#(i know. I know what you’re trying to say! I understand how you got to this conclusion!)

[rosiereveries]

Part three of CEO!John Price

Part one | Part two

CW : smut, oral sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, mating press, little power imbalance, reader is a female

After you read the note that John left for you on your table, you are left feeling quite nervous but also excited. You were prepared for this. When you were getting ready for work this morning, you put on your favorite underwear. Lacy pink panties and matching bra that made your tits look great. You put on a lot of perfume, the one John had bought for you. You wore your best outfit, and you felt sexy and confident. You wanted to impress John, yesterday took you by surprise, but now you were in charge. When the time for his lunch break came, you were ready, so when you went to his office you knew what you wanted. You wanted him.

You find John sitting behind his table, working on his laptop. He looks good, so fucking hot without even trying. When he realizes that it´s you, who just walked in, he immediately shuts up his laptop and his full attention is on you. “Suddenly my day just got a lot better” he says and walks to you.

He gently places his hand on your cheek, and he kisses you. It’s nothing like the kiss you shared yesterday. This one is soft and gentle, like now he has time to taste you properly. He takes his time kissing you. When you try to touch him more, he pulls away. “Not now sweetheart, we have plans don’t we”. John walks out of the office with you. His hand on your back walking you through the whole floor like you’re his wife and not his secretary.

You’re confused. You expected a quick sex in his office, just like yesterday, you expected him to just pull your skirt up and fuck you on the desk. But now he is taking you somewhere in his expensive car and you’re wondering what the hell is going on.

You don’t know how John is feels about dating. You always thought that he was the type who just had casual sex with different partners. Since you started working for him, he didn’t have a girlfriend, but you heard from your colleges that he enjoys a company of beautiful women. Sometimes the relationship lasts longer but mostly there were a few weeks hook ups.

You stop in front of some Italian restaurant. He opens your door for you and like a true gentleman he helps you to get out of the car. The restaurant is lovely, there are only a few people inside and it looks really cozy. After you order your food he asks about your day, how did you sleep and what are your plans for the evening. He acts like you’re on a normal date and not on a business lunch. “I can see that something is bothering you, you don’t like it here?” John asks you after he notices how out of the place you look.

You tell him that you don’t understand what is going on, why are you here and what are you doing. “Well, I know that you don’t go out for your lunch break, so I wanted to take my girl out, take care of you.” He says it is not a big deal. “Your girl?” you ask. “What did you thought that I’m just going to fuck you in my office, when I am will be bored? John asks and your face goes red. That is exactly what you thought he would do. “I take care of my partners. I want to spoil you. Since you started to work for me you have been such a good girl, making my life so much easier. Now it is my turn.” You’re left speechless.

After the lunch, he takes you back to the office. His hand is on your thigh while he drives and it’s making you insane. Yes, you do like that he took you out but you’re so horny. The whole morning you imagined what he would do to you, and you were excited. And now he is teasing you with his fingers lightly brushing over your skin and each time he goes higher and higher.

At one moment when John’s hand is almost all the way under your skirt you moan. He looks at you with a playfulness in his eyes. Now he is teasing you on purpose. He continues to drive while his hand is slowly making its way in your panties. “Fuck love, you’re soaked, you could tell me that you wanted me so much.” Gently he starts to circle your clit and you’re opening your legs more for him.

He slowly puts two of his fingers inside you and after a while he starts to move them. You’re almost at the office building when he makes a turn and starts to drive in a different direction. “Where are we going?” you ask. “I made a promise to you yesterday, haven’t I. Were not fucking in my car. I am taking you to my place, so we don’t have to worry about some of your colleagues catching us fucking. We would want Janice from finance to see how good you take my cock. Am I right?”

To be honest you don’t care if Janice saw you. You’re so close and you can feel your orgasm approaching. John still casually drives while his fucking your pussy with his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you’re desperate, you just need a little bit more and you know that he knows it too. “You will come on my face in a minute don’t worry” John says.

And he is right the drive to his house is short and you both quickly get out of the car. When the door to his house closes behind you, he is immediately on you. Kissing you passionately and lifting you up so your legs are wrapped on his hips. He walks with you up the stairs not letting you go.

 “Everything off, I want to see you” he says when he lays you on his bed. You’re quick with your clothes and now you lay before him in nothing but your panties. “Fucking beautiful, and I bet you taste even better than you look.” “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart, let me see you” he gently pulls your panties, and he shows his head between your thighs. You’re already so wet and when he finally starts to lick your pussy your gone. You arch your back, and you can hear him whisper fucking perfect for me.  

When his tongue finds you clit you’re gone. He looks up at you and you can see your wetness on his beard and it’s the hottest thing you have ever seen. He quickly brings you to your orgasm and as he promised you to come on his face. When you finally come down from your orgasm you can see him taking his shirt off. He unzips his pants and quickly takes them off. He is on you naked, and you can see his hard dick leaking precum.

“I want to see your face this time, I want to see how pretty you’re going to look when I make you come on my dick.” He slowly pushes in you. “You were made for me honey, youre going to be the death of me.” he growls, and he starts to move in you. John is a big man and the way his stretching you is amazing. You can feel him everywhere and you are full.

It’s completely different than the sex you had yesterday. This is slow, his thrusts are hard, but it’s not rushed like the last time. He plays with your nipples, and you can feel that your second orgasm is approaching. “I am going to cum” you tell him, and you can feel that he is close too. He pushes your legs to your chest in a mating press and you can feel him so much deeper. “I need to come in your sweet pussy, please sweetheart be a good girl and let me” he says and you just nod. His fingers start to rub your clit and your orgasm hits you. He follows shortly after you spilling his seed into you. When he pulls out of you, he pulls you to his chest and he holds you so tight. You just lay there and you on his chest and his hands holding you.

You don’t go back to work that day, you stay at his place the night and the next day he drives you to your apartment. He tries to convince you to take the rest of the week off, so he can enjoy your company, but you tell him that he is the boss, and he needs to work, and he can’t take a vacation just because he is horny.  You go to work and when you go to your desk you see a note there, just like yesterday. But this time it says: My office now! And loose your panties on the way.

Masterlist

[dollishmehrayan]

# BATBOYS WITH A CLASSIC LITERATURE LOVER ── .✦ ( batboys with a s/o who loves/majors in literature )

a/n: this is requested by my amazing @kvfkas 🫶💕, I Lowkey for some reason also love literature too but like it’s hard for me to open a new book because I’m like so busy almost everyday but anywayss && I still can’t get over that one of my record players BROKE. So I can’t play my vinyls until I buy a new one which I ordered yesterday. Tags: (batboys x classic literature lover)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick thinks it’s adorable how much you love classic literature. He often finds you curled up with a book that looks like it’s been through several lifetimes, the pages dog-eared and filled with your meticulous annotations.

He loves watching you get animated when you talk about your favorite books, even if he sometimes gets lost when you start referencing ancient Greek tragedies or 19th-century poetry.

“Wait, so you’re saying Achilles was in love with Patroclus? Why didn’t they just say that in school?”

If you major in classics, Dick would try to support you by attending your lectures or even helping you prep for exams. He’d quiz you on authors and historical contexts, even if he can barely pronounce some of the names.

Romantic Moments: On your birthday, he surprises you with a first edition copy of your favorite book, complete with a handwritten note tucked inside the front cover. “I don’t understand half of what’s in this book, but I know it makes you happy, so that’s all that matters.”

He’d ask you to read to him sometimes, enjoying the sound of your voice as much as the words themselves. "You make these stories sound even better, you know that?"

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason is completely enamored with how passionate you are about classic literature. He gets it; books saved his life, too.

He finds your annotations fascinating and sometimes steals your books to read through them, not just for the story, but to get a glimpse into how your mind works.

“You think Heathcliff is a terrible person, but you still love him? Explain that one to me.” He’d genuinely love hearing your reasoning, even if it ends in a spirited debate.

If you’re majoring in classics, Jason would definitely tease you about it: “So, what, you’re gonna be the next Indiana Jones but with books?” But deep down, he’s incredibly proud of you. (He has dreams of being a literature professor)

Romantic Moments: One day, he surprises you with a day trip to a small, dusty bookstore he found, knowing it’s exactly your kind of place. “Take your time. I’ve got all day,” he says, leaning against a shelf as you lose yourself in the aisles.

He’d also write little notes on scraps of paper and leave them in your books when you’re not looking: “You’re way cooler than Jane Eyre.” “That’s a lie jason.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim would be absolutely in awe of your love for classic literature. He’s a voracious reader himself, so he’d immediately start asking for recommendations.

He’s amazed by how thoughtful and detailed your annotations are. He’ll flip through one of your books and go, “You should publish these. People would pay good money for your insights.”

If you’re majoring in classics, Tim would make it his mission to help you however he can. Need to translate something from Latin or Greek? He’s on it. Got a big paper due? He’ll proofread it for you.

Romantic Moments: On a particularly stressful day, he sets up a cozy reading nook for you, complete with your favorite snacks and a stack of books he thought you’d like. “Figured you could use some time to unwind.”

He’d get into the habit of reading the same books as you so he can discuss them with you. “Okay, but why does everyone hate Tess of the d’Urbervilles? I think she deserved better.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian would find your love of classic literature incredibly admirable. He appreciates intellectual pursuits and sees your passion as a sign of your depth and intelligence.

He’d be the one to challenge your opinions on certain characters or themes, sparking debates that sometimes last for hours.

“I fail to see why Mr. Darcy is considered romantic. He was insufferable for most of the novel.” But he secretly loves how animated you get defending your point.

(I’m gonna age him up for this one NO NSFW THOUGH HE’S STILL A MINOR BUT JUST FOR THE SAKE OF MAJORS) If you’re majoring in classics, Damian would take great pride in your academic achievements. He’d even start reading some of the books you mention, just so he can keep up with you.

Romantic Moments: He’d commission a custom leather-bound edition of your favorite book, embossed with your initials on the cover. “For someone as remarkable as you, only the finest will suffice.”

He’d also secretly annotate one of the books you’ve been wanting him to read and leave it for you to find. His notes are sharp, insightful, and, of course, slightly snarky.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce has always been a lover of knowledge, so he’d find your love for classic literature incredibly endearing.

He’d be genuinely impressed by your annotations and sometimes ask to borrow your books just to see your thoughts on them.

“You’ve given me a new perspective on The Great Gatsby,” he’d say after flipping through your copy.

If you’re majoring in classics, Bruce would offer to fund any research or study trips you need. “A visit to Greece would certainly enhance your studies. Consider it an investment.”

Romantic Moments: He’d host a quiet evening in the Wayne library, just for the two of you. The fireplace crackles softly as you sit side by side, reading and sharing passages that resonate with you.

He’d also make a habit of surprising you with rare editions of your favorite books, each one more breathtaking than the last.

[sweetdispatch]

The card - Q. Hughes

6 days of kinkmas

pairing: Quinn Hughes x girlfriend!reader

summary: Quinn and his girlfriend got into argument which led him to teach her manners

warning: NSFW, graphic sex (18+), safeword, dom!quinn, oral (f and m receiving), dacryphilia, slapping, orgasm denial

words: 1.8k

note: final day of kinkmas is here! but i have a surprise for 24th👀

---

Quinn, as a captain, was organising a Christmas party for his team. He needed your help but you were giving him a cold shoulder. A day earlier you two got into an argument and you didn’t want to forget this without apologies from him. You felt offended by his words and how low he thinks about you. As much as you wanted to help him, you didn’t want to give him satisfaction. 

“All I’m saying is that it would be nice if you would tell me about this party at least a week earlier. Not day before” You sighed, trying to explain to him why you were mad.

“You don’t do anything so what’s the issue that I told you this now?” 

“What is this supposed to mean?” His comment made you furrow yours eyebrows. 

“You’re sitting at home the whole day doing nothing. It shouldn’t make a difference that I told you now” He shrugged and you looked at him, shocked at the words he just said to you. You left the living room and went to the bedroom. 

This was yesterday and the two of you haven’t spoken since then. You had nothing to tell him because Quinn is the wrong one. If he thinks that you’re doing nothing, that’s exactly what you decided to do. You saw that he was struggling with preparing meals and cleaning at the same time but you were too stubborn to help him. 

“Could you help me with the cake? You're a much better baker than I am” He asked you politely when he saw you getting water from the fridge, but you hadn’t responded. You went back to the bathroom to do your makeup and acted like you hadn't heard anything. 

Quinn was furious at you. He couldn’t understand why you’re acting this way. In his mind, he hadn’t said anything wrong and you were the one who’s making a big deal of your conversation. He decided to let it slip for now, but after the party, he knew he’ll teach you manners. 

The party was going smoothly. You two acted like a loving couple around his teammates while you hadn’t sorted out the argument. You were chatting with other girlfriends when Quinn was standing with the boys near the kitchen island. One of the girls went to grab a drink and interrupted his conversation. 

“You’re a dick Quinn” She said and the boys looked at her. “You’re a dick for telling Y/N that she’s not doing anything in the house”

“Excuse me?” Quinn was taken aback by her words.

“She told us about your argument. How could you say this to her when she’s making everything so you could have a better life” She answered him and left. She sat on the couch and Quinn felt humiliated. 

The boys were chirping at him about this situation and he got even more mad at you. He started thinking about his plan to punish you for what just happened. You were completely unaware of the fact that one of the girls confronted Quinn and enjoyed the party. He could see you laughing from afar but he knew that you won’t be laughing when the two of you will be home alone. 

The party ended around midnight. When you closed the door after the last guests left, you sighed. All you wanted was to take off your makeup and get changed into something more comfortable. You started going to the bathroom when you heard Quinn. 

“Living room. Now” His voice didn’t leave a space for argument. You followed into the room and saw his furious face expression. “You think it’s funny to tell everyone about our conversation? You think this was nice when one of the girls came and called me a dick in front of others?” 

You were shocked. Yes, you told other girls about your argument but you never thought that they would direct this to him. You didn’t know what to say so you just stood there, waiting for his next move. 

“I’m using the card today” You froze hearing it. You completely forgot that a couple months ago you gave him a “card” that meant that he can use you however he wants and do whatever he wants. “You’re under my control and have nothing to say unless it’s a safeword, which is…?” He asked you to be sure you remember. 

“Sunflower” 

“Good, now I want you naked in the bedroom. Hands on your sides and no touching” 

You were turned on by the idea because sex with Quinn was always insane and you were curious what he’s gonna do to you. You took off your dress and threw it on the ground. You sat on the bed, waiting for him to come into the room. You trusted Quinn with your life and you knew that he would never hurt you but something in his voice made you nervous. You’ve been so caught up with your thoughts that you haven’t heard when he entered the room. He was standing only in his underwear. His voice brought you back from your trance. 

“Knees” You listened to him and positioned yourself in front of him. He was caressing your hair and tucked them behind your ear. “We could have a nice night but you had to run with your mouth. I think we need to put it into better use now. You already said too much” 

In a quick move, Quinn took off his underwear and you saw his hard dick. By instinct, you grabbed his dick and started playing with his length. He wasn’t happy with this and pulled your hair roughly so you could face him. 

“I said mouth. Don’t you dare to disobey me because it will end up even worse for you” You nodded and opened your mouth letting him put his dick inside. 

Quinn’s moves were rough. He was pushing his cock into your mouth without any mercy. You were gagging around him but this didn’t stop him. It turned him even more. You could feel the tip of his dick hitting your throat. Tears were spilling from your eyes and he laughed at the sight. Before he could cum in your mouth, he took out his dick. 

“Lay in the bed. Legs wide open” You do what he told you to. He kneeled in front of your pussy and started eating you out. “So wet and I’ve barely done anything” He chuckled and returned to licking your clit. 

Quinn pulled his fingers into your pussy and you moaned loudly. You felt incredible with his tongue on your clit. He could feel that you’re close to your orgasm but he stopped. You looked at him but he didn’t say anything. Only grabbed your hips and threw your body around. You were lying on your stomach when you heard.

“Ass up, face down” You positioned yourself and waited when you felt the first slap on your ass. You screamed by surprise not expecting this. “Next time you’ll want to act like a brat, remember how it feels” 

Quinn spanked you four more times. The pain became a pleasure for you and when the last spank laid, you moaned. He looked at your red ass for a couple seconds. He did this on purpose so you don’t know what he’s gonna do next. The next thing you felt was his dick deep buried inside of you. 

You were a mess under him. It felt so good when Quinn was fucking you roughly. You grabbed the sheet trying to find balance but with each thrust you were falling apart. It didn’t take him long enough to bring you close to your release. When he felt your muscles tightening around him, he pulled out. It was the second time when he didn’t let you cum.

“You’re not gonna cum until I say so” He stated and laid another spank on you. 

“Please Quinn, I need it” You begged him.

“Please Quinn, I need it” He mocked you. “You, my sweet girl don’t have anything to say” 

He thrusted into you again, this time you moaned loudly. He was keeping a hard pace and you went with your hand to touch yourself. Before you could do it, Quinn grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on your back. He did the same with your other hand. Now, you were totally at his mercy. Quinn was keeping your hands behind your back, still fucking into you. You were moaning and begging him to let you cum but he didn’t let you. Again, he pulled out of you and you cried. 

“I am gonna decide when you gonna cum, not you” He said not bothered by your tears.

Quinn threw you again and you were again on your back. He towered over you and thrusted into you again. You moaned but now, he shut you up with a kiss. It was the first time you tasted his lips today. His hand went to circulate your pussy and you started feeling overwhelmed. Other hand, I went to play with your boobs. This was all too much for you. All the touches, teasing and three denial orgasms. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sunflower” You said repeatedly, each time quieter from another.

Quinn took his dick out of you and panicked. He knew that he fucked up because you never used it before. He pulled you into a hug and started caressing your back. 

“Shh, you did so well. You’re safe” He was whispering into your ear and you started crying into his shoulder. It was breaking his heart knowing that he’s the reason you’re crying. “I’m so sorry baby, tell me what I can do to make you feel better” 

“Just hold me please” Your voice was breaking at each word. Quinn hugged you tighter and let you calm down. After a couple of minutes, you spoke again. “Can we take a bath and forget about it?” 

“Yes and no” You looked at him. His thumb wiped your tears. “We can take a bath but we have to talk about what happened. I need to know what exactly happened to push you to say this word. And don’t you even think that’s embarrassing. That’s why we have the word. To use it when it’s too much” He placed a kiss on your forehead. 

Quinn raised you and went into a bathroom to prepare your bath so you could relax. He stayed by your side all the time, reassuming you that everything’s fine and you’re safe. You appreciated it that he didn’t leave you alone to deal with this but wanted to help you. When you were ready to leave, again he raised you and gently dressed you up in his shirt and laid you on bed. 

“We don’t have to talk about this now but tomorrow okay?” You nodded and Quinn pecked your lips. “Goodnight babe, I love you and I’m sorry for today… and yesterday” 

“Stop, we’ll talk about everything tomorrow, now let’s just sleep… I love you” You curled into his chest.

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader argue about their next steps

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this is a combination of a few asks and takes place pre-OBX season 3. warning for some angst + arguing

Y/n ended her call with her manager Morgan with a sigh. It was a conversation she had been dreading, but she also knew was inevitable with the direction her career (and character on OBX) was moving. She had been dropping hints to Drew that her contract with OBX was ending, that she wanted to move onto some different projects, Caroline’s character arc was coming to a close…

“Hey, baby.” Drew smiled as y/n walked into their living room. He was sprawled out on the couch, his limbs propped on the ottoman and Charleston curled up at his side. Y/n smiled lightly at him, the grin not quite reaching her eyes in a way that made Drew’s brain sound off with bells and whistles.

