#this is not a pairing I write about often

[cherrygirlfriend]

─ IMPORTANT NAMES ☆

☆ pairing: husband!spencer x wife!reader

☆ summary: how your best friend helped your daughter come into the world.

☆ warnings / tags: fluff! SOOOO MUCH GARCIA MY BB! WC: 1.3K

☆ author's note: someone requested a fic about how garcia found out reader’s and spencer’s daughter is named after her, but i wanted to write a fic about how it led to it & how she reacted!! enjoy

SPENCER REID MASTERLIST

you've always believed that you can have multiple soulmates during your lifetime; you found your romantic soulmate in the form of your husband; dr. spencer reid. one of your platonic soulmates though, came in the form of the glittery unicorn-loving ray of sunshine that is penelope garcia.

you met spencer's team / second family a year after you'd gotten together, and although you got along with all of them, the perky woman who showed you pictures of her cat within moments of meeting her became your best friend within weeks of knowing her.

not only did you two go on weekly brunches with bottomless mimosas, random shopping trips for whatever excuse you could find, or spend time trying to find the perfect tea shop, but you went to her for everything, and she, unlike most people, never judged you. not even when you'd had doubts about your relationship with spencer, when you were scared about if the two of you would last due to how often he was gone. she simply listened to you, and gave you the best advice she could.

penelope was the first one you told about spencer proposing to you (of course, derek had gotten there first. he could never keep secrets from her), and you'd asked penelope to be your bridesmaid, the woman squealing in delight for five straight minutes when you asked her, and immediately after accepting, she started squealing about how she wanted to give you the perfect wedding for you two.

spencer had seen penelope as his sister, but almost as soon as you met her, penelope became your sister too.

penelope was also the first one to find out about your... condition. she'd called you when spencer had gotten into a hostage situation, and without thinking, you rushed to the BAU headquarters in quantico, absolutely frantic; they wouldn't even let you in until you called penelope in tears and she came to the lobby and claimed you as her visitor.

"what's going on?" she asked softly as soon as she got you to sit down in her personal batcave, a small frown on her face. you were still sniffling, but you'd managed to get the tears to stop flowing, "reid's been in these kinds of situations before, and you've never been this freaked out."

"if... if something happens to him..." you sniffled, "he'll never know." "he'll never know what? that you love him? he knows- oh."

you interrupted penelope's sentence simply by pressing your hand on your stomach, "you're... wow." "yeah..." you chuckled dryly, "wow." "how far along are you?" "ten weeks. i just found out a few weeks ago. i wanted to keep it a secret from him until the wedding."

"oh, that's so obnoxiously adorable!" penelope exclaimed, taking your hands in hers, "trust me, he's going to be fine. and in a few weeks, you're gonna he married, and you're gonna get to tell him that he's going to become a dad and he'll be over the moon!" penelope pulled you into a hug, "he's always made it home before." she mumbles, "he'll make it home this time."

"alright..." you sniffled, the smell of your best friend's cotton candy-scented perfume strangely comforting, "he's going to be alright..." you told yourself, bursting into laughter at penelope's next words. "and you better make me a godmother!"

penelope was the one who drove you to the hospital when your water broke, ignoring every single traffic law in the state. she was the one who sat next to you as you were going through contractions, who took on the harsh squeezes you gave her hand to redirect the pain.

"alright, they've landed. spencer should be here in... fifteen minutes." she said, "he better be here before this thing comes out of me!!" you groaned in pain, "or i'm going to curse his damn bloodline!" "sweetie, that's your-" "i don't caaaaaare!"

and fourteen minutes later, your husband rushed into the hospital room, out of breath, his forehead sweaty. "i'm so sorry, i'm so sorry..." he mumbled breathily. "thank you for taking care of her gar-" his sentence was interrupted by your groan of pain. penelope bent down and pressed a kiss to your sweat-soaked forehead, "you can do this, hun."

she pried her hand off of yours, and it was soon replaced by your husband's as penelope made her way out of the room, blowing one last kiss at you.

"i'm sorry i wasn't here..." he mumbled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "i'm here now, and whatever you-" "AHHHHHHHHH!"

after a brutal two hours of screaming, epidural, nearly breaking spencer's hand and feeling like you were going to die... you were looking down at the perfect little mixture of you and your husband who had screeched like a siren the moment she came out.

"you wanna invite them in?" you asked with a chuckle, looking at the sleeping baby in your arms. "yeah. yeah." spencer took in a deep breath, leaving you into the hospital room. she was so precious. so tiny. no part of you could believe that you'd grown her, that you'd made her. that she was half you and half the man you loved the most in the world.

you sniffled and heard a soft knock on the door, before spencer's team started piling in one by one, penelope, of course, making sure to get the spot closest to you, holding a stuffed bunny that was bigger than penny, as well as a bouquet of flowers, aww'ing at the little baby.

"so, what's the little one's name?" derek said with a fond smile, and you looked to them with a small smile, "her name is penny." you announced, before looking to spencer, " more specifically... penelope diana reid."

penelope gasped, her hands going to her mouth and her eyes widening into saucers. everyone in the team turned to look at the shocked woman, who, for the first time, was speechless. "pe-penelope?" she squeaked.

"yeah." you looked to her, holding your free hand out for her to take, and she did. "penelope for her godmother, and diana for her grandmother."

even though there was a smile on her face, penelope's eyes glimmered with tears, "can i... can i hold her?" she asked, and you nodded, slowly handing over the swaddled, sleeping baby as your husband made his way to the bed. he took your hand in his and smiled as he looked between penelope and derek, "we... actually had a question for you."

"spencer and i agreed that we could each pick one person to be the godparent." you explained, "and i picked you." spencer said, gesturing to derek, "and i picked you." you chuckled and gestured to penelope, "so, would you do it?" your husband asked.

"of course." the two of them answered almost simultaneously, making them wink at one another. penny ended up being passed around every member, until she finally ended up in your husband's arms, staying there until everyone else except the three of you had left.

"we have a baby." spencer mumbled from the chair next to yours. you chuckled softly, shaking your head, "we have a baby."

only for the peaceful moment to be broken by tiny, loud sobs.

TAGLIST: @purpleplumpudding, @cinnamoncunt, @rafesheaven, @nonietosay

[ddixonsangel]

── .✦ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 ┆ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 !! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

✧ pairing: daryl dixon x fem!reader

✧ contains: fluff and sweetness without end. daryl being an awkward little bug.

✧ warnings & triggers: nothing really, just daryl being daryl. mention of walkers.

✧ era: early seasons!daryl — more specifically season 1, back at the atlanta camp, though some headcanons could be also for the farm & prision arc. (i love with all my heart how this man is at the beginning of the show, he's such a little baby boy).

✧ word count: 0.6k words.

a/n: hey there! it has been a long time, hasn't it? school keeps me busy and stressed, that's why i haven't been able to write anything 😭 i'm sorry if there's any grammatical or spelling error, i wrote this in a rush, but i hope you like it. 🫶🏻

ᡣ𐭩 : early seasons!daryl having a crush on you !

⊹ early seasons!daryl who thinks you're the prettiest girl in camp, even if he'd rather walk into a pit full of walkers than admitting it out loud. he's clearly not good with words, much less with people, but he can't deny that every time he sees you, it makes him feel something flutter in his chest, or rather in his stomach. whatever thing it is, though, it sure bothers him a lot.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who doesn't realize it is actually a crush, —or doesn't want to—, so he decides not to make a big deal out of it and leaves it like some kind of silly atraction towards you. (not like he knows his feelings and emotions anyways).

⊹ early seasons!daryl who finds himself glancing at your form more and more often than he'd thought, and every time he realizes what he's doing, quickly averts his gaze with a frown forming and a blush creeping onto his face. he just hopes that nobody —specially you or merle— has caught him staring.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who's always keeping an eye on you when you go into the woods, whether it is for taking a walk, or for picking up some little flowers. he wants to make sure you're safe and that there are no threats around you.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who absolutely melts into a puddle every time you thank him in that sweet voice of yours for the squirrels he brought to keep everybody fed. his heart starts pumping in his chest so hard that he fears he might be having a heart attack, but none of that happens, instead he just grumbles something inaudible in a gruff tone and walks off to where he's settled with merle, leaving a confused you with a cute pout on your lips.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who's constantly teased by merle about how he's finally got a pretty sweetheart like you, which usually ends up with daryl barking insults and cursers at his brother as he fiercely denies whatever he's thinking.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who's always avoiding you like the plague. he doesn't think he'll be capable of talking to you without being harsh or rude by instinct —or without blushing like a damn teenager—, so he does what it seems to be the most rational thing in these cases—run off when you're close.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who gets grumpier around you. his crush makes him self-conscious, and it comes out as irritation. he might snap or grumble more than usual—not because he's angry, but because he’s frustrated with himself for feeling something he doesn’t know how to handle.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who panics inside when you accidentally brush against him. he's not really fond of physical touch, so when for whatever reason you touch him, he's an absolute mess. he pretends to be unaffected, or even annoyed by it, but internally, it's chaos.

⊹ early seasons!daryl whose brain stops working every time you're really kind to him. a compliment about how good he's with his crossbow? a gentle look for something he did? a worried gaze when you offer him more food? it floors him. he might scoff or roll his eyes, but hours later he’ll be replaying it in his head like it was the only thing that happened that day.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who realizes —more like accepts— that he's actually in love with you after a very long time. but gets scared easily about it because he doesn't want to mess things up with his stupid feelings. deep down, daryl doesn’t think he’s good enough for someone like you, so he holds back, convinced that getting too close will ruin whatever fragile bond you have. he’d rather suffer in silence than risk rejection.

⊹ early seasons!daryl who does nothing about his crush and just settles for the friendship you have—if he can call it that, since you never really have the chance to talk to him properly because he always gets himself lost when he spots you walking towards him.

a/n: i have it bad for this man (who doesn't?)

[randompiecesofwriting]

Don't Be a Stranger

Summary: When your brother doesn’t come back from duty overseas you take it out on the one man your brother never seemed to be without, the one man who showed up on your doorstep to break the news, you took it out on Jack. Now years later you manage to come across him in a random coffee shop and hope you can make amends.

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Reader’s brother is killed in active duty, grief surrounding that is not handled well, Jack is an understanding king tho

Author’s Note: Did I just finish my Robby series yesterday? Yes yes I did. But this idea came to me and I couldn’t not write it so now you all get to suffer the consequences! Honestly I’m very proud of how it came out I’m already thinking about maybe doing more parts because I think there’s some potential here but as always let me know what you guys think!

You weren’t proud of how you responded to your brother’s death, of the person you became.

You pushed people away, you were mean just for the sake of wanting to hurt someone, you isolated, you spiraled, you went through just about every cliché in the book in your grief.

And once you managed to pull yourself out of that hole, once you admitted you needed help and learned where to seek it, you made as many amends as you could, groveled until people gave in purely just to avoid having to hear you apologize again.

You found a new normal, wasn’t better, wasn’t worse, just different. Maybe some of your relationships came out the other end stronger, some surely came back weaker, and you learned to accept that, learned to move on, learned how to be you when all was said and done.

But there was still one person you couldn’t get over. Jack.

He’d been your brother’s best friend while he was over there and while you had never personally met the guy your brother wrote about him often enough you felt like you knew him at least on some level. At some points it felt like every story was told in relation to this mysterious Jack, they all had to involve him in some way, his name was always the second word out of his mouth.

And sure a part of you felt jealous of it at times, that this stranger got to spend more time with your older brother than you did, but at the end of the day you were glad he had someone out there, someone who had his back, or at least that’s what you told yourself with nearly a decade of hindsight.

He’d always said he thought you and Jack would get along, mentioned in one of the last phone calls you had with him that he was thinking about trying to get Jack to visit when he made it back.

In a way you suppose he got his wish.

You knew something was up when a man in uniform, missing a leg, forced himself up onto your porch. When you greeted him with a curious smile and his face stayed stoic. You didn’t hear much beyond his first few words, tuning the whole conversation out after “missing in action”

Jack tried to fill the silence, you could see his lips moving more than hear the words coming out of them, nothing really coming through until he said the words “he was like a brother to me” and you snapped, every ounce of anger, jealousy, hatred pouring out of you at once.

“but he wasn’t”

Speaking for the first time seemed to freeze him physically, Jack clearly not expecting it as every part of him tensed at your words.

And you should’ve backed down, should’ve taken a breath, should’ve just shut the door then. But grief does funny things to a person.

“he wasn’t a brother to you because he was mine” you spit the words at him, and Jack took each without faltering, without blinking, without an ounce of emotion. A part of you now wonders if that made it worse “he was my brother, he was your partner, it was your job to bring him back so where is he?”

You watched him clench his jaw, watched as his gaze never strayed from your own, the man didn’t falter easily under pressure you had to give him that.

“I’m sorry” and even then you acknowledged how gut-wrenchingly heartfelt those two words felt coming out of him, how they felt more like a sucker punch than a condolence.

It wasn’t until then that you did the first smart thing that entire conversation. You shut up. You let his words hang in the air, let them wash over you, let them choke you just a little, before you took a step back and slammed the door in his face.

You aren’t proud of how you handled that conversation, aren’t proud of how you burned the note he left in your mailbox with his number on it, aren’t proud of how you collapsed into yourself after that.

That was why it felt like your entire world came to a complete standstill when you spotted a familiar looking figure through the window of a coffee shop as you passed.

You froze as soon as your gaze fell on him, the woman who had been walking too closely behind you grumbling angerly at the sudden change before shoulder checking you, but you were too caught up to care, because it was undoubtedly him.

He was relaxed at a table, sitting across from someone who was clearly a friend, the two wearing matching scrubs as they talked.

And right away you could tell that the time had been good to him, the past few years changing the man you had met on your porch dramatically.

You watched him and his friend laugh softly, his head coming up to look at the ceiling as he did so and never had you imagined him able to look so light, so alive, so okay.

Your feet were moving before you could think twice, carrying you into the coffee shop before you could talk yourself out of it.

But as you approached his table you couldn’t keep the doubts at bay, thoughts swirling as you started to convince yourself that he wouldn’t want to see you, that he wouldn’t accept your apology, that you would only bring him back to that day of your brother’s death.

You were speaking before you could let any of it falter your voice.

“Jack?”

He pulled his eyes from the person across form the table quickly, clearly startled to hear his name but the edges of his mouth still stayed ticked up from whatever the other man had said.

The smile hadn’t completely dimmed by the time he met your gaze but you could practically see his brain try and work through who you were. How he knew you. You couldn’t exactly blame him it had been a few years.

As soon as it clicked though it was like the man had exploded, He was up and on his feet so fast the chair made a loud screech on the floor.

Both you and the man he was sitting with cringed at the noise, but Jack hardly noticed it. Instead, his focus was solely on you. “Y/N?”

You smiled softly and nodded your head in response, and Jack was reaching out and pulling himself back within the same motion at the confirmation. Arms not wide enough for a hug but hands splayed as if to simply grasp at you. To confirm if you were real or perhaps to offer some sort of condolence, you weren’t really sure.

His hand came back almost awkwardly to the nape of his neck, the other resting on his hip as if to ground himself as he spoke again “you-uh- you look good”

And you couldn’t help but notice the sudden change in him. The way he seemed so unsure of himself suddenly. The way he seemed to shrink on the spot. Suddenly much less the relaxed man you saw through the window and instead much more the man who had knocked on your door all those years ago.

“So do you Jack”

And you weren’t really lying. The man before you looked so much healthier than the one from years past, stronger, sturdier. You were almost proud to see it.

He studied you for a moment. A slight frown on his face as he crossed his arms and cast his head in a slight tilt “how are you holding up”

You smiled at the concern “I’m good. Better” He lightened slightly at the statement but didn’t seem to fully trust it. Eyes scanning you briefly as if he could read through you. “Been going to therapy, doing some work at the VA. It’s been good for me”

Finally he relented with a satisfied nod, a guard dog relinquishing duty. You took a deep breath, giving yourself a moment before speaking “I owe you an apology-“

You barely got the word out before he was interrupting you with a scoff “No you don’t”

You huffed slightly at the dismissal but expected nothing less “Really I do”

“You don’t” and he said it so conclusively, so definitively, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know most people just let it go after one insistence”

He smirked at that, shrugging before answering “well I’m not most people”

The next line slipped off your tongue before you could stop it, the well-meaning jab coming so naturally you didn’t think to question it at first “I don’t know how he could ever stand you”

The mood soured immediately, a seriousness you hadn’t meant to bring hanging over the interaction like a storm cloud that made you want to crawl into a hole. “Jack I‘m so sorry-“

He held up a single hand to stop you, a lopsided smile on his face as he stared you down for a second before responding with a huff “no don’t you’re-uh-you’re not exactly wrong”

Biting your lip you debated pushing the topic, debated making him let you apologize for that before deciding ultimately to let it slide “will you at least let me apologize for before? If not for your sake, then for mine?”

He was silent for a moment, sizing you up, analyzing before wordlessly giving you a nod, an invitation, an olive branch he didn’t seem to think either of you needed.

“I really am sorry for what I said to you that day” you started before he could change his mind, relieved and yet also unnerved to find that his gaze never once strayed from yours “I was grieving and angry and I took that out on you and that’s absolutely not fair. You were grieving too and instead of letting both of us lean on someone who knew him I was vindictive and mean and you didn’t deserve that” the words were practiced, you’d even written them down at several points, but they were no less heartfelt, no less true “Jack I’m so sorry for how I treated you that day”

His answer was quick and infallible “I forgave you the moment you shut the door in my face Y/N”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly at that, shaking your head but smiling nonetheless “I didn’t deserve it then but thank you”

And for a second there was nothing but silence, nothing but the two of you taking a moment to size the other person up, to recognize how much the other had grown, to see the kind of change the grief had brought each, before Jack was breaking it “Do you want to join us for a coffee?”

It was only then that you remembered there was another person at the table, a person whose conversation you had completely interrupted by walking in, a person who had his face resting comfortably on his palm as he looked back and forth between Jack and you with rapt attention, a sly smirk on his face as he observed.

“I’m so sorry” you couldn’t help but blush as the reality of the situation hit you, eyes bouncing almost frantically between this person and Jack “I promise I didn’t mean to interrupt”

“No interruption” Jack promised as he placed his hands on the back of his chair, almost seeming to offer it to you.

“I’m Y/N” you ignored the invitation completely, offering a small wave to the person on the other side of the table awkwardly.

“Robby” he grinned back at you, already moving to stand up “you can have my seat just tell me what you want I’ll grab it”

“No no” you ushered him back down into his seat, silently preying that both men would just sit down and leave you to bow gracefully from the conversation “really you’re both fine I need to get going I just wanted to say hi to a friendly face”

Jack frowned slightly at your answer, taking a step closer, looking down at you with slight concern “are you sure?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking him off easily “really I appreciate it but I should go” you hesitated for a moment, debating briefly your next words before forcing yourself to continue “If it’s not too much though could we talk at some point? Doesn’t even need to be about him just in general?”

He smiled easily at that, nodding softly “I’d like that”

“Good that’s-“ You smiled back up at him gladly, cutting yourself off as you started to dig through your bag “do either of you have a pen?”

Robby beat you to finding yours easily, wordlessly offering you one from his pocket with a smile.

You sent him a whispered thank you before grabbing a napkin and starting to write “I- we’re going to say lost here instead of destroyed- but I lost your number way back then but here’s mine just reach out any time”

You offered the napkin to Jack who took it gingerly, studying the numbers for a second before tucking the paper into his pocket securely with the hint of a smile on his face.

“If you don’t want to talk about him or if it puts you back in a place you don’t want to be I totally understand”

“I’ll call you” and it was the way he said it, so assured, so insistent, so confident, that it kept you from second guessing yourself, from feeling guilty, from trying to offer him an out.

“I hope you do”

There was another silence, another moment where you and Jack just looked at one another, just appreciated one another’s presence, before the call of the barista knocked you out of it.

Snapping your attention back to Robby you put a smile on your face “It was really nice to meet you Robby I’m sorry again”

“Don’t be” he shrugged you off easily with a soft smile of his own “it was nice to meet you too”

Turning back to Jack you offered him a slightly softer smile, giving him one more look over before nodding “don’t be a stranger yeah?”

“I won’t” he assured you easily, offering you one final nod before you extracted yourself from his bubble, taking one slightly wobbly step back before forcing yourself to pivot away from the two and out the door.

Only after exiting the coffee shop did you feel like you could properly breathe, giving yourself one second to properly collect yourself before taking off down the sidewalk, biting back the grin that threatened to spill, just barely catching Robby eagerly punch Jack’s shoulder with a grin on his face from the shop window as you passed by, Jack barely giving his friend the time of day as he stared down at the napkin in his hand.

[orangesaek]

'choose me, PLEASE' | simp Haechan

summary: Haechan’s entire brain rewired after that single sentence sweet, shy, innocent Jisung oh-so nonchalantly said while eating a burger, and now? He’s on a mission.

this story is a sequel of:

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ ‘choose me’ ʕ •ᴥ• ʔ ♡

pairings: haechan x afab!reader┊genre: fluff (with a sprinkle of comedy), hc is a hard simp who values consent & is patient┊wc: 2.8k┊cw: minimal cursing/swearing

a/n: thank u to the anon who motivated me to write this sequel 🫶

Lee Donghyuck, also known to the general public as Haechan, menace, chaotic but charming pos, vocal king, and professional yapper, was many things.

