#ALSO LOOK AT HOW MUCH BETTER THESE LOOK ALREADY!!
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cherrygirlfriend · 2 days ago
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⋆𐙚₊˚âŠč♡ pilates princess
pairing: sunshine!reader x bf!rafe synopsis: rafe catches reader working out tags / warnings: fluff, smut (no actual sex but graphic descriptions of fantasies) wc: 900 a/n; this is for the pilates princesses (also originally this fic wasn't in the sunshineverse but it is now... mwahahahaha) originally posted 10/12/2024
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rafe was knocking on your door impatiently, wanting to see you more than anything after the day he had, finding out that the development he had been busting his ass for for months had been delayed, but you weren't answering the door or even his texts telling you to open the door; that didn't stop him, the man knowing where your parents kept the spare key, getting it out of a pot of asterias, opening the door. you'd told him he could only use it 'only in case of emergencies', but to him, this constituted as an emergency.
rafe didn't bother to put the key back as he walked further into the house, hearing the noise of the television coming from your living room. he made his way to the living room, his eyes widening slightly when he saw exactly what had you so busy.
you were splayed on the floor, a pink workout mat underneath you, watching some workout video on your tv while your headphones were on, wearing a pair of pink fitness shorts that made your ass look so good he was almost drooling, along with a white sports bra, turned away from him, one of your hands splayed on the ground while the other one was bent on your head, one of your knees on the mat while your other was reaching up.
"jesus christ." he mumbled as he stared at you, the curve of your ass in those pink shorts causing his dick to stir in his shorts.
only a few seconds later, you moved to sit down on the mat, only to be startled by your boyfriend shamelessly ogling you, letting out a small gasp as you basically fell on your ass on the mat, your eyes widening.
you took off your headphones, throwing them onto the couch behind you, and even though your face was already warm and flushed, it seemed to get worse when you noticed him staring at you. "rafe!" you exclaimed as you stood up, his eyes now locked onto your hardened nipples under the sports bra, your tits almost pressed together, a sheen of sweat running down your cleavage.
"jesus fucking christ." he said, licking his lips slightly as you took your pink zip-up jacket and put it on, yet the way it clung to your body and the small sliver of your sports bra did almost nothing to hide how delicious you looked. "no, no, baby, don't stop on my accord." rafe grinned, his hands on your waist, aware that he was sporting a pretty obvious hard-on as he pulled you closer.
"i don't want you to see me all gross and sweaty." you pouted, and the way you sucked your lip in made nothing to calm down the obvious tent in his shorts.
"you look so fucking sexy right now." he said, pulling you closer to him, and you could feel his hard-on press against your abdomen, the blonde letting out a small groan from only that contact. "literally, i've never... jesus."
"i'm not sexy right now." you roll your eyes, pushing away a stray hair that had stuck to your cheek, trying to look down in embarrassment.
"you're kidding, right?" rafe snorted, his hand going lower and lower, almost going to the curve to your ass. "i think you can feel how sexy you look, huh?" he took hold of your chin with his fingers, and lifted it up, making you look up at him. "if you didn't want to wait longer, do you know the things i'd do to you?"
"w-what?" you asked in a way that was almost a whisper, biting your lower lip as you looked at him through your lashes.
"fuck, i'd just rip that cute little set off and take you right here on the couch. i'd make you ride me, give you a workout that's much better than this crap you're doing, your tits bouncing in my face, my hands gripping those pretty thighs... shit, i might cum just thinking about it."
you softly smacked him in the chest, feeling a warmth in your abdomen only he managed to cause, sure that you'd never blushed so hard in your life. "raafee..."
he brings your face up to his, bringing your lips to his as he bent down slightly, the kiss much more heated than any other kiss that you'd shared, his hand now on the curve of your ass, squeezing it in a way that made you gasp against his lips, his other hand now in your hair.
after a moment, you pulled away breathlessly, his erection had somehow gotten even worse than before, your lips swollen and a doe-eyed look in your eyes. "we should... uh, we should stop, since, you know..."
"yeah, i know baby." he rolled his eyes exasperatedly, before chuckling softly. "god, i'm not gonna forget this little outfit in a while. lemme take a pic of it?"
"noo, i look gross!"
"don't talk about my girl like that." he tsked, taking hold of your jaw. "come on, i need something to get myself off to later."
"alright, fine." you scoffed and rolled your eyes, before letting out a small chuckle as you started unzipping your jacket.