“Um, I just got off the phone with Morgan,” y/n said quietly, Drew leaning in intently as she spoke, “and I don’t think I’m going to be renewing my contract for OBX.”

Drew’s face dropped, his eyes blinking rapidly as he stared at her in a stunned silence.

“W–what?” Drew said incredulously. Y/n sighed, running a shaking hand through her hair. Whether or not either of them cared to admit it, Outer Banks and shooting together was a big aspect of their relationship. Hell, it was how they met and how they spent months of the year practically inseparable on set.

“I– I just…” y/n swallowed harshly, “I want to try new things and I don’t want to feel tied down to—”

“‘Tied down’? Is that really how you feel?” Drew scoffed, shaking his head at her words.

“Drew, you know I don’t mean it like that.” Y/n sighed, her hand resting on Drew’s tensed shoulder.

“What do you mean, then?” Drew said. “‘Cause I’m trying to understand and it just sounds like you think the show’s a burden and—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/n said sharply. “I love the show and working with the cast— and working with you— but I just… it’s time for me to move on.”

“But I’m still stuck on this— what, this shitty, teenaged Netflix show? I can’t move on?” Drew shook his head. It was hard to not take it so personally when the show had given them so much, and for her to just leave like that… it hurt.

“This has nothing to do with how I think of you or your acting or career. You know you’re… a lot more important to the show than I am and you have a much more challenging role and—” y/n ran hand down her face with a sigh, “—this is 100% only to do with me and my career and my future.”

“But what about our future?” Drew said. “I just… don’t you think this is going to change things between us?”

“But it doesn’t have to. It doesn’t have to change anything.” Y/n said, taking Drew’s hand. His eyes closed, Drew ran his hand through his hair with a deep sigh.

“This is… this is really what you want?” Drew whispered, his thumb brushing along the back of y/n’s hand lightly.

“I think it’s the right step.” Y/n said quietly. Drew chewed on his bottom lip, mulling over his racing thoughts and questions before his gaze finally lifted to meet y/n’s. She could see a glint of sadness in his eyes, a recognition that the unique bond of the show would be changing.

“I don’t want you to think I didn’t think about us when I was making this decision.” Y/n whispered, squeezing Drew’s hand lightly. Drew nodded, squeezing her hand back.

“If this is what you think is best, then I support you.” Drew said. Y/n let out a sigh of relief, cupping the side of Drew’s face as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel forgotten or—” Y/n began, but Drew cut her off, kissing her forehead chastely.

“I’m sorry for freaking out, it's just… I can’t imagine the show without you and it just scared me to think about it.” Drew said lowly. Y/n frowned, to which Drew shook his head, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest. Her arms snaked around his torso, feeling the ridges of his muscles under her fingertips and hearing the thrum of his heart in her ear.

“We’ll figure it out, ok? I love you and we’ll figure it out.” Drew said simply. Y/n, squeeze him tighter.

“I love you. Thank you for supporting me, Drew. Really.” Y/n whispered.

[ladythornofrivia]

Mr. Targaryen Will See You Now || (PT. 2)

Modern!Aemond x Reader (four parts)

warnings: (for the future chapters): sex, oral sex, loss of virginity, squirting, stalking, obsession, manipulation, reader being clueless, but not totally innocent, blackmail, p in v sex, blood kink, knife kink, gun kink, handcuff kink, bdsm, masturbation, fingering, cum play, tease, mommy issues.

a/n: now you’ve all been waiting for! Part 2! this time, the reader will be as his soon-to-be secretary. i went to the studio for a photoshoot. i won’t say why, but i’ll be announcing it around next year. stay tune for part 3.

You were thinking about him.

His offer.

It was the night where the decision made you toss and turn into your bed. A one chance in a lifetime, something that will change your life and status for good. Getting a steady job meant a steady source of income and societal actions in the higher system that Aemond Targaryen is in. Meaning challengers. Rules and expectations are higher, something that you’re not easy to strive to change pace or comfort zone. It wasn’t your ideal.

The source of all things common and strivers, you weren’t exactly the type to flip the switch on exact moment. A steady job in a steady life is enough. But what Aemond’s offered you says it all.

Risky.

Practical.

Stability.

Peace for bank account.

A high life devoid of privacy and self-recollection. A highly paced environment will not stop their time for you. You’re a slow turtle.

Your friend teased about how Aemond went stuck in your head. It wasn’t fair, at all. It wasn’t like Aemond ambushed you to say yes, but told you to contemplate of his proposal. How his gleaming violet hues pierced into your soul, begging and demanding all at once. The duality was simple enough for you to understand what kind of man he is.

A perfectionist.

Fumbling your mechanical pencil over and over as you studied the notes on your papers, stack after stack, followed by several energy drinks and stained coffee cups all over a once tidy desk. Horrifying as it sounds, you wished for a proper solution for a distraction to settle down permanently. Your friend hasn’t teased you for days, thank god for that, but you needed a second opinion.

But you didn’t want to call your parents because you chose to sever ties with them, not that anyone needs to know the detail, so you tried improvising a solution other than your friend or anyone else you know. You searched on Google, typing:

“How to make a right decision when some hot guy offered you a high-salary job?”, “How to relax after getting offered a job by a hot CEO?” “How to relax and forget for today after days of thinking about the CEO’s offer?”, “How to sleep properly after trying to distract yourself for days after the amount of torturous hours of endless teasing from a friend and a flashback?”

So far no answer came, just the ones where people often complain on the blog on how bosses are viciously toxic, others posted recordings of the bosses that eventually got fired, both boss and ex-worker. Some co-workers fucked the CEO all the way to the top, and others disposed others by any means necessary in a way of safety net.

Your head was reeling with ache and burn, as if someone crushed your skull and penetrated to a point where the pulse tightened, ready to implode. Spine landed back of your office chair, your head thrown back, mouth parted open and tired eyes closed, needing cold air. The break you took was finding your usual posture slouching and limping, as if you were floating in water. Your arms and back were shivering, and it felt good.

You hated wearing a damn big sweater. You thrashed, screamed for a short second, arms stretched and flung, hair tossed and turned, scrunchie loosened up. Then you were still, back to a limp form on a chair, not sitting like a proper lady with legs spread.

Staring at the white ceiling, you grumbled, “I can’t take this anymore.”

Maybe I should relax for now…too much caffeinated drinks doesn’t serve me enough purpose to stay focus on my final exams. Maybe a hottest shower would do the trick and forget my exams for now. And for tomorrow. Get a massage, and be naked for the night.

Thus, you stood up and left.

The phone rang.

Inwardly groaning, you read the number on your screen.

Unknown.

Eh, I’ll call in for the night.

Clicked your phone to silence, and hopped in naked into the shower. Or a bath that will make you fall asleep naked until the morning.

~~~

The phone rang three days later.

You fell asleep, not being as productive, laziness can be good once in a while.

But who the hell would try to call you first thing in the morning without a fresh cup of matcha latte as a today’s starter?

Yawning and stretching your limbs, cracking your spine, you did the best of your ability to be awake in the system. Relaxing and—

Shit.

I have 30 missed calls!!!!!

Who the hell keeps calling me?

It freaked you out, so you blocked the unknown caller.

A small sense of relief escaped from your parched lips. Drank a bottle of cold water to unwind the coils on your belly and went for a warm shower.

Days after break, you returned to your studies—after a long process of washing and scrubbing the mugs, thrown trashes of empty cans by the kitchen, and wiped surfaces on your desk. As a slow perfectionist, like art, it takes perfection. Not a crease or stain to see in plain sight. For the whole morning, with amount of lavender spray in the bedroom and replacement of new bedsheets from your sweat stain, and carpet vacuumed, everything must feel light and right. According to the website, changing bedsheets for every week. Not two weeks or three. Bacteria infested god knows what, you hated the idea of being sick. Even when sick, you still clean, but your friend insisted she’ll do the chores done in an instant, but you knew that your friend is efficient in her job, but she’s no expert with chores.

Lavender scent carried off on a cold air, you slumped back on the desk, starting over with a writing assignment from one class, chugging on a matcha latte, your phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

Again.

This time, you answered.

What could possibly go wrong?

Miss (Y/N).

“Hello,” you said, pausing. “Who’s this?”

“Have you thought about my offer?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand—you must have the wrong number.”

“You are wasting the benefit of my time and success, Miss (Y/N).”

Your spit choked back. “Sir—Mr. Targaryen. Yes, hello! How may I assist you?”

“Have you come to an important decision?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m still studying for my exams. I haven’t been able to sleep properly for days. I…” you paused again, treading the words wisely. “This is something I can’t miss. I have to graduate.”

You heard him sigh.

“There are no excuses, Miss (Y/N). It’s now or never.”

This time, you sighed, foot tapping in an uneven beat, boisterous and clumsy.

“I’ll give you another day to reconsider. But if you don’t answer my call, I’ll pass this offer to someone who will be more sufficient and quick in my service than you’ll ever be. I don’t think you’ll have what it takes to be in my company.”

Your heart leapt.

You bent forward, suspense caving in. “Ah, no, that’s not what I meant, sir—”

“I don’t think so. Not with your late response. I like my staff members to be as punctual, strictly on time. I could only excuse this once to those who are abnormally late. Anyone who shows up with punctuality meant they’ve got what it takes to be more potential regarding to future promotions.”

“I—First of all, how did you get this number?”

“We’ll meet again tonight around 9. Don’t silence your phone.”

And hang up without a second thought.

“What a fucking jackass,” you stated, and with anger rising, you took out on the scrubbing and dusting off furniture.

~~~

Hours later, you anticipated for the phone call, since you’ve done all the studying and cleaning without a hassle on being cranky—not a person disrupted you since your friend went out the whole day to god knows what she’s doing. Results concluded that a proper, lazy rest for three days has been helpful to late cranky hours.

Plopping on a couch with blank television staring back at your tired posture, you weren’t in the mood to watch romance or comedy, especially those characters who are acting like jerks at the first part. Maybe as a kid, you hated bad boys, when as a teen, you loved—you’re a die hard fan of bad boys, thanks to young adult romance novels. But as a grown woman, you’re unsure, but it’s clear-cut that you hated men who carried themselves in their attitude like a dumb child that’s required to be babied.

One man-child after another. It makes you think you wanted a flamethrower to burn, and eating boxes of truffles and a Starbucks drink, watching a whole building collapse to ashes.

The back of your head thumped onto the couch pillows, counting one to ten, more like counting sheep, but you knew it was a bad idea, so you ate heavy chunks of strawberry ice cream on a white ceramic bowl, thinking whether you should do a pros and cons list.

Shit, I made a total embarrassment of myself to a hot young CEO. Even when he did tell me to reconsider his proposal, there’s no way in hell he’ll promote me. Not with the plans I have, not with my delays. He’ll shoved it down on my throat by making me watch another lady settling a high score at the office, and him smirking at my direction. I had a feeling he wants me to be part of his company, it’s weird how he’s the first person—the first CEO—to beg for my existence and be part of a rescue team on his prestigious company. Almost like he’s been ready his whole life. No other CEO would do this; every CEO would think of middle class people as nobodies or a pile of trash. How did he get my number? I wish I know.

Wait, did I just say “hot”?

The phone rang, in a familiar tune.

Nearly tossing the bowl behind you, you settled on the coffee table and picked up the call.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

“Sir.”

“Have you come to make a decision?”

Good money, good pay, and peace for the bank account.

“I have.”

“Well?”

“What time should I be there for work?”

“8 AM. You’ll begin working here around 9.”

“Done.”

“I knew you’ll give in. Eventually.”

“Huh, persistent much?”

“Persistence is a good quality in a man.”

“Right.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night’s rest.”

“Good night.”

You hang up and screamed into the nearest pillow you find.

~~~

Months later….

It’s been forever since you were welcome into the company by the CEO himself. Long story short, you got accepted, without a process of long interview and long wait for phone calls for a confirmation. Easy does it. New office, drinking cups of coffee by the fancy coffee machine and water dispenser and a fridge with ingredients and proper food—not a TV dinner. Most are healthy quality.

But it came with a cost.

You were now under training and supervision of your new boss, who won’t stop staring at you. Clearly he was still fuming of the last interactions he attempted through your phone, labeled as Unknown.

You understood why it was an unknown number. Privacy is a top priority for someone who is known in a local news article online and on social media. Most pictures on social media were focused on the other side of his family, the only time Aemond’s shown in the pictures was blurry.

The usual routine has routine, but one remained the same. You always tied your hair to an updo with a scrunchie.

Stacking and organizing the files and binders by name and number in order, after dusting off of his shelf and toss the useless files on a shredder machine. Whirring on the machine has gotten louder, but didn’t ease your anxiety from his ever watchful eyes. His nose somewhat flaring, and his hands kept opening and closing, attempting to stay tranquil by touching the fabric on his pants, sometimes the items on his large desk.

Aemond kept staring at you for as long as he could and you found yourself at a most vulnerable position. Everything was a mess, but thankfully all of his files are on his computer, including your laptop and Bluetooth headset and ergonomic pens, solely provided by the company, as you play fetch with the CEO, playing his do’s and don’t’s.

Day by day, each time you clocked into work mode, Aemond’s presence drew near. As if he was critiquing you through gaze.

“Why is Aemond staring at you? Have you done something to piss him off?” your co-worker asked.

“I had no clue. Is he always like this?”

“His face usually scowls to everyone, but he’s staring at you without blinking. Kinda freaks me out. Gives me the hibbie-jibbies.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you said in silence, knowing he has sharp ears he might fire you on the spot.

“Like he could hear us.”

“Shh! Would you keep it down!?”

“Anyway, I have to go. Oh, and, Mr. Targaryen wants to see you.”

The thing was, he always wanted to see you.

The past conversation went away as you tried to focus on the present.

Turning back again, and gathered the files Aemond needed for the next appointment. He didn’t need to go at the meeting. If he simply wanted to go, he would, but everything is convenient with advanced technology, online meetings have been a thing for today’s world. If he does want to show up at a mundane event, he would’ve done in a flash, and all eyes would be on him.

“Here are the papers that you requested, sir,” you uttered, low lashes fluttered towards him, hoping to release you from his sky-high office.

“This should be easy to handle with the indulgences of the client I’m working with. Awful man needs to be settled immediately.”

He flicked his wrist.

The screen on his computer brightened with an annoying tune. And deep, distorted voice on the other side of the screen.

You could only offer a short nod, not knowing what he meant. So you bowed and exited.

Finally free.

Without the dark hours, you were the only one left, aside from a janitor and couple security guards roaming the building to dismiss anyone who’s still resided at the office. The office hours are usually closed at 7:30 PM. But for this month, the boss’s notified the staff that they’re off around 5 PM. Aemond’s had been testing the work hours, based on New Zealand with a total of 6 hours of work instead of a regular 9-5. But not for the CEO.

There’s no rest for the wicked.

Finally, at the coffee lounge and a cafeteria, the last member of the cooking staff gave you two packs of cherry cheese danish and an empty cup for a caramelized coffee by the coffee machine standing nearby. You haven’t ate since the moment you stepped in at work. You were in the rush. Stomach twisted in pain now loosened from a good chunk of appetite stuffed into the mouth.

Sat by the ceramic bench, you hummed in delight, feeling like a warm hug, with a touch of caramelized coffee with cream powder. You haven’t had a good break since you were stuck in the room with him. A good coffee weighs the heaviness on your shoulders.

Suffocating.

With that, you emptied the food in your stomach and threw the cup and brown packets in the trash bin, and leaving the tray on top, striding forward to head back and grab your belongings and call it for tonight.

With a quiet office, all surrounded by sturdy walls and soundproof glass, you managed to relax, determined to go home.

The door shut in.

You turned and spotted Aemond locking the door.

“Sir,” you uttered, in question.

Without warning, he pinned you down on desk with a knife close to your face, the pointed end nearly touching your eye.

You screamed, but silenced you with a kiss.

Your first kiss.

“Don’t say a word,” he snarled.

And with the knife he held against your face, his hot breath tickled your face.

“You wouldn’t want to say a word to anyone, would you?”

Frightened, you shook your head. Laying still as if you’re trying to please him in a way to leave you alone.

He hadn’t inched away; knife on his hand slithered its tip across your skin, leaving your staggered, breath held captive, watching his blank and unsteady focus drinking it all in. The knife pinched your skin; Aemond slashed the black stockings in one swoop. Then, his knife went his way inside the ripped skirt he torn off, your pink thongs displayed before him.

You wanted to kick him, but he made sure to keep you still.

Rip!

The panties torn apart cleanly, your wet cunt displayed. It was a nightmare. Blush fell onto your cheeks as you watched him knelt down, still pinning you down, he licked your parted folds, lapped his warm tongue in three deep strokes.

By then, your cunt squirted shortly.

And he found it amusing.

“Be a good secretary,” he said, and plunged the hilt of the knife inside you.

Your moans escaped but Aemond kissed your lips, you could taste yourself in his lips, still in shock and denial that your lips could barely move.

Terror flooded within you; his hand bloodied as he inserted the knife’s hilt inside, urging your desperate, clinging cunt, growing warmer, tighter, coiled to a tight flex, oozing and flowing. You never had proper sex.

The knife has taken your virginity.

“Stop~” you uttered breath ragged breaths, nearly bucking your hips, cunt yearning.

Aemond denied, attempted to go faster, and the dark hilt of the knife pinched your walls right. The flush of hot squirt splashed on his uniform, even yours. Humiliating as it was, at least you’re somewhat thankful that it wasn’t his cock.

How long has he wanted this?

“Sir, please stop—”

“I will stop when I wanted to stop, Miss (Y/N). You’re going to love this. Whether you like it or not.” He unzipped his pants with one hand while his other pinned your hands above your head and stroke himself in front of your exhausted state. You couldn’t object anymore. His climax is about to reach, and his hot cum exploded, splashing everywhere on your skin. Even your face. His ragged breath overtook the silence, and left you defenseless. Letting your wrists go.

Everything was hot inside your private office.

“Fuck,” he moaned, eyes closed.

It felt right for him.

Seeing you all bruised and bloodied up. The hilt of the knife he held on his bloody hand—from the gripping the sharp end—it was a mix of your cum and blood, from tightening its grip.

Then he zipped his pants up, and left you cold on the table, saying, “Make sure no one sees you, Miss (Y/N). And if you mention this to anyone, I’ll kill you.”

His hand yanked the scrunchie out of your hair, some hair stands plucked, leaving your lips a soft yelp.

Then the door slammed shut.

Hollow. And emptiness.

Only your cries filled the stained and wrecked office, wondering how it went wrong, wondering how you can still breathe. The scars on your thigh wasn’t deep, but needs medicine and a clean shower, and a long rest. From there, you contemplate without hesitation. Your heart ached from shock and distress, a feeling where you wanted to throw up all the good food you ate earlier, but it was no use.

Perhaps you made a mistake on taking his offer.

~~~

As for Aemond, it was the first part of his plan. The red bruises on your wrist and absolution on your skin, laced in dark and wet crimson, from a torn underwear and stockings, the rush stirred in his veins and heart. And thus, more games he plans to pursue, seeing if you could withstand and beyond.

Somewhere in his head, the voice came in again. He wanted it to go away. The blood on his hand went cold, stinging from gripping the blade so tightly when he forced the hilt inside her warmth.

In the midst of stopping, he snapped his neck. In anger, he didn’t want to hear that voice again.

It’s about damn time he found a new toy to play with.