But above all?

He was head-over-heels, irrevocably, unapologetically, pathetically in love with you.

And damn, did everyone know it.

“You’ve literally been smiling at your phone for the past ten minutes,” Mark muttered, balancing a chopstick between his upper lip and nose for some unknown reason.

Haechan didn’t even look up.

“Can you blame me? She asked me out. ME! I was the chosen one.”

Renjun rolled his eyes. “You act like you didn’t spend months soft-launching her in every Instagram story and thirsting in her DMs.”

“Exactly! And all that hard work paid off,” Haechan declared, holding his heart like a Disney Princess who just found true love.

“This isn’t just a win for me. This is a win for all persistent, chaotic men out there.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Chenle snorted.

“Let him be,” Jaemin grinned. “He’s fucking in love.”

And yeah, he really fucking was.

After months of him yapping at you in hallways, showing up with your favorite drinks unannounced, and turning every conversation into a chance to make you laugh, you had reached out first for a date.

Haechan had been spinning since.

But he wasn’t blind. He knew your reputation very well.

People liked to talk. “Tinder girl” or “serial swiper”, as many people call you. And while it bugged him sometimes, he never said anything.

He liked you for you. Every unbothered, clever, sarcastic, onion-loving bit of you.

But then Jisung—sweet, shy, innocent Park Jisung who had zero idea what kind of bomb he was dropping—uttered a single sentence that rewired Haechan’s entire brain.

“Did you know she deleted Tinder.”

Haechan stared at Jisung like he had just grown a second head like the mythical creatures you two often talked about. 

“What?”

“She deleted Tinder,” Jisung repeated, mid-bite of his burger.

“Said she’s not interested in dating around anymore, just seeing where it goes now with you.” he added, nonchalantly.

A hush fell over the lunch table.

Mark choked on his rice.

Chenle gasped so loudly, an old lady at the next table turned to look.

Jaemin screamed into a napkin.

Renjun and Jeno stared at Haechan like he was about to spontaneously combust.

And he kind of did.

“She deleted Tinder…” Haechan repeated, eyes wide. “For me???”

Jisung shrugged as he took another bite of his burger.

“I guess so.”

It was at that moment that Haechan knew he needed to step up his game. Again.

Not to win you over, though. You were already on your way to being his.

But to show you that he noticed.

That he cared about every little thing.

Your likes, your dislikes. Your stress levels, your bad back, your caffeine dependency, your hatred of soggy onions.

ALL of it.

So when he heard you were skipping lunch to prep for the university festival?

He rallied the squad.

You were sweating, covered in paint, and very close to committing minor arson when you heard it.

“Y/N!”

You turned around mid-rant after some freshman had dropped a whole box of flyers and froze.

Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Jaemin, Chenle, and Jisung were all standing in the middle of the hallway, looking way too clean and composed to be real.

“What the hell?”

“We’re here to help,” Mark said casually, already rolling up his sleeves.

“Are you serious? Why?”

“Because we like you,” Jaemin said with a wink.

“Because you clearly need it,” Renjun added, stepping over a paintbrush.

“Also because Haechan threatened us,” Jeno deadpanned.

“Where is Haechan?” you asked, suspicious.

“He’ll be here,” Chenle grinned. “Had to pick something up.”

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t argue. You were too tired, and honestly, you needed the help.

But of course, nothing was ever simple when the boys were around.

Because within five minutes, a group of university girls (probably from the next booth over) had started coming over where you were. Smiling, twirling their hair, leaning in to 'ask for help'.

“Hey, can you help me lift this? You look so strong,” one of them purred at Jeno.

“Uh… I have a girlfriend.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Chenle whispered. Jeno elbowed him in the ribs.

“Renjun, by any chance, are you single?” another girl asked, practically batting her eyelashes. Renjun didn’t even look up.

“Emotionally unavailable.”

“Hi, what’s your name?” someone tried with Jaemin.

“Sorry, I’m in love with someone else,” he said brightly, then muttered, “Who I haven’t even met yet, but I’m manifesting.”

But then the worst one turned to Haechan, who had just arrived—sweaty, breathless, arms holding a large paper bag.

“Hey, Haechan. I was wondering if we can go on a date after the festival?”

He didn’t miss a beat.

“No, I'm taken. Very taken. Stupidly, pathetically taken.”

The girl scoffed. “Oh, you serious?”

“Yeah. Serious enough that I’d reject you in this life, the next one, and every damn lifetime I get after that,” Haechan said, not even sparing her a glance as he pushed past.

He made a beeline for you.

“Did you think I’d let you starve again?”

You turned, surprised, as he dropped a paper bag in front of you.

Inside was your favorite food—with extra onions, just the way you liked it. Your go-to dessert and coffee from that café a good thirty-minute walk away. Energy drinks, and pain relief patches.

“For your back,” he added, holding them up proudly.

“Because I know it acts up when you’re stressed.”

You stared at him, the noise around you fading in the background.

“What the fuck,” you whispered. “How do you remember all this?”

He just grinned, boyish and cocky and painfully attractive.

“I just do.”

Hours later, when the festival prep was done and the guys had retreated to their dorms, Haechan found himself on your couch, legs tucked up, phone discarded somewhere.

“You wanna eat dinner?” he asked casually.

“I’m too tired to chew,” you groaned from where you were face-down in a pillow.

He clicked his tongue. “You can’t sleep on an empty stomach.”

“You gonna force-feed me?”

“I’m gonna cook for you, actually.”

“You can cook???”

“I can cook ramen,” he said, rummaging through your empty fridge and pathetic excuse of a pantry. 

“You need to go grocery shopping.”

“No time.”

“We’ll go together this weekend.”

You didn’t argue.

Eventually, he found ramen and made it exactly the way you liked it. You took one bite and stared at him like he had just performed a miracle.

“What the—how the fuck did you make it perfect?”

With a smug smile, he slid his phone across the table.

“Notes app. Took notes during our FaceTime calls. Every time you made ramen, I watched, listened, and learned.”

You stared at him in disbelief. 

“You have a Notes app entry dedicated to my ramen?” you said as you read the very detailed notes he took.

1. Add only half of the seasoning packet after 2 minutes of boiling 2. Add sesame oil; 1 and a half teaspoons only 3. Boil noodles for EXACTLY 3 min & 30 seconds; no more, no less!!!!!! 4. Turn stove off, add egg immediately, cover and leave to cook for 1 minute using residual heat 5. MOST IMPORTANT❗❗❗ Serve my 🤞future wife 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👰🏻🤵🏻🤞 with love 💖 affection 🥰 adoration 💕😍💘

“Don’t act surprised. You know I’m a hard simp for you.”

You laughed, loud and real. God, he loved that sound. 

The two of you talked for hours. About nonsense, about dreams, about nothing and everything. And as you spoke, Haechan couldn’t stop staring.

The way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved. All your hand gestures. The way you tilted your head when you were about to say something smart-ass-y.

He was so screwed. So fucking screwed.

When it was time for him to leave, you walked him to the door, your voice softer than usual.

“Thanks for today, seriously… you were amazing.”

He shrugged, trying to seem cool despite the way his heart was screaming. 

“Anything for you.”

You stepped in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

His brain shut down.

“That’s for being sweet,” you murmured, visibly blushing.

He opened his mouth to say something. Maybe a joke, maybe a plea for another kiss.

But before he could even get the words out, you leaned in again and kissed him on the lips.

It was so sweet, so soft, so warm that Haechan felt all fuzzy inside.

Then you pulled back with a shy smile.

“You deserved that. Good night, Lee Donghyuck.”

Haechan walked home that night giggling like a damn schoolgirl, skipping down the sidewalk.

He didn’t sleep that night. He just couldn’t.

Too busy replaying the kiss. Too busy falling in love all over again.

Haechan was dead serious about grocery shopping with you that weekend. He never forgot the image of your empty fridge and pantry.

From the moment the shopping cart hit the tile floor of the supermarket, however, he knew he had made a mistake.

Not about coming here with you. Never about that.

But bringing along the rest of NCT DREAM? That was asking for chaos. 

And they delivered.

Renjun and Chenle were three seconds away from a fistfight over which brand of dumplings “tasted like home".

Mark was trying to prevent Jisung from dumping eight family-size frozen pizzas into the cart.

Jaemin had disappeared somewhere near the meat section.

And Jeno… well, Jeno was quietly loading protein bars.

In the middle of it all was you, trying so hard not to lose your mind. Eyes sharp, sleeves rolled, your phone out with a list, and your tolerance hanging by a thread.

Haechan couldn’t stop staring at you in awe though.

You were tired, stressed, beautiful. His (even if you hadn’t officially said it yet; he just believed in manifestation). And he had never wanted to take care of someone more in his life.

He drifted toward you, grinning. “You good, baby?”

You let out a sigh.

“I just saw Jisung try to eat a dried squid like a snack.”

“Protein,” Haechan nodded seriously. 

“You all have one brain cell and it’s constantly overheating.”

“And yet,” he said, bumping your shoulder playfully, “you keep showing up.”

You shook your head, but your smile tugged at the corners. He caught it, always did.

And then, he started his little mission.

While the guys fought over snacks and Jisung questioned the difference between ‘plain yogurt' and ‘Greek yogurt’, Haechan was pulling things from your cart and swapping them.

He snuck in quality produce, whole grains, probiotic drinks. Things he knew you never bought for yourself because they were too expensive or felt unnecessary.

“You’re not sneaky,” you whispered, catching him replacing your soda with vitamin water.

“I’m caring,” he replied. “There’s a difference.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re unhealthy. Let me love you properly.”

He meant it.

At checkout, you tried to pay. And Haechan—full-time menace, part-time boyfriend hopeful—snatched your wallet with reflexes born from years of being nosy.

“I got it.”

“Haechan—”

“Nope, I’m paying. You deserve nice things. Like salmon and A5 Wagyu.”

“It’s a grocery run, not a honeymoon—”

“Too late. I’m already emotionally invested in your fridge, your health, and your life.”

He said it so confidently, so shamelessly, the cashier actually giggled.

Haechan didn’t care. He tapped his card like it was nothing and slung the bags over his shoulders like a knight delivering offerings to his queen.

Back at your apartment, you both unpacked in comfortable silence. The rest of the guys had gone back to their dorms, and now it was just you and him.

Haechan placed your drinks in the fridge in rainbow order while you arranged the dry goods.

He felt good here, like he always belonged.

He snuck glances at you as you folded and stacked, moving around the space he now knew better than his own dorm kitchen. You looked peaceful, your brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

God, he was down bad.

Once everything was away, he leaned on the counter and gave you a look.

That look.

“What?” you asked, cautious.

“Can I kiss you?”

Your shoulders relaxed just a little. 

“You’re asking?”

“I just want to make sure,” he said.

“Because this one’s not just for being cute... or for making Mark gag. This one’s because I’m into you. Deep. I want this to be meaningful.”

You smiled softly at him and nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Haechan didn’t think the moment could get any better after you said yes to the kiss.

He had asked because, of course, he would. He should.

That was just who he was with you: careful, patient, a little hopeless. Always waiting for the green light. And when you gave it with that soft smile on your face, he swore the earth tilted under his feet.

The kiss had been slow, sweet, and tender. And now, you sat next to him on your couch, your fingers still tangled with his, your heart steady but loud in the quiet of the apartment.

Then you looked at him, and he saw something shift in your eyes. Something big.

“Haechan…” you called softly.

“Can I be your girlfriend?”

His heart slammed in his chest.

He froze, blinking as if he hadn’t heard you right. But before he could say anything, you kept going.

“I think you’re the one I’ve been looking for all along. And I don’t know if it’s too late, but I really regret not making the effort to get to know you better earlier... I wasted so much time dating shitty men who couldn’t even treat me like a person… or see me the way you've always seen me.”

His chest ached, but you weren’t done. 

“You were always there. Holding space for me... never asking for anything. And now, looking at you, I just—I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. You’re the best plot twist of my life.”

He swore time stood still.

“I’m sorry I made you wait this long. I’m sorry I was out there swiping left and right while you were just… quietly being everything I ever needed. Thank you for sticking with me, Lee Donghyuck.”

And then—

“I love you,” Haechan blurted.

The words slipped out so fast, so soft, he barely noticed he said them aloud until your eyes widened.

He didn’t even mean to blurt it—he was just overflowing with so much love for you. Shocked. Elated. Completely gone.

You finally chose him.

He took a shaky breath, calming his racing heart.

“I didn’t say it because I wanted anything back,” he murmured.

“I just… I’ve loved you for so long without needing you to love me too. But now you’re here saying all this… it feels like I finally got to wake up in the dream I’ve been stuck in for a long time.”

You stared at him, visibly flustered now, lips parted like you couldn’t figure out what to do with yourself. Your eyes flicked everywhere, anywhere but his, like his confession shut your brain off.

He chuckled softly. “You’re shy now? After all that?” he teased, leaning in just enough to nudge your nose with his. 

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say anything like that?”

You couldn’t hide the obvious blush creeping up your face anymore, and with a small noise, you grabbed him and hugged him tightly, arms around his waist like you needed to hide in him.

Haechan melted immediately, arms coming around you, a huge smile tugging at his lips it almost hurt.

“God, you’re so cute,” he whispered into your hair.

“You’re done for, you know that? I’m gonna spoil you so bad, you’ll forget Tinder ever existed.”

You let out a muffled laugh against his chest.

And that’s when it finally hit him, the absurdity of it all.

“Oh my god, the guys owe me so much money.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, confused.

“They all said I was delusional,” he said, dramatically rolling his eyes. 

“That I’d stay your unofficial simp until I died. Jeno even bet me an entire month’s allowance that I’d never get past friend zone.”

You burst out laughing, and he grinned, leaning in like he was letting you in on a secret.

“But look at me now,” he whispered.

“Right here, with the girl who chose me.”

He kissed your cheek once, then twice for good luck, then smiled into your skin. 

“I can’t wait to tell Jeno. I’m asking for payment in both hard cash and public humiliation.”

You giggled and leaned into him again, cheeks warm, heart full of happiness.

He was still Haechan. Dramatic, ridiculous, absolutely in love.

But now, he's officially yours.

accepting requests atm ₍ᐢ._.ᐢ₎♡

[absinthe-over-tea]

either way it's gonna || the pitt

pt 2 <<prev • next>>

pairing: jack abbott x f!resident!reader warnings: age gap (older man/younger woman), probably lots of medical inaccuracies, brief mentions of rehab and miscarriage a/n: Did I stay up until 2 a.m. to post this bc Jack Abbot and The Pitt have fully taken over my brain? Yes, yes, I did. This story is just getting started and I hope to keep posting updates throughout the week as I have time to write, so let me know if y'all want me to start a tag list?

As predicted, Robby was on the roof nursing a beer. Though at least tonight he was on this side of the railing. 

“Should I be worried about how often I find you up here these days?” Before PittFest a little over a month ago, it was rare for Robby to come up to the roof unless he was looking for Jack. Now, he was up here more nights than not. 

“You sound like Heather.” 

“Dr. Collins is a smart woman.” 

They both stood there leaning against the railing in silence, staring out over the skyline of downtown Pittsburgh in the distance. Jack knew better than to push Robby for a real answer. If he wanted to talk about what happened today, he would. If not, Jack was content to spend a few minutes in silence before what was sure to be another hectic shift. 

The sun was starting to set, and the soundtrack of the city was starting to morph from day to night — honking from rush hour commuters replaced by live music and happy hour laughter. The bar down the block that the day shift residents were always heading to after shift was playing some new pop song that Jack had heard too many times on the radio. He wondered briefly if you would head there after today’s shift with the others, or if you were the type to keep work and your personal life in two completely separate boxes. 

“So, I met your new resident downstairs,” Jack broke the silence. 

Robby’s eyes cut over to him, one eyebrow raised in that annoying Robby way that meant he was reading into something Jack would really rather him not. 

“Yeah, I needed a backfill for Langdon, and Gloria only made me promise half my soul in exchange. She’s a transfer from Mercy.” 

“She any good?” 

He tried to sound casual, unaffected — just an attending asking another attending about a new resident. But the way Robby fully turned to look at Jack suggested that he was unsuccessful. He pointedly ignored the growing smirk on his friend’s face. 

“Very. Calm under pressure, quick to diagnose, generous with the interns and med students. She’ll be an asset. Gloria actually smiled when she looked at her resumé, amd I didn’t know she was even capable of anything other than a disappointed frown.”

Jack just nodded slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the skyline as Robby continued to study him with his arms crossed over his chest and hip propped up against the railing. 

“I can’t tell if you’re asking because you want to sleep with her or because you want to steal her for the night shift.” 

“Oh fuck off, I’m not trying to steal her,” Jack rolled his eyes. He’d technically stolen Ellis away from day shift after her intern year, and Robby still hadn’t let it go. And even if Jack was plotting to steal you to add to the night shift roster, it’d be fair game. Night shift was even more understaffed than the day shift. 

“So you’re trying to sleep with her then?” 

Jack nearly gave himself whiplash turning to glare at Robby. “No, I’m not trying to—that’s not why I—Christ, Robby, she’s like half my age!” 

Robby barked out an amused laugh, shoulders shaking with what could only be described as unabashed glee while Jack sputtered out his response. “That must have been one hell of a first impression, Brother. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this flustered.” 

“I’m not flustered. Forget I said anything. Maybe I do want to steal her for the night shift,” he grumbled. “Get someone to keep Shen on his toes.” 

“Whatever you say, man. God, I need that after today. Thanks.” He pushed off from the railing and headed back to the door inside, still chuckling to himself. Jack followed behind him with a deep sigh, regretting almost every life choice that led him to becoming friends with this asshole. 

*** 

You liked working at The Pitt. It was a faster pace than Mercy. More cases, higher stakes, less oversight. Given how often you saw Gloria following around a visibly annoyed Robby, her heels clacking rapidly against the vinyl tiling, you suspected that last bit was thanks to him shielding the ED from higher influences. 

Robby was a great boss, and Dana ran a tight ship. Plus, there was a real sense of camaraderie between the staff that you didn’t realize you were missing before. It’s always a red flag when an HR department tells you that a workplace is “like a family,” and you thankfully hadn’t heard anyone say that during your interview process at PTMC. But you also sort of felt like it might be true in this case. 

The Pitt was sort of a family. A wildly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. And you’d been in desperate need of one. 

Collins was a tough chief resident, but she was constantly looking out for everyone else. Princess and Perlah may endlessly bully poor Whittaker, who was hands-down the most unlucky person you’d ever met in your life, but you’d seen them both slide a piece of candy across the counter toward him on numerous occasions when he was having the kind of shift that left him cycling through multiple sets of scrubs. Santos could be a pain in the ass, but she also didn’t hesitate to throw herself in between Mel and a patient who was getting a little too aggressive.

And by the end of your first month on the job, they’d brought you into the fold, too. 

You and Collins got close quickly. During your first week, you’d accidentally stumbled across her crying in the stairwell. You’d sat down with her quietly, just so she wouldn’t be alone, and after shift, she told you about her miscarriage and the case that had triggered her tears earlier in the day. You told her about breaking down in the ambulance bay after the kid whose father accidentally pushed them down the stairs during a bender. She wasn’t a lesser doctor because a case got to her; you all had your shit, and in the end, it made you better doctors. 

The guys invited you to join in on the betting board — something Mercy most certainly did not have. Everyone bet on everything, but there was also a mason jar at the nurses station labeled “coffee stash,” and every single person who won money from the pool shoved a few bills into the jar from their winnings. Dana used it for cafe coffee runs on hard shifts and beer runs after good ones. 

Santos and Mel always invited you out for drinks after shift, even though you said no more often than not so you could visit your mom before visiting hours ended. Robby fist bumped you after successful cases you worked together. Princess told you about the unofficial bet the nurses had going on about Javadi and Mateo. 

Things were…good. Great, even. 

And then there was Dr. Abbot. 

You’d been so fucking embarrassed after that first meeting — snapping at him like he was an intern and then rambling like a moron before essentially running away. The absolute height of professionalism. 

But he didn’t seem to hold it against you. If anything, it seemed that unfortunate introduction had somehow endeared you to the stoic night shift attending. You weren’t sure if it was borne from how you handled that code, the bumbling apology after, or the ironic duality of the two interactions happening back-to-back (you really hoped it was the former). But the next time you were both working on the same patient, he’d handed you a pair of iris scissors and walked you through your first-ever emergency lateral canthotomy. 

After, he’d given you a proud smile. “Hell of a job, doctor. You just saved this man’s eye.” 

You didn’t get to work with him every day, only on the days he came in early for his shift or you stayed late to wrap up a case or catch up on paperwork. But the occasions when your time in the ED did overlap, you found yourself gravitating toward him. He was gruff, no-nonsense. He scared the shit out of the interns, and the nurses all had stories about him Macgyvering procedures. But he was also a phenomenal doctor and a patient teacher. Had a clear soft spot for vets and kids. 

