of my last Bob Reynolds fic

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Once it became public knowledge that you and Bob were dating, Valentina thought it would be the perfect time to hold a press release to clear your name. So now you found yourself in an uncomfortable outfit with Bob wearing his normal clothing by your side. "It's unfair, you get to wear your normal clothing and I'm stuck in this," you gestured to your outfit and Bob gave you his small tight lipped smile.

"You look nice, though," he said and you beamed at him.

"Thanks, still uncomfortable," you told him, grabbing his hand as they counted down until the cameras were rolling.

You listened to Valentina talk about you, how it wasn't alcohol but liquid death. The man you punched was abusing his power to get away with assaulting people until you punched him. That you weren't as mean as people thought you were. You just sitting there, holding Bob's hand and smiling a tight smile while trying to stay calm. The constant questions, the flashes from the lights, the way they were all staring at you, it made your skin crawl. "That's all the time we have, thank you!" Valentina said and you pulled Bob to stand automatically. You had never been more thankful for Valentina than you do right now.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The change wasn't immediate, the media was still rude but the people you came across were nicer. It felt good, to not be treated horribly by strangers. "Now they see you how I always have," Bob whispered to you one night.

"I thought everyone told you that I was an ass?" You questioned, Bob's head was tucked under your chin as you laid in bed. His arms wrapped around your middle while he rested his cheek on your chest.

"They did, but you always made him quiet. You had me hooked before you even spoke to me," Bob admitted and you smiled wide.

"I love you, Robert," you told him, rubbing your hand down his back and back up again.

"I love you too, y/n," Bob told you, squeezing you just a tad tighter.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[gingerteafairy]

Heyyyyy! Is it possible for you to write where reader is pregnant, just found out and stuff like that? I’d love to see any character but I love Luke, Todd, Colin, Peter❤️❤️

oh, geez. baby fever is gonna kill me someday...

luke cooper x reader

tags n warnings: fluff, language. word count: +700

Things had been off lately — and it hadn’t escaped your boyfriend’s notice for a second. People liked to say Luke Cooper was laid-back to a fault, but they’d be shocked at how closely he watched over you — his uncle, especially, never stopped teasing him about it. One of the first odd things he picked up on was how often you’d excuse yourself to the bathroom several times during movies, locking the door so he wouldn’t hear a thing. That alone was strange; normally, no matter how bad the movie was, you’d cuddle with him till the credits rolled.

But one evening, you’d been gone so long he felt a knot of worry in his chest. Against his better judgment, he padded over and knocked gently on the bathroom door.

“Babe?” His voice was soft at first, but his hand hovered nervously over the handle when he heard a muffled sob from inside.

He tried again, more urgent now. “Hey… open up. Please?”

When there was still no answer, he twisted the knob — surprised to find it unlocked — and pushed the door open. His heart dropped at the sight of you curled up on the bathroom floor, your shoulders shaking as you cried.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He dropped to his knees beside you without a second thought, wrapping his arms around you protectively. You couldn’t even speak — the fear of his reaction lodged in your throat like a stone. Hands trembling, you just pointed at the small plastic stick on the floor.

Luke followed your gesture, and when his eyes landed on the positive pregnancy test, his mind scrambled for every movie scene he’d ever seen like this. But this was real. You were pregnant.

“Oh my God…” he breathed out, reaching for the test with shaky fingers. Your stomach twisted, terrified he might freak out or worse — leave.

“It’s… is it mine?” he blurted, eyes flicking to yours, wide and terrified.

“What?!” you squeaked, letting out a startled laugh despite yourself. “Who else would it be, Luke?”

“I dunno!” He laughed too, but it was high-pitched and strained, as if he’d short-circuited. “You’re gorgeous, okay? What if there’s some — I don’t know — Arnold Schwarzenegger dude in the picture or something and I’m just… me?”

You blinked at him, half amused, half exasperated. “Seriously? You think I’d cheat on you?”

“No! No, no, no — shit, I’m sorry — I didn’t mean—” He ran a hand through his hair, guilt flashing in his eyes. “It’s just — you’ve been so distant and weird lately and you wouldn’t tell me why. I thought maybe you realized I’m… well, a pain in the ass, and found someone better.”

“Oh, Luke…” You sniffled, pushing yourself up so you were kneeling too, cupping his face in your hands. His skin was warm and he was trembling just as much as you. “If I’d known you were this scared of losing me, I’d never have kept this from you.”

“Of course I’m scared,” he whispered, his eyes softening as he brought a hand up to cradle your cheek. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there. “But why didn’t you tell me, baby? I was worried sick.”

“Because… you always say you don’t want kids.” You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes dropped to the floor. “I thought you’d leave.”

“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, pulling you into a tight hug again, burying his face in your neck. He pulled back just enough to meet your teary eyes. “I didn’t plan for this, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna love what’s ours, sweetheart. I love you. And I’m gonna love this baby too. So much.”

“Really?” Your eyes brimmed with fresh tears, a shaky smile spreading across your face when he nodded, his forehead resting against yours.

“Really. No more secrets, okay?” He smiled through his own watery eyes and kissed you deeply, his thumb brushing away your tears. “Thank you. Really. Because now I get to be Don Vito Corleone.”

“Oh God, Luke…” you groaned with a laugh, hiding your face in your hands.

“What?!” he chuckled, his voice bright with relief and warmth. “The Corleones are one of the most iconic families in cinema history. I take my references seriously, babe.”

You could only shake your head, laughing breathlessly as he helped you up from the floor. True to his style, he made sure to show his gratitude the only way he knew how: cuddling you on the couch under a blanket, The Godfather playing in the background, and his arms wrapped tight around you — exactly where you belonged.