With a scrunchie he confiscated from you, yanked it away, as he went to the nearest elevator, reaching to his office, rushing to his chair to undo his pants once more and wrapped your scrunchy in several movements, until he became undone with his pleasure. He didn’t care of his staff coming in. But nobody entered. The staff went home and no one could hear Aemond’s throaty pleasure emanating.

The fainted smell of flowers on the scrunchy and his cum and blood from his injured right hand intertwined, as he sniffed it.

Divine and innocence.

Just the way he liked it.

reblogs/comments are greatly appreciated 🌹

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[candycandy00]

Welcome to Christmas Island! - A Sanji x Reader Fanfic

You work on Christmas Island, where every day is Christmas! All guests get to make a wish to Santa and have it granted. When the Straw Hat pirates show up, you decide to grant the wish of their handsome blonde cook. 

Smut. 18+. Sanji x Fem Reader. Implied that Sanji is a virgin. Oral sex. Cream pie. I haven’t written Sanji in 20 years so I hope I got him right!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Part of CandyCandy’s Kinkmas 2024!

You’ve lived and worked on Christmas Island for the past few years, but you still get excited each time new guests arrive, especially when they’re famous. 

It was only a matter of time before the Straw Hat pirates landed on this little island, and all your coworkers were equally hyped up to meet them. You’ve all followed their exploits in the newspapers for months, becoming fans along the way. Even the owner of the island, “Santa”, admires them! 

You’ve looked at all their wanted posters countless times, but one of them stood out to you: a silly looking blonde man named Sanji. While your friends were more interested in the more “cool looking” pirates, you found Sanji charming. You know it’s a silly picture, so you’re interested in finding out what he actually looks like. 

Your chance comes when the Straw Hats arrive and check into the enormous resort that takes up the entire island. They walk in, most of them gawking at the huge lobby full of Christmas trees and twinkling lights. They’re chatting and laughing amongst themselves, and their reputation for being fun-loving seems to be accurate.

Taming your excitement, you hurry over to greet them in your candy cane striped dress. 

“Welcome to Christmas Island!” you say in your cheeriest voice. “Please come in and sit down. I’ll explain how things work here.”

They begin taking seats in the plush red sofas positioned in the middle of the room. You do a mental headcount as you watch them, trying not to seem like an overly eager fan. 

Sanji spots you before you spot him. He steps up beside you, gently taking your hand in his. “Such a lovely lady here to welcome us!” he says, placing a quick kiss on the top of your hand. “This island is a dream already!”

When he raises his face to look at you, a breath catches in your throat. He’s way more handsome than you expected! His wanted poster barely resembles him, but the blonde hair and curly eyebrow are unmistakable. 

He smiles at you and takes his seat. You give the group a moment to settle down and get quiet before you begin. 

“On Christmas Island, every day is Christmas! At this resort, you’ll each write a letter to “Santa” asking for a Christmas present. You’ll receive that gift during your stay. Keep in mind we can only grant wishes for material goods or services. We can’t give you impossible things. For example, you can’t ask us to withdraw bounties or give you skills that can’t be learned while you’re here.”

They seem to understand, a few of them nodding. You pass out fancy notecards for them to write their Christmas wishes on, along with red envelopes for them to seal the “letters to Santa” in. 

A woman you recognize as Nami looks a bit skeptical as she eyes the notecard. “How much does this cost?”

Some of the others look at you, curious about the answer. 

You smile and shake your head. “No cost at all! There’s normally a fee, but since we’re all fans of the Straw Hat pirates, even Santa said to give you all the VIP treatment at no charge!”

The group seems happy to hear that, a couple of them actually cheering. Then they all begin writing on their notecards. Once they’re finished, you retrieve them and another employee shows the guests to their rooms. They’re all given private rooms, each one beautifully decorated with festive trees and lights. 

Later, you and two coworkers are reading the notecards to begin processing the wishes. 

“Look,” your friend says, giggling as she holds one out. “The captain just wrote one word: Meat!”

You laugh as you glance at a card in your own hand that says, “A year’s supply of cola”. 

Most of the requests are fairly reasonable and fit the crew members’ reputations. But at the bottom of the stack is one that stands out to you. 

“A sweet lady who wants to spend time with me.”

Your heart nearly skips a beat. You expected something perverted from the famously horny cook of the Straw Hat pirates, but Sanji’s request is surprisingly cute. 

“Can I take this one?” you ask, a little worried that one of your coworkers might have their eye on him. 

The two women look at each other and shrug. “It’s yours if you want it,” one of them says. The other nods in agreement. 

Thank goodness! You didn’t want there to be any awkwardness with your friends, but you were prepared to argue for this. Thankfully you don’t have to. 

One of them leans toward you conspiratorially. “What if he just wrote that as a nice way of saying he wants someone to fuck him?”

You grin at her. “Actually, I’m kind of hoping that’s the case!”

The others squeal in delight and cheer you on. “You get it, girl!”

You return to your own quarters to freshen up and change into your cutest red dress, then you head down the guest hall to find Sanji’s room. You only have to knock once before he opens it. Was he waiting by the door for his “present”?

He blinks as he looks at you, then smiles. “Oh, you’re the one who welcomed us!”

You return his smile. “I’m surprised you recognized me.” There are lots of women working here who wear the same dress you had on earlier. It’s basically the uniform. 

He steps aside, opening the door wider and gesturing for you to come in. “I never forget a beautiful lady’s face,” he tells you as you walk into his room. 

The comment makes you blush, but you giggle nervously and change the subject. “Are you settled in okay? Do you need anything?”

Looking around the room, you can see the closet door slightly open, and a few dress shirts neatly hanging inside. The bed doesn’t appear to be messed up at all, and everything is in its place. On a small table with two chairs, there’s a glass ash tray that’s nearly full. 

“I don’t need anything at all,” he says as he pulls out one of the chairs for you. “But can I offer you something to drink? I’m sure you know what the options are.”

You do. There’s a small variety of alcoholic drinks in the mini fridge, plus a hot water machine with various teas and coffees. 

As you sit in the offered chair, you accept his offer, taking a cup of tea. In all honesty, you just want to watch him prepare something. His skills are quite well known.  

You watch him fix your tea, his hands moving expertly to prepare it in the perfect manner. Then he sits the steaming cup in front of you and takes the seat on the other side of the table. 

The tea is delicious of course, leaving you wondering what you’ve been doing when you make it for yourself. He seems to like watching you enjoy it, a smile practically glued to his face. 

“It’s wonderful! I can’t believe it’s from the same tea we use!” 

After a few minutes of friendly chatting, you sit down your empty cup and get down to business. “Regarding your wish…”

His smile falters, a blush creeps over his face. “It’s okay if it can’t be granted!” he says quickly. “I’ll just take some new utensils, or maybe some rare spices if you have them here.”

Does he not realize you’re his present? He seems to have the wrong idea about your visit. Just how many times has this poor guy been rejected? 

You reach across the table and put one hand on his arm. “We can easily grant your wish,” you say. “In fact, that’s what I’m here for.”

He freezes, staring at you. His stunned eyes shift down to your hand, then back to your face. “You… want to spend time with me?”

“I’d love to!”

He still seems to be in shock. “Are you sure?”

You reach into the pocket if your dress and pull out a folded paper. You smooth it out on the table and slide it over to him. It’s his wanted poster. 

He blanches when he sees it, but before he can say anything, you blurt out, “I’m a fan of yours!”

“Huh?”

Now it’s your turn to blush again. “I mentioned before that all of us here are fans of the Straw Hat pirates, but we each have our favorites. You happen to be mine.”

He’s rapidly turning red. “Really?”

You nod. “I even keep your wanted poster in my pocket at all times.”

He glances at the poster. “But it’s such an unflattering picture of me…”

“You look fun! You look like someone I’d like to hang out with. And yes, you’re way more handsome in person.”

If this were a cartoon, steam would be shooting out of his ears. He almost seems to melt into his chair. “You think I’m handsome?!”

“Of course! I was so excited to meet you, so I happily volunteered to grant your wish!”

He has tears in his eyes as he takes both your hands in his across the table. “This place really is like a dream!”

And so the two of you laugh and talk and enjoy more tea for the next hour. He tells you funny stories about their travels and you tell him about some of the craziest wishes you’ve received. 

At some point, perhaps growing bold from the friendly atmosphere, you say, “To be honest, I wondered if maybe ‘spend time with you’ was code for something else.”

He seems genuinely confused, which is adorable. “Something else?”

You lean forward, subtly showing off your cleavage. “Something more… intimate.”

It seems like a shiver runs through his body, but then he composes himself and says, “I didn’t want anyone to feel obligated to do that.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” you say, looking as disappointed as you can, “because I was hoping it was code.”

His mouth falls open, the cigarette slipping from his lips. You can almost see hearts in his eyes. He seems to be trying to form words for a reply, but failing. 

You stand up and walk around the table to be closer to him. “I’m your present tonight, so you can do whatever you want with me.”

He swallows, looking up at you as if you’re a goddess that has come down to him from heaven. “Whatever I want?”

“Anything.”

His eyes dart about the room, as if he’s worried this might be some prank and someone else is waiting to rush out and tell him so. After a moment, he looks back at you. “Can I k-kiss you?”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

He stands up from the chair and steps right up to you. He slowly places his hands on your shoulders. So gentle! He’s treating you like a delicate little creature that will flee if he’s not careful. 

As he leans down, his eyes flutter closed, and you can see the blush across his cheeks. You feel the tips of his golden hair first, then his lips softly press against yours. It’s a chaste kiss, his hands lightly trembling on your shoulders. 

You’ve heard so many conflicting rumors about him. Some say he’s a totally lecherous horndog who fucks anything that moves. Others say he’s a sophisticated gentleman who respects women. Still others say he’s a pathetic virgin who can’t get laid to save his life. You’re beginning to suspect the truth is some strange mix of all three. 

You reach up and put your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss. His tongue finally slips into your mouth, and he tastes like cigarettes and the tea you’ve both been drinking. 

When the kiss breaks, he looks positively lovestruck. But his arms are around your waist, holding you closer to him. You can feel the bulge in his pants, and you lightly grind yourself against it. “What else would you like to do?” you ask playfully. 

“Lady’s choice,” he says, the smooth gentleman peeking out again. “I’d love to know what youwant to do.”

You grin mischievously at him and say, “Sit down and I’ll show you.”

He moves back to sit in the chair so fast, your eyes could barely follow him. You giggle at his eagerness as he stares at you. You take a moment to pull up the edge of your red dress on one side, up to your hip. It’s enough to show him you’re not wearing panties without revealing the whole present. 

His eyes bulge, and you’re guessing something else is bulging even more now. You prance over and then lower yourself to your knees before reaching out and unbuckling his belt. You hear him breathe in through his teeth, and you look up to see his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breaths. You smile as you open his pants and slide one hand in, using it to pull out the prize you’ve been seeking. 

He’s bigger than you expected, and elegantly shaped. It’s such a nice cock, such a waste that it’s been neglected for so long. You can fix that. 

Your hand wraps around it and you slide it up and down the shaft. You can hear him breathing heavily as he watches, stunned. When you lean forward and give the tip a little lick, his hands suddenly grip the arm rests of the chair. You can hear the wood creaking under the force. 

Smiling to yourself over the fact that you can reduce a powerful, famous pirate to this state with one lick, you wrap your lips around him and take his twitching cock into your mouth. 

He groans, his head falling back and his eyes closing again as you begin bobbing your head back and forth, your lips gliding along his length. Your tongue swirls his tip, your throat tightens around him when he’s deep enough, and his panting above you makes such sweet music in your ears. 

Finally he places his hand on your shoulder and says in a strained voice, “I’m… I’m about to…”

You pull back and grin. “Please cum in my mouth.” Then your lips are around him again, sucking lightly and lapping at his tip. 

He looks torn between desire and being a gentleman, but desire wins out. With a moan he releases his load onto your tongue, and you drink it down eagerly. 

After a moment, you stand up, licking your lips. You stand nearby while his breathing slows to a normal pace. Then he looks at you. “That was incredible… you’re an angel!”

You laugh and take one of his hands, placing it atop your head as you lean toward him. “You’re supposed to pat my head and call me a good girl.”

His face turns scarlet, but he does as you wish, lightly patting your head and saying, “Such a good girl!”

You giggle at that, then look down between his legs. He’s beginning to get hard again, which is exactly what you’re waiting for. 

“So? What would you like me to do next?” you ask. 

He looks a little shy and awkward as he says, “Can we… have sex?”

You reach down and pull your dress up, all the way to your waist this time, giving him an eye full. His cock instantly becomes fully hard, his eyes seeming to turn to hearts again. “I thought you’d never ask,” you tell him as you step closer and straddle his lap, letting his lovely cock rest against your slickened pussy. That alone makes his entire body quiver. 

When you rise up and position his tip at your entrance, then sink down onto him, a gasp escapes him. His arms wrap around your body, holding you firmly but gently. You have to wiggle a bit to get free enough to begin riding him, your hips swiveling. 

Sanji groans as his own hips buck from the chair, pushing deeper inside you. Then he pauses, a worried expression on his face, and says, “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

You smile, pushing your own body down to take him even deeper. “It feels good when you go deep,” you say, and his breath hitches, his eyes widening before he starts fucking up into you, slowly and deeply. One of his hands is on your waist now, the other buried in your hair. 

As you grind down onto him, his taut skin rubs against your clit, making your own breaths shallow and quick. His tip hits your cervix, and a shudder ripples through you. When you moan out his name, his cock throbs inside you, making you arch your back in pleasure. When you do, he buries his face in your chest, his tongue peeking out to lap at one pert nipple. 

He raises his face to look you in the eyes. “I’m in love with you!” he exclaims, his hands tightening their grip on you slightly. 

You smile, but don’t reply. Men always say that while they’re inside a woman, but you have no expectations. In a few days Sanji will sail away from here and you’ll never hear from him again. But you’ll treasure these memories of being with him for the rest of your life. 

He feels so good inside you, your clit is practically pulsing. He kisses you again, so sweetly. It’s a romantic kiss, the kind shared by people in love, and his hand slides down from your hair to rest softly on your neck. 

It’s all enough to push you over the edge, and you cum while still riding him, your body trembling in his arms. 

Watching you cum seems to push him to climax as well, and he suddenly pulls you tightly against him as he shoots his load into your core. 

The two of you remain intertwined for a while, both of you breathing hard, then his arms loosen around you and you slide off him, your legs partially numb. 

“I’m all yours while you’re on Christmas Island,” you say as you pull your dress back down. “Just call for me whenever you want.”

He looks at you for a long moment, then says, “Why don’t you come with us?”

You freeze. “What?”

He stands up and buttons his pants, then pulls out a fresh cigarette. “I can talk to Luffy. He’s pretty easy going about these things. You could join our crew and sail around with us. We get into a lot of dangerous situations, but we always pull through, and I can protect you.”’

You, joining the Straw Hat pirates? You’ve never even considered something like that before. But it sounds like a dream. You smile broadly at him. “I’d love that!”

He smiles back. “It really is Christmas every day here. I got more than I could even hope for!”

[elliee3e]

‘pretty when you cry’

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ‘old’ logan howlett x crybaby f! reader

‘don’t say you need me if, you live last, you're leaving —

i can't do it, but you do it best

‘cause i’m pretty when i cry’ — pretty when you cry - lana del rey

summary ;

basically just old man logan & his lil crybaby girl<3

content warnings ;

light ddlg if you squint, piv, size difference, age play/younger & smaller reader implied, corruption kink, oral sex (f receiving), slight overstimulation

old man logan, who both loves and hates having his sweet girl crumble in his arms.

by now, he feels like the only thing he’s good for is ruining. killing. tainting. that’s what he did with you, tainted your damn innocence. and now he hates how big he is compared to you, hates how he always feels like he has to hold back in fear of hurting you, hates how he tries to be gentle with you because you always end up crying in his arms no matter what.

he could be between your spread thighs, scruff brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue works against your heated core, sucking onto your clit whilst you completely crumble — thighs squeezing and trembling around his head, sniffles, whimpers and broken moans leaving your parted lips, tears starting to drip down your cheeks as you pant, the sight making logan pull away as he looks up at you from his glasses, that by now had slipped to the bridge of his nose that you always so badly wanted to kiss.

“baby, baby— hey, look at me darlin’..” he would croon, your sweet taste still clinging onto his tongue as he shifted up to grab your face, watching your pretty glazed eyes full of tears for him: looking up at him. “l-lo..” you would sniffle, voice no more than a broken whimper and it tugged at his heart.

“did i do something wrong? was it too much?” his gruff voice, laced with worry — asked. and god, yes, it was too much: but in the best way possible. you just didn’t know how to explain that you couldn’t help the tears that would take over you when something felt too good.

“n-nothing wrong, lo— just.. just a lot..” you would huff, stomach fluttering as logan would sigh at your words: bringing up a rough thumb to swipe your salty tears away: the other gently tugging your panties back up. “damn it, darlin’. givin’ me a damn heart attack everytime you sob like that, makes me feel like i hurt ya.”

“c’mon. let’s just lay together for a while. probably be better for ya, sweet thing.”

old man logan, who, after a while, would begin to understand that his girl just couldn’t help her pretty tears and sobs. it was a part of her that only he got to see after all, and that’s what made it special.

he began to love having that power over you. loved having the ability to be fucking into you, pretty legs wrapped around his hips perfectly, nails scratching along his shoulders and back where you could reach, your desperate moans mingled with choked sobs ricocheting off the apartment walls — your nails leaving cat like scratches that started to heal in a short while as they weren’t deep wounds — but they still made him groan. one of his hands, the one not on your waist to keep a steady grip on you, moving up to grab your small wrist to stop you; his hand wrapping around it no problem. “easy, baby. i’m tryna be gentle here, but you’re really pushin’ it.” he would grunt, bringing your wrist down up next to your head, easily using that for leverage to keep on his slow and deep pace into you.

“gosh, darlin’, don’t go cryin’ for me right now..” he would groan, watching as you sobbed even more, trying to slow his pace more than it already was to scoop you up into his arms, keeping your smaller body cradled in them as he soothed your sobs with gentle ‘shh’s’ — hips still fucking into yours at a steady pace, just enough to have you trembling under him and for your cries to choke up in your throat with pretty moans, a familiar heat starting to build up in your lower tummy as it made your walls flutter around his thick cock. “uh— mmph, gonna.. gonna cum, lo—“ you would whimper, small hands squirming under his bigger ones, his grip only getting tighter on your soft wrists.

“that right? my baby’s gonna cum for me? gonna cum all over my cock like the sweet girl she is?” logan would grunt, using the best of his force to fuck into you just enough to find your little gummy spot, the one that sent shivers through your small body and made you let out a sob that broke off into a moan as you felt your orgasm quickly take over — hips trembling under his, sweet pussy squeezing around his cock as much as it could as your juices leaked onto him.

“fuck, doll.” he would huff, glancing down and pulling out just enough to see your pretty pussy — flushed and dripping for him, your sniffled cries filling the room once more as you tried to recover.

“gonna be a good girl and finish me off now too?”

[i-arch-my-backula]

Vampire Freak of California: The Lost Boys x reader

I kept this GN and I don't know how I feel about it persay. It's one of the longest things I've written probably ever, and I like the idea. I just don't know about the execution of it on my end. I also dedicate this to @k1nn1e-0n-ma1n who is my favorite vampire freak. I might make this into a series thing, perchance, if I ever feel like getting around to making another chapter for it.

Content includes: Swearing, readers relationship to the boys could be read as platonic or romantic, autism coded reader

Living in Santa Carla is pretty uneventful. Your mother died when you were young and your father wanted nothing to do with you, so you’ve been living with your grandpa since you were a child. Your aunt and cousins just moved in with you and your grandpa, trying to get settled in after your aunt’s divorce. So you’ve been showing them around, taking them places, hanging out. It’s a nice break from doing a bunch of outdoor work this summer, especially now that you’re home from college.