And yeah, okay, he was unfairly handsome. You weren’t above admitting that to yourself. The corded muscles along his forearms, broad shoulders, the constant five o’clock shadow, the salt and pepper hair grown out just long enough to start to curl, the slight rasp in his voice. It was a very specific combination that caused a weird swooping sensation in your belly every time you locked eyes with him. 

You asked Collins about him at the bar one night, three whiskey diet cokes deep and unable to hold the question back. 

“What about him? He's the most senior night shift attending. Great doctor. Surprisingly good teacher, given the whole ‘ED cowboy’ reputation. He’s worked at The Pitt for… 7 years now, I think? Obvious workaholic, given how often he comes in early and stays late.” 

“I don’t mean what’s in his personnel file, Heather," you say, exasperated. You wanted to know what he was like, his hobbies outside of work, if he was single...

“Then what did you mean?” 

“I don’t know, something that’s not in his personnel file? I know him and Robby are friends.” 

She slumped down deeper in the booth, her legs stretching across until her feet rested on your side of the booth. “And why would that mean I know anything about him? Do I look like Princess and Perlah on the gossip squad to you?” 

You leveled an unamused look at her, one that said, Do you really want me to lay out exactly why I think you would know all about Jack because he and Robby are friends? 

She sighed dramatically, putting her hands up in surrender. “He’s a combat vet. Afghanistan. Three tours as a medic before an IED ended his military career. He wears a prosthetic, though he does a pretty good job of keeping it hidden at the hospital. Lately, him and Robby do this weird post-shift hand-off thing on the roof, which is morbid and more than a little concerning. He’s a widower; further details unclear.”

“Shit.” The liquor buzzing through your system prevented you from saying anything more eloquent. Heather just nodded in agreement. 

That briefly brought the mood down, silence stretching between you in the booth. Your mind wandered to Dr. Abbot. He’d be at the hospital right now, rounding on patients. It was late enough that there might be a lull. You wondered what he was like during those periods of downtime. Was he restless, constantly finding something to keep him busy, or did he relish a chance for a break to get some peace and quiet? Was he more relaxed with his night shift crew? Did he have secret jokes with the nurses? Did he give that small, proud smile when Ellis or Walsh pulled off a successful procedure under his tutelage? 

God, the whiskey was really making you pathetic tonight. 

“So, traumatized, tired, self-loathing older men. That’s your type?” Heather’s voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts. 

You thought about denying it. It’s not like anything would ever happen between you anyway — he was an attending and older and a fucking widower, apparently. It was just an innocent work crush; something to keep your mind occupied during shift lulls and stilted visits with your mom. 

But then she waggled her eyebrows with a smug, shit-eating grin on her face, and you knew lying would be pointless. Instead, you threw a straw wrapper at her and shot her a mock glare. “Shut up, you’re one to talk.” 

She dodged the wrapper easily, sitting up with a burst of energy and demanding you to tell her everything. You were going to need another whiskey diet.

[animelovelover123]

Hii! So I’m new to writing requests, but would you like to write headcanons about Sparda boys + V (if you’d like but not necessarily) reacting to their love interest wearing their clothes? Anyway I hope you’re having a nice day! :)

DMC - Wearing His Clothes

Pairings: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, Nero, & V x Reader

Synopsis: One thing that I kind of struggled with in this one is being vague about reader’s body shape. When people hear the concept of “stealing boyfriend’s clothes”, typically the first image that comes to mind is a girl wearing a hoodie too big for her. But not everyone/everyone's OC is a petite female. I didn’t want to exclude men, fluffy people, muscular people, curvy people, etc, so I have to keep things vague.

I originally planned to write out scenes, but I feel like the reaction of the boys, generally, would change depending on how their partner fits their clothes, so instead I did this. Hope it’s okay ^^;

Dante

Dante will say that you're just trying to entice him or tease you that you are too lazy to do laundry, not that he exactly has the right to talk.

What he does not admit, though, is how much he loves seeing you in his clothes.

It can be sexy, like when you wear something of his that is tight on you or revealing, like the coat he wore when he was first setting up shop, but more often it is comforting.

There is a sweet domesticity to you wearing his clothes. Whether they are tight on you, too big, fit well or are a bit awkward on your body, you wearing his things makes your relationship feel so much stronger than it has ever felt before.

What is yours is mine, and mine is yours, that's a marriage thing, right?

It’s hard for Dante to explain or understand, but if he had to sum it up in one sentence, he would say that you wearing his clothes makes him feel like you care and want to stick with him for a long time. And with his track record with loved ones, you staying with him is all he needs.

Reboot Dante

Dante pretty much always assumes that you wearing his clothes is an invitation for sex.

When he comes home to find you wearing a pair of his pants must mean you missed him and want him in your pants ASAP.

You wearing his coat out and about must mean you are staking a claim on him and want him to show everyone who he belongs to.

You slip his shirt on after sex must mean you're raring to go again.

And you know, you wearing his jacket while you fuck, maybe even give you unloaded Ebony and Ivory to hold and point at him with, now that sounds like and fucking amazing night.

Vergil

Vergil does not own that many clothes, so when you take some of his, he is not very impressed.

More often than not, he will tell you to give them back and to wear your own clothes, they actually look good on you unlike his thick, heavy, armored clothes.

Despite this, if he sees you trembling from the cold or fear of demons, he is quick to shrug off his coat and drape it around your shoulders. He’ll even insist on buttoning it up if your body shape allows it.

And you have also woken up from a few impromptu naps to find his coat draped over you like a blanket. If you try to call him sweet or something of the like for doing that, though, he will brush it off as you being incompetent and helpless without him.

Reboot Vergil

Vergil’s clothes are almost all tailor made so no matter what, they are not going to fit you properly. They are going to bunch up and be strained in odd places.

Vergil thinks that, though on the rare occasion ill-fitting clothes works for you, more often than not they make you look frumpy, which is a shame because you are attractive, but that doesn't come through in his own clothes.

He would rather you wear your own clothes.

However, if you really are determined to wear his clothes, and for some reason his loose pajamas are not enough, he will invest in some stretchier articles of clothing, like a turtleneck winter sweater, that can fit pretty much any body type. He can make it work, and the aura of joy and comfort you exude when you confiscate it is worth it.

Nero

Before Nero awakens his demon side, he has the typical response of seeing someone wear your clothes without warning or reason; a bit annoyed, confused why you can’t wear your own stuff, but also doesn't see it as that big of a deal as long as you give it back and don’t wreck it. At most, he may think it's a bit cute or hot, depending on how you fill it out, but all that will do is make him blush and make him look away.

Once his demon side comes in, things start to change.

His sense of smell gets stronger, and you wearing his clothes makes your scents mix together in this perfect way. It was similar to the scent created when the two of you cuddled the morning after sex. It is the smell of comfort, peace, and love.

It is also a mark of connection. When you wore his clothes, humans could see, and demons could smell, that he was your partner. And if they knew anything about him, they knew it was also a warning to not get too close to you.

Nero unconsciously makes a habit of rotating through a few choice tops and leaving them out on the couch or a counter. Somewhere you will find it, somewhere it can beckon you to put it on so you both can feel that connection a bit more.

V

V has a particular style that, though not really good for borrowing and lazing around in, is more suited for social events or simply wanting to be more fashionable. As such, permission is more often requested, or you ask where a specific article of clothing or accessory is because it would complete your outfit.

V enjoys this aspect of your relationship. There was a sense of pride in you liking his clothing and accessories enough to want to borrow them, and it was fun styling outfits together.

And couples outfits, though being a delicate balance, were something you two pulled off amazingly.

V also wishes to borrow some of your clothes and accessories, if that is alright with you. Even if your style is completely different from his, working it into his outfit can be a fun challenge.

And every time he sees you wearing his clothes, especially one of his rings, he thinks about how badly he wants to get you that one, specially made ring and slip it onto your finger.

[kirietown]

Cheater Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

Pairing: Mark Grayson x f!reader x Rex Splode

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time, boy likes girl, girl has a shitty boyfriend, shitty boyfriend might be a little bi-curious— it’s really nothing new.

Content: no threesome or direct mark/rex interactions unfortunately, P in V sex, mentions of cheating, pussy eating, “accidental” cum eating, cream pie, unsafe sex, canon compliant kate slander, mark is low key soft yandere coded? (I can’t help it), mark, rex & reader all kind of suck!

18+

Word Count: 3K

a/n: one shot, though I think I’ll write drabbles for this dynamic,— I picture them eventually becoming a reluctant triad (I was really thinking of challengers when writing this) lol,, pls feel free to send me asks :)

You didn’t notice Invincible fly in until he was sat down next to you. You didn’t move to acknowledge him, and instead only hugged your knees closer to your chest. The wind caused your pyjamas to flutter against your back but you paid no mind to it.

”You’re shivering,” he said, putting an arm around your shoulder as if to block the cold away from you. “What are you doing out here?” You let his question linger in the air for the moment as you pondered a response— was it best to lie? 

You were sat up on a large rocky hill, not quite a mountain, near the GDA’s secret base in Utah. It was where you lived,— and where Rex lived too. 

“I found him,” you finally decided on the truth. “Rex… with Kate, or a dozen Kates it seemed.” You let out a bitter chuckle after the words fell out of your mouth. It left your stomach unsettled, but at least you weren’t alone.

Mark’s arm tightened around you as he tilted his arm so that you could rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t deserve that, I can’t fucking believe him.” His words were said with such anger that you nearly felt the instinct to defend Rex. Call it pathetic, but a part of you would always want to defend him. You were both brought up together; two freaks sold to different organizations to be experimented on until you were both found by the GDA and settled on being government puppets. 

You thought it made you close, being heroes, and sharing similar pasts. But in moments like these, when a different girl stood between you and Rex, you wondered if maybe he resented you. Did he see himself in you? Was hurting you his way of punishing himself for everything he didn’t like? 

“I wish I was better,” you muttered. “I don’t understand why he does this to me. Aren’t we the good guys?” It confused you at times. To be hurt by a hero was a different kind of pain; it made you feel selfish. That was the worst part, the fact that you knew that if you measured all the goodness he brought into the world against the pain he’d caused you— he’d still be golden. 

“I guess it’s more complex than just that,” Mark replied. “I used to think it was more black and white too, but I think people can be capable of anything… I wasn’t the best boyfriend either for a long while.” You knew he was speaking of his ex Amber. He’d come to you about his problems, more often than not he’d sit with you on these very same rocks and vent about not being able to make time for her. 

You usually sat and listened, and never brought up how often he would come to you to rant. Nor did you bring up how often he’d visit your room in the GDA Guardians base to see if you were free to fly around on patrol. 

It didn’t take a genius to note that Mark was a shitty boyfriend, and it likely made you a hypocrite because you didn’t care. 

You liked his company, and that was obvious enough based on the fact that you allowed him to dance his fingers against your side. The thin material of your shirt doing nothing to block the warmth he radiated. 

“I’d blame it on being a superhero, but I don’t think I was a shitty girlfriend, so maybe it isn’t an excuse at all,” you said, hoping to lighten up the mood a bit. It was true, you tried your best. You were kind, patient, and loyal to a fault. Maybe the man holding you in his arms right now had made his way into your heart just a little bit, and maybe you’d had a few sparing sessions where you let fingers linger a little too long and bodies rub a little too closely. 

But it wasn’t at all comparable to fucking him. What Rex did was cheating, you didn’t do anything wrong— at least nothing no one could prove. 

“Okay maybe I deserved that,” he sighed. You felt his shoulder shake and turned to see him remove his mask and set it gently next to him. “But I think ripping on me has definitely improved your mood just a tiny bit, so I’m not too bothered…” 

“Who said I needed cheering up?”

He rolled his eyes before he replied, “you were sitting outside in your pyjamas in the middle of the night shivering.” 

“Speaking of,” you started. “Why are you here? I mean, like you said, it’s the middle of the night.” 

He blushed at your words, even in the darkness you could see it. “Guess I couldn’t sleep and… I guess I wanted to see if you were up. I noticed my messages weren’t delivering, so I assumed you must’ve been awake because your phone is usually on at night.” He spoke in a tone that suggested his reasoning was normal, as though his behaviour wasn’t odd in the slightest. 

“So you flew all the way to Utah?—“

”Hey,” he groaned. “It’s like maybe a two minute flight tops, don’t do me like that.” You only chuckled in response. 

“I don’t know,” you replied. You shifted your body to face him properly, and rather than let you go, he only pulled you closer to him. It took you by surprise, but nonetheless you allowed your legs to cross over his. It felt strange to practically be sat on his lap, but Mark acted as though it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“It’s just,” you continued. “It’s a bad look to come visit another guy’s girlfriend in the middle of the night, y’know?” His other hand moved to wrap around your thigh gently, pulling you closer until you were sat firmly on his own thigh. “Makes me feel like maybe you had some ulterior motives.” 

“Maybe he should’ve kept his girlfriend happier,” he said. His face moved closer to yours, his breath fanning over your cheek.

”Who said I was unhappy?”

”That’s a secret,” he replied before he silenced you with another. His lips were cool against yours and the shock of it caused a gasp to escape your throat. He took the opportunity to let his tongue shift into your mouth. It eagerly explored yours, and you shut your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” he said with a pant. His lips had pulled away for a moment before he pressed them gently against yours again. You shifted, pulling onto his costume until you felt your back lay against the hard stones of the hill. You pushed your hips up, and felt a hard lump against your inner thigh. He moaned at the contact, and humped against your leg. 

“Wait,” you said as you felt his hands travel up your shirt. “I… I just broke up with… I.. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Your hand was firm against his chest, and you noted the sudden shift in his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to. I just wanna feel you, can I?” 

“Feel me how?” You asked breathlessly, his fingers trailed up under your shirt. You gasped at the feeling of his thumbs brushing against your nipples. 

“Fuck,” he cursed against your neck. “I just wanna be inside you, is that so wrong?” He emphasized his words by rolling his hips between your legs. His erection prominent even through the fabric. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned at the friction. “Just do it, please.” Normally, with Rex, you wouldn’t let him get away with not at least playing with you a bit before fucking you. But right now, you didn’t care, and you would give anything just to feel something warm and steady inside of you. 

Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled with the zipper of his suit as you moved to take off your pants, laying them under you so your bare ass wouldn’t have to touch the ground. He kissed you again, letting you lay down flat again as you widened your legs to give him room. You felt his heat press against yours, your folds shifting to give him room then slowly he guided his cock into you. 

You hissed at the contact due to lack of prep, and he hesitated before you kissed his cheek to encourage him to keep going. He continued, you shut your eyes at the pain, but soon let out a moan as you felt him rock his hips back. Your pussy getting wetter as he eagerly pumped his cock into your heat.

”Fuck, you’re so tight,” he whimpered. His right fist was clenched next to your head, whilst his left hand fumbled with your breast. It palmed and squeezed around it, and not for your satisfaction but for his own. It was selfish how he fucked into you, as though it was a need. You remembered his words, how he wasn’t a great boyfriend, how he was careless. It helped you detach further from the moment, as although his cock felt amazing as it thrusted into you, you knew Mark was being selfish deep down. 

You moved your fingers down slowly, and bit your lip once they made contact with your throbbing clit. The moment was cut short when Mark moved his hand from your tit and swatted yours away. 

“Wh—?” 

“I wanna be the one to touch you,” he said against your cheek. Your brows knitted together in annoyance until you felt his fingers trace around your pearl delicately. It was so different from Rex. He would touch you like he was a DJ playing a record after one too many drinks, until you’d have to remind him how your body worked. 

The moan you let out was near embarrassing at the sensation of Mark’s gentle fingers and his harsh cock. The duality was enough to send you near the edge. The build up of your orgasm deep in your gut. 

“Where do you want it?” Mark’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts so harshly that you barely understood the question. His fingers had shifted and now his thumb was rubbing circles onto your clit, gently pushing against the delicate skin. 

“Huh…?” He chuckled at your confusion, pressing a kiss against your cheek near your ear before he let his hips drill particularly closer into you. You peeled your legs back more, and gasped at the deeper impact of his cock inside you. 

“I— Fuck,” he stilled his hips for a moment before continuing to fuck. “I’m so close, can I… Can I finish inside?” He gasped the question against your skin, sending chills down your spine. You could barely think, especially as his fingers didn’t stop their pursuit despite his hips stilling every few moments. 

“Please?” He whined against your neck. His hips continued to drill into you, his fingers now making scissoring motions against your clit. “Please,” he begged, though it practically came out as a sob. 

“Okay,” you breathed. The word caused Mark to quicken his pace, both his fingers and his cock working to bring you closer over the edge. You gasped, seeing stars as the cord holding you back finally snapped and you felt that familiar explosion in your lower belly. You barely were able to collect your thoughts when Mark thrusted impossibly deeper into you and you felt the warm sensation of his seed filling you. 

He didn’t pull out of you right away, but instead shifted to face you. You stared back into his dark eyes in awe noting how flushed his face was, and how his usually perfectly styled hair now framed his forehead. What caught your attention however was the way he stared at you, fixated, and you knew then his words about this meaning nothing were full of shit. 

“Did you—?” 

“Yeah,” you replied, suddenly a bit self-conscious at the fact that he was still inside of you. When you shifted, you could feel him slip out a tiny bit… So you laid still. 

“I’ve never…” You weren’t sure if you wanted to admit it, but you were always chatty post-orgasm. “I’ve never let anyone finish… Inside before.” He definitely let his surprise show, and it caused you both to giggle. “Don’t feel too special though,” you said. 

“Too late,” he joked. He smiled at you before finally, and seemingly reluctantly, he pulled out of you and sat back on his knees. You sat up as well, ignoring the soreness between your legs. Mark seemed transfixed by something behind you, you furrowed your brows in confusion before you turned to see that a mini crater had formed next to where your head was— seemingly the size of Mark’s fist. 

“I… I guess I got a bit too excited,” he finally said. You both laughed. 

…

It was the early morning when you found yourself back in your room, and to your shock Rex was sat, slouched over your bed. 

“Get the fuck out,” you said. You couldn’t deal with his bullshit, especially with how tired you felt as a result of sleep deprivation and the fact that you just got fucked on the back of a rocky hillside. 

“Ouch? Listen,” he said before he stood up, and you realized he was only dressed in his boxers. That was exactly how you had found him with Kate meaning the bastard hadn’t even bothered to change. Was her sweat still clinging to his skin? The thought made you sick. 

“I’m listening,” you said with fake sweetness. “Reluctantly.” 

“It was a mistake, like c’mon Kate— Kate is well, she just seemed like a good lay, and I thought I’d get it out of my system before I could commit to you. Babe, you’re wifey material.” His words were sporadic as if he was coming up with them on the spot despite the fact that he seemingly had been in your room for several hours with nothing but his own thoughts to occupy him. 

“Before you can commit? We’ve been together for like four years!” 

“You know what I mean,” he said. 

“No,” you replied. “I seriously don’t, now can you get out? I wanna go to bed.” You practically growled out the words, as you moved to lay down on your bed. Your sore back finally relieved at the softness after having been scraped up against the rocks outside. 

Rex had only shifted to let you lay, but other than that made no move to leave. “How about I make it up to you?” He said with a teasing tone, and you immediately detected the innuendo. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Just a taste?” He asked, shifting his body to face yours. “Let me make it up to you, let me show you that you’re my girl.” Was he kicked in the head by 10,000 horses? Did he really think he could get you back by eating you out? The thought itself was so— 

You thought for a second, really thought before an idea came to mind. “Okay,” you said. You lifted your hips to shimmy your pants and undies down your legs, and if Rex was shocked by your sudden shift in mood he didn’t show it. 

“See, I knew—“ 

“Shut up,” you said impatiently. He cracked a wide grin before he saluted you and moved until his stomach was pressed into your bed sheets and his breath was fanning your pussy. He breathed in and groaned, and for a second you suspected he was onto you. But then his tongue reached to circle your clit, and you tilted your head back and sighed. He continued this for a few moments before he trailed his hands up your legs and hooked a finger into your fucked out hole.  

“Shit, you’re already so wet,” he groaned against you, his other hand gripping your thigh like a lifeline. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” 

“Why don’t you shut up, and get a taste?” It took everything in you not to laugh at the messiness of the situation. You gasped, clenching your thighs around Rex’s head as you felt his tongue reach into your hole, exploring at first tentatively, until he shifted his arms and gripped both your thighs tightly. He rapidly began eating you out like a man starving and made obscene noises as he licked and sucked everywhere. Your juices and Mark’s coating his tongue and face. 

“You taste so fucking amazing,” he groaned before continuing his pursuit. 

“Better than usual?” 

He hummed against your pussy, sucking your clit before pulling away with a pop. “What? You go to the gym or something? Y’know I love tasting you after a work out,” he bit your thigh gently before licking up your pussy and swirling his tongue around your clit. You moaned at the sensation, but smirked at his words. 

“Oh, I had a workout alright,” you chuckled. Rex pulled away from your pussy, his face suddenly puzzled as though seemingly realizing that something was off. 

“Why did you say it like that?” 

“Like what?” You pushed yourself onto your elbows, looking at his dark eyes with matching confusion. 

“I’ve heard enough evil villain side comments to know something’s going on,” he said with an annoyed tone. The sight of his wet face only made you grin wider much to his confusion. 