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suiana · 2 days ago
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yandere! golden boy who is your loving boyfriend and... surprisingly loves listening to you talk about your interests! yes darling, talk about your games and novels and silly plushies! he loves seeing how interested you can get about things you're passionate about and it just makes him feel so warm on the inside.
you might even go as far to say he ENCOURAGES your interests. buying you plushies, taking you to exhibitions/places you want... you don't even have to ask, just one look with your eyes and he's taking out his card. yeah, it doesn't matter if you have an unhealthy attachment to that fat cat pusheen or whatever. you seem to really like it so he's buying that 400 dollar plushie for you.
on the same note... he can't help but get jealous when you're gushing over attractive fictional characters. SPECIFICALLY that ONE dude that you seem to have EVERYWHERE. on the wall, on your phone cover, lock screen, profile picture, fuck, even on your bed as a plushie! and all he gets is a meager nickname on his contact?!
"sweetie, must you... really have all these... THINGs of HIM?"
"he's my first husband, you're my second. of course i have merch of him. plus I'm not gonna just throw all these away, i spent big money on these ya know 💀"
he knows it's petty! he knows that it's just a fictional character and that he shouldn't be jealous but dude! you don't even have him in your wallet! it's that freaking guy!
so he does what evey sane boyfriend does and replaces some (not all just some!) of your merchandise with pictures of him and you. how adorable, right?
no.
"bro where is the portrait of my MANđŸ€ŹđŸ€ŹđŸ€Ź"
"i replaced it with a nice picture of us together darlingâ˜ș look at how cute-"
oh. and you...you just put another photo of that guy again... oh... and you're ranting on reddit/instagram about how he's being mean... you also removed him from your close friends list... oh you... you also decided to kick him off the bed and onto the sofa... oh...
well no biggie! he has lots of patience and he will sneak in his presence into your stuff. he's determined.
"best friend I'm going to need you to cosplay as my favorite character please â˜ș"
damn!
why didn't he think of that sooner? if you can't win the normal way, you should do it another way, right? he can just get you to see how much better he is and you'll eventually replace that fictional man for HIM!
...
yeah, that didn't work out as planned. now you're even more in love with that character and you're asking him to cosplay every other day. erm... at least.. your wallpaper is a picture of him cosplaying the character??? he'll take what he can get.
"lol best friend, did you see that video i sent you. it's so stupid."
"for the last time, sweetie. we're dating, call me boyfriend. and which one? I can't watch every single one of the 99+ reels you send me."
"a real best friend would watch them all..."
being with you has singlehandedly changed this man. for the worse or for the better, he doesn't know. but what he does know is that you DON'T know how to dress.
"sweetie, no. you can't just go out in a shirt and shorts! you look like adam sandler!"
"clothes are clothes đŸ€Ź"
at least he has a fun time dressing you up. you're like, his cute little rat! his very own personal dress up rat! oh how he wants to just keep you in his pocket and pick out pretty clothes for you, making you look like the cutest thing ever! sure you might take them off and just wear what you want but... at least he's got the photos and the sight of you in a pretty outfit ingrained into the folds of his brain already â˜ș and he'll take every chance he can get to put you into another pretty outfit again. that i assure you.
he... has ALSO found out that you are living on instant noodles, sandwiches, and the occasional takeout. you don't even open the curtains! how can you see in such a dark home? and why are you sleeping until midday?! dear oh dear. you really are a rat, huh?
"darling get up! it's 12 in the afternoon already!"
"i slept at 3 just let me sleep more..."
that simply won't do. he will not be allowing you to lead such a horrid lifestyle! not if he can help it! especially because... well, he's also your boss. from part 1, remember! yeah, you guys didn't break up at the end haha! you were just joking, obviously! not like you'll ever be able to break up. it's in the contract, silly.
"come on, get up. you need to have a healthy lifestyle. I've already gotten my personal chef to cook up a healthy meal for you."
"who's gonna stop me from living like this? you? 😂😂😂"
"yes, me. in our contract, remember? i will be responsible for your health from now till we die."
don't worry. he'll be by your side every step of the way. and hey, who knows? maybe you can even teach him a thing or two about gaming or something else you like! he's open to learning about the things you like.
and he won't even have to worry about you finding another REAL person to like because... well, let's just say you don't even like going out for dinner. we'll keep it at that â˜ș
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miryum · 2 days ago
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Simon Riley who, when you moved in with him, also had to adjust to your little dog. He loved dogs, as evident by Riley, but your dog was not like Riley. Riley was a war-hardened German Shepard that could sniff out bombs and had survived a bullet wound. Your dog looked like it would pee on the helicopter that was sent to rescue it and bark at the medic before rolling over for belly rubs.
Your dog was all bark and no bite. They were a small, fluffy little thing who you spoiled more than Simon. It took them a while to adjust to Simon, but when they realised that Simon laid heavily on the couch after deployment and was willing to be their personal pillow, your little dog reluctantly accepted him.