 But if you’re being honest, you don’t know too many people here. Sure you have your friends and stuff, but outside of them and your family you’re not too familiar with everyone else in town. But it’s not that big of a deal, there’s more people in the state of California than people in some countries, at least you think.

But something that might be holding you back from getting more friendships, or even a relationship is your interests. When you started to tease your hair and wear all black your grandpa didn’t fully understand it, but seeing other people like that out in town he recognized it as some kind of trend with young people. But even before that, since you were young, you’ve had an obsession with vampires. It started when you watched the 1931 Dracula movie with a friend, and from then on you were hooked. Now your room is basically dedicated to vampires. Countless VHS tapes, books, posters, cassettes, records, collectables, comic books, anything vampire related you liked that you could get your hands on, it was in your room.

Now you know vampires are fake. That’s what makes it fun. Exploring such dark topics in a safe way through fiction. Not to mention how a lot of vampires can be pretty hot. But you know they’re not real, and so does everyone else, even if your grandpa avoids the subject all together most of the time, if you ever bring up how they’re fictional.

Of course not everyone understood. Your aunt Lucy was polite enough about it, your cousin Michael teases you about it a little, and Sam always makes comments. But who cares? It makes you happy. Very happy, in fact you could talk about vampires for hours on end. But that’s usually reserved for your friends, who are pretty similar to you. But as the summer went on, Michael got some friends of his own, so did Sam. 

It’s a warm night in June. You’re sitting downstairs in the kitchen talking on the phone with your friend when you hear the front door open, then Michael starts to speak. You look out the kitchen doorway and find him talking to a guy with platinum blonde hair. You shrug it off as Michael talking with a friend of his. You can hear other people talking, but it’s probably just more of his friends. 

“But I’ve got this new kind of question about vampires and stuff.” You say, opening the fridge and taking out a soda bottle, popping off the cap and taking a sip of it. “So vampires can’t go out in the sun. But what if they lived in one of those places where the sun doesn’t rise for months at a time? Like one of those arctic places in the world? Theoretically they could go outside all the time during periods like that.” You hold the phone receiver to your ear while walking back to the spot you were sitting at before.

Michael and his friend glance your way before going back to speaking with each other. You shrug it off. People stare at you all the time, it’s no big deal. You’re not even wearing one of your ‘outrageous’ outfits today. ‘I think vampires do need to sleep, like how all living creatures need to sleep. But it could be different for them depending on how long the sun is out.’ Your friend says over the phone. You nod your head and sip your soda again. 

“Uh huh. That makes sense. But without the barrier of the sun, I feel like a vampire could safely pull an all nighter or something. Some kind of insomniac vampire.” You joke, both you and your friend chuckling. 

‘I’ve gotta go. My parents are taking us to visit our grandparents tomorrow. I’ll talk to you later.’ Your friend says. 

“Alright, peace out girl scout.” You say before hanging up the phone and sipping on your soda again. You leave the kitchen and pass by Michael who is still talking with his friend on the porch. Then you notice the other three guys hanging around, one of them looks at you. He’s the only one who isn’t a blonde, and he’s also not wearing a shirt. Something about him makes you pause for a moment. He doesn’t look too different from the other people you see around town, especially on the boardwalk.But the way he’s looking at you. It’s making something shift inside your body. “Is all you do talk about vampires?” Sam teases from his spot on the couch. His voice draws you out of that slight hypnotic state. You flip him off and walk up the stairs, making your way into your room. 

“People can be super into sports, or cars, or music, but apparently an interest in vampires is too far for some people.” You say, rolling your eyes. “Also I know you took one of my cassettes.” You look down at Sam from your spot on the stairs. “You better give it back before I put all your comics in the garbage disposal.” You joke, earning Sam flipping you off. You laugh and go up into your room, shutting the door behind you. 

That night as you slept you had the strangest dream. Being on some kind of beach next to a bonfire. Michael’s friend was there, staring at you like how he was before. You wanted to ask him questions but you couldn’t speak, something was stopping your voice. That’s all you could remember of the dream after you woke up. But some strange part of it that you couldn’t fully describe lingered in the back of your mind.

The next night you’re outside, listening to some music on your walkman and petting one of the barn cats you have. He’s a tuxedo cat you’ve had for a couple years now. You named him Mr. Murphy, after Peter Murphy from Bauhaus. He’s a really nice kitty. Sometimes when you don’t have anyone to talk to, you just talk to him. If he understood English he’d probably be the first cat to have encyclopedic knowledge on vampires. As you’re scratching behind his ears someone taps your shoulders from behind. You jump a little and turn around to see it’s Michael. You pause your music and take off your headphones. “Jesus Michael you scared me.” 

“Yeah well I didn’t mean to…Sorry. I’ve just got some friends coming over and I feel like it might be best that you stay inside.” You can’t tell what kind of a tone he’s using right now, but something tells you it’s not very good. 

“Michael I’m two years older than you, I can handle being around some teenage boys.” 

“They aren’t exactly teenage boys.” 

“Really? You’re hanging out with a bunch of grown men?” 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” He says, putting his hands on his hips and sighing. He looks away from you, down at Mr. Murphy before looking back up at you, although you can’t quite meet his gaze, or anyone’s for that matter. “Just be careful with them. They can get kind of rowdy and stuff.” 

“What do you mean by being careful?” 

“You know what I mean by that.” 

“No I don’t. I’m being serious Michael, I don't know what you mean. If these are the same friends you had over last night I doubt that anything bad is going to happen. They seemed more interested in catching a cold from not wearing a shirt outside than bothering me.” Before he can reply, some headlights pull up behind you. Turning around you see his friends from before coming up on motorbikes. You look back at Michael for a moment, huffing a breath from your nose. “You owe me.” You mumble to him before heading back inside, letting the screen door slam shut behind you. 

He’s got you all worked up now. Everyone is always treating you like you’re stupid. Well you’re not stupid. You’re different, sure. But you’re not stupid. You head into the kitchen and look around, trying to find something to eat, but only one thing comes to mind. What you call your ‘special food’. Something that no matter what, is always reliable and ‘safe’ for you to eat. So you get it ready and move to grab a dish for it when you see someone enter the kitchen. But it’s not Sam, like you’d expect. It’s one of Michael’s friends. Another blonde one. He’s wearing a dirty black blazer, and his hair is teased up into a big style, probably containing a whole can of hairspray in it. 

You look at each other for a while, just staring. You have no idea what to say, and maybe he doesn’t either. So you go back to what you were doing, getting a dish for your food. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” He asks with a chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest while looking at you. Your back is still to him while you start to eat your food. You can feel him watching you. But you don’t have the energy to force eye contact right now. 

“I thought you were here for Michael.” You say, grabbing a glass and filling it up with some tap water. 

“Yeah well he’s been pretty vague about you when I ask questions. So I thought I should try speaking to you myself.” He says, walking closer to you as you drink your water.

“Why are you asking questions about me?” You ask, looking over at him for a moment, finishing off your food and setting your dishes in the sink. 

“Am I not allowed to be curious about someone?” He asks, in what you think is a teasing tone. But you don’t want to laugh and find out he was being serious. 

“No I didn’t mean that. I was just wondering why you’re interested in me is all.” You shrug your shoulders and trace shapes with your finger on the counter top. 

“I heard you talking about vampires last night. I’m pretty into vampires myself.” He says, watching your finger as it moves across the counter top. “I’m Paul. You’re Y/N right?” He asks. You nod your head. 

“Yeah that’s my name.” You say, looking over at the kitchen doorway, hearing Michael talking with his other friends again. “And I’m pretty into vampires. I mean. Don’t even get me started, I'll talk for hours on end about them.” 

“How into them are you?” He asks, smiling wider while he raises an eyebrow at you. You start to smile on your own too, even if he doesn’t want to listen to you rant about vampires, he’s about to.

“Well it all started when I first watched the 1931 dracula movie with Bella Lugosi when I was around 13. Which led me down this sort of rabbit hole of vampire media and all this stuff. So I’ve been collecting VHS tapes, books, posters, records, cassettes, comic books, anything vampire related I liked and could get my hands on. So it’s been almost a decade since then and I’m still obsessed with vampires. I mean I wrote this paper on the history of mythology of vampires for an English class back in my junior year of high school. 

“I have all these little theories and questions I’ve loved to ask horror movie directors some time with how they interpret these vampire media things. But I think my favorite vampire movie I’ve ever seen is probably ‘Fright Night’ by Tom Holland, the same guy who made the Child's play movie. It’s a really good vampire movie with some interesting interpretations on vampire mythology. We’ve come a long way from the original poem about a vampire. 

“There’s a lot of different interpretations of vampire mythology. Some media say that they’re affected by crosses, garlic, holy water, etc. But some say that garlic and crosses don’t do anything. But it’s pretty consistent that you can kill a vampire with a stake to the heart, decapitation, or with sunlight. I think it’s interesting that with all this variation on vampire mythology that almost every interpretation of vampires have them being unable to go out in the sunlight. Oh! But a couple of years ago for my graduation gift and 18th birthday present my grandpa helped me build my own coffin. I keep it in my room and I really love it.

“It’s stained on the outside with this dark brown wood stain and on the inside is some memory foam and red velvet. Like in this song by this band called Bauhaus, they’re a really awesome band. But they made a song called ‘Bella Lugosi’s dead’ which is a really good song, I really like it. But it has a lot of vampire themes to it. I feel like a lot of bands I like have vampire themes to them.” You start to pick at your nails while speaking to Paul. You’re so caught up in talking about vampires that you don’t notice another one of Michael’s friends is standing in the kitchen doorway. 

“You have a coffin in your room?” He speaks up. You look over at him. He’s not the brunette from last night. But he’s not the Billy Idol look alike either. He’s dressed just as outrageously as the rest of them, with a jacket that’s more patches than actual jacket at this point. But you just nod your head and look back down at your nails while you pick at them. 

“Yeah. People think it’s weird but who cares? I mean, I’d rather be comfortable with death than spend my life chasing after something I’ll never get.” You say with a shrug. Paul and his friend exchange a glance, smiling to themselves. 

“Can we see it?” Paul asks, leaning down a bit to try and catch your eye. You look over at him, then at his friend in the doorway. You stand up straighter and lead them out of the kitchen. Michael is out in the yard now, speaking with the guy with the platinum blonde hair again. It seems like he only speaks to that guy when his friends are around. Paul and his friend with the crazy jacket are whispering words to each other behind you as you lead them up the stairs. 

“My room is a little cramped with how much stuff I have in here. I know I need to get rid of some of it, but I can’t really bring myself to do that.” You say, walking down the upstairs hallway. You open your bedroom door and lead in the two boys. They start to whistle and make quiet comments when they see just how many vampire related things you have. 

“Nice poster.” The one with the jacket says, gesturing towards your ‘Vamp’ poster. You smile and walk over to it, putting your finger on it.

“Oh this one I got from a movie theater. You know how they have those posters for movies that are about to come out or that they’re showing and stuff? Well I asked if they had a poster for Vamp and they gave it to me.” You start to smile widely again, being able to talk about vampires just gets your heart pumping. “It’s a pretty good movie. It’s about these fraternity pledges that need to get some strippers for a party and they unknowingly go to a strip club full of vampires. Grace Jones is in it and she does this dancing scene where she’s wearing body paint done by Keith Haring, who’s this really cool artist.” 

You notice Paul standing next to your coffin, a smile on his face as he opens it up. 

“You sleep in this thing?” He asks, looking over at you while chuckling. 

“Oh no, I don’t sleep in it. I mean sometimes I lay inside of it just for fun. Or I’ve taken pictures of myself inside it, and a friend of mine has a VHS camera, so she took some videos of me inside it, all dressed up like a vampire and stuff.” You say, running your fingers over the red velvet inside the coffin. You push your hand down on the memory foam on the base before you step inside it, crossing your arms over your chest in that cliche vampire way. 

“Not all vampires sleep in coffins. Some sleep in caves.” Paul’s friend says, his attention turned to your large collection of cassette and VHS tapes. You chuckle and open your mouth to reply when you notice someone in the doorway. It’s the brunette of Michael’s friend group. You didn’t even hear him come up. 

“I know. But I just wanted a coffin for the hell of it.” You say, looking away from him and back over to Paul, who’s still standing next to you. He notices your gaze and he chuckles as he sees his other friend in the doorway.

“How nice of you to join us Dwanye. We’ve got a real vampire enthusiast here with us. Don’t we Marko?” He asks with a chuckle, looking from the brunette to the blonde.

“I’ve never seen someone so dedicated to vampires.” Marko jokes, picking up a VHS tape before putting it back. “What would you do if you found out vampires were real?” He asks, looking back over at you. Now you can feel three pairs of eyes on you, all of them pretty much strangers. You quickly turn to your left and pick up a little Dracula action figure, pretending to want to change its pose. 

“Well vampires aren’t real. And unless some huge part of history and murders have been left out of the mainstream for the last however many centuries, and they are real…I don’t know…”

“You wouldn’t be into them if they were real?” Paul asks, walking closer to you. But your eyes stay fixed on your little action figures, moving over to adjust an Elvira one next to the Dracula.

“Well it’s one thing to be into the idea, or the fantasy of something, and another to actually want it to happen to you. I’m pretty sure the people who love to learn about war history don’t wish they were out in the trenches of WW1 or something.” You say with a little chuckle, wiping some dust off the action figure in your hand. “So maybe I don’t know what I’d do if vampires were real, because I know for a fact they aren’t.” As you set down the Elvira action figure Paul reaches his hand out and grabs a book from a spot on your shelf.

But you catch his fingernails. Something happened to his fingernails. It was only for a second. But you saw what they were like. How long they were. How sharp they were. Almost like they were claws. You look over at him and find his hands are normal. He’s just opening the book and flipping through the pages. God your mind is playing tricks on you. Maybe you need to get your vision checked. 

“Nothing is impossible.” Dwayne says, finally speaking up. You look over at him. He moved from his spot in the doorway, now standing next to your bed, looking at a Jim Morrison poster you have above your bed. You just crack a smile at that, not really sure how to respond. 

“Come on Michael. We can behave ourselves when we want to.” You hear a voice downstairs say. You walk over to your door as Paul puts the book back on the shelf. 

“It’s one thing to get involved with me but you need to leave my family out of this. It’s complicated enough dealing with all of this shit and I don’t need the people I love getting drawn in too.” Michael says. You walk down the hall, closer to the stairs, listening to them go on arguing, almost like a married couple. 

“Your family is fine Michael. You don’t have to worry about them.” You get to a place where you’re mostly hidden from Michael and his friend. They’re standing together in the living room. Michael’s friend is turned away from you, so you can’t see his face. But you can see Michael’s. And it makes your skin crawl a bit. 

“How do I know that you’re not going to get them involved in all of this stuff too? I swear if you even try to-” 

“Your family will be fine Michael.” His friend assures him, cutting him off. “You need to worry about yourself. I think it’s about time you became one of us, fully one of us. We can show you what we are, how to do what we do. But it needs to be soon. I don’t want to wait much longer.” His friend turns his head to the side, giving you a glimpse of his face. But before you could see anymore, the phone in your room starts to ring. You’re pulled out of the little world that conversation created and you walk back into your room, remembering the three strangers you just left inside. 

You pick up the receiver and turn your back to the three boys. “Hello?” 

‘I’ve been looking into all of these disappearances recently. A majority of them result in finding the bodies dead, murdered in brutal ways, usually the cause of death is blood loss, with bite marks all over the body, especially the neck.’ Your friend says. You chuckle a bit in shock, shaking your head while putting your free hand on your hip. 

“Yeah well the police say it’s some kind of animals attacking people. We live in California, remember? There’s a lot of weird critters floating around everywhere.” You say, hearing the boys behind you start to whisper among themselves again. “But now isn’t exactly the best time for me to have this conversation with you.” 

‘But I think the police are trying to cover something up. Or at least they’re not willing to accept what we’re dealing with. I mean, these bite marks are described as having only two or four puncture holes, the closest thing to these being some kind of wolf or coyote. Not to mention these people’s cars are found missing doors, and roofs. What kind of a wolf rips off the roof of a car to eat a human?’ You sigh and run your hand over your face. 

“I think we should talk about this tomorrow. Alright?” You say. Your friend starts to speak again but you hear footsteps coming up the stairs. 

“You expect me to control them like they’re children? Some kind of pet, Michael?” You hear Michael’s friend say, his voice is getting closer along with the footsteps. 

“I gotta go.” You hang up the phone quickly and turn around just in time to see Michael’s friend standing in your doorway, with Michael behind him. There’s a beat of silence between the six of you. While it only lasted for a couple seconds, it felt like an eternity of ringing silence deafening your ears.

“Y/N was just showing off their vampire collection. They’re really into them.” Paul says, smiling at the man in the doorway. He looks at you and you look at him. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” He says, walking further into your room. He walks up to you and holds out his hand, smiling in a way that makes something inside you shift. “I’m David.” 

You take his hand and shake it, feeling the cool leather of his glove on your warm skin. 

“I’m Y/N. Your friends were just really interested in my vampire collection.” You explain, ignoring all the pairs of eyes on you. Choosing to focus your attention on your ‘Fright Night’ poster, trying to make it seem somewhat natural. David takes the time to look around your room, smiling to himself as he does so. 

“Quite the collection.” He says, walking away from you, and over to your coffin. “I bet you’re a bit of a die hard vampire fan.” You let out a chuckle and glance at Michael, who seems like he’s about to chip a tooth with how clenched his jaw is. “Well it was nice to meet you Y/N But I think it’s time that we go out for the night. Right Michael?” David asks, looking over at him in the doorway. Michael nods his head. 

“I’ll get my jacket.” He says, stepping aside to let David leave the room. 

“We’ll have to watch a movie together sometime.” Paul says on his way out, giving you a small wave. Marko and Dwayne follow after him and Michael just gives you a look that you can’t quite decipher before walking down the hall after his friends. He might be mad about you hanging out with them. But they’re some of the few people who aren’t tired of your vampire obsession. So who cares what he says? You’ll have to invite them into your room more often. 

[cyberphuck]

Couple weeks ago my friend sent me a link to @vaspider shop with their promotion for a buy one get one free on hot/cold packs:

Razz loves to spread the word about shops they buy from, especially small businesses or shops owned and operated by queer people. I did not need a popcorn scented heat pack, so I did not buy anything, but they did.

Tonight I got these messages: 



Emails, you say? Let’s see…

I just want you guys to know that this last line, “after this interaction I can no longer in good conscience promote your work or buy from you,” is akin to burning your crops and salting your fields coming from Razz. They are the most polite person I know. They do not want to stir up trouble. Part of it is because, as a blind person, they have had to learn to be non-confrontational in order to protect themselves, but it’s also because Razz is just genuinely a kind hearted and understanding person.

They live off of disability and occasional commissions, but they use what little money they have to support small businesses and independent artists because they appreciate the quality as well as the work that goes into each item. You can see here that Raz was trying to figure out if it was a genuine misunderstanding on their part because they hadn’t read the site correctly.

They were not able to read the site correctly because they’re blind.

This isn’t really about a misunderstanding, or Razz wanting to get the other item. It’s about Vaspider immediately treating them with contempt when Razz sent an email asking what had gone wrong. Is it the businesses responsibility to eat the cost of shipping due to someone not being able to understand the terms of the sale? It’s certainly good business practice, but I think Razz would have understood if they had been told that it would cost the store too much for another item to be sent if Vaspider hadn’t been such an asshole about it.