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just curious. Who tastes better: me or Mark?” You finally asked. The words hung in the air like day old laundry for a few seconds until Rex’s eyes shifted from your face and down to your swollen pussy. His fade unreadable for a moment— several emotions flashing before he sneered and said:

“He can bust inside, but I always have to wear a condom?!” 

[kimberly-spirits13]

Damian Wayne Dating an Artist HC

Artist Credit: according to Pinterest, this is from heuksae

Warnings: not edited 🤭, None

Note: Thinking about writing a one-shot where Damian and kind of implied artist!reader meet at a gala for the Gotham Museum of Art- also trying to think about some general Damian things to write like SFW alphabet and some off handed oneshots but idk right now 😀- thinking about finding a notebook to write all of my ideas down and then just get through them one by one but I have MANY THOUGHTS LOTS OF TIME

Damian was drawn to you the moment that he met you

What really kicked it off was after you went on an entire speil about your favorite artist and why they are the cornerstone of your inspiration and ambitions, he saw the inside of your sketchbook and knew that you weren't just some amateur with a high opinion of themselves

The two of you sat for an entire hour talking about what you like to create, favorite mediums, favorite colors, the hues that you like to see, the artists that you like, what you're working on next, etc.

It started a bidaily routine of somehow meeting up somewhere and sketching together or picking each other's brains about some sort of artistic matter

He's never really had anyone that is able to give him constructive feedback when he's stuck on something, so he always turns to you when he needs another pair of eyes inspecting his work

The first time you ask him to help you fix something that you weren't sure about, his heart flipped out of his chest

He came to you because he saw you as an equal (sometimes as a superior), and he respected every thought that you so generously shared to the world from your mind

The two of you started dating after some time and hanging out more than what should be possible

one of his favorite dates is having some sort of hot drink like tea paired with Alfred's various pastries, sitting in the Manor's gardens with you, and creating (!doesn't have to just be drawing/ painting because there are many forms of art!)

He prefers the standard oil paint, watercolor, graphite, and sometimes charcol, but he's never forced himself to be married to just those mediums

He leans into realism with some obvious influence of John Singer Sargent, baroque, and hints of greater Impressionism

The two of you are often found wandering around hole in the wall art shops and carrying around a beat up sketchbook full of ideas

Damian LOVES going to the art store with you

he's not a shopaholic in any other scenario, but good weaponry and nice art supplies are his Achilles' heel

The two of you walk around the aisles of art supplies in a store like Dick Blick and spend hours talking about the things you've done with each medium, what you recommend using, what's your least favorite item, swatching whatever you can, and throwing everything into the basket

he insits on paying btw 🤚 even if it was your idea to run and grab a few things you needed to restock, he's whipping out that black card and will not hear a word about it

being endowed with the Wayne fortune, however, does not mean that he does not get excited when there's a sale running

He's the type to text you at 4am saying that he found out a certain store is running a sale that day and to be ready for him to pick you up so the two of you can go

Oil paint is expensive y'all- rich or not, that stuff makes me clutch my pearls seeing the price tag sometimes

Damian has dabbled in making his own paint with things like Gum Arabic and has a small collection of items he found walking around Gotham with an exact label of what it is and where he got it, that he uses to grind up as pigments

kind of starts to look like an old alchemist or something but that's okay

You're the only one that he'd EVER let use these pigments

Once he's perfected the formula and tested things like like fastness, he's making a custom palette for you and presenting it to you at either the most random time in the middle of the night, or as a special occasion present

Loves going to art museums with you and walking around aimlessly all day, studying how a work was done and discussing with one another what you like and dislike about something

He's def taken you to Italy or Paris on a random occasion just to go walk around the great museums there

One day Damian calls you and asks if you're free for the weekend because he wants to fly across the world to go see some museums with you- also the jet is leaving in three hours

like duh you're free

He has a seperate sketchbook that he rarely ever lets you see that is filled to the brim with sketches of you

Damian is kind of mortified when you find out but tries to play it cool

you tell him that it's extremely endearing but don't push it on him further since you can tell he's trying to sink into the void and disappear when talking about it

The two of you have totally left art supplies at each other's houses and at this point. things like brushes and pencils become a communal item

Damian would never use your things without explicit permission though

His paints are some of his most joyous and treasured possessions so he maintains that level of reverence with your collection

If you tell him you're fine with him using whatever, his stomach and heart switch places for a second and he starts to feel a faint blush spreading on his cheeks

To him, it shows how much you trust him that you're willing to lend him something so valuable to your being

Not really an art thing but more of an aesthetic preference, Damian likes tangible items over digital

He has a record player with his favorite records and a vintage film camera where he has a collection of photos displaying the various dates the two of you have been on and places that you have seen together

He keeps them in a leather envelope inside his desk drawer and reaches for them whenever he's missing you

Damian keeps one in his wallet from a time that you two were walking around the gardens one hazy spring morning when no one was at the manor. You have one of his sweatshirts on and a soft smile as you're peering off into the expanse of the gardens holding a sleeping Alfred the cat in your arms

Damian intensly listens to everything that you have to say and finds himself more and more curious about the inner workings of your mind the longer you're together

[elliespassagerprincess]

okay so i’ve been thinking of this for like a couple days but i personally can’t write at ALL

ellie x reader inspired by what a shame by lizzy mcalpine where ellie is with cat and cat basically forces ellie to stop hanging out with reader?

What a Shame - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! lmao you can always request things from me if you have an idea!! i'd gladly write it!! i hope you enjoy<3

this story is based off the song what a shame by lizzy mcalpine. If you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts and ideas:)

warnings: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, a lot of angst

summary: In a town where survival often overshadows feelings, you and ellie carve out a safe, warm corner of friendship—one brimming with unspoken comfort, shared memories, and a closeness that borders something more. But Ellie’s girlfriend, Cat, sees what neither of them are brave enough to admit: that Ellie’s heart is slowly slipping into someone else’s hands.

masterlist

What a shame, you think, standing alone at the edge of Jackson’s perimeter fence, where the grass grows too tall and the patrol logs are never neat anymore. This was your spot. Yours and hers.

Not that it mattered now. You hadn’t spoken to Ellie in three weeks.

It started slow. She started pulling away. You tried not to notice—when she stopped coming to guitar nights, when she flaked on helping you with supply sorting, when her eyes didn’t light up anymore when she saw you first.

Then came the harder signs. The way she stopped laughing at your jokes. The way she’d glance over her shoulder like she was being watched. The way she sat stiffly beside you, always just a little too far.

And then the final blow: Cat’s voice, hissing over the crackle of tension in the pub after patrol.

“She’s obsessed with you. Everyone sees it. I won’t let her ruin this.”

“You don’t see it, Ellie? The way she looks at you? It’s pathetic.”

“If you don’t end it—I will.”

You hadn’t heard the argument. You’d only seen the aftermath in Ellie’s eyes the next day. Cold. Guilt-drenched. Distant.

“Hey,” she had said, voice hollow. “We… we probably shouldn’t hang out anymore.”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s just—it’s not working. This—us.”

You didn’t ask what she meant. Didn’t want to give her the chance to twist the knife. You just nodded. Smiled, even. Told her it was fine.

“Sure. Yeah. I get it. We were just friends anyway.”

That was a lie. You’d been in love with her for months.

The kind of love that crept in during the quiet moments—when her hand would brush yours grabbing an ammo box, when she’d sing under her breath while cleaning her gun, when she’d make stupid puns and wait for your laughter like it was the only sound she needed.

You never acted on it. Never even hinted. Not after she started dating Cat. You respected the line, even if it burned like hell.

But Cat didn’t care about lines. Cat cared about control.

And she saw you as a threat.

Weeks pass. Ellie pretends well. You watch her from afar—on patrols, in the mess hall, walking with Cat’s arm hooked around hers like a shackle disguised as love. She doesn’t look happy. But she looks obedient. Like she’s playing a part.

And maybe that’s the worst part of all. Watching the one person who used to look at you like you were a miracle, now barely able to meet your eyes.

Until one night… you get a knock.

It’s nearly midnight. You open your door and she’s there—hood up, hands shaking, eyes red.

“Ellie?”

She steps inside without asking.

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You stare at her. “Then why did you?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just looks around your little cabin like she’s trying to memorize it. Like she won’t see it again.

“She said it was her or you,” Ellie finally says. “And I panicked. I didn’t want to lose her. But I—”

Her voice falters.

“But you lost me anyway,” you whisper.

Ellie breaks.

“I miss you so much it’s killing me.”

Your heart lurches. But then you remember. Remember the silence. The distance. The betrayal.

“You let her decide for you,” you say, tears burning. “And now you’re here—what? To fix it?”

“No,” she says, voice small. “I just… I wanted you to know. Before I go.”

You frown. “Go?”

“She’s leaving Jackson,” Ellie says. “She wants me to go with her.”

Silence. Pain rings in your ears.

“When?” you ask.

“Tomorrow.”

And just like that, you know it’s over. She leans forward, close enough to feel her breath.

“I love you,” she whispers, eyes glossy. “I just didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

Your lip trembles.

You don’t kiss her. You don’t touch her. You just stand there and say:

“What a shame.”

She leaves before sunrise. And this time, you don’t chase her.

The letter is crumpled, edges smudged like it’s been folded and unfolded too many times. It was never sent. You find it months later in your patrol satchel, tucked between pages of an old sketchbook Ellie gave you long ago.

"Dear y/n,

I don’t even know if I’ll send this. Knowing me, I probably won’t. Cat watches everything. She’d know. She always knows.

It’s snowing where we are now. Some isolated place west of Denver. Feels like the world ended twice out here. People walk like ghosts and speak like they’re afraid their words might shatter. I think that’s why Cat likes it. Quiet. Clean. No one asking questions. No one remembering who we used to be.

But I remember. I remember you.

I dream about Jackson. Not the place. Not the walls or the horses or the stupid creaky floorboards in the bar. I dream about you—your laugh when you’re sleep-deprived, the way you say my name when you’re annoyed but trying not to be, the stupid crinkle in your nose when you catch me staring.

I used to be so sure I was doing the right thing by leaving. Now I think I’m just surviving out of spite.

Cat’s… different out here. She says she loves me, but it doesn’t feel like love. It feels like a cage lined in compliments and I’m too tired to ask for the key. Every time I try to draw, she asks why it’s always your face I’m sketching. I lie and say it’s just habit. It’s not.

I miss your voice. I miss our space. I miss the way you made me feel like I could breathe without earning it.

I think I made the wrong choice. Scratch that—I know I did.

I should’ve fought for you. Should’ve told you I loved you before she ever made me choose. I think about that moment all the time. How your face didn’t even crack when I said we should stop being friends. How you just nodded and let me go.

Did it hurt you? God, I hope it didn’t. But I know it did. I don’t deserve you after that.

But I need you to know—there hasn’t been a single day I haven’t thought about going back. About showing up at your door and finally saying it right. Without fear. Without guilt.

Just: “I love you. I’m sorry. Let me come home.”

But I don’t know if home wants me anymore.

If you’re reading this—somehow, if I ever do get the courage to send it—please just know: I carry you with me. In every mile. Every drawing. Every time I wake up and think I hear your voice in my dreams.

I hope you're okay. I hope you’re free. I hope… maybe someday, you’ll forgive me.

Love always,

Ellie"

Ellie checks the post every day for two weeks.

She pretends she’s just curious about trade routes, or looking for news from Jackson. But her stomach twists when the caravan approaches, and she always finds herself lingering by the supply cart longer than necessary—just in case. Just in case there’s a letter. A scrap of handwriting. A name in the corner that might mean forgiveness. There never is.

Cat watches her too closely now. Maybe she knows. Maybe she’s read the letter Ellie hid under the floorboard before she could send it. Or maybe she doesn’t need to read it. Maybe she just feels it—the way Ellie disappears sometimes in thought, sketching in the dim candlelight with a kind of ache that doesn’t belong to her anymore.

Cat hates when she draws.

“You’re not even here when I’m talking,” Cat says one night, slamming a mug on the table hard enough to slosh whiskey over the edge. “Always off in your head. What do you even think about when you look like that?”

Ellie doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t say: her.

She doesn’t say: the way she used to laugh at my stupid puns.

Or: how she always knew when I needed silence, not space.

Or: how she was the only one who ever really looked at me without expecting something back.

Instead, she says nothing. Cat goes to bed angry. Ellie sketches in the dark. No lamps. Just memory.

She imagines you reading the letter—eyes scanning each line slowly, maybe your fingers trembling, maybe a tear rolling down your cheek as you whisper her name into your empty kitchen. But that’s the thing about silence.

It tells a story louder than anything else.

Weeks turn into months. The winter deepens. Ellie grows quieter, colder, even with Cat pressing herself closer each night, seeking something Ellie has long buried in a place she’s never getting back.

The drawing of you stays in her journal. A ghost she welcomes.

Sometimes, late at night when the snow winds howl against the old cabin windows, she opens the page and just stares. Waiting.

But silence answers, over and over and over again.

What a shame.

[afloppedpage]

How to win over them (Genshin Impact Characters x reader)

Pairings: Ifa, Cyno, Venti, Kinich x GN reader. Warnings: None, just a little bit fluff and frustration, frequently mention mental health (I’m sorry). Slightly OOC. A/N: This is my first time using this app and first actual writing post. English is not my first language and my writing is kinda rusty so I'm sorry for any mistakes I have in advanced. W/c: 3,309 words.

________________________________  Ifa 

Winning over Ifa is a hard thing to do and it’s a long-time journey.  

Requires you to be in his sight, work with him, or casually pay a visit often. A plus for you if you care about the Saurian and if possible, you can take care of them too – when Ifa is busy doing something else. 

A major plus when Ifa sees the Saurian loves you, to the matter that they would rather cling to you than him. You would treat them kind, patience – even when they are in the fuss, you endure until the tantrum pass and you would teach them lessons. 

If you are not really a patient person, you still can win over him if you are willing to try to help him with some of the work. Making him see that you are trying to be “A better version of yourself”, not the reason is to impress him. (Ifa will feel himself like a burden if you sacrifice yourself for such things you don’t like)  

Stay strong, literally mentally strong. It just that you should have value of yourself in life, know how to take care of yourself (because he would be the person sometimes to fall into the swirl of overthinking so you could be the person that he admires). Not requires much, but: Take care of yourself, knowing when to SEEK help and LEND help if you can. 

To win over Ifa, you need to win over Cacucu first. By setting a curiosity onto that bird, constantly giving compliments to Cacucu and even trying to steal him away from Ifa. Sometimes you can transform into a Saurian and talk to Cacucu, a real talk. You can chat with that bird so you can understand what he truly means, and you can get to hear his opinion too. As you and Cacucu are getting closer, even to the point that Ifa can’t help but curious what are you two talking about (He low-key gets jealous of Cacucu).  

Literally takes his joke, keep calling him a bro, even better when you call him a "lil bro" because he is only 5. Ifa can then tease you back by giving you a nickname “Big bro”. Take that joke and tease him over and over, treating Ifa as a literal 5 years old, provoke him by giving him candy for doing a good job, or pat his head because he is a good boy (He wouldn’t mind though). 

As soon as he notices himself staring at you for a long time with the slightly heated cheeks, he would slap himself, walking in the circle and mumbling nonsense, trying to deny himself. So, you need to wait for some time in a stage of denial, just keep a usual vibe and meet up with him, also with sometimes ‘unintentionally’ stay close to him, it would make him have a flip in the stomach. 

His stage of denial is something, really, it is a super long journey for him. He used to swear to himself that he would never take anyone with him in a lifetime, so breaking that rule is truly a hard one. In this stage, do not meet him too often now on, he would start to doubt both himself and you that you are ‘playing’ his emotions, that you are the main reason for him to have a headache. You need to give him some space, some time for him to rethink his choice, he is not ready yet.  

He is used to the life of saddening himself as he holds the Saurian back to their new home, bitterly thinks that it would be better for the Saurian to go and don’t stay with him. It also applies to your situation, he would deny your love, thinking that it would be better for you to go, and to pursue your dream. So, you do exact same what did Cacucu do to be adopted by Ifa. By “accidentally” make a situation that Ifa thinks he needs to take care of you. You need Ororon to be in your plan as you pretend that your live is so boring and sad because you don’t have a boyfriend and Ororon sees you crying. Ororon then goes to your most trusted person to help and reassure you – Ifa (Of course you wait for the right time when he is not busy). He would reassure you and then you can share your personal story to him, to the fact that he would feel so sorry for you and trigger his ‘sympathy’, you can spice thing up by leaning against him or hold his hand. His mind would be chaotic after that.  

You can even drop a hint bomb like: “We would be a very great duo, you know that?” or “You know that a lot of people ship us recently, even a stranger would mistake it.” (Of course he would feel flustered, yet uncomfortable, maybe) 

Actually, you need to confess how desperate you want to be with him, to hang out with him, and to follow him. Because he would never feel your genuine feelings towards him unless you shout directly to him. Slap him in the face, kicks him in the knee, then capture him with your hands and hug him dearly, saying that you truly love him. You know that at this time, he already fell for you, but he is still denying, so you gamble yourself, 1: He accepts, 2: He rejects, and your friendship will be gone. The decision will be his, you did and won’t show any force to him as you give him space after you slap him back to reality. It is likely that he accepts.  

Cyno  

He is rather easy to win over, just..endure his sense of humor.  

Be a responsible person who takes care of their own and do what you should and have to do. Build him a sense of trust as you don’t go over any boundaries between him and you.

If possible, you can play Genius Invokation TCG with him and let him shine, let him be himself as he constantly flexes all his new creation in card comp, strategies. It would be a plus when you recognize his smart moves, his choice of cards, and give him a real true compliment.  

If you don’t into Genius Invokation TCG, just pretend to “curious” about the game and tell him to explain the whole, if you understand, good – he would really contented; however if you don’t, it is okay because he understands that not everyone like the game, he would appreciate your efforts to try to play with him.  

About his jokes, you can either be a person who is very interest in his jokes or be a person who sighs every time he slips out a joke. It is okay for you not like his joke, but don’t refuse him disrespectfully whenever he wants to tell you a brand-new joke (You are so important that he would tell you first).  

Flirt to him, if you are that type of person. Or you can just simply drop a few lines to him, such as: “I like how you do it,” or “I have to admit that this one is funny," a small chance that he would be flutter and lose it.  

Be unserious, be silly, be opposite than his vibe. Just initiate, take the action first. You can constantly run to him and push him from behind like a friend does, or you can pat his back and say: “Hello fella, what’s up? Wanna break a lunch with me?” Cyno’s character is quite quiet, so you can do the initiative talking and share whatever you encounter in a day, just to have a chat with him and you can ask how his day was, that would be a nice time for you two.  

Please do ask him a lot of questions as if you are interested about him (you should). He is the person who always interrogate the others and demand judgement, but he rarely feels the feeling of being ask, of being cared – maybe. So, ask anything, from “What color do you like?”, “What fruit do you love to eat?” to “Why do you think you are granted your vision?”, “What do you think about the Akasha terminal?”, he would at the same time overwhelmed by your question and feel special as you care for his opinion.  

At the same time, be prepared to answer all his questions too. He would express his interest in you through his questions, so please answer it long and if you are comfortable, share your stories (but please don’t be the person to answer all the time).  

Do whatever to make him recognize your efforts, from listening to his jokes, playing Genius Invokation TCG with him, to spending time with him, do any camping activities, walking in the desert and be comfortable in the silence.  

His strength is very stable, not only physically, but also mentally too, so seeing your efforts to catch up with him, or whenever you try to lend him some help, he would be thankful of it although he doesn’t need your help. (Act like a person who cares for him)

Wait for until he slowly acknowledges his feelings. Actually, he realizes your intentions in winning over him not long before he admits his feelings toward you (like how often you are being in his sight, spending time with him. He would notice your embarrassed features and the slightly ‘crush’ behavior), but he still keeps in touch just to see how cute you are trying to stay close to him, and he doesn’t mind your presence at all. In fact, he would wish you to go further and make bold choices, he would wish you to continue like this.  

Venti  

He is kind of difficult to winning over with and the chances are very low.  

You might and can have the same hobbies, favorite things to do with him. It can be the ideology of living freedom, the love of poetry and the love of playing music. Having the commons are not truly guarantee that he would like you. So, another key factor is to be bold, to be ‘unintentionally’ meet him often and exchanges knowledges. 

Start popping up in every performance, in every event that are hold in Mondstadt, he will always in every festival as he loves lively atmosphere – he loves the cheerful smile the citizens have, the contentment they have when they are having fun and hanging out with friends and family. You can try to find him and talk to him, telling the general atmosphere as you comment positively on it – as to tell him that you have the same interest with him.  

Getting his attention by attending in every of his performances and give him a real cheer and applause after each performance. If you are into music, you can simply ask him how to play it after the show. You can tell that you admire his talent and be curious about him, but do not cross the line – or whenever he is uncomfortable about your questions. If you are not really into specific type of music, you can still be there and give him a genuine smile, an applause and a small gift which can be Mora, or even a bottle of wine (He is surprised when you know he loves wine). 