As for the dynamic between Riley and your dog, your little pupper was insistent that they were the boss of the house. They barked at Riley when first introduced as Riley just sat there, waiting for it to be over. Soon enough, though, your dog was curled up with Riley, cuddling. That always made you coo and take pictures of the pair, though Simon grumped that he’d rather have you pay attention to him.
Speaking of attention not on Simon, when the hell did your shared bed also become the dogs’ bed? When it was just Simon and Riley, Riley had his own bed and kennel in the living room. And Simon loved you so much. He was so fucking happy when you moved in. Hell, he was happy just to have you in his bed. Waking up with you tucked into his side, protected by him, was something he adored. It was better than heaven. But that heaven was usually interrupted by your scrappy little dog wiggling its way in between you two. He would turn around when you started petting and baby-talking the dog, only to see Riley at the foot of the bed, staring up at him. That’s how both dogs began sleeping in your shared bed.
You adored Riley just as much as you adored your own dog. You loved going on walks with Simon, the dogs on their leashes. Riley was a perfect walker, next to Simon the entire time with such military precision that you doubted the canine even needed a leash. Your dog on the other hand
 they weaved all over the path, pausing to sniff and pee every half block. Simon wanted to train your dog like he had trained Riley, but you refused. “Oh, shush. Look at that little face! Perfect already, Si.” Of course, he could never say no to you.
Speaking of Riley’s training, however, Simon could tell that his dog was slowly slipping farther and farther from his strict regimen. With the excessive treats that you slipped Riley, the dog was gaining some chonkiness, just as his owner. As his deployments got further and further apart and his retirement got more and more likely (perhaps because of the ring in his dresser drawer), he allowed himself to stay in bed longer with you rather than getting up to exercise in the wee hours of the morning. You didn’t mind, obviously. You liked the softness that Simon was acquiring and he was always a big man to begin with. Just because his tummy was becoming more squishy didn’t mean that he still couldn’t throw his weight around if someone was bothering you.
Simon, combined with Riley, allowed for ‘scary dog privileges.’ There was a time when a creepy man began following you when Simon was on deployment and you were walking Riley. Your own little dog was getting their hair cut, so it was just you and Riley. You noticed something was wrong when Riley’s ears perked up and his movements got a bit more robotic. You glanced around, knowing Riley’s instincts were never wrong. After seeing the man, you decided to head back towards the edge of the park, where more people were. When the man didn’t give up, though, and got even closer, Riley went full guarddog. He stepped closer to you and turned around to face the man. After a few loud, thundering barks that drew the attention of everyone around, the man scuttled away. Later that month when Simon was back home, both dogs cuddled up to you on the bed, he didn’t know whether to be mad that you didn’t tell him immediately (though he could never get mad at you) or to be proud that Riley protected you so fiercely. Anxiety and fear rushed through Simon, but you calmed him with a small kiss and Riley set his head on Simon’s stomach. Riley definitely earned the scratches behind the ears that he got.
Most dog owners took their dogs out for one last pee before bedtime and Simon was no exception. You always made Simon take the dogs out because you were usually cuddled up in bed or in the blankets all cosy. He never once complained, either tugging on his jacket if it was windy out, or pulling on a hat if it was raining. He would do anything for you, even if it meant braving thick snow that crept into his boots. Riley always went quickly, even though both owner and dog knew that he could withstand the freezing temperatures. Your little idiot, on the other hand, would take their merry time, sniffing and trailing around the yard (which you had asked for when you and Simon moved out of his apartment and into a real house on the outskirts of the city). There were even times when another dog would be walking by and your canine would bark and run after them. Simon was always quick to jog after and scoop the dog up. Once in a while, Riley would give a deep bark as well, as if telling off your dog. Simon would then trudge back into the house, muttering curses under his breath, your dog under his arm.
But, as much as he pretended to hate your dog, there was always a soft spot there. Soon enough, “my girlfriend’s” dog became “my wife’s” dog and then “our” dog.
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rynan16 · 2 days ago
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Imagine if they were so excited because, they were sent back in time by clockwork, and allowed to change one thing to make the world better. He told them they would know what they were supposed to change when the time came (he already knew what would do and saw how much better the timeline would be) so as soon as they discovered what time period they had been sent back to, they immediately set to work on getting rid of the Jocker. So many people’s lives would be better without him they knew this for a fact. They only had one change they could make, and getting rid of the Joker was the best way to make it count.