Razz is, unfortunately, used to disappointment. They are used to having to struggle to navigate websites that are not made with people like them in mind. They are even, at this point, used to having to lose money on things due to brain damage suffered from being forced into a botched medical procedure last year. But that isn’t how they opened this conversation. They opened with, “I think something may have gone wrong, can you help me understand what happened? “

The way Vaspider treated my friend is disgusting. I hope that those of you reading this will take Vaspiders behavior in this exchange into account when you’re deciding where to spend your money. The next time that you see one of their posts, a link to their store, or receive an email about a sale, I hope that you remember these emails and recall how Vaspider treats people that they don’t think are important. I want you to think about whether the group of people that Vaspider considers to be worthless might include you. 

I know that there are a lot of people willing to come to Vaspiders defense because they’re well-known and popular. They are so well-known and popular that they’re willing to treat one of their customers like garbage over $10 in shipping, and they’re willing to do it right out in the open for everyone to see.

Happy holidays, and eat a big old bag of dicks. 

Let’s fucking go.

[penny-anna]

hi guys!! guess who got more transformers fic recs!! including some WEIRD SHIT!!

Electric Chapel by DesdemonaKaylose

You are cordially invited to the WEDDING of our esteemed LORD MEGATRON and SOME LITTLE GUY HE FOUND IN A BOX.

Megatron attempts to marry Rung. Rung is highly desirable. Skywarp and Thundercracker eat teacups. delightful.

Working Through It by Trinary

“TC,” Skywarp says, “I’m, like, ninety percent sure that humans don’t have interface cables.” Thundercracker squawks and almost knocks him over trying to get the script out of his hands.

robot/robot/human threeway w plug n play interfacing. GOOD robot action.

they say some things just don't wash out by harperuth

The data continued to coalesce with every passing moment he could watch Rodimus and still he couldn’t come to a conclusion. By all accounts it didn’t make any sense. - - - Or, Ultra Magnus struggles to understand Rodimus and his unorthodox fueling habits.

nice little UM and Rod fic!!!

Creep Down the Alleyway, Fly Down the Highway by Nathrakh_Red

Tracks was laughing in a way that’d be sarcastic if it was anyone else, in a way that might’ve ruffled Raoul's feathers if he hadn’t gotten used to the fact that Tracks laughed like a wealthy woman drank— haughtily, self-possessed, and so as not to cause wrinkles. Two different Tracks/Raoul fics!

WAUGHHH!! *biting and chewing these two*

Feel How It Feels by autoschediastic

But Optimus said, "That would be helpful," and a weirdly pleasant warmth spread through Lennox's gut.

some good transformer & human content for u

don't mean to brag, but my bandwidth is fat by harperuth

“Kid,” Ratchet ex-vented, “Did you listen to anything I just said?” Tailgate’s visor flashed, for just a klik. First Aid almost thought it was a trick of the light, “Big war, modified interface arrays, do I want one, et cetera. I listened. And I said no.”

tailgate hot girl summer

Spike Seeks Valve by Baird Crevan (Baird)

“Your name.  Is.  Spike,” Skywarp repeated.  “Yes, that’s what I said!  I am Spike, ally to the Autobots, the defenders of Earth!” Skywarp trembled a little and made a weird giggling noise.  “Uh, wow.  That’s.  Erm, sorry Jazz, I gotta… I gotta steal your Spike.”

i already recced this one but my GOD is it funny

Bottom of the Line by Trinary

Skyfire’s been pining over his lab partner for too long. He could swear Starscream has a thing for him, too, but when they finally get together, it doesn’t go like he expects. Skyfire’s always been told the cold constructed were missing something. He just didn’t think it was this.

u like skystar?? TOP tier skystar right here. recommend watching 'fire in the sky' first if u haven't seen it. for full impact.

how to get away with murder by OccasionalStorytelling

First Aid: You want me to treat you like you’re disposable? I don’t know what kind of data I could have you analyze for me— Rewind: I want you to treat me like I’ve been disposed of. There’s a distinction. The only problem is, they get caught.

we are getting into the weird shit now!! heed the warnings on this one. outstandingly weird n messed up. i love Rewind.

For Educational Purposes Only by keelywolfe

no ao3 summary on this one. bayverse. Sam & Mikaela fuck in front of Ratchet for uhh research. i must stress that this fic is primarily about Ratchet and Mikaela matching each other's freak. i love when Mikaela gets to be a little weirdo.

Viviparity by nine_dandelion

Some things have never been within the purview of mechanical beings, but Cybertronians have always been adaptable. When Ratchet discovers a newly-ignited spark growing inside Rodimus, though, he finds his abilities (and patience) tested.

my friend sent me this one and i was like 'why are u sending me mechpreg' (she knows how i feel about mechpreg) and she was like no no trust me you'll like this one u know what?? she was right. go check it out.

The Way to a Mech's Spark (Is Through His Fuel Tank) by Trinary

Starscream and Skyfire set off on their first Academy mission, and Starscream doesn’t consider the logistics of fuel until much, much too late. Skyfire isn’t keeping it in cubes—it’s in his auxiliary tanks, and there’s only one way to get it out. Starscream’s plating heats just thinking of it. He knows he can’t ask without embarrassing himself. He can make the whole trip without refueling, right?

FABULOUS living robot spaceship specific kink. love it.

ok that's all for now!! wahoo!!!

[ghostgirl-22]

omg! omg! omg! do you have ideas on older jealous art? like what if he saw patrick on the date with helen at the hotel instead? or maybe saw patrick on a date with another man (grosu? 👀) and got really upset but didn’t understand why!

Oh yes, oh yes….<3

I think Art goes in the sauna, yes that sauna. But it’s before they ever meet up the night before they play the final.

CW: NSFWish, 18+

Summary: in which Art has a Karen moment because how dare you try and take his man—that he really doesn’t want (he promises). And no he doesn’t know what he’s weirdly sexually confused about. But it’s not that.

-/-/-/-

Art’s winning again. He’s mostly playing kids who are just so happy to be there or sad older guys who are so jaded and defeated about the idea of playing him that they’ve beaten themselves before Art even has to do anything. But still he is winning and it does feel good.

He’s trying to put the idea of Patrick out of his mind. Tashi tells him every single day, “He’s never going to make it to the final. He’s gonna choke. That’s his thing.” But Art notices every round he wins Patrick wins too.

His body is sore and he always feels better in the heat but being who he is in the tennis world he usually waits till really late at night to relax in the sauna. He’s sure no one else is going to be there so he’ll get a moment of peace and quiet without any of the younger players gawking over him or asking him career questions. But as soon as he pushes open the door he realizes he’s not alone at all. Patrick’s sitting on the bench and he’s not alone. He’s got some guy kneeling between his legs. The guy quickly gets to his feet when he hears the door and Art recognizes him vaguely from the draw. Victor Grasi or Grossi. Something.

The guy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and Patrick—very slowly— pulls the towel over himself, offering Art a smirk.

Art can feel his skin heating up. He wants to turn and run but he can’t move. His stomach is suddenly swooping around like he’s riding a rollercoaster. He didn’t know Patrick did stuff like that… with boys.

“What’s up Donaldson?” Patrick says brightly, like Art didn’t just catch him with some stupid pretty boy between his legs. “I’ve been meaning to come see you.”

Art glares at him still struggling to form words. He hasn’t seen Patrick this close in so many, many years. He still smiles with his eyes but they crinkle now with age and around the edges of that smile he looks like he might be tired(sad?). And not just from lack of sleep. His hair’s shorter, skin darker the way it always was in the summertime. It makes all his freckles that much more visible. Art hates to admit the facial hair looks kinda good on him.

His body looks good too… Art’s eyes drift downward over where the towel is covering his very hard dick.

”I am so sorry Mr. Donaldson I’m a big fan. I think you are so talented. Not many Americans can win on clay,” Whatever his name is saying with a thick accent Art can’t place. It pulls Art out of whatever daze he was in. God was he just staring? Why was he fucking staring? He looks at Patrick’s face again and he’s looking at Art, amused. Smug.

Art’s annoyed all over again.

“And your game against Padilla.” The kid is still talking. “That was so good. I rewatched it twice. You’re so—“

“Thanks,” Art interrupts, his tone clipped. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly irritated with his presence. This dumb kid, probably 24 or 25, pink cheeks, perfect body just on his knees for…

“Didn’t he beat you yesterday?” Art asks, meanly, with a smirk.

His pretty little face goes stormy and Art feels a cruel internal joy when he sees it.

He mutters something in another language but Art’s certain it’s a swear word.

“I just—it was a bad day. I’m ranked much higher than him.” The kid tries to recover but he’s clearly embarrassed.

“Sure, exactly. It was just a bad day, Grosu,” Patrick chimes in, smiling as he rubs himself idly. “Lemme make you feel better.”

“You’re no good for me, Zweig.” The kid mutters.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Patrick smirks up at him.

Art’s jaw sets with irritation. Especially when Patrick’s grabbing at the kid’s waist and pulling him closer. Art’s not trying to look but for whatever reason his eyes trail back down. Probably because Patrick is just so insistently hard. And he’s touching it, just casually touching it.

The weirdest part is the way Art can feel his own balls tightening. It makes no fucking sense. He can’t possibly be getting hard. He’s one fucking step away from talking to his doctor about Viagra because he can’t get it up for someone as fucking beautiful as his wife and right now on a random night in the middle of the sauna is when he’s just ready to go. Brilliant. It’s like the universe just enjoys finding new ways to fuck with him.

The kid has forgotten about him, mesmerized by Patrick. Letting Patrick just touch him, all over. Art feels like his blood is boiling hotter than the room. He hurries outside without another word before the way his cock is swelling becomes visible to them. Not that they fucking care.

He’s barely made it into the locker room toilet stall when he’s leaning against the door jerking himself stupid. The whole thing is so fucked because in his head he’s imagining Patrick’s hands all over him. Touching him. Fucking him. Not that stupid pretty boy loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. His mind chants over and over, not sure if it’s about the kid or Patrick or himself. All the while his hand is racing over his dick, so desperate until he’s coming hard, spraying his load all over his hand and the toilet seat. “Oh fuck,” he gasps.

Because what the fuck is he doing? He’s too old for this shit. Mind games and lust and weird teenaged flirting. He needs to go home to his wife and kid. He’s a grown up. He has responsibilities. Patrick’s still a fucking child. Just doing whatever he wants. Just fucking whoever he wants. Like Tashi. It’s been years and it still stings. And now some stupid fucking boy sucking his dick when anyone could just walk in. It’s offensive. Art should probably complain. Tell that loser kids coach or whoever he’s working with that he needs to focus and maybe not fuck around with someone like Patrick Zweig. He cleans up quickly and hurries to go wash his hands.

He spots movement behind him in the mirror and turns to see Patrick walking from the lockers towards the shower. Naked. With only a towel on his head. God how long was he in here? Did he hear Art?

Patrick stops to smirk at him. He’s not hard anymore which means he probably fucked the kid. It’s still so fucking big even when he’s soft. Art swallows. “What do you want?” He manages.

“Nothing. You just look pretty flushed. Are you okay?” He says, grinning (like he knows what Art did). “I thought you went home.” He wraps the extra towel he’s got draped over his shoulder around his waist, covering himself and Art relaxes a bit.

“I am going home,” Art says. “Where’s the dumb kid?”

Patrick laughs, “You know he’s 27, right.”

“Well he’s still a loser,” Art shrugs. He doesn’t care. He hopes he never sees him again. (And that Patrick doesn’t either).

“God, must feel good to walk around with all that power. He got so in his head from your little comment. He wanted to go home. Didn’t even want to finish. It’s like he didn’t even remember how much fun we had last night after drinks.”

Art’s not sure how to take any of that. On one hand he’s mildly satisfied that he sent the kid into a tailspin, but still fucking irritated that he… that he what… that he got to fuck Patrick in the first place? This is so fucked. He can’t want this. He cannot want this.

“Well you’re not dressed yet.” Patrick continues, casually. “You sure you don’t want to join me and clean up in the shower?”

“I uh— uh—“ Art stammers, while he white knuckles the towel on his waist, his heart rate picking up and the distant feeling of arousal that he’d just conquered incredibly stirring again. He wants this. Fuck he wants this. “No I—“

“I’m just teasing,” Patrick shrugs, interrupting before Art can finish. An oddly melancholic expression flitting over his face. And then immediately back to being his usual carefree (careless?) self. If not a little more distant. Formal. “Good night, Donaldson, see you in the final.”

“Good night,” Art says, feeling his stomach sink just a little bit. He wishes he didn’t— but he believes it now with 100 percent certainty that Patrick is right— that they’re both going to end up there.

(Sorry anon that this took so long and also I apologize if this is what you were looking for. It’s been hectic so I didn’t have much time to get to into it— also wanted to leave a little space for canon to canon lol. Art is still so mad that he’s attracted to Patrick he needs to hurt him more 😭)

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 24. Would It Matter?

Summary: Dahlia is letting off the last of her pent up anger over Dain, when an unexpected person and interaction occurs. A/N: I know this is only like a day late, but I got caught up in the fun of last week of work for the year, and Christmas parties. But here is the next part of Dahlia. And now I'm on some time off I will try and get through some of the requests that have been coming in (I've been so bad with those, I'm so sorry!).

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

The rhythmic thud of my punches hitting the bag echo around the room as I unleash the last of anger on the punching bag. A bag that I hate to admit has nearly whacked me in the face one too many times due to how hard I’ve been hitting it. My challenge with Dain had done little to simmer my anger despite how good it had felt to win. To show they no longer held power over me. So here I was, back to a habit I hadn’t partaken in since being here.

”Stupid…. Dain,” I mutter between punches. “Stupid.. family name… Stupid… Expectations!” The right hook I lands causes the bag to swing violently, whipping back towards me.

I raise my hands, bracing for the impact that never comes. I pause, my chest heaving as I open my eyes, a large hand reaching over me, stopping the bag millimetres from my face.

”That poor bag must have really pissed you off,” a voice whispers behind me, causing me to shiver as their breath caresses my neck in an oddly intimate way. Their voice smooth with a hint of humour.

Why did my body react like this to him. I hated it.

”Do you really hate it?” Proth teases in my head.

”You keep those thoughts to yourself.” I grumble back.

”Then keep the ones about him to yourself.”

Damn, meddling dragon.

I turn around, my back resting against the punching bag as I look up at his hazel eyes, dark curls falling in front of them as he smirks down at me.

”It does when I picture certain peoples faces on it. Might imagine yours next.” I remark before ducking under his arm and heading for the bottle of water I’d placed nearby. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

”I wouldn’t call it sneaking,” he says with a shrug as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “You’re just intense. I could hear you pummelling that bag from outside. Not my fault you didn’t hear me.”

I roll my eyes at him before raising the bottle to my lips, the cool liquid helping to simmer my fiery temper before dropping it back to the ground. I push past Garrick and settle back into a fighting stance as I unleash a flurry of quick jabs. I feel his eyes watching me, and I hate how I falter under his gaze.

”I take it your challenge against Dain did nothing to help your mood?” He muses as he leans up against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

I stop mid swing, turning to glare at him. “Trust me, if you knew even half the history between him and I, you’d understand.”

”Then make me understand.” He says casually, as if it was so easy to let him in.

I shake my head, before turning back to the punching bag. “Even if you were the last person alive, I wouldn’t let you in on my deepest darkest secrets Tavis.”

”Is it to do with what Dain hinted about the other day?”

Anger flairs within me at his words, putting more force behind my punch than I intend as a loud thud that almost sounds like a crack echoes in the room. I knew he had heard, but part of my deep down had hoped he didn’t. Had hoped him and Bodhi had walked in that little bit too late to hear that part of the conversation.

”It’s nothing. He’s just trying to get in your head. Place doubt. They’re good at that.” I snarl out, Garrick furrowing his brow at my words.

”I hate to say this, but I call bullshit. What I saw on the mat today, and the way you’re beating up the poor punching bag… That was all fuelled by anger and pent up emotions. It’s personal.”

Why was he so god damn observant when it came to me all of a sudden? Clearly I wasn’t as subtle as I thought. Or maybe Garrick was more focused on me than I thought.

”I didn’t come here for a therapy session Tavis. So you either stand there, be quiet and let me train. Or you leave.” I warn as I fiddle with the wraps on my hands.

I look up as Garrick slowly steps towards me. “How about another option? One that might stop you from injuring yourself? Your form is all over the place.”

I roll my eyes. “Fully aware of that one.” I tell him as I secure my wraps in place and turn to start up again.

I rock back on my heel to settle into a fighting stance, but large hands lightly grasp my hips and shift my weight. I go to recoil and step away, but his hands grip my hips firmly, keeping me in place.

”You keep that stance up you’re going to be limping around the Quadrant tomorrow.” He states firmly from behind me as he loosens his grip on me. “And relax your shoulders, you’re tense all up here.”

I turn my head to see him gesture to my shoulders, just enough distance between us so his fingers don’t skim the exposed skin. Happy I’ve taken note of his advice, he takes a step back as he crosses his arms over his chest and waits for me to resume.

I hated to admit it, but he was right. I was tense, my stance was completely off and I was already starting to feel it. But was I going to tell him that? Gods no. Though knocking the smug look off his face with a well placed hit was tempting.

”Anything else?” I ask as I drop my shoulders and settle into the stance he’d corrected me on.

”Stop fighting the bag, flow with it instead and maybe it won’t hit you in the face.” He says smugly, knowing that if I turned to look at him he’d be smirking at me.

”Flow? Look at you sounding like an expert.” I mock.

Garrick chuckles from behind me. “Maybe, but it works. Trust me.”

I turn my head, just enough to catch his gaze. His hazel eyes steady, but something else was there. As if he was meaning something else by his words. Not wanting to delve to deep into it, I turn my attention back to the punching bag, doing my best to ignore the feeling of his eyes on my back.

Taking a deep breath, I unleash a sequence of light jabs on the punching bag. And as Garrick put it, going with the flow of the bag. Which I knew would work. Working with the motion of the bag was better than fighting against it and trying to make the bag work for you instead.

”Better?” Garrick questions, his voice low and approving as moves to stand just off to the side of me as I step back from the bag.

”You might have been right.” I admit reluctantly as I start to undo my hand wraps. “But don’t let it go to your head.” I add as I point a finger at him.

Garrick grins, hands dropping to his side as he uncrosses his arms. “Too late.”

I roll my eyes, trying to hide the smile that wants to break free. “You’re impossible.”

”And you’re relentless.” He shoots back at me as his eyes linger on me. “You feel better now?”

I shrug as I undo the last of my hands wraps, scrunching them up in my hands. “As best as I can all things considered. But I no longer feel like I want to murder someone, so we’ll go with I feel better.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at me as I push past him, shoving my hand wraps and water bottle into my pack.

”I might have a way for you to get rid of the last of that pent up anger?” He jokes from behind me.

I roll my eyes as I shoulder my pack and turn to face him, Garrick far closer than he was before as I look up at him, that damn half smile on his face. I hated how my breath catches in my throat at the way he’s looking at me.

”I might have made myself a far bigger disappointment to my family today, but I still have some standards I want to uphold. Don’t want to end up at the healers because I’ve caught something that's gone around your stable.” I say smugly, smiling up at him before patting him on the chest and walking past him.

”What if I had no one else in my stable?” He calls out to me as I start to push the door open, the joking tone to his voice no longer there.