If you are into poetry, you can ask him about the music lyrics, ask him to talk more about it as if you are demanding him to have a spoken essay about the lyrics. You can even tell him to review and hear your explanation about the lyrics, you can express your curiosity, the yearning for knowledge as if you are dying for the beauty of the poetry (You will soon be a good buddy of him). Even a plus when he can review your poetry too, he would very feel special to you and value the relationship. But if you are not into poetry, it’s okay, you can give him compliment about his voice too, he would be flustered because not a lot of person gives him that kind of compliment, just be genuine and truthful, it can be like: “Although I don’t understand, but I love your voice.”  

If the compliments are too common for him, starting another way of reaching to him is possible. You can look around the corners or anywhere that is hidden from the festival (he wants to hide himself and watch the crowd from afar), you can spend some quiet time with him while offering wine, that’s a major plus for you. Just be chill, relax yourself, be comfortable within his presence and you can wait for him to begin the conversation.  

The next thing to be is matching his vibe, be cheerful, somewhat childish and have some random shit ass moment, can be you two play in the puddle of water and see who splash the most, play snow and see who make the biggest snowman, ...  

You don’t need to know his identity to get more deeply understand him, you can treat him as a fellow friend (crush). Just play prank on him, give him a bottle of vinegar instead a bottle of wine (when he tells you to purchase wine), threatening him with a melting cheese pancake whenever you feel like it and telling how delicious it is (He hates cheese). He would feel the urge to ‘revenge’ you soon after, and it’s a good sign that y’all relationship is going well.  

Another thing is to share your traveling past experiences, your encounters, your dilemma when you have a hard time to explore in other nations. But don’t be plain, spice things up by telling the challenges you have, he would be so hooked up by it. 

Venti would never know and understand all your actions came from your love, so please give him some hints and implies. By telling him to write a poem about love, telling him to speak his opinion about love, and unintentionally give him some affections, like physical. You can ask him if you can lean against him and rest after a stressful day to calm yourself, with the comfortable presence of him. Or even you can slip off “I like you.” Surely, he won’t think that much, but as long as you tell out loud, he would consider it. He would consider you... 

Kinich 

He is kind of difficult to win over with  

First up, don’t cling to him too much. Because he has own work to do and sometimes it takes a few days straight and you can’t even see or meet him. So, whenever he is back from his commission; if possible, you meet him and pay him a visit, ask how his mission went, and don’t take too long to chat – his social battery is not much after the exhaustion of work and talking to the client. 

You can often give him commission and give a fair price: Mora, fruits, equippments,... (That’s an easy way for you to see him often). Treat him as a fellow helper, with prices of course. You can maintain this for sometimes and then you can be friends with him.  

Also, participate in helping and volunteer in Natlan. He would truly appreciate your contribution to his home nation, and he would consider you a friend. You can make a big contribution in Natlan, like help fighting the Abyss with your other fellows, protect the citizens from the Abyss corruption and provide mental care for the people who experience loss; be there, be willing to help people without wanting anything in return. He would see himself in you, that he just like you, he would do anything for his nation too. So, being such a nice person will make him intrigued in you, and he would try to help you back without any cost. 

Also, as you become friends with him, ask him to have lunch with you, or dinner, just a casual hanging out together, you will have more chance to see him (If he accepts or course). You don’t need to talk too much when eating with him, just be there, silently eat your food and enjoy the scenery. He isn’t the type to initiate the conversation, so you can just casually ask how he is, how is his mission, ... (Don’t yap too much) 

To create an impression to Kinich, be chaotic with Ajaw. What that means is just to play along with that “harmless pixel” - Be provocative to him, mock him back like “Oh a small one like you can’t even hurt me in the slightest,” or “Aye Almighty Dragonlord..heh” with a provocative tone (makes him mad for your own amusement), which makes a bad impression to Ajaw. Then, Ajaw will sometime mention you to Kinich that how annoying you are. However, sometimes you can treat both Kinich and Ajaw with their favorite food, for Kinich is fresh fruits (except grainfruit), and for the bad, rotten ones you can juice it and give it to Ajaw, and say to him after he drinks that those you juiced are bad ones (but truly delicious).  

Soon after sometimes when Kinich starts to get familiar with you being around, now you can start help Kinich out without his hesitation about the price he is going to pay. In general, start listen to him, pay attention to his normal usual solitude, that you won’t know if there are any hidden worries lies within him, and point it out gently if you ever spot it. “Kinich, is everything okay? You look quite down.” Just casually ask him like a fellow friend, don’t force him to answer and it is okay for him not to answer, all that matter is that you are there with him, no matter what. If it's a mundane conflict between him and clients, he can tell you his usual work and vent, it would be better than not telling anyone (you can get to know more about his life). 

 After you lend an ear to him, he would secretly pay a price for you being there with him, like often going to your home and giving you some extra fruits that he ‘accidentally’ picks too much, or personally inviting you to lunch (You asked him most of the time), and give you some Natlan’s local flower to you, he would try to find a way to know which one are your favorites and keep giving them to you.  

He would be gradually started to fall for you, day by day, slowly and sweetly, by your welcoming presence and your cheerful demeanor. Until to the point that Ajaw can detect his embarrassment when he spots you from afar. Ajaw would flabbergast as he sees Kinich blushes and secretly observes you from afar. Ajaw would constantly mocks him for falling such a boring person like you - “That uninteresting brat has a place in your heart??? Do you even hear yourself? I don’t have a servant like you – a down bad, desperate servant.” But he can’t help but to admit that he likes your fruit juice. He would also ‘approve’ you to be the next servant just after Kinich to serve the Almighty Dragonlord (No one has a chance to meet the K’uhul Ajaw and you two has a big privilege to serve under him)  

But Kinich hides his feelings well, so you need to be patient and lure him out more, only time matters in this moment. Wait for him to consult his friend about his complexity in his heart, and just to have a conclusion that: He falls in love with you.  

__________________________________________

[bellaxgiornata]

Letters from the Outside 4:| Visitation

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.4k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; prison!Jax, bit of sunshine/grumpy dynamic, prison pen pals, fluff, angst, mentions of violence, potential smut, canon-divergence, Reader has a brother, mainly short pieces about Jax and Reader's letter correspondence

a/n: This installment is a tiny bit different than what we've seen so far and I think y'all are going to like it... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

series tag list: @kmc1989 @callmesev @secretlysamcro @steviebbboi @anonymouse1807 @bonnyclydecat @chloe-skywalker @kaydallas21 @sarraa-26 @uknowmesstuff @mmarysha @orymgraves

Sitting at the metal table, your index finger had been absently tapping along the surface for the past ten minutes as you'd waited for the Stockton prison guard to bring your brother into the visitation room. It smelled like bleach and sweat in here, the pungent scent something that always took a few minutes to get accustomed to again whenever you came out to see your brother.

While you’d been waiting, you'd noticed that there were a few more people here than usual. Normally when you came out during morning visitation hours, there were about half this many other visitors in the room. But considering where you were right now, you tried your best to prevent your gaze from wandering around to the different tables too much. Making eye contact with the wrong person could easily turn into a bad idea here–something you didn't need your brother to tell you. 

But admittedly today it was difficult to keep your eyes to yourself and ignore the dark-haired woman sitting with a young, babbling child in her lap a few tables away from you. In all your time visiting Grim–the street name your brother was known by–you hadn’t seen those two here before. You figured the little boy’s father must be the one incarcerated and that was who they were probably visiting. Your heart sank at the thought. 

Strangely, watching the older woman whisper something to the little blonde boy in her lap had your mind drifting back to your grumpy bear of a pen pal. You'd found yourself curious to know if he had a family. While you knew far better than to try and ask him anything that remotely hinted at a personal topic, you had often wondered that while you'd been composing letters to him. But you figured if you ever dared to ask, he’d most likely have some colorful way to tell you that he wasn't going to answer your question. Or maybe he'd just stop writing to you altogether.

But still, you wondered if anyone ever came to visit him while he was stuck inside serving his time. You'd also often wondered how long his sentence was, though you'd known better than to ask him that, too. You couldn't even begin to imagine how much harder it would be serving time without some outside, familiar face to look forward to seeing every once and awhile. You found yourself hoping he did get visitors, that he had something more in his life than just your letters.

Admittedly that was partly why you'd joined this whole pen pal program when you'd first heard about it. While your brother Grim thought it was absolutely fucking bullshit–and he'd certainly given you his thoughts about it on plenty of separate occasions–you also knew how much he always looked forward to your letters throughout the week. He'd told you there were countless days that they felt like the only thing keeping him sane inside. So you’d signed up for the program hoping that you could maybe do the same for someone else.

And your grump had actually written you back the other day, so clearly you hadn't annoyed him too bad with your previous letter. This time he'd even written with just a couple of sentences more than he’d initially written in his first letter to you, which you’d considered an improvement. Even now as you thought back to his last letter, you found yourself smiling at the way he'd responded to the ridiculous nickname you’d given him.

Grumpy Grizzly? That's the best name your ass could come up with? Kinda disappointed in you, Giggles. That's fucking awful.

It almost felt as if he'd opened up just a tiny bit more to you in that letter. His words had been more teasingly friendly rather than just teasing this time–but maybe you'd just been misreading the tone through his messy handwriting. But it was almost as if you could actually hear a voice coming through his loopy scrawl of text now.

And he had answered your question.

You'd miss your dog in here, huh? You seem like a dog person, Giggles. I miss my Harley. Miss the freedom of it. 

He apparently liked motorcycles, a piece of knowledge you figured you would store away for future writing topics. You wondered if he liked them as much as your brother, but you had a feeling it was hard to love a bike more than someone like him did. Your brother and his guys in that club lived and breathed their bikes and that whole lifestyle. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when the door across the cafeteria-like room buzzed, signaling that an inmate was entering. Your attention instinctively shifted towards the door, catching sight of an orange jumpsuit before you recognized your brother's face. A smile spread across your lips instantly at the appearance of him in one piece, and you caught the small grin he returned.

The guard escorting your brother walked him over to your table, giving him the usual curt warning after you greeted Grim with a brief hug. Afterwards, the guard stalked off to a corner of the room, standing nearby and keeping watch over him as you both took a seat at the table, sitting on opposite sides of it.

“You look happier than usual today,” you observed, settling back down in your chair. “Someone sneak you something good?”

Your brother chuckled, resting his hands on the surface of the table, keeping them in view like he was required. “Yeah, maybe somethin’ like that, sis.” He jutted his chin at you, that small grin forming on his lips again. “How's shit with that whole pen pal of yours? He write you a novel this time?”

You rolled your eyes at the question, but the smile remained on your face. You'd missed your brother since your last visit, and you were grateful that despite being stuck inside, he still sounded like himself every time you came out to see him. He never lost his sense of humor or his ability to poke fun at you.

“No, he didn't write me a novel. But I'm making progress with him,” you answered. “His second letter had a few more sentences than the last one, and he sounded less like he had Big John’s dick shoved up his ass.”

Grim laughed, the sound loud and full of life. A sound he probably didn't make too much in there because there wasn't much to laugh about in prison. 

“Maybe he likes Big John’s dick in his ass, sis. But what'd you expect?” he questioned back, his smile fading slightly. “Guy is a criminal. You think he's gonna swap cookie recipes with you or somethin’? Tell you about his childhood trauma? Send you a little beaded friendship bracelet he made in arts and crafts? C’mon, you’re smarter than that.”

“No,” you stated, shaking your head at your brother. “I’m not expecting any of that. Just figured he might, I don’t know,” you shrugged a shoulder, thinking about what you’d last told your grumpy bear of a pen pal, “enjoy receiving mail from someone on the outside. To have some semblance of feeling human or whatever. Someone he can let some of his thoughts out to or something. I don’t know.”

Grim sat back in his chair, a teasing grin on his face. The one that told you he thought you joining that program was absolutely ridiculous. 

“You’re too hopeful, sis,” he replied. “It’s sweet, but I’m sure whoever the piece of shit you’re writing to doesn’t deserve that kindness anyway. The guy ain't gonna be your friend.”

“You don’t know that,” you disagreed, your smile disappearing at the thought of your pen pal being someone quite so horrid. “Not everyone locked up in here is some sort of psycho serial killer. But I’m not here to discuss my pen pal. How’re things going in there?”

Grim shrugged before glancing around the room, subtly surveying which prisoners were out here visiting with loved ones. You caught the way his eyes scanned over a few guards longer than necessary before his attention returned to you.

“Been good,” he answered. “Considering I’m stuck inside for a few more months.”

He leaned forward towards you, resting his elbows along the table as a devious glint passed behind his eyes. You mirrored his movements as you leaned forward, your head tilting curiously to the side at whatever he was about to tell you.

“We’re making moves soon,” he told you, voice lowered. “With that thing. Should help give the guys added protection back home.”

It took you a moment to make sense of what he’d said, but then you understood. The Devil’s Condemned were going to ambush some Irish gun shipment being moved that he’d mentioned to you in a recent letter. They were planning to steal the inventory for their own arsenal. With the Mayans branching out, trying to start a charter out in Stockton, your brother’s motorcycle club had been itching for extra firepower to hold down their territory. 

“You sure that’s a good idea?” you asked quietly. “Seems like you’re going to make even more enemies doing that.”

“We’re gonna make it look like someone else hit ‘em. Don’t worry, alright?” Grim assured you, his expression turning serious. “But it’s not like we’re gonna get a chance to buy the hardware. Not like we got that kinda money. So this is the next best and most realistic option.”

“I don’t know, Grim,” you whispered back, uncertainty written over your features. “I’m not so sure that’s the best idea. Can’t you guys just work out a deal with the Mayan charter? Make peace or something?”

Grim scoffed at the idea, leaning back in his chair once more. His hands remained on the surface of the table, but you saw the way they'd curled into fists in frustration.

“That’s not what I’m–”

“Ain’t that simple, sis,” he answered. “This isn’t some kiddie school playground. You don’t just walk up and make friends with rival gangs.”

You broke off, sighing in frustration. The Devil’s Condemned was a smaller motorcycle club, one that mainly focused on protecting Stockton from all the bullshit that tended to land in the city from all the neighboring gangs. Especially with Stockton prison in your city, it tended to attract the wrong crowd. The Devil’s made small time money doing something with guns–that was the extent of your knowledge. But you always wished they’d stop getting involved in dangerous things like this–things that felt a little too far out of their league. Like sabotaging some larger motorcycle club that had an expansive list of charters and allies, just so they could get access to better guns.

That sharp buzz sounded again, the noise catching your attention and interrupting your conversation. Your eyes shifted over to the door of the visitation room, watching as it opened. Another man in bright orange walked through it, his blonde hair slicked back and a tattoo visible along his forearm. He walked with a bit of a swagger in his steps, moving like he owned the whole damn room as the guard behind him followed after. 

Curiously, you continued to watch as his attention was drawn straight to the table with the dark-haired woman and the little boy. You saw the way the man's eyes lit up the second he spotted the boy, and the corners of your lips curled upwards at how the expression had completely changed his entire face. The little boy in the woman's lap bounced a bit more excitedly, his hands reaching out towards the prisoner as he shouted ‘dada’ so loud that it caused a few others to look over at the table.

Grim's gaze was drawn to the noise, but his expression darkened as he saw the man hugging the kid. An annoyed huff fell out of him before he leaned forward along the table, his attention returning to you as he once more lowered his voice.

“That’d be one of those assholes now,” Grim warned you quietly, his words drawing your attention back to him. “President of the Sons.”

Eyes marginally widening in surprise at the information, you focused back on the man now settling down at the table across from the woman and the boy. There was a bright smile on his face as he focused on the pair of them, the lightness of it making it impossible to ignore just how handsome he was. Something you hadn’t expected. Just like you wouldn’t have expected him to be quite so young for a motorcycle club president.

“That’s the guy you’re going to piss off?” you whispered.

“He won’t know who did it, sis,” your brother reminded you. “Alright? Don’t worry about it. And don’t stare at him, either.”

Clearing your throat, you tore your eyes away from their table and focused back on your brother, shifting in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “I wasn’t staring,” you whispered back. 

“Uh huh,” Grim replied, a smirk spreading across his lips. “Stop drooling over our enemy. Ain’t a good look on you.”

“I wasn’t drooling over him,” you countered sharply. “The last place I'd be looking for a man is in a fucking prison, Grim. Don't be weird. I just didn’t expect him to be quite so young for a president of such a big club.”

Grim quirked a brow back at you, silently making it clear that he didn't quite believe you. You rolled your eyes at him before sitting back in your chair, aware you had twenty more minutes with your brother. You didn't want to spend it discussing some rival club–or one that was about to become a rival.

“Felix got out earlier this week,” you said, changing the subject. 

Grim chuckled as the tension visibly eased out of him at the new topic. “No shit?” he asked. “Bet that was fun chasing down a deaf dog.”

“You have no idea,” you replied.

You spent the rest of your time with your brother retelling him the story of chasing Felix through countless backyards in countless neighborhoods one afternoon this past week. While your brother sat listening, occasionally laughing and good-naturedly making fun of your struggle, you couldn’t help but notice the Sons’ president out of the corner of your eye. He kept curiously glancing back over at you while occasionally shooting your brother’s back dark glares. Those quiet looks from the Sons’ president while you spoke with Grim only had that worry for your brother's safety growing while he was stuck in here.

[yuujispunches]

Old vinyls and kitchen lights ~ N.K.

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary: Nanami invites you over for dinner and as Frank Sinatra plays in the background everything falls right into place.

CW (content warning): literally nothing, this is just tooth rotting fluff.

AN: Hi guys! I just saw a post here asking for someone to write Nanami dancing to old vinyls and I just had to give it a go. This is shorter than my usual works but I really like how it turned out. English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’re any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

You had been seeing Nanami for a little while now. It was perfect, he was respectful, thoughtful and a gentleman above all. He treated you like a princess and everything with him just seemed so easy, everything falling into place when he was around. You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had made you feel like he did so when your phone screen lighted up, displaying his name and a message that read:

Dinner at mine tonight? I’ll cook.

You jumped at the opportunity without even thinking twice about it. You could tell he had overthought it by how simple the message was. Nanami Kento never did things halfway. Not in battle, not in work, and certainly not with you.

——————————————————————————

His apartment reflected him in every corner: clean lines, calm colors, everything curated with a purpose. You stepped in, and instantly, the world felt slower. Safer.

He greeted you in a crisp button-down, sleeves already rolled up, and an apron tied around his waist and somehow, even that looked dignified on him.

“I hope you’re hungry.” He said as he ushered you in.

The table was already set, candles flickering gently. A soft crackle stirred from the corner of the room, the vinyl player was already turning. And then came that familiar, velvety voice: Frank Sinatra.

You smiled. “You put this on for me?”

He nodded. “I remembered you said you grew up hearing this kind of music. I thought it might feel… comfortable.”

"Fly Me to the Moon" played as you sat, and everything, from the meal and the wine to the soft glances shared between bites felt suspended in something tender and unspoken.

But Kento was clearly on edge tonight. Not in a bad way. He was just… careful. Quiet. His eyes flicked to you too often, and when your fingers brushed as you reached for the wine, he pulled his back a beat too late. Like he didn’t want to lose contact but couldn’t quite let himself linger.

You didn’t say anything about it. You just gave him time. He always bloomed slower than most but oh was he worth the wait.

——————————————————————————

After dinner, he moved to tidy the plates, but got up and followed after him, grabbing his wrist gently right before he opened the sink.

“Wait.” You said, your voice low, nearly drowned by the start of another song: “Bewitched”.

He turned to you, confused.

“Dance with me.” You asked, smiling.

There was a pause and that was rare for Nanami. He always had a plan, a schedule. But now, he just… blinked as if he was utterly confused by your simple ask.

“In the kitchen?” He said, as if it were the most foreign concept.

You laughed softly. “Yes, in the kitchen. Right here. Come on.”

He hesitated. His lips parted like he wanted to make an excuse, something about not being good at it, or how ridiculous he probably felt. But instead, he slowly let the dish towel drop.

You reached for his hand, and his palm met yours. Firm, but slightly trembling.

“Is this okay?” You asked gently.

He nodded once. “I just… haven’t done this in a very long time.”

“You don’t have to know the steps.” You said. “Just move with me.”

Your voice was so soft and gentle and you looked up at him with eyes that made him feel that the world around him wasn’t so bad if you were in it, how could he say no to that?

You guided his hands, one resting cautiously on your waist, the other still in yours. The music wrapped around you both, and soon you were swaying in time, your heads tilted just enough to feel each other's breath.

Nanami relaxed in stages. First in his shoulders, then his hold on you, and finally in the way his forehead touched yours.

The light from the dining room flickered softly behind you. The world narrowed to the two of you and the hum of Sinatra.

“I don’t understand how you do this.” He murmured suddenly.

You looked up at him. “Do what?”

“This.” He gestured slightly, the hand on your waist gripping just a little tighter. “Make me feel like this. Like the world is quiet, even when it shouldn’t be.”

You smiled, heart thudding. “Maybe it’s not about understanding it. Maybe it’s just… letting yourself feel it.”

And that was when he froze, only for a second, like he’d just realized something. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze head-on.

“I love you.” He said suddenly, clearly, as if the words had been building pressure inside him for weeks. “I’ve known it for a while. I didn’t want to say it until I was sure, but- ”

You pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the way it rose with his next breath. “You’re sure now?”

He nodded, his voice quieter. “Completely.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips gently to his, and when you pulled back, you whispered,

“I love you too, Kento.”