After making sure the other important things still fall into place afterward (like Tim joining the team. They may or may not have helped Jason spot him), Clockwork took them back to the present. From Harly, Ivy (they def interacted with her if Jaz was interning with Harly), Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim’s POV, these sibling just appeared in Gotham one day, suspiciously around the time Joker “got sick” and then promptly disappeared out of existence once the batfam took in Tim.
Now, years later, (it’s only been like, a day for Jazz and Danny) they reappear, looking exactly the same as they did the last time they saw them. Chaos ensues as the batparanoia goes through the roof with Batman trying to figure this out. Harley and Ivy are confused, but are also quite happy to see their friend again, and Jazz is equally as excited to see them, talking about the old days as if they were yesterday.
I agree with some of the other reblogs that Harley still becomes a rouge, but I think she’s not nearly as violent, because she doesn’t have the tacked on trauma the Joker caused her. She fits into the anti-hero role a little better than just straight up villain.
Danny: Jazz! I just scored you a personal internship with Harleen Frances Quinzel! The same woman you write your college entrance essay on!
Jazz: *Squeal* How did you manage that?!
Danny: I pulled some strings on the other side. Pays to be Ghost King. Now pack your bags, we're going to Gotham for two years!
Jazz: We?
Danny: Of course. Like I would leave you alone for months on end. I got myself a paid internship in Wayne Tech.
Jazz: *Louder Squeal* This is going to be so much fun! Did you know Miss Quinzel just accepted a job as Arkham Asylum? She's going to personally work on Joker!
Danny: You have the perfect window to posion him!
Jazz: Dreams do come true!
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4zayne · 2 days ago
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𐙚 — you look just like a dream.
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⟱ summary: headcanons of zayne as your boyfriend!
꒰ pairing ꒱ : zayne (love and deepspace) x fem!reader
꒰ word count ꒱ : 417 (short again..)
author's note 𑁀 : zayne my baby 😭 i love him so much and had to do some hcs for him too :3 lmk if you'd like to see more of these for the others! i'm gonna try and get some more stuff out trust <3
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zayne loves shopping with you (despite how long you guys shop for and the amount of bags you leave with). he loves buying you things, whether it be cute clothes, jewelry, food. he just enjoys seeing your pretty smile.
zayne always has his guard down around you. he finds himself vulnerable when he’s with you, it’s like all walls and barriers disappear and he can just be himself and enjoy your company without having to worry about anything.
zayne reluctantly goes to cat cafes with you whenever you pass by one. he’s not very good with cats and they often run away from him, but it’s the opposite with you. they seem to love you, and they don’t mind him when your around so he supposes it's not that bad. 
zayne helps blowdry your hair after you shower, making you stand still in front of the bathroom mirror while still in your bathrobe. he enjoys doing these little things for you, it’s the least he can do since you’re so good to him.
zayne is always keeping an eye on you. mostly for health related reasons since sometimes you forget to take your medicine or don’t keep up with your weekly checkups. and when that happens, he’s often scolding you and making sure you take your medication on time and setting alarms on your phone so you don’t miss your appointments. 
zayne also knows when you’re on your period. once learning about your menstrual cramps and whatnot due to research and prior knowledge of it, as well as your mood swings, he’ll already have stuff prepared for you. pads, chocolate, red date tea, a heating pad: you name it. he’ll also massage your stomach whenever certain remedies don’t work or when he just wants to, just being next to you to comfort you and help you feel better is enough for him. 
zayne loves taking late night strolls with you. when it’s cold outside and you’ve forgotten your gloves at home, he’ll slip your hand into his pocket while holding your hand in his own. enjoying the scenery of the city, the bright lights, the way they reflect off your eyes, that happy expression on your face when you see a food stand with a delicious menu. it reminds him of how lucky of a man he is to have you, a man with a heart that constantly suffers from a great frost that you manage to melt with your warm touch. you're his dream come true.
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© 4zayne do not reuse or translate without my permission!
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calebsmuse · 2 days ago
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not me haunting your asks in every single blog you own 😈 sooo, do you write parents!au? bc I wanted to request some scenario abt how sylus, caleb and xavier would react to their kids telling u to shut up. I KNOW ITS WEIRD BUT ITS A OLD TREND I THINK?? anyway, love ya babe 💘💋💋
੭⠀ A little prank.
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⋆⠀AUTHOR'S NOTES: I love parents!au so much 😭
⋆⠀FEATURING: Xavier, Sylus, Caleb.
⋆⠀WARNING: English is not my first language, so it may contain some mistakes.
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Your son’s favorite pastime was annoying his father, and he was certainly better at it than anyone else. Not only that, but he also managed to convince you to help with yet another one of his
 pranks.
The boy smiled when he saw his father heading to the kitchen and turned back to his video game. Not long after, you walked into the room with something in hand. “Sweetheart, could you take this—”
“Shut up, mom,” he tried to say in an irritated tone, but a smile was plastered across his face.