I turn to see him looking at me, but I’m too far away to see the way he’s looking at me properly. And I’m glad he’s too far away to see me freeze momentarily. I couldn’t deny I found Garrick attractive, just like every other girl in the Quadrant. And there was a part of me that was tempted to go there. But there was no way he would change his ways just for me. And there was another part of me that wasn’t sure if he was just using me or wanting it just to throw it in my face.

”And what if you didn’t?” I call out, tilting my head slightly as I look at him. “Would it even matter?

A few moments pass, Garrick now answering straight away. But from here I can just make out his trademark smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

”It might,” he calls out finally, his tone unreadable, his question now hangs heavier than it did before.

I feel the prickle of heat crawling up the back of my neck. Why were his words affecting me so much? Yes we’d agreed to try be friends after he’d found me after challenges. But I barely knew him. I didn’t trust him. I shouldn’t be having these feelings of wanting to see how far he would go for me. Because I knew it wouldn’t be very far. I was probably one of the few girls here who said no to him. I was just a fleeting fancy for him. Right?

I grip the door handle tightly as I turn away from him. “Whatever game you’re playing Garrick, I’m not your pawn.” I call out, my voice firm and stern. But I have no idea if he find’s it convincing, and I was not turning around to find out. “Once you figure out if it would matter, then maybe we’ll talk.”

I don’t wait for his reply. Pushing the door open more aggressively than I planned, the door slamming closed behind me, cutting off any reply Garrick was about to give me. As I walk away, I try to ignore the small part of me that wishes I’d stayed to hear his answer.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01

[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Marry-Me-Salmon | Joel Miller x F!Reader

The amount of game Joel fics aren’t enough‼️ Taking matters into my own hands. Though I think they somewhat behave the same! I saw these recipes of “marry me salmon” going around and got inspired lol. Just tooth rotting fluff and a bit predictable but I just wanna see this man happy :(🩷

(Set in Jackson and Joel lives forever in MY blog ☝🏼)

Joel had bought a ring.

It was like his body moved on its own. When he laid his eyes on the thing, he thought there could possibly be no ring that could be more you.

That was a week ago. Why he bought it, he still doesn’t know. Well.. He knows exactly why. Just didn’t want to do it. Scared to do it. And this is coming from a man who isn’t scared of much.

You were arguably the best thing to ever walk into his life. Why you chose his hard-ass, he’ll never understand. After three years of you shutting him up and convincing him that you love him (you’d make him repeat it too), by default he’d say that yes, you do love him. But deep down, he still has a hard time believing it. He just knows that he’s very scared of losing you. And that he’s a goddamn lucky bastard.

So he decided, he doesn’t want to scare you off until he’s perfectly sure you wanted to be with him (yes, three whole years and he still isn’t sure). The ugly insecure monster within him thinks the day will never arrive. But in the comfortable silence that you two occasionally shared tangled with each other, he somehow had a feeling. Though fleeting, he did feel from the way you squeezed his hand, that you wanted this forever thing just as much as he did. So maybe — just maybe — your words did pierce through him. And he keeps the ring in his back pocket all the time just in case.

A week ago, you had overheard some ladies in the Square telling a story about how her husband of thirty-six years decided to propose to her because she cooked him the marry-me-salmon. You scoffed at the idea. There was no way it was that simple. Right?

Fast forward to present day, a salmon fillet was laid in front of you. You didn’t know how, you didn’t know why, but you managed to pull the strings. Although.. you know exactly why. Just didn’t wanna admit it. Shy to say it. Hence the salmon. You just wanted to cook Joel something nice. A lie you tell yourself.

The problem is, you don’t really cook. You learned to, yes, and occasionally do because of the situation of the world. But the marry-me-salmon intimidated you, the scribbled recipe mocking you from the counter. Were you too desperate? No use crying over spilled milk. Or in this case, killed salmon.

“What’s this I’m smelling?” You can hear the faint sound of Joel’s teasing as he made his way downstairs. You rolled your eyes, knowing he’d make fun of you attempting to cook. Before you know it, he was already behind you, trying to take a peek at what you’re making.

“Go away, it’s a surprise,” you quickly say, rushing to cover the recipe title. You would rather die than have him see that. He chuckled at your panicked reaction and raised his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, darlin’,” he grinned ear to ear, leaving a kiss on the top of your head before retreating to the dining table. “Just don’t burn down the kitchen,” he teased again. You clicked your tongue in annoyance though you can’t help but smile.

You messed up the recipe a bit. And it didn’t help that Joel kept looking up from the book that Ellie lent him to see what you’re cooking. You shouldn’t have said it was a surprise because you’ve got him awfully curious. At least it’s finally finished. You tried to plate it nicely, earning a few chuckles from Joel from how endearing you looked. It was lost on him why you had to be doing all this.

“And what did I do to deserve this?” He asked, cocking a brow at you when you put down the dish in front of him. He immediately closed his book, taking a whiff of the salmon.

“Just.. Cause I love you,” you smiled, taking a seat across him and propping your cheek on your palm. He chuckled again, warmth spreading in his chest. There was no way you cooked for him without any ulterior motive. If Joel learned anything from those three years with you, it is that you hate cooking unless you really have to.

But when you’re this beautiful, speaking to him so softly with that angelic smile? All for him? Joel chooses to believe you. He was a goddamn lucky bastard indeed.

“Well I love you too darlin’, thank you,” he says genuinely in that baritone voice of his. The sweetness of the moment didn’t last very long as he starts cutting the fish and you anxiously waited for his reaction. You just hope that the little mistake you made wasn’t very crucial to the dish. He eventually puts it in his mouth and started chewing.

“Well?” You ask, not even giving him a second. He hummed, taking a moment to process the taste. It was quite alright. He thought it could use more salt.

“S’good,” he nodded with a little smile. You knew damn well he was lying. And you knew that he would finish the whole thing anyway just because you made it. You wondered if the mistake you made had been that bad or if the lady at the square was full of shit.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You pouted, pulling the plate and taking a fork to taste it yourself.

“Darlin’, I said it was good,” he insisted, his brows knitted together. He’d tease you til his death but he’s so sweet when he needed to be. It made you feel really bad. You finally tried it yourself and none of you were exactly right. It was just.. Average. Okay. Edible. Just needed more salt. You felt silly for not giving it a taste test before serving it.

“I’ll fix it,” you say, abruptly standing up to look for the salt above the counter. It wasn’t there. You hurriedly searched the kitchen like a cop scanning for drugs.

“Darlin’,” Joel chuckled, standing with you. “Would you just sit down?” You didn’t listen, suddenly remembering that you ate breakfast in front of the TV and brought the salt with you. You were already running to the couch before Joel could stop you.

As he shakes his head with a loving smile, he sees it. The scribbled recipe on the counter. The marry-me-salmon.

He felt like the wind got knocked out of his lungs. This was it. You wanted to marry him. He quickly reached into his back pocket as if he was trained to do so upon hearing the information. His mind was screaming at him, now! Now! Now! Hell, did he even prepare a question?

You got back to the kitchen to find Joel on one knee. A ring between his thumb and his pointer finger. Funny enough, you thought it really was because of the salmon. In a way, it is kind of true. Are all salmons hexed with a marriage spell no matter how bad they taste? Doesn’t matter. Joel Miller, the love of your life, was finally proposing to you. You shakily exhaled as if you’ve been holding your breath for a while.

“Darlin’..” Joel began, his voice shaking. Though he didn’t really know what to say except for the desperation that he felt. The urgency to just be with you. “Please marry me?”

As tears formed in your eyes, still not believing what’s happening, you can’t help but ask him, “Is it because of the salmon?”

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thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices (Book 2 of 3 BTR Series) a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 27: we need to talk..

Rhea pulled up to the house and entered the gate code. As the iron bars swung open, she glanced at Jeyce through the rearview mirror, her expression unreadable.

“Tell your father I’ll be home later,” she said, her tone calm but carrying an edge that made Jeyce straighten up.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeyce replied, grabbing his backpack and stepping out of the car.

She watched him walk through the gate, shoulders slightly hunched, before it closed behind him. For a moment, Rhea sat there, gripping the steering wheel tightly, her thoughts swirling. With a deep sigh, she reversed out of the driveway and headed back to work.

Jeyce entered the garage and let the heavy door close behind him. His stomach churned as he entered the house through the back door, already bracing for the conversation he knew was coming.

Jey was waiting for him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his expression hard to read but unmistakably serious. Barry and Bella lay at his feet, sensing the tension in the air.

Jey’s voice broke the silence. “Go ahead and speak. I didn’t raise you to be silent.”

Jeyce hesitated, glancing down at his sneakers. He knew there was no use in trying to dodge the topic. “Bart was saying stupid lies about Demi,” he muttered finally.

Jey raised an eyebrow. “And your first reaction was to throw hands?”

“I didn’t start it!” Jeyce argued, his voice rising slightly. “He—he said Demi was sneaking around with other guys, and I told him to shut up. He shoved me first, and I just—”

“You just what?” Jey interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You think that gives you a free pass to fight? You know better than that, Jeyce.”

Jeyce’s fists clenched as frustration bubbled over. “He was lying about her! What was I supposed to do, just stand there and let him say whatever he wants?”

“Yes, you stand there and let him talk,” Jey shot back, his voice firm. “Words don’t mean a damn thing unless you let them. You’ve got to learn how to handle this differently. You think every time someone says something about Demi—or you, or anyone—you can just throw hands? That’s not how it works.”

“He pushed me first,” Jeyce mumbled, though his voice had lost some of its defiance.

“And what, that’s supposed to make me proud of you?” Jey challenged, stepping forward. “You think I’m okay with you getting suspended—again—because someone said some crap about your girlfriend? This is about self-control, Jeyce. If you don’t learn that now, you’re gonna be in a whole world of trouble later.”

Jeyce’s eyes burned with unshed tears, though he refused to let them fall. “I was just trying to defend her,” he said quietly.

“I get it, son. I do,” Jey said, his tone softening just a fraction. “But defending someone doesn’t mean you lose your head every time someone opens their mouth. You’ve got to be smarter than this.”

The two stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them thick. Finally, Jey exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You’re lucky your brother’s birthday is today,” Jey said, shaking his head. “Otherwise, we’d be having a much different conversation. Now, go upstairs. You’re staying there until the party starts at six. Do I make myself clear?”

Jeyce’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded reluctantly. “Yes, sir.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “And—uh—Rhea said she’ll be home later.”

Jey didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flickering with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Finally, he nodded toward the stairs. “Go on.”

Jeyce turned and trudged upstairs, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the day.

As the sound of his son’s door closing echoed through the house, Jey leaned back against the counter, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. Barry nudged his leg with his nose, sensing his distress, and Jey gave the dog a half-hearted pat.

“Just like me at his age,” he muttered to himself, a flicker of understanding softening his features. Still, the weight of being both a disciplinarian and a father pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Jey made his way to the cookie container on the kitchen counter, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the perfectly baked brown butter chocolate chunk cookies. He opened the lid, and the sweet, buttery aroma wafted through the air. A grin spread across his face as he reached for one, but just as his fingers brushed the warm surface of a cookie, a voice boomed from the living room.

“DON’T THINK ABOUT IT, JEY! THOSE ARE ACCOUNTED FOR!” Trinity’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

Jey froze mid-reach, rolling his eyes dramatically. “YES, MA’AM!” he called back, shaking his head.

Despite her warning, Jey quickly snatched a cookie, balancing it in his mouth as he closed the lid. He was just turning to make his escape when he caught sight of Trinity standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face.

Jey removed the cookie from his mouth and held it up in mock surrender. “It’s just one cookie,” he said, feigning innocence.

Trinity narrowed her eyes playfully. “You say that every time, and every time, there’s mysteriously fewer cookies than when I left them.”

Jey bit into the cookie, savoring the gooey chocolate chunks and the perfect crunch. “You should take it as a compliment. If they weren’t this good, I wouldn’t risk getting caught.”

Trinity couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “You’re lucky it’s Jaciyah’s birthday, or I’d make you bake a whole new batch.”

Jey grinned and held up the half-eaten cookie. “Totally worth it.”

Trinity walked over and playfully swatted him on the arm. “Go on, get out of here before I change my mind.”

Jey nodded, still grinning, and headed toward the living room with the dogs trailing behind him. As he sat back on the couch, he couldn’t help but marvel at how the house felt alive—between the kids, the upcoming party, and even Trinity’s stern cookie rules. Moments like these, chaotic as they were, reminded him of what really mattered: family.

—

4:30 PM

4:30 rolled by quickly, and Jaciyah stepped out of the shower, steam rising from the bathroom as he ran his fingers through his damp braids. He smoothed them down with some serum, making sure every strand was perfectly in place. After that, he grabbed his clothes for the evening. He chose a black and red polo collared shirt, paired it with blue jeans, and slipped into his red and black Nike Dunks. A quick spritz of his favorite cologne and a glance at the mirror made him nod in approval.

As he finished getting dressed, Jaciyah reached for the chain his father had given him, tossing it around his neck with a practiced flick. He looked at himself one last time before heading downstairs, his footsteps echoing through the house.

“On my way to pick up Daya,” Jaciyah announced as he entered the living room, where Jey was lounging with the dogs.

Jey looked up and gave him a nod. “That’s fine. Your uncle Jon’s already got the ribs going on the grill.”

Jaciyah grabbed Jey’s Mercedes keys off the counter and headed for the door, but not before pausing to check in with his father.

“Hey, Dad, you got everything ready for tonight?”

“Everything’s good, son. I’ll see you later,” Jey replied, giving a thumbs up.

As Jaciyah stepped outside, Jey quickly dialed Rhea’s number, waiting for her to pick up. When she answered, he asked, “When you coming home, babe?”

“I’ve got a few things left to wrap up, but I should be home by 5:30,” Rhea’s voice came through the phone, sounding a bit distant but steady.

“Alright. I’ll see you then. We’ll be ready.”

“Sounds good. See you soon,” Rhea replied before ending the call.

Jey placed the phone down and glanced at the clock. Everything was falling into place, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was going to be one of those unforgettable nights—the ones full of laughter, family, and memories they’d cherish.

As Jaciyah pulled up to Daya’s friend’s apartment, he parked the car and looked around, taking in the quiet neighborhood. Daya had been staying with her best friend Hailey for the past few nights before heading to her dad’s house, and Jaciyah couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed the extra time they’d been able to spend together. Hailey’s boyfriend worked as a manager at the Pizza Hut where Jaciyah picked up extra shifts, so he’d been working “double shifts” recently, just to be able to hang out with Daya whenever he could.

The past week had felt like a perfect balance between his responsibilities and time with her, but tonight, with Jaciyah’s birthday party coming up, he couldn’t wait to have her by his side.

He pulled out his phone and texted Daya: Here. Come on out. Moments later, the door of the apartment opened, and out walked Daya, carrying a gift in her hand. She looked effortlessly stunning as always. Her red V-neck shirt clung perfectly to her frame, and her blue jeans showed off her figure. The white Nike Air Forces completed the look, and her red and black hair cascaded down her shoulders in sleek, flat-ironed waves instead of her usual loose curls.

Jaciyah watched with a smile as she made her way toward the car.

When Daya reached the passenger side, she opened the door and slid into the seat next to him. “Happy birthday, baby,” she said with a sweet smile, handing him the gift bag. Her voice was soft, but there was a certain intensity in her gaze that sent a wave of warmth through him.

Before Jaciyah could say anything, Daya leaned over and kissed him, her lips meeting his with a tenderness that quickly turned passionate. The world around them seemed to disappear as he kissed her back, the pressure of the past week melting away as they lost themselves in the moment.

“Been waiting all week for this,” Daya whispered against his lips as she pulled back slightly, her breath warm against his skin.

Jaciyah grinned, his heart racing. “I think we’re both due for some time alone.” He reached for the gift, ready to see what she’d gotten him.

Jaciyah carefully opened the small box and his eyes lit up as he saw the delicate necklace inside. The gold pendant gleamed, and on it was a simple “D” engraved in a sleek, modern font. A smile spread across his face as he picked it up, feeling a surge of warmth in his chest. “I love it,” he said, his voice low with affection. He fastened the chain around his neck, letting the pendant settle comfortably against his skin.

Daya watched him, her eyes soft and proud. Then, with a playful smirk, she lifted her leg slightly and pointed down toward her ankle. Jaciyah followed her gaze and saw a gold anklet wrapped around her ankle, with a small “J” hanging from it, matching his necklace perfectly. His heart skipped a beat as he took in the sweet gesture.

A grin tugged at his lips. “You really do know how to make me smile,” he said, his voice filled with admiration.

Daya leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Only for you, baby.”

Without another word, Jaciyah pulled her in closer, capturing her lips with his. The kiss deepened instantly, the tenderness of their connection shifting to something more intense. They both felt it—their own magnetic pull, the unspoken understanding of their bond, the way their hearts seemed to sync in perfect rhythm. Time seemed to stand still around them as their kiss continued, the world outside the car fading into the background.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against each other, breathing heavily but smiling. “Best birthday gift ever,” Jaciyah said, still feeling the spark between them.

Daya chuckled softly, “I’m glad you think so. But the night’s just getting started.”

—

5:12 PM

Rhea yawned as she pulled her plum-colored Tahoe into the garage. The day had felt incredibly long. Work was draining, and though she had hoped the break she took earlier to pick up Jeyce would make the day go by faster, it only made everything feel more drawn out. But the one good thing about her shift ending was that she had managed to finish on time, at least. As she opened the car door, the scent of the evening air hit her, and the weight of the day slowly started to lift.

Dropping her bags onto the kitchen counter, Rhea smiled when she saw Jey lounging in the living room. He looked up at her, his face softening into a smile as she approached. She leaned in and kissed him, a gentle but affectionate peck.

“I’m gonna go upstairs and change, okay?” she said softly.

Jey smiled back, nodding. “Okay, love. Jaciyah asked for red and black, so find something in those colors.”

Rhea nodded, but the exhaustion was still weighing on her. As she made her way upstairs, her feet felt heavier with every step. When she reached the bedroom, she sat on the bed with a soft sigh, the day catching up with her. Her feet were now fully swollen, something she was going to get used to moving forward. Kicking off her Vans, she stretched her legs out, feeling the tightness in her muscles.

She undressed slowly, feeling every inch of her body aching, and headed for her dresser. As she rifled through her clothes, she could feel the tiredness consuming her, but she focused on finding something comfortable for the party. She chose an oversized red Civil Regime shirt and paired it with black biker shorts. She changed into fresh socks, opting for knee-length black Nike socks for a more casual, relaxed look.

By the time she finished dressing, Rhea was utterly exhausted. She looked at the time and saw it was 5:25. Knowing that they were still on schedule for Jaciyah’s party, she decided to lie down for a few minutes. The bed felt so inviting, and as soon as she laid down on her side, the weight of her tiredness pulled her into a light, much-needed sleep.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Jey began to realize that Rhea had been upstairs for a while. It wasn’t like her to take so long to get ready, and Jon had asked him to check on her. Jey, always attentive when it came to Rhea, quietly made his way upstairs, a quiet concern growing in his chest.

He gently pushed the door open and peeked inside. He didn’t want to disturb her if she was simply resting, but when he saw Rhea lying on the bed, her body relaxed and her breathing soft, he couldn’t help but feel a tug of worry. The exhaustion in her face was evident, and her feet, still propped up on the bed, looked more swollen than they had been earlier.

Jey walked in quietly, moving toward the bed. He knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He could see how tired she was, but he didn’t want to wake her up. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered, “Love, you okay?”

Rhea stirred slightly but didn’t fully wake, and Jey’s heart softened at the sight of her. He smiled to himself, grateful she had finally allowed herself to rest, even if it was just for a short while. He stood up and pulled the covers over her carefully, then left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He would let her rest for a bit longer, knowing she had been pushing herself too hard recently.