A deep breath escaped him, not one of tension, but release. Relief. He pressed his forehead to yours again, smiling softly now.

“Thank you.” He murmured. “For being patient with me. For asking me to dance.”

And so you danced . Slowly, clumsily at first, then comfortably. Two hearts moving in sync under the soft glow of kitchen lights and the croon of a record that would now always sound like love.

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @noooo-onee @pickledsoda @suna-yoshihara

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[jazzy11scorpio]

Turns Out, He Liked Me Too

Chapter 1 Office Secrets

Summary: You're an assistant with a secret crush on your boss, Harry Castillo. After your fiancé cheats on you, a late night at work turns into unexpected encounter with Harry, who's also dealing with heartbreak.

Pairing: Reader x Harry Castillo

Tags ⚠️: Adult Content, MDNI, smut with plot, age gap (early 30's / late 40's), use of Y/N, unprotected sex, mention of cheating, boss/assistant, quickie, rough sex, oral sex (m/f), dirty talk, squirt, breast play, office sex, creampie, power dynamics, SMUT.

Word count: 3,7 k

Note: Hello, my dear readers! I'm back again! I've deleted my old blog, so consider this a fresh start. My writing inspiration has returned, and I'm so excited to share this new story with you. I really hope you enjoy it.

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

It was Monday morning, the start of another busy work week at Castillo Company. Your life felt… okay. You had a good job, someone you were going to marry, a future that looked right on paper. But under your calm life, you had growing feelings for your boss, Harry Castillo.

For the last two years, you had worked for him. You started at a low-level job, but you worked hard and were smart, so you quickly became his helper. Now, near the end of this time, you knew all about his business and helped him every day.

You really respected him. Harry was everything you liked in a leader: smart, driven, and surprisingly down-to-earth even though he was very rich. He was always nice and treated you with more care than just what you'd expect from a boss. Sometimes, that care even felt… personal. You'd see him look at you for a moment longer than needed, a warm feeling in his brown eyes that made your heart beat faster. But he was a good person and never did anything wrong, always acting like a boss should.

Still, those looks and that extra bit of kindness made you wonder "what if?" You tried to ignore it and focus on getting married and the future you had planned. But hiding your feelings for Harry felt like holding your breath – a constant, small worry.

This Monday was different from the start. Harry, who was always on time, was late. When he finally arrived, he seemed a little different. He seemed a bit happier, with a small smile, but his clothes looked a bit messy, which was not normal for him.

He walked into his office and quickly said, "Morning, [Y/N]," like a young boy, before sitting in his leather chair. "Coffee, please," he asked, his voice a little rough.

As you turned to make his usual black coffee, you felt a bit worried and also curious. What had made him late and act so unusual? And more importantly, how would this slightly strange start to the week make it harder to ignore your growing feelings for Harry?

You bring Harry his coffee, and the strong smell fills his office. "Good morning, Harry," you say, "Just a reminder, you have a meeting with the Sterling Group at ten, and Mr. Davies from accounting will come by around eleven."

He takes a thankful drink, a real smile on his face. "Thank you, [Y\N]. You always save the day." He sounded happier than usual.

You ask carefully, "Did you have a good weekend, Harry?" It was a normal question you often asked, but today, you were more curious than usual.

His smile got bigger, a bit more private this time. "Actually, yes, it was… quite nice." He stopped for a moment, then added, almost like he just remembered, "Could you order a very fancy bunch of red roses for me? Have them ready for tonight, around six." He looked at his watch.

A small, tight feeling started in your chest. So, there was someone. A date. Tonight. You imagined the beautiful red roses, which mean love and romance, and you felt a small, sharp feeling like jealousy, which you didn't want to feel. It reminded you that even though you worked closely with him, you weren't part of his personal life. The difference between boss and helper, between Harry and you, suddenly felt bigger and harder to cross.

You nod, trying not to show any emotion, putting on your work face. "Of course, Harry. A big bunch of red roses. Would you like a card with them?" You tried to sound calm and professional.

"Yes, a note would be a nice touch. Just something simple… for Lucy. How about: 'Looking forward to exploring where this beautiful serendipity might lead. Harry.'"

"Lucy?" you ask, the name feeling foreign and unwelcome on your tongue. You try to sound merely inquisitive, but a slight edge of curiosity, perhaps even a hint of something sharper, might have crept into your voice.

He leans back in his chair, a sigh escaping his lips. "Yes, Lucy. She's… quite something. A young matchmaker from New York. We met last night at Amelia and Charles' wedding party. Rather unexpectedly, actually."

A soft smile plays on his lips as he recounts the encounter. "Intelligent, driven… and quite charming, herself. I liked her. I'll swing by the florist around six to collect the roses before my date."

Young, ambitious, charming – everything you perhaps secretly wished you could be in his eyes, beyond just his efficient and reliable assistant.

Each word feels like a tiny poke to that little corner of your heart you try to keep locked away. Lucy. Met at a wedding – a party celebrating love. Sounds like things went well. And now, a date, complete with red roses and a casual but clearly interested note. It's a stark reminder that Harry has a life outside the office, a life that doesn't include you in that way. The lust you've been trying to ignore suddenly feels a little heavier, a little more… pointless. You make a mental note: red roses, card, Lucy, six o'clock pickup. Just another task. Right.

He leans back further in his chair, the earlier contentment still lingering. "And how was your weekend, [Y/N]?" he asks.

"It was fine, thank you," you reply. You manage a small smile, the practiced gesture feeling brittle and insincere even to your own ears. The image of Harry picking up those roses for another woman flashes in your mind, and the casual inquiry feels almost pointed, a stark reminder of the separate paths you walk.

Without waiting for a further response, you turn and leave his office, the weight of unspoken feelings pressing down on you.

The day just crawled by. Harry's happy face talking about Lucy kept popping into your head, which was annoying enough. But then you got home, opened the door, and BAM. There he was. Your fiancé. With some other woman. Right there in your living room.

Yeah, you kind of lost it. Like, full-on crazy. All that pent-up frustration from work, mixed with the shock of seeing that… you just snapped. You started yelling, screaming, chasing them out of the apartment like a maniac. It was a total mess. Your hands were shaking, your voice was cracking, you were just… done. Done with pretending everything was fine, done with being blindsided like that. The whole picture of your life just shattered in that one awful moment.

The silence that followed their hasty exit was deafening. The apartment, once your home now felt tainted, poisoned by their betrayal. A hollow ache spread through your chest, a crushing weight of heartbreak and disillusionment. You felt utterly betrayed, not just by him, but by the future you had envisioned.

That night, you didn't reach out to anyone. You poured yourself a drink, then another, the cheap liquor burning a temporary path down your throat, a poor substitute for the inferno raging inside you. Alone in the suddenly vast emptiness of your apartment, the reality of your broken engagement sank in. The pain was a raw, gaping wound.

Compounding the agony was the unwelcome resurgence of those feelings for Harry. The man you couldn't have, who was now happily pursuing someone else. The unfairness of it all was a bitter pill. You loved Harry, a love you had tried to bury, and now, the man you were supposed to love had just ripped your world apart. The irony was cruel, the pain almost unbearable. The alcohol numbed the edges, but the core of your being ached with a profound loneliness, a stark realization of the double loss you were now facing.

The next morning dawned with a pounding headache and the lingering taste of cheap whiskey. You were late, the numbers on your alarm clock a blurry insult. Still reeling from the night before, a potent cocktail of anger and heartbreak churning in your gut, you rushed to get ready, the events of the previous evening replaying in fragmented, painful flashes.

Arriving at the office, disheveled and clearly not yourself, your colleague, Sarah, intercepted you near your desk. "Hey, [Y/N]! Harry's been looking for you. Said you two have an important appointment together this morning." There was a hint of concern in her voice, likely noticing your state.

You found Harry in his office, walking back and forth near the window. He wasn't calm like usual; his shoulders were tight. He turned when you came in, you saw a quick flash of anger on his face.

"You're late, [Y/N]. Our meeting with Dubois is in fifteen minutes." His voice was sharp, showing he was not happy.

But when he really looked at you, the anger seemed to go away, and he looked worried instead. He saw that you looked messy, with dark circles under your eyes, and that you seemed very upset.

His voice became soft right away. "[Y/N]? Are you okay? You don't look well." The earlier anger was gone, replaced by a quiet worry that, surprisingly, felt a little bit comforting when you were so upset.

Your hands shook as you looked at him, and you still had some tears from last night on your eyelashes. "I... I'm sorry for being late, Mr. Castillo," you said, your words getting stuck in your throat.

He walked closer to you, he saw your hands shaking a little and that your eyes were red. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and gently touched your arm, just above your elbow. It was a quick touch, but it was the first time he had ever touched you when it wasn't about work.

Being so close suddenly felt strange. You could smell his cologne, a light, nice smell that was always around him. His touch, even through your sleeve, was surprisingly warm, very different from the cold feeling inside you.

Then he moved his hand to take your right hand, holding it firmly but gently. His brown eyes looked into yours, really wanting to know why you were upset. "[Y/N], what is it? You don't seem good. You can tell me."

The warmth of his hand and the worry in his voice almost made you cry. For a moment, you thought about telling him everything – the bad thing that happened, the sadness, how your life felt like it was falling apart. But then, you felt cold inside. You couldn't bother him with this. Not now. Not ever.

You pulled your hand back, feeling a shiver even though the office was warm. Your voice was flat, with no feeling. "It's... nothing, Harry. Just life. You know how it is. Life is hard sometimes, I guess." You tried to smile a little, but it didn't look real. "I'll be fine. Really."

He looked a little unsure, he looked at you for another moment, his eyes searching, like he was trying to see past your fake smile. Finally, he sighed softly, and you could tell he was still a little worried.

He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, his voice softer now. "I hope so, [Y/N]. I really do. But if you need anything… anything at all…" He stopped talking, leaving the offer hanging in the air between you. He didn't ask more questions, respecting that you didn't want to talk, but you could still see the worry in his eyes.

The meeting with Dubois went by quickly. Your head hurt a little, like a quiet echo of the sadness inside you. Harry, on the other hand, seemed happier. His earlier worry was gone, and he seemed a little excited about something. You tried to pay attention to the meeting, but you kept thinking about his hand on your arm, that quick moment when you felt close.

The workday ended, and you walked out of the office building. The cool evening air felt a little bit better against the upset feeling inside you. As you walked down the busy street towards home, you saw him. Harry. He was standing near a corner, a small smile on his face, looking at his watch. He was waiting for someone.

And then she came. Lucy. Young, full of life, with a bright smile that looked like his. You could feel a strong connection between them as they looked at each other. He greeted her with a warm kiss and a long hug that showed they were very close. His smile, the one he gave her, was open and real, very different from the polite worry he had shown you earlier.

Watching them, you felt a sharp, painful feeling in your chest. It felt like your heart was breaking into many small pieces. What you saw was a clear sign of what you had been trying not to think about.

As they walked away together, you could hear their quiet laughter in the evening air. You stood there, unable to move, feeling very empty. The world felt like it was spinning, and the familiar city around you looked blurry.

A quiet, sad sound came from your mouth, a raw cry from the deep sadness inside you. "What's wrong with me?" The question hung in the air, with no answer, showing how lonely you felt. "Why doesn't anyone love me? Why doesn't anyone want me?" The fact that the person you were going to marry had hurt you, and now seeing Harry happy with someone else, was a very cruel double blow.

That night, you couldn't sleep. The darkness was all around you, and the only sound was your quiet crying, each tear showing how broken your heart was. You kept seeing Harry and Lucy in your mind, their easy affection making your own loneliness feel even worse.

Days turned into weeks, each day reminding you of how broken your life felt. The sharp pain from what your fiancé did had started to become a dull, constant ache. But seeing Harry so happy was like a new, sharp pain. He seemed… bright. He was lighter, happier than you had ever seen him. Sometimes he would hum quietly to himself, he smiled easily, and his usual serious look was often softened by a dreamy look in his eyes.

Then one day he called you into his office, with a big, almost childish smile on his face. He held out his hand, and you saw a small, shiny ring in his palm. "Look at this, [Y/N]," he said, his voice full of excitement. "Isn't it beautiful?"

You held your breath. It was very beautiful – a classic style with a diamond in the middle that shone brightly. You knew what it meant. This was for Lucy. A real sign of the happiness you could only watch from far away.

You felt a tight knot in your chest. You managed a weak smile, and your voice didn't show how upset you were. "It's... stunning, Harry. Absolutely beautiful."

The words felt like they tasted bad. It was almost cruel. He, the man you had feelings for, was now showing you how happy he was about getting married to someone else.

The casual way he showed you the ring, asking for your opinion, felt like a strange, painful twist. It was a clear, shiny reminder of the life you couldn't have, the love that would never be yours.

The days kept going by, each one showing how different your lives were. Harry stayed happy, and the thought of getting married made him even brighter. You, on the other hand, went through your days acting calm, but the constant ache of your own sadness stayed with you.

Then one evening came. You were working late, the only one left in the quiet office. The city lights made long shadows on your desk as you worked on a very hard project. The only sound was the tapping of your fingers on the keyboard.

Suddenly, the door to the outer office opened, and Harry walked in. He wasn't walking with his usual energy; he looked tired. His shoulders were bent, and he had a frown on his face. He looked… sad. And yes, you could see a bit of that familiar, controlled anger under the surface.

He walked into his office, threw his briefcase on the leather couch, and turned to you. "[Y/N]," he said, his voice low and a bit rough. "Order some dinner for us. Something filling. And maybe… a bottle of that Cabernet we like."

You nodded, feeling a bit worried instead of surprised that he was back. You quickly ordered the food, the quiet efficiency a normal thing in the suddenly tense air.

Soon, the smell of grilled steak and roasted vegetables filled the office. Harry had poured himself a glass of wine, the red liquid moving in his hand as he looked out at the city lights.

You sat across from him at the small table, and the silence felt long and full of things unsaid. Finally, you couldn't take it anymore and quietly spoke. "Harry," you started, your voice soft. "Is everything okay? You seem… worried."

He took a long sip of his wine, the silence stretching between you, thick with unspoken emotions. He finally looked at you, his brown eyes clouded with a genuine sadness you hadn't seen before. "Why is love so damn hard?" he asked, the question almost rhetorical, a sigh escaping his lips.

He swirled the wine in his glass again, "I thought… I thought I felt something real. Something… significant." He paused, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

"Clearly, she didn't feel the same way. Lucy… she doesn't want to rush into marriage. Not yet, anyway."

He took another, larger gulp of the wine, the frustration evident in the set of his jaw. "Apparently, 'exploring where beautiful serendipity might lead' has a different timeline for her than it does for me."

He shook his head, a raw vulnerability in his expression. "No, worse than that. There's… someone else. She wants to be with someone else. Not me. What the hell is wrong with me?"

The raw pain in his voice hung in the air, mirroring the unspoken question that often echoed in your own mind.

You looked at Harry, your own recent pain still a raw ache in your chest. His raw vulnerability, the echo of your own question – "What's wrong with me?" – resonated deeply.

"Well," you said softly, your voice tinged with a weary understanding, "it's probably better she left you now, Harry. Better than finding her in bed with him later."

The image of your own devastating discovery flashed unbidden through your mind.

A flicker of realization crossed Harry's face, his brow furrowing as he truly saw you for the first time that evening. His gaze dropped to your bare ring finger.

"[Y/N]..." he started, his voice showing he was starting to understand. "Is that... is that why you haven't been wearing your ring anymore?" He looked back at you, his eyes searching, asking without words. "He...he cheated on you?"

One clear, simple word said yes to his question, a quiet way of agreeing about the shared sadness that suddenly connected you in a surprising and deep way. "Yes."

You looked at him, your own recent sadness still feeling fresh and painful. A strong feeling of wanting to protect him, a sudden wave of longing, grew inside you. Without thinking, the words came out, honest and real. "Harry," you said, your voice softer now, with a truth that cut through the tense feeling. "If I were her… I wouldn't wait even a moment to be your wife. To have the chance to love you…"

A deep quiet fell over him. He stopped moving, his eyes locked on yours, the sadness in his eyes slowly changing into something you couldn't read, a quick look of surprise, maybe even… understanding?

Suddenly, you felt very aware of yourself.

The wine you'd sipped felt like it had loosened your tongue too much. You stood up abruptly, a nervous energy coursing through you. "I… I should probably just… get back to work," you mumbled, avoiding his intense gaze. You knew you had crossed a line, revealed a truth you had tried so hard to conceal.

But before you could retreat, his voice, low and husky, stopped you in your tracks. "[Y/N]… wait."

A blush crept up your neck. "I... I'm sorry, Harry," you stammered, "This wine... I'm talking too much. Please, just forget I said anything." You tried to go away, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

His eyes, those warm brown eyes you had tried so hard not to dwell on, were now fixed intently on yours.

"No," he said, his voice low and unwavering. "Don't apologize. Don't take it back."

He stood up, closing the small distance between you. He took your hands, holding both of yours in his. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, a stark contrast to the sudden heat rising in your cheeks.

"Tell me, [Y/N]," he urged, his voice softer now, "Tell me what you feel."

He searched your eyes, a knowing look in his. "I've... I've noticed, you know. The way you look at me sometimes. The little things. But I didn't want to… I didn't think it was… appropriate. But tell me. Please."

His gaze was intense, unwavering, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly see the vulnerability reflected in his eyes, a mirror to the turmoil in your own heart.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips, the alcohol in your system amplifying your anxiety. "Look, Harry," you said, your voice a little shaky. "We're probably both just a little drunk right now. And… and you don't want me. I'm your assistant. And let's be honest, I'm not exactly your type."

The image of the beautiful Lucy, the woman he had just been heartbroken over, flashed in your mind. She was everything you weren't – confident, worldly, seemingly his equal.

His grip on your hands tightened slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Why do you think that is, [Y/N]?" he asked you.

"You are so incredibly beautiful. And smart. You anticipate my needs before I even voice them. You're the most capable person I know."

He paused, his thumbs gently stroking the back of your hands. "The only reason I never… flirted with you, the only reason I kept a professional distance, was because I knew you were engaged. I respected that. I wouldn't have crossed that line for anything."

His gaze softened, a hint of something deeper flickering in his brown eyes. "But now… things are different, aren't they?"

His thumb brushed softly across your cheek, the unexpected tenderness sending a jolt through you. "Tell me, [Y/N]," he urged, his voice a low, persuasive murmur. "Come on." His eyes held yours, a silent question hanging in the air.

The intimacy of the touch, the raw vulnerability in his gaze, was almost overwhelming. You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a fleeting moment, the carefully constructed walls around your heart threatened to crumble.

But then, the image of Lucy, the beautiful ring, his earlier happiness, flashed through your mind. You pulled back, a sudden wave of doubt washing over you.

"Don't do this, Harry," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. "You don't want this. You want her, Lucy. Not me. This is just… the wine. And pity."

"[Y/N]," he said, his voice firm, a hint of something akin to hurt in his tone. He reached out again, his hand gently cupping your other cheek, his gaze intense. "And who says I don't want you?" His eyes searched yours, a flicker of something undeniable igniting within their depths. "And don't tell me you don't feel it too. I know you want me, [Y/N]. I've seen it."

His gaze intensified, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. "Why didn't you tell me what you feel before, [Y/N]?" he asked, his voice a low, earnest murmur. "All this time… why the silence?"

You looked around him, a nervous energy bubbling up inside you. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered.

A wry smile touched your lips, a sudden boldness fueled by the wine and the raw honesty of the moment. "You wanted me to just… come in one morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? 'Good morning, Boss, here's your coffee. Oh, and by the way, I want you to fuck me right here on this table?'"

You gestured towards his imposing desk, then let your gaze drift to the supple leather couch in the corner. "Or maybe a more casual approach? 'Hello, Mr. Castillo Just wondering if you'd be interested in a little… riding session on that couch over there? Hmm?"

A surprised laugh escaped his lips, a genuine, unguarded sound that sent a thrill through you. He cursed softly under his breath, a mixture of shock and something else… something that felt a lot like desire.

He stepped closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, unexpected hug. His chin rested on the top of your head, and you could feel the warmth of his breath in your hair. "And you've been thinking all that about me, huh?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. The closeness was intoxicating, the unspoken tension finally beginning to crackle.

You leaned into his embrace, the unexpected warmth and security. "Yes, Harry," you confessed, your voice barely a whisper against his chest. "Every single day."

He tightened his hold, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. "Me too, darling," he admitted, his voice thick with a newfound intensity. "Every fucking moment I've seen you bent over your desk right here, I've imagined..."

Then he pulled back slightly, his eyes blazing with a raw, untamed desire. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice rough. "If you had only told me all this before… you have no idea how much I've wanted you."

Without another word, he swept you up into his arms, the suddenness of the movement taking your breath away. He carried you effortlessly, his gaze locked on yours, and gently placed you on the edge of his large mahogany desk, papers scattering slightly beneath you..

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as he stepped closer, the hard ridge of his bulge pressing against your already aching core through your clothes. A low groan escaped his lips as he began to grind his hips against yours.

He started to kiss your neck, his lips hot and insistent against your skin. His hands, now free, roamed down your thighs, bunching up your skirt even further. Then, with a slow, deliberate slide, his fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your panties. You gasped as he found your slick heat, his touch sending a jolt of pure sensation through you.