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đœ—à§Ž ⠀⠀XAVIER
Not even five seconds had passed before your son was groaning in pain, Xavier’s slipper lying on the couch beside him after hitting the back of his head squarely. “Dad—”
Xavier raised the other slipper, pointing it at the boy. “Apologize. Now,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?”
“But I was busy, and she—” Once again, the boy didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, the other slipper flying straight at him. Xavier crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on his son.
You widened your eyes and placed a hand on your husband’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Okay, okay, it was a
 joke, just a prank.”
Xavier gave a faint smirk, glancing at you. “
Yeah, I knew that.” He pulled you into a hug, sticking his tongue out at your son. “You think I’d stop at that if I saw him disrespecting you like that?”
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đœ—à§Ž ⠀⠀SYLUS
Sylus prided himself on being an exemplary father. He was patient, fun—or so he thought—and wealthy. I mean, surely his son was already having a better childhood than most people who came from the same place Sylus had, right?
And perhaps it was exactly that freedom and comfort in his presence that made the boy feel confident enough to make that kind of joke.
“I must’ve misheard. Definitely,” Sylus said loud enough for both of you to hear. You turned away so he wouldn’t see your expression, while your son simply grimaced.
“Dad, she could’ve just asked one of my uncles to go—or, I don’t know, gone herself!” the boy said, spinning the pieces of a pistol between his fingers.
Sylus’s steps were almost inaudible; it was as if he had teleported to his son’s side. He crossed his arms, an irritated expression on his face. His son had never seen that look before—at least, not directed at him.
“Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that under this roof,” he said. “I don’t care if she could’ve asked someone else—if she tells you to do something, you do it. She brought you into this world.”
The boy couldn’t hold back his laughter, bursting out in hysterics. Your husband opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw you laughing as well. He let out a sigh, rubbing his face. “You too now?”
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đœ—à§Ž ⠀⠀CALEB
Honestly, your son was expecting Caleb to yell at him or chase after him, but it was even more terrifying to see him stay silent, slowly turning to face the boy.
He froze, setting the video game controller down on the coffee table. Caleb’s eyes stayed fixed on him, and his silence lingered just long enough to make the boy shift uncomfortably under the stare.
When Caleb finally spoke, his voice was strangely calm—and that wasn’t exactly a good thing. “You have five seconds to do as your mother said and come back here, and another five to apologize and explain yourself.”
You let out an awkward laugh before wrapping your arms around your husband. “It was just a joke, I swear.” Caleb glanced at you, slipping a hand under your shirt to give you a pinch. “Ouch! It was his idea!”
He rolled his eyes but let out a relieved laugh, despite his irritation with your newfound way of spending free time. “I should’ve known.”
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cassianaries · 3 days ago
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Can you do reader x luigi where they are best friends and are lying on her bed and theres soooooo much tension and they finally fuck and its sooooo cute cus hes so gentle and sweet but also its super hot because shes never been eaten out before and its awesome!!! Plspslslslss full length!!!
The Space Between - Luigi Mangione x reader
Warnings: 18+ MDNI - smut, swearing.
Author's note: Thank you for the request. I hope you all like this! Let me know what you think or if you have any more requests.
Word count: 2,895
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It was Friday night and there was no other place Y/N wanted to be than in her apartment. While others got ready for a night on the town dressed in their best, Y/N was currently in her pajamas. Her apartment was clean, she ordered takeout, she had several candles illuminating her apartment, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere she was after. She had her favorite movie queued up, this was her definition of a perfect Friday night. Her friend group invited her out to a night of copious drinking and karaoke, but she politely declined. Her night was planned eat her dinner and dessert while watching several of her favorite movies, do her nightly routine, and be in bed with a good book by 9:30 and fall asleep.
She always planned her Friday nights, its what gets her through her week. When she's bored at work she'll create a list of movies/tv shows she wants to watch, make note of that restaurant she saw on Postmates that looked good that she decides she will order from, Y/N has always been a planner, and she doesn't mess around about her Friday nights in. Her Friday night went on without a hitch, the movies she chose were always good, of course they were they were her comfort movies. The dinner she had that night from a local Thai place was delicious that she finished it 30 minutes into her first movie, and the chocolate chip cookies she made were baked to perfection.
It was now 9:30, on the dot she finished her skincare routine and was not in bed with her book in her hand and the book light being the only source of light illuminating her room. She sighed, content with how her enjoyable her Friday night was. Just as she was sinking into bed, there was a knock at her apartment door.