—

7:18 PM

Soon, the small get-together was in full swing. The upbeat rhythm of Roll Up by Wiz Khalifa played over the stereo system, setting the tone for the evening. The backyard was alive with laughter and conversation as everyone enjoyed the party.

Demi, who Jaciyah and Daya had picked up before they arrived, was outside with Jeyce, playing with Barry and Bella. The two dogs bounced happily around the yard, their energy contagious as the kids threw tennis balls for them to chase. The sound of their laughter filled the air, mixing with the lively beats of the music.

Jon and Trinity were sitting comfortably on the patio furniture, chatting and relaxing, while Jeremiah and Jeremy kept an eye on the crowd, making sure everyone was having a good time. Jesse, ever the protector, stood by the front gate, keeping a vigilant lookout for any unwanted visitors or interruptions.

On the large, oversized swing at the back of the yard, Jaciyah and Daya were nestled together, enjoying a quiet moment. Daya, having recently met Jey officially, felt a sense of relief wash over her. The tension she’d been carrying melted away when Jey made a lighthearted joke about how his dad had accidentally caught himself with Jaciyah’s mom. She laughed, the last bit of worry in her eyes fading.

Daya was a good girl, Jey thought. He was grateful that both of his sons had found someone special, and he felt proud that they were able to share these moments with people they cared about.

Jey, who had been tending to the grill, flipped the meat with practiced precision, making sure everything was cooking just right. He glanced over at Jon, who was lounging in his chair, enjoying the party but always ready to pitch in when needed.

“Jon,” Jey called out. “Keep an eye on the grill for me. I’m going to go wake up Rhea.”

Jon gave him a thumbs-up and stretched his legs out. “No problem, Jey. Go get her. We got it covered here.”

Jey nodded, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. As he made his way toward the house, he couldn’t help but think about how different everything felt now. Life was chaotic, but it was the good kind of chaos—full of love, laughter, and family.

He reached the door, knocked gently, and entered the room. The quiet hum of the house was a stark contrast to the lively noise outside. As he made his way to the bedroom, he found Rhea exactly where he left her—still curled up on the bed, her breathing slow and steady.

He smiled softly, not wanting to disturb her too much, but knowing she needed to wake up soon to join the celebration. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Love,” he whispered. “The party’s going great. You’re missing all the fun.”

Rhea stirred, a small groan escaping her lips as she slowly opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. “Mmm… did I sleep that long?”

“Yeah,” Jey said with a chuckle. “But it’s okay. We’ve got a while yet. Jaciyah’s been waiting for you.”

Rhea stretched and yawned, sitting up with a tired but content expression. “I really needed that nap,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes.

Jey smiled and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know, babe. But you’ve got to come out and enjoy yourself. Everyone’s having a good time.”

Rhea smiled faintly, though she was still clearly worn out. “Alright,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Let me get my shoes on, and I’ll be out there.”

Jey stood up, offering her a hand to help her up. “Take your time, love. The party’s not going anywhere.”

As Rhea slowly got up, Jey returned to the grill, where Jon had taken over the task of flipping the burgers and ribs, making sure they were cooked just right. He handed Jon the spatula as Rhea emerged from the house, looking casual and comfortable in her outfit.

“Looking good, mama,” Jon said with a wink as Rhea walked toward them.

She laughed softly. “Thanks. Sorry about the nap. I guess I needed it more than I thought.”

“No worries,” Jey said. “We’ll save the party for you.”

As the evening carried on, the atmosphere remained light and fun, the perfect celebration for Jaciyah’s birthday.

Rhea smiled as Trinity handed her a tall glass of the homemade banana chocolate milkshake. The sweet, rich aroma of banana and chocolate filled the air, and Rhea took a sip, savoring the creamy goodness. “So much chocolate,” she said with a playful grin.

“That’s all Jaciyah requested,” Trinity replied, leaning back in her chair and watching as Jey continued to work his magic on the grill, the scent of sizzling meat filling the backyard.

Rhea laughed lightly, the warmth of the moment settling over her. She enjoyed the calm moments like this, surrounded by family and good company. She took another sip of her milkshake and glanced around the yard. Her eyes caught sight of Demi and Jeyce, both kneeling on the grass and playing with Barry and Bella. The two dogs were wagging their tails excitedly, running back and forth as Jeyce tried to teach Demi how to toss a tennis ball.

“Oh my word…” Rhea started, a soft laugh escaping her. “She’s like a mini me,” she said, referring to Demi, who had a similar energy and presence to herself. Demi’s playful nature with the dogs made her smile.

Jon looked over at Demi and Jeyce, laughing. “I know, right?” he said, clearly entertained by the sight.

Trinity, sitting beside Jon, nodded enthusiastically. “I think it’s so cute!” she said. “Her sister Daya, though, she looks just like you if you were to meet Jey when you guys were teenagers.”

Rhea blinked, processing the comparison. “What do you mean?” she asked, glancing at her friend.

“Think about it,” Trinity continued, pointing toward Daya, who was sitting on the swing with Jaciyah. “Daya’s got that strong, independent vibe, just like you had when you were younger. She’s got a bit of that quiet confidence, and you can tell she knows exactly who she is.”

Rhea chuckled, shaking her head. “You guys are crazy, but I see it. I do. It’s funny how life works out.”

Jon leaned back in his chair, a grin on his face as he watched the group. “It’s like his sons found their Rhea’s,” he said, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Both of them are lucky to have such strong women in their lives.”

Rhea’s smile softened, and she nodded. She loved seeing her kids, or rather, Jaciyah and Jeyce, find people who complemented them so well. Daya and Demi weren’t just good for them—they were part of the family now. They fit in effortlessly, and Rhea couldn’t help but feel proud of the bond they were all building together.

Jey looked over his shoulder from the grill, catching Rhea’s eye. He winked at her, his smile widening.

“Everything good, love?” he called out.

Rhea gave him a thumbs-up, her heart swelling with warmth at the sight of her fiancé, the father of her children, cooking for everyone with such pride. It wasn’t just about the food—it was about the family they had created together, the love they had for one another.

Jon raised his drink, toasting toward Jey and Rhea. “You guys are a good match,” he said, his voice loud enough for the group to hear.

“Agreed,” Trinity added, clinking her glass with Rhea’s.

Rhea smiled brightly, her gaze flickering between Jey, the kids, and her family. The evening was everything she could have asked for—peaceful, happy, and filled with the kind of love that made all the struggles worth it. This was their world, and it was perfect in its own chaotic way.

Suddenly, the smooth, reggae beat of No Letting Go by Wayne Wonder filled the air, making the atmosphere shift from laid-back chatter to something more intimate. Trinity, with a playful grin on her face, turned to Jon and said, “Come on, dance with me.”

Jon raised an eyebrow but smiled, clearly amused. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now,” she insisted, tugging on his hand with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Without hesitation, Jon stood up, and they moved toward the center of the yard, swaying to the rhythm of the song.

Rhea, who had been watching them, couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her brother and his wife dancing together. But as she glanced over at Jey, she felt a sudden shift inside her. The soft notes of the song seemed to weave their way into her heart, and in that moment, it felt as if the entire world had disappeared, leaving just the two of them.

She caught Jey’s gaze, and he seemed to understand exactly what she was feeling. Without a word, Jey stood up, his hand extending toward her. His eyes were soft but intense, and it was as if the song had transported them to another time, another place—back to Damian’s AIRBNB in Houston on New Year’s, when everything felt perfect and electric. The world outside of them had blurred, and for that moment, it had been just about them, just about the way they moved together.

Rhea smiled and took his hand, allowing him to pull her gently into his arms. As the song played on, Jey wrapped his arm around her waist, and Rhea placed her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. They began to sway in unison, the motion slow and natural, just like it had been that night in Houston. The sound of Wayne Wonder’s voice filled the space between them, and it was as if they were floating in their own world, disconnected from everything else around them.

Jey looked down at Rhea, his smile deepening. “Feels like déjà vu, huh?”

Rhea laughed softly, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. “Yeah, it does,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s like we’re back there… just the two of us.”

“Back when we didn’t have to worry about anything,” Jey said, his voice low and filled with a certain tenderness.

Rhea nodded, her eyes closing for a moment as she let the music surround them. She remembered that night—how everything had seemed possible. How the future felt wide open and full of promise. It felt like a lifetime ago, but in Jey’s arms, it was as if they had never left that moment.

Jey gently pulled her closer, his lips brushing the top of her head as they continued to dance, the world outside of their little bubble fading away. The laughter of the others in the background felt distant, almost as if it was part of a dream, while the music carried them through the memory of their love.

“Tonight’s special, huh?” Rhea whispered, looking up at him with a soft smile.

“Every moment with you is special,” Jey replied, his voice filled with sincerity. “But yeah, this one feels like it’s just for us.”

As the song played on, they moved together, lost in the comfort of each other’s presence. It was a quiet kind of magic—no words needed, just the rhythm of their hearts and the bond they shared.

When the song finally ended and the next one played, they stood there for a moment, still holding each other, unwilling to break the connection. It felt like a moment they could keep, like they were both suspended in time, just a couple lost in love. The moment would pass, but it would leave its mark, a reminder of how far they had come and how much they still had to look forward to.

—

Everyone’s voices rang out, singing Happy Birthday as Rhea carefully lit the candles on the cake for Jaciyah. The warm glow of the candles flickered in the evening air, and Jaciyah beamed as everyone around him sang in unison. A smile tugged at Rhea’s lips as she watched her son, proud and full of life, standing there surrounded by family. After they finished singing, Jaciyah leaned in and blew out the candles, his wish a silent moment to himself.

Trinity, ever the photographer, quickly grabbed her camera and began snapping pictures of the moment. Laughter and chatter filled the air as the party continued, but then, just as the mood seemed to be at its peak, a shift in energy caught Jey’s attention. Jeremiah, his face tight with concern, approached him from the side, motioning for him to step away.

“Jey, I need to talk to you,” Jeremiah said, his voice low and urgent. “We have a situation.”

Jey’s brow furrowed. He knew the tone in his cousin’s voice all too well—it was the kind of tone that meant something was wrong, something they couldn’t afford to ignore. Without a word, Jey followed Jeremiah, stepping away from the laughter and lightheartedness of the party. They walked toward the gate at the front of the property, and Jey’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a car parked by the entrance.

The vehicle was unfamiliar, and the lights from the party illuminated it just enough for Jey to feel uneasy. He couldn’t see who was inside, but something about the situation made his skin crawl. His instinct told him this wasn’t just a coincidence.

Jeremiah led him closer to the gate, and that’s when the figure stepped out of the car. Jey’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the man. Jey’s pulse quickened. His jaw clenched.

“We need to speak, Joshua,” Morris said, his voice calm but loaded with an unsettling intensity.

[gullemec]

Pandora's Box

Golden Cage - Chapter Two

ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: The Boys send you on your first mission and you end up with more than you bargained for.

Warnings: emotional abuse, daddy issues

WC: 4.5k

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who liked/commented/reblogged chapter one, it genuinely means so much to me🥹 i've started a taglist as well so please let me know if you'd like to be added!

The Boys, as you’ve come to know them, waste absolutely no time.

After quick introductions to MM, a steady and level-headed founding member, and Kimiko, a silent but razor-sharp Supe liberated from captivity, Butcher starts laying out the plan with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer.

On the coffee table before you sits a small fortune in spy gear: bugs, GPS trackers, cameras, audio recorders, and a litany of tiny devices that look like they belong in a spy movie. The sheer quantity makes your head spin.

Hughie kneels by the table, carefully picking up each device and explaining its purpose. His earnestness almost makes the whole thing less intimidating. Almost. Truthfully, he could tell you just about anything and you'd continue to nod along. Seeing as you've never taken up cat burglary or espionage as a hobby, you barely understand anything he's telling you. 

“This one here,” Hughie says, holding up a tiny black button-like device, “is a bug. A listening device. You stick it somewhere, and it picks up sound within about twenty feet. Pretty good range.” He hands it to you, and you turn it over in your fingers, pretending to understand.

Behind him, Butcher leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. He watches the two of you silently, his sharp eyes flicking between the gear and your increasingly overwhelmed expression.

“Right,” Butcher drawls, pushing off the wall and strolling over. He snatches the bug from your hand, holding it up between thumb and forefinger. “Here’s how this works: you stick this under your dad’s desk or somethin’ that gets a lot of traffic. We’ll be able to hear every dodgy little word that comes out of his mouth.”

You nod, eyes wide, shellshocked. You're taken back to the time your mother brought you to see Spy Kids and you spent an entire month afterward somersaulting around the house and peeking around corners pretending you, too, were a spy. You had even begged her to order you a spy kit through your school's Scholastic Book Fair. The real thing, as you've come to learn, involves much less gymnastics and invisible ink than you'd originally thought. 

This is all so ridiculous. You woke up this morning prepared to face another day of monotonous lab reports, mind-numbing thinktank meetings, and unending feelings of inadequacy. Now you’re playing Inspector Gadget with a ragtag group of vigilantes to infiltrate a corrupt conglomerate that may or may not be responsible for your mother’s death. 

If you don’t laugh, you’re pretty sure you might just cry.

Butcher doesn’t seem to notice your inner spiral. “Easy as pie,” he adds, smirking like it really is that simple.

“Sure,” you murmur, trying to sound more sure than you feel.

Hughie, sensing your nerves, holds up another device, a thick black disc about the size of a hockey puck. “This one’s a GPS tracker. While you’re planting the bug, Frenchie and I’ll slap these on your dad’s and Monica’s cars. That way, we’ll know where they go and when.”

Your stomach twists. This is all so surreal.

Hughie hesitates, his brow furrowing as he takes in your face. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot. First time I got roped into this, Butcher had me bug the Seven’s meeting room. Thought I was gonna throw up the whole time.”

You gape at him. “Wait—you bugged the Seven? How the hell did you pull that off?”

“I didn’t,” Hughie says with an awkward laugh. “Got caught.”

Your eyes widen. “You got caught?” The words come out more panicked than you intend, and your sweaty palms rub against the worn fabric of the couch. “Oh, God, I can’t—this is—what if I—”

Your mind explores every possibility, every unique way this can, will, go horribly wrong. Monica finds the bug and calls security. Your dad catches you red-handed, his disappointment turning into something darker.

Or, perhaps worst of all, you succeed and uncover the truth, and it will be worse than the weight of the uncertainty you've carried.

A heavy hand clamps down on your shoulder, stopping your thoughts cold.

Your head snaps up, and your eyes meet Butcher’s. His expression is calm but firm, and his grip feels strangely reassuring. For a moment, the world seems to steady itself. You grab his hand instinctively, your fingers brushing his. He notices, clears his throat, and pulls away, leaving you colder than you’d like to admit.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, his voice softer than you expect. “Smarter than Hughie, anyway. Low fuckin’ bar, I know, but still.”

“Hey!” Hughie protests from the floor. “What the hell?”

But Butcher’s already moved on, ignoring him. “Focus on the job. We’ll be outside in the van, listenin’ through the bug. If anything goes sideways, just leg it outta there.”

The authority in his voice is oddly comforting. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve misjudged him, if there’s more to him than the sarcastic, sharp-edged persona he’s so quick to project.

Hughie looks between the two of you, confusion playing on his face.

Butcher clears his throat. “‘Less of course you have a run in with Homelander. I ain't dealing with that cunt today.”

Ah, yes. There's the asshole who kidnapped you. You nod sagely, grimacing.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He grins, sharp and wolfish. “That’s the spirit.”

You roll your eyes, half-exasperated, half-amused.

Hughie glances between the two of you, his confusion obvious. “Wait, is Homelander actually a risk here? Or is he just—”

“Don’t overthink it, Hughie,” Butcher cuts in, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him wince. “She’ll be fine. Won’t ya?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

But as the plan starts to crystallize, the reality of what you’re about to do settles in your chest like a weight. 