He began to slowly rub your swollen clit, his knowing fingers eliciting a moan that escaped your lips. "So wet for me, darling," he murmured against your neck, his breath warm, "Just thinking about me, weren't you?"

Your own hands were busy too. You clumsily touched the buttons of his clean white shirt, your fingers shaking a little. As the shirt opened, you put your hands flat on his wide chest, feeling his heart beat fast under your palms. The warmth coming from his skin was very strong. Wanting to feel more, you reached down, your fingers closing around the hard, pulsing bulge pressing against his pants. He was very hard, showing the strong want that you felt too.

His fingers continued their exquisite torment between your legs, each slow, deliberate stroke sending waves of intense pleasure through you. "Tell me what you want, [Y/N]," he rasped against your ear, his breath hot.

Driven wild by his touch, you reached down, your fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt. With a shaky breath, you unzipped his trousers and gently pulled out his huge cock. It sprang free, thick and heavy in your hand. You began to stroke him slowly, your fingers gliding along its length, feeling the powerful pulse beneath your touch.

"I want to feel every inch of you inside me, Harry," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "Right now."

As you began to rhythmically jerk him off, his kisses grew more frantic, more demanding. His mouth devoured yours, his tongue plunging deep inside.

"Fuck, I want to feel that sweet mouth." he groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer against the edge of the desk. "Suck me, baby. I want to feel your mouth on me like you've been imagining"

He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest as you knelt before him. His hands found your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as you took him into your mouth. You savored the thick, hard length, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head, your lips creating a tight seal. He tasted of pure, raw desire, and you plunged deeper, wanting to take every inch.

"Fuck, yes," he rasped, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "That's it, baby." His hips bucked slightly against your mouth, urging you deeper. You could feel the powerful pulse of his arousal against your tongue, driving you wild. You used your hands to grip his thighs, pulling him closer, your suction growing more insistent. "Swallow me whole, darling. Show me how much you want me"

He suddenly groaned, his hands tightening in your hair, pulling you back just enough so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, primal. "Wait, not like this," he rasped, his voice thick with urgency. He stood abruptly, pulling you up with him, his eyes never leaving yours.

With a sudden, decisive movement, he reached down and ripped your panties, the thin fabric tearing with a sharp sound that echoed in the charged silence.

He didn't break eye contact as he turned you around, his hands gripping your hips, positioning you against the edge of the desk. The cool, smooth surface pressed against your stomach as he bent you over, your skirt riding high. "Now, like this," he growled, his breath hot against your ear. " I want to show how much I want to take you, right here, right now."

He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over your exposed flesh, and then his tongue was there, a searingly intimate exploration of your wetness. He lapped and tasted, his ministrations sending jolts of pure, raw sensation through your core. You were slick and open, a desperate invitation he was now accepting. "So fucking wet for me," he growled against your skin. " And so ready for my cock"

Then, with a guttural groan that rumbled deep in his chest, he positioned himself behind you. You felt the thick, hard head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance.

Guiding himself with his hand, he plunged forward, burying himself deep inside you in one savage thrust.

A raw cry tore from your throat as he stretched you wide, filling you completely, every inch of him claiming you. "Mine," he bit out against your neck. "You're mine now, and I'm going to fuck you until you can't think straight." The force of his entry made you gasp, the intense pleasure bordering on pain, a stark and thrilling initiation.

He started to fuck you faster, each thrust deep and relentless, slamming into your core. You gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles white, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He leaned down, his hand gripping the back of your neck, tilting your head down towards the polished wood. His fingers then trailed to your lips, his thumb brushing across your swollen flesh. "Tell me how good this feels, [Y/N]" he growled.

A wild, reckless abandon surged through you. "So fucking good," you moaned, your voice husky and breathless. Then, a wicked little smile played on your lips. "Am I better than her?"

His grip on your neck tightened momentarily, a primal possessiveness flashing in his eyes. "Fuck yes," he bit out, his thrusts deepening with renewed intensity. "A million times better. You're fire, darling. Pure fucking fire."

He pulled back abruptly, his slick cock sliding out of you with a wet, sucking sound that echoed in the sudden stillness. "Turn around," he commanded, his voice rough with spent desire and a fresh wave of hunger.

You turned, your legs still shaky, your gaze locked on his hard, glistening cock. Without hesitation, he parted your thighs wider, his eyes burning into yours as he slammed back inside you, filling you completely once more. The force of his re-entry made you gasp.

Then, he shifted, lifting your legs and settling them onto his broad shoulders. His thrusts became even deeper, faster, hitting that sweet spot with relentless precision. "Open your shirt, baby," he growled, his breath hot against your neck. "Let me see them." You fumbled with the buttons, your breasts spilling free, heavy and flushed. He reached down with his right hand, his fingers finding your swollen, throbbing clit, rubbing with a knowing pressure. His left hand squeezed your nipple, tugging gently, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body.

The dual assault was overwhelming, and a strangled cry escaped your lips as you arched against his hand, the pleasure building. Your walls clenched around his thick cock as you came, a wave of pure, raw ecstasy washing over you.

Your body was still trembling from the force of your orgasm, but the insistent pressure of his cock deep inside you was already igniting a fresh wave of desire.

You looked down at him, your eyes glazed with lust, and gasped out, "Fuck me harder, boss."

His hand, still slick with your wetness, moved from your clit to your neck, his fingers pressing in your skin. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, his eyes dark and possessive. "You feel so fucking good, [Y/N]," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight. I could stay buried inside you forever."

Then, with a guttural growl he began to thrust again, each stroke deeper, faster, more demanding than before. The rhythm built, a frantic dance of pure lust, until finally, with a shared, shuddering cry that ripped from your throats, you both reached your orgasam. He went still inside you for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged. Then, with a satisfied groan, he leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, still fully embedded within your slick heat.

When he finally broke the kiss, his eyes were dark and possessive. "God, Y/N" he breathed, his voice thick with awe and regret. "I wish I had done this before. You're fucking amazing."

The crazy, amazing high of just being completely lost in each other starts to fade into this… softer, quieter thing. Harry's all gentle touches and little kisses on your forehead, holding you tight like he doesn't want to let go. It's nice. Really nice.

Then BAM. Knock, knock, on the door. And then you hear her voice. "Harry? You in there? It's Lucy."

Your stomach just drops. Lucy. Right now? Seriously? This is getting messy, fast.

"Shit," Harry mumbles. He looks at you, and it's this mix of "oh crap" and something else… maybe a little bit of "what now?"

You're already pulling your skirt down, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. "Okay, I should go now," you whisper, feeling your cheeks heat up all over again. No way are you sticking around for that conversation.

But Harry reaches out, his hand catching yours. "Stay," he says, his voice low but firm. He quickly straightens his shirt, a new resolve hardening his features. Then, he walks to the door and opens it.

Lucy steps inside, her eyes widening in surprise as she takes in the disheveled state of the office… and then lands on you. A flicker of confusion, then something sharper, crosses her face.

"I wanted to talk to you alone, Harry," she says, her tone cool.

But Harry's grip on your hand tightens. "You can talk to me in front of her, Lucy," he states, his gaze unwavering. He doesn't let go of your hand, his touch a silent declaration.

Lucy looks from his hand to your face, clearly taken aback. You feel a flush creep up your neck. Not wanting to be the cause of further conflict, you gently pull your hand away from Harry's. "I... I should go," you murmur, offering Lucy a brief, apologetic nod before slipping out of the office, the unspoken tension hanging heavy in the air behind you. You don't want to hear their conversation. You just need to get away and process everything that just happened.

You didn't look back. You just walked, the rapid thump of your heart echoing in your ears. The office felt suddenly cavernous. You made your way to your desk, grabbed your bag, and practically flew out of the building. The cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did little to clear your head.

You walked for what felt like hours, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as your mind raced. Every touch, every word, every raw, desperate moment with Harry replayed itself. And then, the image of Lucy, her surprised face as she saw you, her demanding voice. What had just happened? What would he say to her? What did it all mean? Your body still hummed with the aftershocks of pleasure, but a cold dread was starting to set in. You had just completely upended your professional life, and possibly, your heart, all for a moment of desperate connection.

Sleep was impossible. You tossed and turned, the scent of Harry's cologne still lingering on your skin, a phantom warmth where his hands had been. The night stretched endlessly, filled with questions that had no answers and worry about what the morning would bring.

The next morning, you arrived at the office early, your nerves frayed, stomach in knots. You moved like a ghost, mechanically starting your computer, every click and whir seeming impossibly loud in the silence. You kept glancing at Harry's closed office door, a knot of dread tightening in your chest.

You'd barely settled when the outer office door creaked open. You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. But it wasn't Harry. It was Sarah, your colleague, her eyes wide as saucers, glued to her phone. She didn't even notice you at first, muttering to herself.

"Oh my god," she whispered, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. "Did you hear what happened? Harry and Lucy... " She finally looked up, seeing you, and her eyes widened further. "Oh, [Y/N]! You're here early!"

A cold wave washed over you. "What about Harry and Lucy?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, dread coiling in your stomach.

Sarah's gaze darted around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in conspiratorially. "Apparently," she began, lowering her voice, "Lucy showed up last night, and get this... she slapped him! Right there in his office, yelling about another woman!" Sarah paused for dramatic effect, clearly relishing the gossip. "The night security guard told Brenda in accounting everything. Said it was a total scene."

Your blood ran cold. The other woman. That was you. And he'd been holding your hand when she walked in. What had he told her? Or worse, what hadn't he told her? The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place, a terrifying picture of the chaos you'd inadvertently caused.

"And now," Sarah continued, oblivious to your internal turmoil, "no one's seen Harry. He's not answering his phone." She ended with a dramatic shrug.

You felt dizzy, the floor swaying beneath you. Harry was gone. Because of you. A heavy silence descended, broken only by the frantic beat of your own heart.

You were still reeling from Sarah's gossip, the word "slapped" echoing in your mind, when the main office door swung open with a bang. You flinched, your head snapping up.

It was Harry. He looked like hell. His usually immaculate suit was rumpled, his hair a mess, and his eyes… they were dark with a mixture of fury and something else you couldn't quite decipher. He saw you at your desk, and his jaw clenched.

"My office. Now." His voice was low, clipped, and utterly demanding.

You started to stammer out, "I just need to –" as the phone on your desk began to ring, a shrill interruption. But he cut you off, his voice rising, "Now, [Y/N]!"

Your colleague, Sarah, visibly stiffened at her own desk, her eyes wide as she watched the scene unfold. Your stomach dropped. This was it. You were going to be fired. Your heart ached with a sudden, overwhelming sadness and worry. You slowly pushed yourself up, walking like a condemned woman towards his office, every step heavy.

As you reached his door, he stepped in behind you, and locked the door. You spun around, your hands trembling, the fear and sadness finally overflowing. "Harry," you choked out, tears welling in your eyes, "I'm so sorry. I… I heard what happened last night. I didn't mean to—"

But he didn't let you finish. He closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to cup your face. His thumb brushed away a tear, and then his mouth was on yours, roughly, desperately, silencing your apologies with a consuming kiss. It was deep, hungry, cutting off your breath and your words.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark, but the fury had softened, replaced by an intense longing. He wiped the remaining tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, darling," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "All night. Not for a single second."

"But… Lucy?" you whispered.

He looked into your eyes, "She wants me back," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. Then, his gaze held yours, unwavering, "But I'm already yours, my lady. Right?"

A tear, this time of overwhelming relief and joy, slipped down your cheek. You smiled through it, your heart soaring, and leaned in to kiss him fiercely. "Yes," you whispered against his lips, the word filled with all the love you had tried to hide. "Oh, Harry, I love you."

He let out a low groan, a sound of pure satisfaction, and in one swift motion, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you towards the large leather couch in his office. He laid you down gently, but his movements were urgent, impatient. He quickly fumbled with your clothes, tearing at the fabric of your dress, a hungry look in his eyes.

"God, I need you naked," he breathed, his voice raw, as the dress gave way. "I need to feel all of you against me, right now."

You grabbed at Harry's clothes, your hands shaking with excitement, but a sudden thought made you shiver. "Slow down," you whispered, pushing gently against his chest. "Someone might hear or see us. We can't do this here."

He just looked at you, his eyes burning with a strong, uncaring passion. He reached down and held your chin. "Let them," he growled, his voice rough. "Let them know you're mine."

Then, he leaned in, his lips hot and firm on your neck, trailing kisses downwards. Easily, he unhooked your bra, letting it drop. His mouth found one breast, sucking and nipping softly, sending shivers through you as his other hand massaged the other. He kissed a path down your stomach, his warm lips creating a hot trail to your inner thighs. The same thrilling heat from last night sparked inside you, spreading fast.

He got on his knees, his hands reaching for your underwear, slowly pulling them down your legs. As he did, he lifted your legs, putting them on his wide shoulders. Then, he leaned forward, his head dropping, and you gasped as his hot tongue found your throbbing clit, beginning to pleasure you with slow, careful strokes.

He sucked harder, his tongue expertly teasing you, making you wild. You moaned, your hips naturally moving against his face. Then, two fingers, long and strong, gently pushed inside you, stretching your already pulsing core. "So tight and wet for me, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice muffled by your clit. "Just as I knew you'd be. You're going to come for me right here."

You held onto his strong shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin, as the pleasure grew, spinning out of control. A cry caught in your throat as your body arched, pushing down against his mouth, and you climaxed, hot and messy, onto his fingers, onto his tongue. He kept pleasing you, licking up every last bit of your release.

When you finally fell back against him, breathless and satisfied, he leaned back a bit, his eyes still dark with desire. He reached up, his fingers touching your wet lips, before leaning in and kissing you roughly, tasting yourself on his lips. "You taste like heaven, [Y/N]," he mumbled, his voice thick with desire. "So delicious. Makes me want to devour you all night."

He then stood up, his body clearly still needing more. He unbuckled his belt, and quickly pulled down his pants and boxers, showing his fully hard cock. He sat back down on the leather couch, his eyes shining with a challenge. "You said you wanted to ride your boss on this couch, sweetie," he growled, patting his lap. "So let's make that wish come true."

A playful smile touched your lips. You moved to sit on him, settling onto his lap. You took his hard cock in your hand, giving him a few slow, teasing rubs, the head of his shaft throbbing against your palm. You leaned down and kissed him, your tongue dancing with his, before slowly, so slowly, you rubbed the head of his cock against your wet folds, teasing him, putting off the moment.

He let out a desperate groan, his hips pushing up beneath you. "Damn, [Y/N]," he begged, his voice hoarse. "Just put me in. Please. I can't wait anymore."

You smiled, feeling powerful, and then, with a happy sigh, you slowly lowered yourself, guiding him deep inside you. A low moan escaped your lips as his thick cock filled you completely. You started bouncing on him, a slow, steady rhythm that soon got faster. His grip on your ass tightened, his fingers digging in as you rode him. He leaned back, pulling your head down, biting your neck, his teeth gently scraping your skin, and you loved it, the sharp pleasure mirroring the raw force of his pushes. The wet, smacking sound of skin on skin filled the office, a rhythmic sign of the raw, wild passion.

"You're so incredibly tight," he groaned, his hips rising to meet your drops. "Every part of you is hugging my cock. God, this feels so good. Ride me harder, baby. Show me how much you love this."

He began to push up into you, meeting your every bounce with strong upward drives. Your body arched, chest heaving, as you rode him with desperate hunger, the feeling building to an amazing peak. Each groan, each gasp, each wet slap of flesh on flesh showed the intense need you both felt.

You rode him with fierce intensity, the pleasure building with every thrust. "Was she good like this?" you whispered, the provocative question escaping your lips before you could stop it. "Was Lucy like this, Harry? Did she make you groan like this?"

His rhythm hitched, and a dark look crossed his face. "No," he growled, his voice tight with displeasure. "Don't ever mention her. Please. Not when I have this. When now I have you"

Then, with a sudden surge of power, he lifted you from his lap, he pushed you gently onto the leather couch, so you were on your knees, holding onto the backrest.

He positioned himself behind you, and with a guttural groan, slammed back inside you from the back. This time, he was harder, more primal, more passionate. He leaned closer, his arm wrapping around your neck, his hand cupping your jaw as he kissed your lips fiercely. Your breasts were pressed flat against the cool leather, nipples aching.

"I'm going to come again," you gasped, your body already arching back into him. "Oh God, Harry."

"Good girl," he bit out, his voice a low, rough command. "Let me feel every fucking bit of it. Give me all of it, right here, right now. Show me how much you need me." He thrust harder, faster, his weight bearing down on you, pinning you against the couch. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it mercilessly, pushing you over the edge.

A scream tore from your throat as you came, your walls convulsing around his cock. You felt a gush of warmth as you squirted, milking him, saturating him with your wetness. He groaned, a deep, satisfied sound, feeling your release engulf him. "That's it, darling," he rasped, his voice thick with his own impending climax.

"Feel how much you make me want you. You're absolutely perfect. God, you just broke me open."

He then pulled back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and with a final, deep thrust, he came inside you, filling you completely with his hot, thick release. "I love when you fill me up, Sir," you whispered, your voice hoarse, utterly spent. "I love being filled by you."

He shifted, turning you gently, and pulled you into a tight embrace. He kissed you softly, tenderly, a stark contrast to the raw passion of moments before. You lay together on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms, his touch gentle and sweet.

"I love you, [Y/N]," he murmured, his voice soft, almost vulnerable against your hair. "I think… I think I've loved you for a long time. I just never let myself see it. You're everything I never knew I needed."

You burrowed deeper into his embrace, your heart overflowing. "I love you too, Harry," you whispered back, tears pricking your eyes. "More than words. And I've wanted you, longed for you, for so long."

You lay wrapped in Harry's arms on the leather couch, the lingering warmth of your shared passion a comforting weight. The world outside the office seemed a million miles away, but then a thought pricked at the edges of your blissful haze.

"Harry," you murmured, your voice still husky. "What happened last night with Lucy? I heard… I heard she slapped you."

He sighed, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he held you tighter. "She did," he confirmed, his voice a low rumble. "I told her I didn't want her anymore. That I was… with someone else now. She didn't take it well." He leaned down and kissed your hair, then your temple.

Just as his lips touched your skin, his phone, forgotten somewhere on the desk, began to vibrate insistently. Sarah's name flashed on the screen, a relentless series of missed calls turning into a new incoming one. Harry glanced at it, a frown touching his lips.

"It's Sarah," he said, pulling back slightly. "She says Lucy's outside. Again."

Your stomach clenched. Again? A wave of dread washed over you, mixing with the heady aftermath of your lovemaking. This was too much. You scrambled to sit up. "I have to go," you whispered, pushing against his chest. "I can't be seen here."

Harry, however, seemed to have other ideas. He quickly stood up, his movements decisive, and helped you gather your scattered clothes. As you hastily pulled on your dress, he smoothed his own shirt, running a hand through his hair to tame it.

"Don't go yet," he said, his eyes alight with a mischievous glint that, despite the chaos, made your heart flutter. "I want to ask you something."

He walked to the door, his hand on the handle, as Lucy's insistent knocking began again, louder this time, accompanied by a frustrated shout of his name. He ignored it, turning back to you, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Will you go on a proper date with me tonight, [Y/N]?" he asked, "Dinner. Just us."

The knocking outside ceased abruptly. A chilling silence fell, then a sharp, audible gasp. You saw Lucy's shadow shift beneath the crack of the door. She had heard him. Every word.

Harry, oblivious or simply uncaring, took a step towards you, his hand reaching out. "Well?" he prompted, his eyes full of hope.

You glanced at the door, then back at Harry's hopeful face. The situation was exploding, but a defiant thrill shot through you. You could almost feel Lucy's fury radiating through the wood.

"Yes, Harry," you said, your voice firm, a triumphant smile finally breaking through. "I'd love to go on a date with you tonight."

The heavy silence from the hallway lingered, pregnant with unspoken rage. You knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that Lucy had just heard your answer. And you also knew this was only the beginning of the drama.

Harry opened the door. The moment he did, Lucy almost ran past him, her eyes still angry, but now with a hint of something else—despair. She didn't even see you at first, focused only on Harry.

"Harry, I am so, so sorry," she started, her voice sounding truly regretful, though some of her usual sharp edge was still there. She reached out and gently touched his arm. "Last night was… a mistake. I was upset. I just… I want to talk. Can we please get a drink? Just us. Like we planned." Her eyes begged him, a big change from the angry woman who had just been banging on the door.

Harry looked from her hand on his arm to your shocked face, then back to Lucy. His jaw was firm, and his face showed no doubt. "Lucy," he said, his voice steady, "there's nothing to talk about. And no, we're not getting a drink."

Lucy's face sagged a little, but then her eyes narrowed, looking at you with sudden meanness. "But… who is this?" she asked. "Harry, what is she doing here? What was that about a date?" She waved her hands between you and Harry, losing her calm. "You said you didn't want me anymore because of her?" Her voice got louder, almost a shout, the despair turning into fresh anger. "Your assistant? Really, Harry? This is a joke!"