She shuffled out of bed, dragging her feet annoyed and seemingly on the verge of throwing a tantrum. She looked through the peep hole to see Luigi, she opened the door with a huff, "What do you want?"
He let out a breath smiling, his upbeat energy annoyed Y/N, she just wanted to read her book in bed, in her cozy warm bed. But no. She was standing at the threshold of her apartment door, there was a cold draft, she was tired, annoyed and Luigi was smiling. He was dressed in white basketball shorts and a plain blue shirt. He had on his black nike sneakers and he still smiling holding a book in his hand. She wanted to smack him with the book that was in his hand- wait, why is he carrying a book? No, she thought. He better not- I swear to God. If he's here for the reason that I think he is here I'm going to--
"I thought I'd stop by and join your coveted Friday night reading sessions," he replied brightly walking past her into her apartment and making his way into her room. It took her a second to realize he'd just charmed his way into her apartment, she quickly slammed the door and locked in, making her way to her bedroom. When she arrived at her bedroom door, he had already removed his shoes, turned on her bed side lamp, and was laying on the other side of her bed.
"Do you have an extra book light?" he asked casually. She was frozen at her door, still in a state of disbelief. He ignored the look of shock on her face, when Y/N finally picked her jaw off the ground she sputtered, "W-what you want a- what are you doing here Lu?" she finally asked.
"I'm here to read with you. You never want to go out with us on Friday nights and you seem to love what you do on Friday telling us about it the next day so I thought I'd join. It seems like a perfect evening. What movies did you watch?" he asked casually.
Luigi and Y/N's other friends have a group chat that is very chaotic, no one ever really reads what she writes unless it's something important or a direct question. So what she's done ever since Y/N started her 'Friday night tradition' is recap what she did for her coveted Friday night. Y/N provides a daily recap of the night; what movies/shows she watched, what she ate, and what book she read in bed. No one ever interacted with her Friday night recaps, so she just assumed they either skimmed it or didn't read it. But Luigi being himself, of course he read it and invited himself to the silent reading portion of the night.
Y/N sighed, "I didn't think you actually read my recaps."
He looked up at her and said very seriously, "Of course I did, you're my friend I like hearing about what you're up to."
Before Y/N could kick him out he interjected, "Look, if I really am going to ruin your Friday night, I can leave. I just thought it could be fun to read together and maybe even discuss and show each other what we're reading."
How could she tell him to leave? He looked up at her with his book in his lap, ankles crossed, and with a look of genuine excitement. Y/N kneeled down to open the bed side table drawer, and handed him a book light. He had the biggest smile on his face as she made her way to her side of the bed. They both sat in silence reading your books. Y/N opted for a romance novel and Luigi was reading a historical fiction book. The room was silent except for the occasional turning of a page and the sounds of the city outside her bedroom window.
An hour into the reading session, Y/N had slumped further into her bed. She could feel a pair of eyes on her and she turned to face Luigi. He was staring at her, the goofy smile from earlier no longer on his face. His gaze was softer than she'd ever seen, it was almost careful.
"Why are looking at me like that?" she asked placing her book off to the side. She noticed his book wasn't even open, it laid flatly on his chest.
"When you read, you mouth the words," he replied absentmindedly.
"Okay," she laughed. "And what about it?"
"It's adorable," he replied.
She cleared her throat unsure of how to respond, but decides on a quick 'thanks' under her breath. She tries to go back to reading, but the interaction created a tension in the air that changed the entire mood of the night. She was unsure of how to act, how to respond, what to even-think. Her other friends in their friend group would mention how Luigi was different with her and she would just say he's like that with everyone, it's Luigi he's kind. But her friends would point out the lingering stares or how he would always have her attention, how when he made a joke he always looked to her for approval. It was subtle, but it was there. And this moment solidified it for her.
She never wanted to confront it because she liked being friends with Luigi, she never really had a lot of friends before meeting this core group she had now. He was the friend she prayed for. Attentive, caring, thoughtful. Not that her other friends were, but with Luigi it was just different. If she said something and no one heard it, he would say it loudly so that they would hear. If she wanted to go somewhere no one else wanted to go, he would go with her so she wouldn't go alone. If she said something and no one acknowledged it, he would. She never wanted to mess that up or lose that by pursuing something more than a friendship with him.
"Luigi-" she started.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
"What if-" she began.
"It won't change anything, I promise. You'll have me, no matter what happens, you'll always have me. I'm always going to be here." He replied softly.
She nodded.
"Y/N, I need you to say it."
"You can kiss me Lu," she whispered.