Fine is a relative term.

~~~

Frenchie deposits you back where he found you, the cloak of secrecy still intact. Sure enough, your heels and lab coat remain where you left them, an unremarkable crumple of fabric and leather in the shadows. It's somewhat comforting to know no one else has discovered your secret smoke spot, but disappointing all the same that not a single soul came looking for you.

Eight hours. The workday has long since ended, and it’s painfully clear that the wheels of CytoGenix churn on, unbothered by your lack of presence. You collect your things and swipe your badge, heels clicking sharply against the cold tile as the fluorescent lighting hums its dispassionate scrutiny above.

CytoGenix headquarters looms like a monument to ambition, nearly as ostentatious as Vought Tower. Fifty-five stories of cutting-edge labs, supercomputers, and glassy offices stretching high above Manhattan. Your father insisted that keeping most everything in-house kept CytoGenix self-sufficient, giving it an edge against the competition. You wondered if that same logic applied to the crown jewel of the building, his infamous combination office and bedroom in the penthouse. Your mother used to jokingly refer to the family home upstate as your father's vacation home, since he primarily lived out of the office. You couldn't deny that conducting an affair mere feet away from his work desk met the definition of efficient.

You step into the elevator now, the glass box offering a vertiginous view of the city below as it rises. The sight makes your stomach churn, so you focus on the reflective silver doors instead, breathing slowly in through your nose and out through your mouth.

The penthouse is as you remember it, coldly modern and sleek, with wide-open spaces and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the cityscape. Soft jazz hums from a turntable wedged between a pair of file cabinets, a strange touch of warmth in the otherwise sterile setting.

Your father’s mahogany desk is the only thing that breaks the space’s futuristic aesthetic. Stacks of papers teeter precariously, coffee mugs crowd the edges, and there he sits, hunched over a legal pad, scribbling furiously. He barely registers your presence as you approach, only flicking his eyes up briefly before returning to his work.

He says your name flatly, without warmth or curiosity, the same tone he might use for a colleague interrupting his train of thought.

Your heels click purposefully as you move closer, forcing yourself to breathe steadily, to keep your hands from trembling. You can’t afford to give yourself away.  He can't suspect that you're here for any reason other than a friendly meeting between father and daughter. 

Only, that in and of itself is suspect in your case. 

When you look at him now you wonder if you see anything new, a different plane of his face you'd never noticed before, a nervous tic you'd ignored. Something, anything, that might suggest his culpability in your mother's death. Did he know? If so, what did he know? Had he been a passive player, vaguely aware that it was no accident? Or had he orchestrated the entire thing, feigning his grief all this time? 

Who was the man sitting in front of you?

“Hi, Dad,” you begin, your voice carefully neutral.

“What is it?” he replies, not bothering to look up.

A flare of irritation rises, but you stamp it down. You’d expected this. “I was hoping we could talk.”

That finally gets his attention. He leans back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “About?”

“The internship,” you say, keeping your tone casual. “I just… I don’t think it’s working out. I’ve been thinking I might explore other opportunities instead.”

He stares at you for a moment, blinking slowly, as if waiting for the punchline of a joke he doesn’t find funny. Then he exhales sharply, tossing his pen onto the desk.

“Are you kidding me?” he says, his voice low but brimming with disdain. “You’re giving up already? How many times have Monica and I talked to you about seeing things through? About doing something useful with your life?”

The sting of his words is familiar, like a bruise you’ve stopped noticing. Still, it’s enough to spark a flicker of anger.

“I’m not giving up, Dad. I’m just saying this might not be the best fit—”

He cuts you off with a scoff, rising abruptly from his chair. “Fit? Jesus Christ, listen to yourself. The world isn’t about fit, it’s about work. Something you’ve clearly never understood.”

You grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself as he paces, one hand rubbing the crown of his balding head.

“I spent tens of thousands of dollars sending you to school overseas,” he continues, his voice rising. “You didn’t need a fancy education for this job but I agreed anyway, because you and your mother insisted on it. And for what? So you could come back here and whine about an internship? Biology isn’t going to help you run a company, sweetheart. Know your place.”

“I’m trying to tell you—”

“No! You don’t get to try,” he snaps, spinning to face you. “You do. You’re going to finish this internship, and then you’re going to take the seat on the board. Enough of this nonsense.”

You can see the veins in his temple pulsing, his voice growing louder with each syllable. It should scare you, the way his anger always boils over so quickly, but instead it just feels… predictable. Like muscle memory.

He's working himself into a frenzy, rising from his desk to pace around the room, reciting old adages about a hard day's work and bemoaning the laziness of today's youth, errant jabs directed toward your personal shortcomings scattered throughout.You absently consider making a bingo sheet with his favorite token phrases to bring to your next family dinner, barely concealing a chuckle at the thought of shouting BINGO! as Monica demurely chews her smoked salmon across from you.

Finally he turns to rest his head on the bookshelves that flank his desk, as though he were seeking refuge from your insolence among the leather-bound books you were certain he'd never read. 

Perfect.

As he mutters to himself, your hand slips into your pocket, fingers closing around the small bug. His voice fades into a dull roar as you focus on the desk, feeling along its underside until you find the right spot. The adhesive sticks fast.

Done.

“You’re right,” you say robotically, standing and smoothing your skirt. “I’ve been stressed. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He exhales sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Stressed? Sweetie, you don’t even know the first thing about stress.”

Have you ever been kidnapped? You think.

Your teeth clench, but you force a smile, nodding as though you agree. Your eyes drift to a velvet painting of lilies above the turntable, the soft white flowers providing a point of focus as his voice fades into background noise.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” you say suddenly, cutting him off mid-sentence. You grab your purse and head for the elevator.

 But something makes you stop, your hand hovering over the button. Something about his anger and the way you learned from your mother how to deal with it, how to defuse the bomb. You turn back to face him as he sits down to resume his work, the rage leaving his body as rapidly as it had arrived.

“You know, I really miss her. Mom, I mean.”

The words seem to strike him like a physical blow. He freezes, his face unreadable. After a moment, he clears his throat and forces a tight smile. “I miss her too.”

Liar. Thief. Asshole. 

You say nothing. You leave. You hold your tears all the way down the elevator, all the way down the fluorescent hallway, all the way until ‒

Clickclickclick. 

The sound of bitchy little heels, but not your bitchy little heels. The shrill echo of your name, all false sweetness and feigned excitement. 

“Monica,” you say stiffly as she approaches, taking in her perfectly laid curls, pristine white blouse, and silk pencil skirt. The picture of elegance, the bane of your existence. 

“Darling,” she coos, her saccharine voice grating. She places a hand on your shoulder, her grip just a little too firm. “What are you doing here so late? You’re usually long gone by now doing… Whatever it is you do.”

She says it like she's not quite sure what the hell you could possibly be doing with your time that doesn't involve being hunched over a desk, awash in the glowing blue light of a computer screen. You'd endured many a lecture from Monica about work ethic and potential, always with the implication that you were severely lacking in both departments. You desperately wanted to ask her if she'd ever familiarized herself with things like fidelity or morals, but reasoned it would be easier to just keep your mouth shut.

You force a smile, brushing her off. “Just stopped by to see my dad. Nothing exciting.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, you wonder if she sees through you. Can she clock your quickening heart rate, or the sheen of sweat on your face? Does she notice the frizz of your hair, the way you couldn't quite get it to sit the way it had before a hood had been thrown over it? She knows something is off, just not what exactly. 

But then the plastic smile returns, all teeth and no sincerity. 

“Lovely,” she says, squeezing your arm. “Well, don’t be a stranger. Cheers, darling.”

Monica loves to talk like a posh Londoner sometimes, like she wasn't born in Cheboygan, Michigan. You could vomit.

As she clicks away, you exhale and slip out into the alley. Across the street, the van waits, nondescript under the streetlights.

You’re vaguely aware of the bitter irony as you climb back into the van of the very men who kidnapped you hours earlier, but the relief is undeniable.

“I did it! And he didn’t even notice!” you announce, grinning despite the bizarre circumstances. Your heart thuds in your chest, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

The silence hits harder than expected. Butcher, Frenchie, and Hughie all avoid your eyes, their expressions ranging from uncomfortable to grim.

“Damn,” you say, trying to inject some levity. “Not even a ‘good job’? I was expecting at least one sarcastic thumbs-up from you guys.”

Nothing.

The tension in the van is thick and stifling, coiling in your chest like a lead weight.

It’s Hughie who finally speaks, his voice soft but pointed. “Wow, you, uh... weren’t kidding when you said your dad’s an asshole.”

The smile falls from your face. The weight doubles.

They heard.

They heard everything.

Every cutting word. Every ounce of disdain your father had casually thrown your way. All of it.

You feel like you’re standing naked under a spotlight. “Oh my God,” you stammer, your voice small and wavering. “I’m sorry you guys had to hear that. I—”

“It’s fine, ma poupette,” Frenchie interrupts gently, his voice warm. “Do not let it sit in your heart. It is... nothing.”

You nod, grateful for his kindness, but it doesn’t help. The sting of exposure lingers, burrowing deeper. Despite your rather brutal introduction, you can’t help but feel a sort of kinship with the Boys. These men have been through hell, you know that, but something about them hearing your father’s tirade, hearing things you secretly believe about yourself echoed by the man who raised you, feels suffocating.

Your eyes drift to Butcher, hoping for some sharp remark or offhanded quip to cut through the tension. Instead, he says nothing at all, his jaw tight as he avoids your gaze entirely.

Before the silence can grow unbearable, a crackle of static from the nearby receiver draws everyone’s attention. Hughie leans forward, fiddling with the dials as a voice filters through, thin and distorted. 

Monica.

“I saw her in the hallway downstairs. What was she talking to you about?”

Your father's voice responds, crisp and biting. “Bitching and moaning.” 

He laughs. Monica laughs. You wince. 

Hughie plays with some dials, attempting to improve the sound, pretending like he didn't just hear that exchange. 

When Monica's voice filters through again, it's clearer. “I come bearing good news,” she says, her tone syrupy and smug.

“Oh? Do tell,” your father replies.

“Quality Control will be testing the first batch of V2 in a couple weeks. Please tell me I can invite some of my Vought friends?”

Your stomach twists.

“Baby, you know exactly how to make a man happy,” your father drawls, his voice carrying an oily satisfaction. “Of course you can. Now, come here.”

Then, sounds. Sounds you'd rather not hear. Evidently, sounds the others would rather not hear as well, as Hughie quickly flips a switch, killing the audio. 

The silence that follows is deafening.

“What the fuck is V2?” Hughie blurts out, breaking the tension. His voice is edged with unease, his wide eyes darting between you and the others.

You shake your head slowly, the knot in your stomach tightening. “I—I don’t know. CytoGenix and Vought have done joint projects before, but it’s usually just sponsorships or tech. Nothing like this.”

Butcher leans back with a sigh. His hand moves to his face, dragging down as if trying to physically scrape off his frustration. “I don’t know what it is,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, “but it sounds a bloody sight worse than V.”

Frenchie lights a cigarette, his hands shaking ever so slightly. “If it is anything like the first, then we are in very deep shit, mes amis.”

Your chest tightens further as the implications hit you. V2. A new generation of the drug that turned people into ticking time bombs of chaos and destruction. A knot of guilt begins to form in your chest, curling tighter with every second.

This was your father’s doing.

“Whatever it is,” Butcher says finally, his voice cold and hard, “we’re not letting it see the light of day.”

His eyes flick to you for the first time since you entered the van, sharp and assessing. It’s not pity, not anger. It’s expectation.

You realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s already decided you’re a part of this fight now. Whether you like it or not.

~~~

The van pulls up outside your apartment building on the Upper East Side. After the chaos of the day, the sight of the familiar facade feels almost surreal. A part of you wonders how you’re supposed to just... walk back into your life as if everything hasn’t been irrevocably altered.

You glance back at the men in the van, your kidnappers turned allies, and feel a pang of awkwardness. “Alright... goodbye, I guess?” you offer, your voice uncertain.

Butcher gives a dry, humorless smile. “In a week’s time, come back to the laundromat. Bring some clothes, do laundry like a good little citizen ‘til one of us shows up. If you’ve got a tail, they’ll think you’re just there to bleach your knickers.”

“Okay, I can do that,” you reply quickly, trying to sound more confident than you feel. Deep down, you want to prove yourself to them, to him. To show you’re not the helpless daughter your father paints you to be, in spite of what they heard today.

In spite of what you think of yourself every day. 

You climb out, but before you can take more than a few steps toward the building, a hand grabs your elbow. You turn, startled, to find Butcher standing there.

“Let me walk you up,” he says, his tone gruff but somehow quieter than usual.

You blink. Butcher? Offering to walk you up to your apartment? You glance back at the van and catch Hughie and Frenchie craning their necks, their expressions mirroring your own disbelief.

“Uh... sure,” you say, fumbling for words. “I mean, I’m fine. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

He doesn’t respond, just nods toward the building. Reluctantly, you lead him inside.

The elevator ride is suffocatingly quiet, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but his expression is unreadable.

You feel a little silly leading the man into your lavish, paid-for-by-daddy apartment, knowing that he'll rest his head on a cot in the basement of a laundromat tonight. You wonder idly if he has an apartment to call home, or if, like your father, he too shits where he eats. You wonder why he feels the need to come in and see the apartment, but nothing about him being in your space feels intrusive. 

When you open the door to your loft, you hesitate for a moment before stepping inside. “Well, this is it,” you say, your voice faltering.

He follows you in, his eyes scanning the space. The eclectic decor—a mix of warm woods, mismatched textiles, and knickknacks—feels so far removed from the sterile confines of CytoGenix. You can’t help but notice how out of place Butcher looks here, yet oddly... fitting.

You watch as he pokes around, taking in the details. The art prints on the walls. The stack of books on the coffee table. The half-empty cup of tea you’d abandoned this morning, now cold.

For a moment, you imagine him here. Standing in your kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. Slouched on the couch, the trench coat swapped for something softer. Following you up the stairs to the loft.

Your cheeks burn, and you shake the thought away violently. What the hell is wrong with you?

His voice cuts through your daydream. 

His voice breaks through your spiraling thoughts. “I had a proper cunt for a dad too,” he says, his tone soft and almost hesitant.

You blink, caught completely off guard. “Oh?”

He doesn’t look at you, instead focusing on a small photo on the shelf—a candid shot of you and your mother from when you were small. He picks it up, his thumb brushing lightly over the glass. “Used to say the same shit to me and my brother. Called us lazy, useless... worse things, sometimes.”

His voice is flat, but there’s something raw beneath the surface, something unguarded.

You hesitate, unsure of what to say. “I’m... sorry,” you manage.

He sets the photo back down and finally looks at you. “Don’t be. He’s six feet under now. Good riddance.”

There’s no malice in his tone, just a hollow sort of finality. For a moment, the Butcher you’ve come to know, the sharp-edged, foul-mouthed enigma, feels human.

But as quickly as he let the walls down, they slam back into place. “You got your mum’s autopsy report here?” he asks, his voice clipped and businesslike.

You nod, the sudden shift catching you off balance. “Yeah. I’ll get it.”

You head upstairs to retrieve the manila envelope, your hands trembling slightly as you pull it from its hiding spot. When you return, he takes it from you without a word, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

The two of you stand there, the silence heavy. You want to say something, anything. To thank him for helping you, to ask about the man behind the trench coat, to yell at him for upending your life in the span of a single day. But the words stick in your throat.

It’s Butcher who finally speaks. “I’ll look into it,” he says, tucking the envelope under his arm. “See if it’s legit.”

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He nods, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. Then, without another word, he turns and heads for the door.

“Well,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder, “I’ll see you in a week.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels deafening in the quiet that follows.

You sink onto the couch, the events of the day crashing down on you all at once. 

An eternity seems to have passed since that midnight phone call, since the sterile voice on the other end of the line informed you that your mother was gone. The grief had consumed you, left you hollow and detached, moving through life like a shadow of yourself. You had gone through the motions, not even making the slightest effort to force life into your flat affect. Every single day you met the world with a brave, numb face, waiting until the apartment door clicked shut before allowing the full-body, hyperventilating sobs to overtake you. 

And then, in a single day, everything changed.

You glance at the photo Butcher had touched, your mother’s warm smile frozen in time. The guilt of betraying your father gnaws at you, tangled with the confusing comfort you felt among the Boys, and your inexplicable attraction toward the man who had both abducted and protected you.

Shaking your head, you retreat to your room, shedding your clothes and crawling beneath the covers. The too-big bed feels impossibly empty, and you lay there staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on you.

You stare half-lidded at the ceiling waiting for the familiar pull of your chest as the first sob claws its way out. When the tears finally come, they’re violent and unrelenting, wracking your body until it physically hurts.

Eventually, exhaustion claims you, and you dream of your mother.

Taglist: @mystic-writings

[sturnswrites]

fragments of us - pt.1

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ you and chris get in a car accident not only testing your relationship but also your memory…

⤳ car accident, angst, sadness, memory loss, hospital

----------------------------------------------------------------

The highway stretched before them, a ribbon of asphalt illuminated by the car’s dim headlights. Rain pattered against the windshield, a quiet rhythm that did little to quell the storm brewing inside the car.

“Why do you always do this?” your voice cracked as you threw your hands up, frustration and hurt lacing your words.

Chris’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Do what, Y/N? Tell me, because apparently, I’m just the worst, right?”

“You shut me out!” you snapped, your tone sharp but trembling. “I’m here, Chris. I’m trying to be here for you, but you act like it’s some kind of weakness to let me in.”

Chris exhaled harshly, his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked road. “It’s not about shutting you out. I just don’t think every little thing needs to be turned into some huge conversation. Not everything is a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” your voice cracked, the raw emotion in your tone cutting through the tension. “God, do you even hear yourself? You think me wanting to understand you, wanting to know what’s going on in your head, is me making a big deal out of nothing?”

He finally turned to glance at you, his face a mixture of frustration and regret. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” you challenged, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Because all I hear is you making excuses to avoid being vulnerable. You think I don’t see how hard it is for you to let people in? I get it, Chris, but you can’t keep pushing me away like this.”

“I’m not pushing you away!” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended. The words echoed in the confined space, leaving a charged silence in your wake.

“Yes, you are,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “And I’m so tired of fighting for a place in your life when it feels like you don’t even want me there.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. The road ahead blurred as his mind raced, trying to process your accusations and his own inability to counter them. His heart was pounding, not just from the argument but from the creeping realization that maybe you weren't entirely wrong.

It all happened in an instant.

The headlights of an oncoming car veered slightly into their lane. Chris’s eyes snapped back to the road, and he swerved to avoid it, the tires screeching against the asphalt. ““Chris, look out!” you screamed, your voice piercing through the night. 

His instincts kicked in as he jerked the wheel to the right, the car skidding on the slick pavement. Time seemed to slow as you spun out of control, the world a blur of rain and headlights. The screech of tires, the crunch of metal, the shattering of glass—all of it collided into chaos.

Your scream was cut off abruptly. And then there was nothing.

-

Chris’s eyes fluttered open to the blinding brightness of hospital lights. His head throbbed, his body aching with a dull, relentless pain. He blinked, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

“Chris,” a familiar voice called softly, breaking through the haze.

He turned his head to see Matt sitting beside him, his face pale and etched with worry. “Hey, you’re awake,” Matt said, his tone gentle but strained.

Chris tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his ribs forced him back down with a grimace. “What… what happened?” he croaked, his throat dry and raw.

Matt hesitated, his expression torn. “You were in an accident. The car flipped. You’ve got a few bruised ribs, but you’re okay. That’s what matters.”

Chris’s eyes widened as the memories came flooding back. The rain, the headlights, your scream—“Y/N,” he gasped, panic seizing him. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Matt placed a firm hand on Chris’s shoulder, trying to steady him. “Chris, listen to me—”

“Where is she?” Chris demanded, his voice rising. He pushed Matt’s hand away, his heart pounding. “Is she okay? I need to see her!”

“She’s alive,” Matt said quickly, his voice breaking slightly. “But, Chris… she hit her head. She’s hurt. They’re running tests to see the extent of it.”

Chris’s stomach dropped. “I need to see her,” he said again, his voice trembling.

“They’re not letting anyone in yet,” Matt explained, his tone heavy with sympathy. “She’s stable, but they need to monitor her.”

“I don’t care,” Chris said, his voice cracking. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the searing pain in his chest. “Take me to her, Matt. Please.”

Matt sighed, his hand tightening on Chris’s shoulder. “Chris, you can barely stand. You need to let the doctors do their job.”

Chris’s eyes filled with tears, his hands trembling. “I was driving,” he whispered, the weight of the guilt crashing over him. “This is my fault.”

Matt knelt beside him, his voice firm but kind. “It was an accident, Chris. You didn’t do this on purpose. Stop blaming yourself.”

But Chris couldn’t hear him. The image of your terrified face as the car spun out replayed in his mind, a haunting loop he couldn’t escape.

-

When the doctors finally allowed him into your room, Chris’s heart broke all over again. You lay motionless on the hospital bed, your head wrapped in bandages, your face pale and bruised.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he stepped closer.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, unfocused at first. Chris held his breath, waiting for recognition to dawn in your gaze.

But it didn’t.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice weak and disoriented.

Chris froze, his heart plummeting. “It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “Chris. It’s Chris.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion clouding your features. “I don’t… I don’t know you,” you said, your voice trembling.

The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air out of his lungs. He stepped back, his hands shaking.

The doctor stepped in, his tone clinical and detached as he explained, “She’s suffered memory loss due to the trauma. It’s not uncommon in cases like this. Some memories may return, but it’s uncertain how much.”

Chris barely heard him. His eyes were locked on you, who stared at him with a mix of fear and confusion. The love that once shone in your eyes were gone, replaced by emptiness.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris turned away, his chest heaving as he fought back tears. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, the realization that he had lost you—not just to the accident, but to the void in your mind—crushing him.

And as he stood there, watching you, the woman he loved slip further away, he silently vowed to do whatever it took to bring you back to him.

-

The doctors explained it clinically, their words detached and matter-of-fact. “The traumatic brain injury has caused significant memory loss,” they said. “It’s not uncommon for patients to forget certain people or events, especially those tied to recent memories. There’s a chance some of her memories could return with time, but there are no guarantees.”

Chris barely heard them. The words swirled around him, meaningless against the pounding in his head.

He sat in the hospital chair, staring at your sleeping form, his chest heavy with guilt. He replayed the argument in his mind—the things he said, the things he didn’t say. If he hadn’t been so distracted, if he’d just kept his eyes on the road, if he’d been paying attention…

Matt and Nick arrived not long after, their faces pale and drawn. Matt crouched beside Chris, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. “This isn’t your fault.”

Chris shook his head, his eyes fixed on you. “It is,” he said quietly. “I was driving. I should’ve been paying attention. She was upset, and I didn’t…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

Nick knelt on his other side, his voice firm but kind. “Chris, you didn’t cause this. It was an accident.”

Chris didn’t respond. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, pressing down on him like a physical force. He couldn’t shake the image of you looking at him with confusion and fear, couldn’t stop hearing your voice saying, “Who are you?”

And for the first time in a long time, Chris felt completely, utterly helpless.

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I wrote this idea before chris got his license just ironic timing

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@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94