You felt your face get hot, but Harry didn't move. He stepped closer to you, subtly placing himself between you and Lucy, his hand finding your arm again. "Lucy," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, "you need to leave. Now."

Lucy's eyes narrowed, a cold fury replacing the desperation. "You're going to regret this, Harry," she hissed, her voice low and venomous.

Harry just smiled, a confident, almost triumphant curve of his lips. "It looks like I'm not the one who regrets things, Lucy."

Her face turned red with anger. She spun around fast and marched out of the office.

Harry turned to you, the tension in his body relaxing as he took your hand. You could feel your coworkers trying to sneak looks and listen from their desks. Harry didn't care what they thought. He leaned in and gently kissed your lips, a soft kiss that made your still-shaking body feel warm.

"I'll pick you up at six," he whispered, his eyes shining with a soft promise. "And I have a surprise for you."

A real smile finally spread across your face. You felt happy, but still a little shaky from everything that had happened. "Thank you," you said, your voice a bit wobbly. "I'm so happy. I'll see you then."

You squeezed his hand, then turned and walked out of the office. The weight of the day, and the amazing things that had just happened, felt heavy on you. You knew for sure that your life had just changed forever.

Chapter 2 next week ☺️

Thank you for the reading 💜

[gay-dorito-dust]

ik you don’t write much for walker … but your walker as readers older brother figure head cannons live in my mind- i love him being that reluctant protector of everyone- i think about the cactus fruit scene so much HE CARES IN HIS WERID FUCKED UP WAY- anyways i was wondering if you maybe had more thoughts to share 👀 maybe him freaking out over reader getting injured on a mission?? or just more stupid sibling shenanigans bc ik i would love to pester him all the time

i must admit, this bastard has grown on me like a mold, or a stain i can't get rid of anyway-

you and john still pester each other as surogate siblings do, it's a highlight to everyone's day honestly as seeing you and John squabble over who had eaten the last of the ceral you both unironically liked, throwing jabs and nuding each other out of the way as you both made your way to the kitchen.

it had been months since you've crossed each others paths on that fateful day in the vault, and now you and John had come to accept that you were most likely siblings in another life. even during missions where you two were paired you'd go in as obnoxious siblings who hated each other but would wage war should something happen to the other.

'he's grown on me like a mold, an annoying mold that sqwaks in my ear military terminology that i could give less then two shits about.' you'd tell Yelena and Bob when they asked about how you could withstand Walker as long as you have. 'i care about him, he's my brother from another life that i'm reluctant to say i'm glad to have met in this life, he's a dumbass but he's a dumbass i'd gladly take the piss out of for the rest of my life.'

'they're an idiot, they need me to look out for them and often get into some stupid bullshit every second behind my back.' John says to alexei and Ava. 'yet they've become a stain on clothes that i can't be rid of entirely but learned to live with instead. i haven't felt this way about someone other then Lemar...they annoy me but i want to protect them, they make me question my sanity but i'd give them the shield off of my back without hesitation.'

John then shrug his shoulders, remembering the times where he'd drag you to watch the game with him even if you didn't want to, only by the end you two were screaming at the tv together, arms tossed over the others shoulder as his team won. That was family in his eyes. 'Though i guess that's just how families are with one another, you hate each other one minute but remeber that you would fight for and with any time of the day.'

you two would say these sentimental shit to other people about one another, yet never say it to each others faces, instead you just show each other that you care for one another. You'd watch the game with him whenever it's on or help fix his fucked shield and he'd make you something he knew you would like, clean your weapons for you and even make sure that befofre missions you had everything you needed.

'gun?'

'john.' you'd whine.

he points at you.'no buts, this is mandatory checklist. now gun?'

'yes.'

'knives and or daggers?'

'i've got both since you keep insisting that i have back up wepons in situations if i were disarmed.' you tell him as you both ran over the cheklist he made specifically for you. you hated it but you knew that this was John's way of caring for you and showing his worry whenever you were partnered up with someone else other then him.

'don't die.' is what he says.

'i'm contractually obligated to not die on these missions becuase who else will take the piss out of you if not me?' you reply back but you hated not being partnered up with your brother from another mother, yet you knew he could handel himself and he had that fucked up tacco shield of his too. 'catch you later captain tacco shell.' you'd call before leaving with Ava and Yelena.

john hated it when you called him captain tacco shell, becuase it had caught on and everyone from Ava to Bob had been calling him that ever since. he knows he'll never see the end of it but still it's something he had silently condemed you for.

if john were to ever find that you were hurt on a misson he'd freak out, he's already lost Lemar Hoskins on a misson in the past and he wasn't about to loose his idiotic sibling either. The moment he had heard over the comms that you had been hit badly, suddenly being called captain tacco shell didn't seem all that bad, it was funny even, as he immedietly rushes to your location faster then he had ever before.

everyone was moving out of the way the second john came into view, giving him the space to get to you without feeling the back end of his sheild. they had never seen him look this dishevield before as he's scooping you up in his arms, holding you close as his jaw clenched in anger and annoyance at himself for not being there.

'come on dumbass, i need you to wake up and call me captain tacco sheild again, come on please wake up so i can tell you how dumb you were...i need my sibling back...my stupid, dumb, insufferable sibling.' john would say as his chest constricts and hurts him in ways he couldn't describe. like he couldn't breath, like he having some part of him being torn away from him that he didn't know he had before meeting you.

John stays with you while you were healing, always sat in the room with you, cleaning your weapons like he always did but this time it was to distract his mind from the worst happening to you, he would even talk to you alloud and await your snarky resopnses, feeling his chest hurt more when he was greeted with silence instead, reminding him of your current situation and suddenly he was back to being angry.

the rest of the team try to cheer him up, letting him know that you'll be up on your feet sooner or later, yet that didn't work as John only stared at them blankly with a forced smile. 'i might loose my sibling, i don't need to be coddled thanks.' was all he says.

Yelena understands John's situation the best, knowing the feeling of loosing a sibling or close to loosing a sibling and would tell him that he was going to get you back, that he wasn't going to loose his sibling and that he should treasure every moment he gets with you afterwards when he does get you back.

so when John was cut off his rambelings, he was about to be annoyed again but perked up when he heard your voice, weak but still snarky and sarcastic as the day he first met you. 'shut it captain tacco sheild, i'm trying to get some sleep over here and all i can hear is your annoying and degrading voice in my ear constantly.' John was estatic, but you weren't scott free from his rants and scolding for scaring him half to death, telling you that he could barely leave you alone on a missoon withouy you getting hurt.

normally you'd snark back at him, but this time you just simply grabbed his hand and said 'i'm right here dipshit, i'm not going anywhere because you're stuck with me annoying for the rest of your miserable life.'

john relaxed and smiled a little to you as he squeezed your hand back, happy to know that you were going to be okay, but he does become unbeareably protective of you for weeks afterwards. making sure you were okay, not pulling any stitches or making your situation worse.

'i'm not a baby john!' you cried.

'stop whining and take your meds.' John replied and the team knew things were back on course when they heard you and john pick right back up from where you both left off. Everything was going to be okay for the surogate Walker siblings.

god forbid your dating or crushing on Bob or anyone else on the ream, he's going to be even fucking worse in so many ways that range from overbearing to embarrasing you infront of them. Though John would also insist that they had to go through him before dating you, to which you groan and shove him away for being annoying, only for him to point at you and say 'i'm your brother! i'm meant to be annoying.' yeah your dating life would be soemthing with this man pratically interogating your crush/ patner for hours on end.

[fic-girlie]

Hi, I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if you could write something about an Introverted targ!Reader/Slightly on the timid side but sweet, really close with Elia and loves her mother Rhaella to pieces slowly getting closer to Oberyn every time he visits??? If not that’s totally okay, I love your writing btw!! 💗

Fire and sunlight

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x targ!reader Summary: You arrive in Dorne shy and soft-spoken, but with each visit—and each moment with Oberyn Martell—you begin to bloom. Warnings: slow-burn, fluff, soft Oberyn, sweetness

The Dornish sun is blinding, even in spring, but you’ve always preferred its warmth to the bitter chill of King’s Landing’s shadowed corridors. You arrive under a pale parasol, tucked into the cushions of a litter that sways with the gait of your palfrey, your head slightly turned to watch the rippling horizon. There’s something in the air here—salt and orange blossoms, wind and freedom. You breathe it in like a secret you’ll carry back with you, if you must leave.

The Water Gardens stretch before you like a dream brought to life. Sunlight plays across shallow pools, children laugh somewhere beyond the courtyards, and the breeze carries the music of fountains instead of the whisper of spies. You’re not used to stillness that isn’t laced with caution.

Elia is the first to greet you—of course she is. She smells like myrrh and citrus and wraps you in an embrace that stills every frantic thought in your head.

“Finally,” she breathes against your cheek, pulling back only to cup your face in both hands. “You’re here. You look tired.”

You offer her a soft smile. “The journey was long.”

“You always say that, sweet sister, even when the journey is only through the palace gardens.”

You shrug, unable to argue. Elia is sunlight incarnate, luminous even when she's teasing, but she never says things to hurt. You feel it in the way she tucks her arm through yours as if she's afraid you’ll slip away again. She always walks just a bit ahead, leading you gently but surely into rooms where you’d otherwise hover at the edge.

“I don’t want you to hide this time,” she says, her tone fond but firm. “No more vanishing into corners with your embroidery. You must let them see you.”

Them.

You already know who she means.

But you say nothing. Instead, you let her lead you down a colonnade where columns frame the sea, and you blink against the light reflecting off the waves. Everything here is too open, too exposed, but somehow… safe. You can feel your shoulders beginning to loosen.

You want to tell her that you’ll try. That you’ll try for her. But the words stay lodged in your throat, as they often do.

She seems to understand anyway. Her arm tightens around yours.

You find yourself in the southern garden the next day, seated under a blooming citrus tree whose branches hang heavy with gold and green. The book in your lap is more comfort than distraction, your eyes reading the same line over and over while your thoughts drift. You trace the spine with your fingertip, already feeling the echo of steps on gravel before you see him.

He doesn’t announce himself.

You sense him by presence alone, heat and awareness folding around you like sunlight through a stained-glass window. When you look up, he is standing in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back, head tilted in a way that makes his dark hair fall into his eyes.

“I hope you won’t mind me saying,” Oberyn Martell begins, “but you’re not like any of the Targaryens I’ve met.”

Your heart gives a small, startled leap.

You nod politely, your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the edge of your book.

“Most of them,” he continues, crouching so he’s level with you, “seem to believe that silence is either a weapon or a punishment. But yours… yours is different.”

You’re too surprised to look away. The sunlight frames him from behind, a halo of molten light, but his voice is soft—quieter than you expected. Not demanding, not arrogant, only curious.

“You don’t speak much,” he says, smiling as if it’s not a flaw. “But when you do, I imagine it means something.”

Still, you don’t speak now. You can’t. You hold his gaze just long enough to let your lips twitch in a tiny, bashful smile.

“That’s all right,” he says, rising smoothly. “I don’t mind waiting.”

And with that, he’s gone.

You stare after him long after he disappears from view, your fingers resting still on the page that never turned.

——

You never meant to let him see you paint.

It was supposed to be a private indulgence—a moment of stillness by the fountain, your bare feet tucked beneath you, brush in hand. The parchment is wide across your lap, and you dip the brush gently into pale orange pigment, blending it with gold. The figure you’re painting is Elia—smiling as you last saw her, head thrown back in laughter, a breeze catching the ends of her braid.

You’re so absorbed in your work you don’t hear him approach.

“Is that Elia?”

You stiffen.

When you look up, Oberyn is standing behind you, hands clasped loosely, his expression unreadable. He steps closer but doesn’t touch the painting—only peers at it with a kind of reverence.

“You’ve caught her,” he murmurs. “That expression... she only makes that face when she’s looking at something she loves.”

You look down, flustered.

“She’s always easy to paint,” you say, your voice soft. “She glows.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You see her very clearly.”

You nod, feeling your pulse in your throat.

“Do you paint yourself?” he asks gently.

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer.

He kneels again, as he did that first day. “Because you’re afraid you’d get it wrong?”

You hesitate. Then nod.

“Then let someone else try,” he says, and you look at him sharply. “Let me try.”

You blush, eyes wide.

He chuckles, but it’s not mocking—it’s warm. “Someday.”

And then he walks away, leaving you with wet paint, trembling fingers, and something alive blooming in your chest.

——

You no longer sit in the shadows.

It’s early evening, and the sun hovers low over the dunes, casting golden streaks across the water. You sit near the fountain now—where the sunlight finds you easily—and your silver hair shimmers in its light. You brought two cups of Dornish wine, chilled and honeyed, and you’re no longer surprised when he finds you.

This time, he slows beside you. Watches the way you tilt the second cup toward him without a word.

He smiles. “Does this mean I’m welcome now?”

You meet his eyes.

“Yes.”

He sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

“You always watch me,” he says after a moment, no judgment in his voice.

You tense slightly, then murmur, “You’re… difficult not to notice.”

His grin is slow. “Ah. But that’s not the same as wanting to.”

You lower your gaze. “You’re like fire,” you say finally, barely louder than a breath. “Beautiful. But bright. Too much for someone like me.”

His voice softens. “Fire doesn’t always want to burn. Sometimes, it just wants to warm. You should let it.”

The words wrap around you, and when he leans back on his elbows to look at the sky, you risk watching him—this time openly. The line of his jaw, the flicker of lashes, the fullness of his mouth.

And for the first time, you do not look away when he catches you.

——

You write her often—your mother.

Your letters to Queen Rhaella are filled with gentle reassurances and sweet, clumsy sketches of the gardens. You always include a pressed flower, careful to seal it between soft pages, and you imagine her smile as she opens each one, her tired hands smoothing the parchment. She is not well, not always, but she is the brightest star in your private sky.

One afternoon, while you're finishing a letter beneath the lemon trees, Oberyn walks by. You try to fold the parchment quickly, but he stops beside you, catching a glimpse of the trailing silver ink across the page.

“Your mother?” he asks.

You nod.

“She must be proud,” he says after a beat. “To have a daughter who still carries her so close.”

You look down. “She’s all I had, for a long time. I think… she held me together.”

“Not all you have now,” he says quietly. “Not anymore.”

You lift your eyes, surprised by the seriousness in his voice.

“She’s important,” he continues, crouching before you again, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady. “But don’t forget that you are too. To Elia. To your people. To me.”

Your breath catches, and your lips part slightly, but he doesn’t ask for a reply.

He stands again, offering you a small, solemn nod. “Send her my regards.”

That night, your hand shakes slightly when you add his name to the bottom of the letter.

——

There is music in the courtyard.

Elia’s nameday celebration is not grand, but joyful—laughter spilling out of the halls, dancers moving beneath the dusk-washed sky, silk and gold and red swaying like flame. You stay near the edge at first, fingers wrapped around a goblet, eyes following your sister as she moves in a circle of smiling faces.

Oberyn finds you watching.

“She wants you to join,” he says, offering his hand.

“I don’t dance,” you whisper, embarrassed.

“I do,” he says, with a smile that dares. “And I’m very good at it.”

You hesitate too long. He steps forward, lowering his voice.

“I will not lead you where you don’t want to go. But if you trust me… only a little… I’ll show you that it’s not so frightening.”

You stare at his outstretched hand.

It trembles in the air between you, waiting.

And finally—finally—you take it.

He draws you out gently. One step, then two. His hand is warm around yours, the other settling lightly against your waist. You barely hear the music at first—only your heartbeat, only the breath caught in your throat.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, close to your ear.

You try.

And then, slowly, he moves.

It isn’t a whirlwind. It’s not grand. He steps where you step, shifts when you shift, your movements growing braver with each pass. He doesn’t press or twirl or demand. He lets you stay small, but not invisible. He lets you feel—his strength, his attention, his quiet admiration.

When the song ends, your face is flushed, your heart flying. He bows low.

“My lady,” he says with theatrical charm.

And you can’t help it—you laugh. Soft, high, delighted.

He straightens slowly, as if memorizing the sound.

——

You’re in the gardens again.

The hour is late, the moon silvering the pools, and the others are asleep. You had wandered—unable to sleep, your thoughts too full—and found your way to the edge of the reflecting pond where moonflowers bloom and silence stretches deep and gentle.

He finds you there.

He always does.

But tonight, he doesn’t speak at first.

He only sits beside you, close enough that your shoulders press, and together you watch the wind stir the lilies.

“Do you ever feel,” you say suddenly, surprising yourself, “like… you’re too much for some places, and not enough for others?”

He turns to you slowly, his profile lit in moonlight.

“Yes,” he says, after a long pause. “But not when I’m with you.”

You swallow hard.

“I’ve never had someone see me,” you whisper. “And not want to change me.”

“I wouldn’t change a single breath you’ve ever taken,” he says, his voice lower now, rougher. “You’ve been soft in a world that punishes softness. You’ve stayed kind when cruelty would’ve been easier. I see all of that.”

You look up.

He’s watching you the way he does when he paints—like you’re something sacred.

“Oberyn,” you breathe.

And he leans forward slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

You don’t.

Your lips meet his in the softest, most reverent brush of heat. Not wild or possessive—just true. You shudder from the weight of it, from the gentleness, from the way his hand cups your cheek like you’re something fragile and precious.

When you part, neither of you speaks for a long time.

There’s no need.

His forehead rests against yours, and the night swells with quiet wonder.

——

You don’t leave when the moons shift again.

You stay.

You stay because Elia smiles more when you're near. Because the sound of your mother’s letters arriving makes your chest ache with joy instead of sorrow. Because you’ve learned how it feels to be seen—not despite your softness, but because of it.

And because when Oberyn touches your hand now, he does not ask for permission.

He already knows it’s his.

One morning, you find a ring nestled inside a bloom he left at your window. It’s shaped like a sun entwined with a silver dragon—bold and bright and impossibly delicate.

You wear it without a word.

He finds you in the garden hours later, and for the first time, you walk to him—not as a shadow, not as a question.

As flame.

[thesecretestblogever]

Could I request Matthew Knies with prompt 7 please! I’m really enjoying your writing.

pairing : matthew knies x reader

w.c. : 700

warnings : nothing! just cutie matty; always needing physical contact

Hi I sent a Matthew Knies request #7 but didn’t specify. I meant from the fluff prompts.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You’ve only been dating Matty for a few months and to say it’s been a whirlwind is a dramatic understatement. You’ve never dated an athlete and it is a lot to get used to. You often joke with him that he’s lucky you like him so much, because the whole “WAG” thing is crazy and just a little (a lot) exhausting. 

You’re still in school, studying for exams and trying to balance the relationship between work, school, and being a good girlfriend. Luckily for you, Matthew also just happens to be incredibly sweet and understanding. He’s somewhat of a gentle giant and always loving on you. He helps you study for tests, holding the flashcards and asking the questions like he has any idea what they’re saying. If you get the answer right, you get a kiss and if you get the answer wrong? Well, you still get a kiss. It’s not a very effective study method.

The relationship is definitely exclusive at this point and he asked you to be his girlfriend about a month after you started dating. One thing you’ve noticed is that he can’t keep his hands off of you and not in the typical handsy way you’re used to boys touching you. It’s not like he’s grabbing your ass or pressing against you to get in your pants all the time (though there’s plenty of that too). It’s that he’s always touching you in some way while you’re together.

If you’re on the couch watching a movie, he insists you drape your legs over his and he’ll give you a calf or a foot massage. And when he’s done with that, he’ll pull you down so that you’re laying on his chest, and his hands will run through your hair. 

If you’re in the car, his hand is resting on your thigh and stroking the skin with his thumb. He’ll glance at you every so often to make sure you’re okay, and when you catch him, a soft blush covers his cheeks.

He starts sleeping over pretty quickly, and when the lights finally turn off, he either pulls you into his chest, cocooning you in his arms or makes sure your legs, hands, or feet are touching in some sort of manner. Soon enough, he finds he can’t sleep if he can’t feel your warm skin against his. 

When you’re in the kitchen cooking dinner (enough to feed six normal people) he’s hovering around the space. He’ll stand behind you at the stove with his hands on your hips and place soft kisses on your neck. It’s always distracting, but you wouldn’t change a thing. 

“Can I help you?” You smile as you feel Matty standing behind you while you’re stirring the pasta sauce that’s bubbling on the flame. He bends down, rubbing his hands up and down on your hips and his chin rests on your shoulder.

“Just surveying,” he pecks your cheek, but doesn’t pull away. 

“Looking good, chef?" You joke, moving to flip the chicken over that’s in another pan so it can cook. He just shuffles along while you move, and presses the occasional kiss to your cheek or your neck.

“Delectable,” he sighs, and you wonder if he’s even talking about the food anymore. It doesn’t stop your cheeks from heating up as you work to focus on not burning anything. 

“You’re distracting me,” you grumble, even though you really don’t want him to go anywhere.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you know he’s lying because he doesn’t move. Instead, his arms wrap around your stomach and pull you even closer into his chest. 

“Okay, well watch out or you’re about to have boiling water all over you,” you say as you move to drain the pasta. It’s only then that he backs off and allows you to finish the meal. That doesn’t stop him from sitting on the same side of the dining table as you, with one hand firmly planted on your thigh, the other digging into the delicious food you made. And leftovers? You can forget about that - all the food is inhaled.