He was shaking, she could sense his nervousness as he maneuvered to face her. She had moved to be nearer to him He was now in front of her his hands cradling her face, his thumb rubbing her cheek. She like this, she leaned into his touch. He leaned forward and she met him halfway, their lips moved slowly. Luigi sighed into the kiss as if he finally let out a breath he'd been hold for far too long. Y/N pulled away smiling, and quickly pecked his lips causing Luigi to smile.
Y/N leaned forward and initiated another kiss and deepening it, she wants this. She wants Luigi. She made it very clear when she straddled him, he let out a groan pulling away. "Are you sure?" he asked. She was now grinding against him hoping that would answer his question, he placed his hands on her hips to stop her movements, she groaned in protest hiding her face in his neck. He pulled her back so that he could look at her, moving the hair out of her face so that he could see her.
"Baby- I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you say you want this," he said panting.
She nodded her head quickly, "Yes Lu, please."
"How do you like it?" he asked. "What's off the table?"
"Nothing, do what ever you want to me Lu, I don't care just touch me please" she said desperately.
"Okay, tell me if it's too much." he replied kissing her lips before flipping her over she yelped in shock and he laughed kissing her lips hungrily. He moved to her neck and when he surfaced again and she could see his face, something changed. Luigi looked more serious, he wasn't smiling anymore.
"Open," was all he said.
Y/N obliged. She opened her mouth sticking out her tongue. Luigi spit in her mouth, "Swallow it" was all he said. She did as she was told and opened her mouth to show him she had obeyed.
"Good girl," he replied. "Good fucking girl."
He began removing her pajamas and she laid naked in front of him, there was something about having him completely clothed and her fully naked in front of him on display. His eyes explored every inch of her body, "You're so beautiful" he replied breathlessly. Y/N began to sit up to remove his clothing, but he pushed her back onto the bed causing her to bounce a bit. "Did I say you could touch me?" he asked his voice more stern and dominant. "No," she replied softly.
He slapped her cheek lightly and gripped her chin, his thumb was near the corner of her mouth, she took hold of his wrist and put his thumb in her mouth sucking lightly. She removed his thumb and looked up at him, "I'm sorry daddy," she replied. The domineering look in his face faltered as his jaw slacked, he ripped his thumb away from her mouth and began tearing off his clothing as if they were on fire.
Their mouth and hands took turns exploring each other's body leaving her moaning his name and calling him 'daddy' and begging him to fuck her already which she learned he loved being called that. She was gripping his biceps when she felt him teasing the entrance of her pussy with his fingers, she moaned trying to move her hips to speed up the movement. His middle finger was playing with her entrance and the wet noises from her pussy filled the room.
"Whose this pussy belong to?" he asked continuing his cruel teasing.
"Yours," she replied breathlessly her eyes closed.
"Open your eyes and tell me who this pussy belongs to," he replied slowly and sternly.
She opened her eyes and choked out, "Yours-" thats when he slammed his fingers into her and kept them there. She let out a yelp and cry of relief. He began moving his fingers in and out her pussy, the sounds of her wetness and her moans filling the room. He didn't stop, he place his left hand on the space above her pussy and below her navel to create pressure and it made the sensation even more enjoyable. Where the hell did he learn that? she thought to herself. She was moaning and screaming his name has he continued to please he with his fingers, she tried to stimulate her clit but he pushed her hand away and said something about it being his job to please her, she wasn't paying attention to what he was saying. The next thing she knew she squirted and she screamed from relief.
She heard Luigi groan and she opened her eyes as her chest moved up and down rapidly that she had soaked her bed and his chest. His perfectly sculpted chest was drench in her wetness. She closed her legs and her hand covered her mouth in shock, Luigi looked at her and then looked down at his chest. They didn't say anything for what felt like hours to her.
"Open your legs baby, I need to fuck you," he replied hurridly.
She obliged, he leaned down spit on her pussy, slapping it. A bit sensitive, Y/N yelped in shock and moaned in pleasure as his cock slammed into her. He held onto her hips as he continued to fuck her into the mattress.
"Are you going to come again for me?" he asked moving one of his hand's from her hips to grip her breast. Y/N was fucked out. She couldn't respond, but Luigi was a talker. He asked her again gripping her chin with his thumb and index finger, "Hey- are you going to come for me again?" he asked more sternly.
"Yes, I'm going to come" she replied breathlessly.
"No one's ever made you squirt like that huh?" he asked.
"No one has, you're the only one" she replied.
"Fuck-" he groaned picking up speed. Her breasts were swaying back and forth from the force of his thrusts, she could tell he was close.
"You're the only one whose ever made me squirt Lu, you're the only one" she replied holding one of his hands, he intertwined their fingers.
"Y/N fuck- fuck I'm coming-- I'm comin- Y/N I-" he couldn't even get the sentence out and Y/N wouldn't had even heard it as the blood rushed to her ears as she came hard. He collapsed on top of her their chests rising and falling rapidly. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, caressing the hair at the name of his neck. He lifted up his head to look at her, his signature Luigi smiled plastered on his face. It was a contrast to who he was minutes ago slapping her face and condescendingly nodding when asking her if his cock felt good inside of her.
"Was that okay?" he asked. He was overthinking, typical Luigi.
"Yes baby that was more than okay, I think me coming twice proves that" she replied amused at his look of shyness.
"Okay I just wasn't sure if you'd be into me being rough and I didn't want to hurt you and I-" she cut him off by kissing him.
She pulled away, "I'm fine, I loved it." she replied sweetly and he smiled shyly embarrassed and replied with an 'okay good' under his breath, she could see a proud smile forming on his face.
"So how are we going to explain us to the others?" he asked.
"I'm not sure, maybe we can get a cake or something and write 'Hey we did it' and present it to them." she said.
"That's a good idea" he replied truthfully. Y/N always liked how he got her humor. "But first we need to go to CVS" he replied.
"Why?" Y/N asked.
"To get the cake and a Plan B. They have cake at CVS?" he asked making his way to her side of the bed picking her up bridal style. Y/N let out a yelp in shock.
"They don't have cake at CVS," she replied dryly.
"Okay we'll get the Plan B tonight and we'll wake up early and stop by the bakery." Luigi replied.
"You're sleeping over I assume?" Y/N asked lifting her eyebrows as Luigi continued walking in the direction of the bathroom.
"Of course I am baby, it's going to be our Friday night tradition and make sure you let the group chat know how this Friday night was I want to hear a full breakdown, review, and rating of tonight's events." Luigi said enthusiastically.
"Lu I am not telling them that we slept together and I sure as hell am not rating it" Y/N replied shocked.
Luigi replied, "I'm kidding baby, but I would like some one on one feedback if you don't mind" he replied wiggling his eyebrows and laughing as he lead them into the shower.
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elikajinnie · 2 days ago
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HI!!! can you do the enhypen prompt 16 and 17 with jay?? thank yoouu
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P: Boyfriend!Jay X Fem Reader
Warnings: Suggestive Content, Whipped!Jay, we love a man who begs
note: i had time.. so yeah :) This for all my ladies who wear lacey underwear underneath the baggy clothes àŽŠà”àŽŠàŽż Ë‰ÍˆÌ€ê’łË‰ÍˆÌ )✧
16. "Do you want me to beg? Because I will." 17. "One more taste, and I swear I’ll lose control."
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Jay absolutely loved seeing you, no matter the occasion or what you decided to wear. It didn’t matter if it was a casual hoodie and jeans, a simple summer dress, or the formal gown you once claimed didn’t suit you—it all reminded him of how breathtakingly beautiful you were. And to Jay, there was no arguing against that fact.
He could never understand why you sometimes doubted yourself, saying things like, “I don’t feel pretty today” or “This outfit doesn’t look good on me.” To him, those words simply didn’t make sense. He saw you through a lens tinted with love and admiration, one that made every aspect of you seem flawless. Your beauty wasn’t just about how you looked; it was in the way you carried yourself, the way you laughed, the way you treated others with kindness even when you didn’t have to.
In Jay’s mind, no other woman in the world could ever compare to you. Sure, there were plenty of beautiful women out there, but they weren’t you. You were the one who made him smile just by walking into a room. You were the one who knew him better than he knew himself sometimes, who made him feel safe, valued, and loved. You were the one he’d chosen, and to him, that made you irreplaceable.
There was also a quiet possessiveness about the way he adored you. Not in a controlling or overbearing way, but in the way he took pride in calling you his girlfriend. When he introduced you to his friends or casually mentioned you in conversation, there was always a flicker of pride in his voice. Jay loved showing you off, not because he wanted others to envy him (though, secretly, he didn’t mind if they did), but because he couldn’t help being proud of the fact that you were his.
And in his heart, Jay already knew he wanted you to be more than his girlfriend one day. He often imagined the moment he would ask you to marry him, rehearsing it in his mind and wondering how you might react. He didn’t want to rush you—he’d wait for as long as it took for you to be ready to take that step. But until then, he was more than happy to call you his girlfriend. To him, the title meant everything because it meant you were his, and he was yours.
Every day spent with you was a reminder of how lucky he was, and Jay never wanted you to forget how much he cherished you. In his eyes, you weren’t just beautiful; you were the kind of special that made him believe in soulmates.
He wanted you to be his forever. The thought of waking up next to you every morning, seeing you smile at him as the sunlight filtered through the curtains, was a dream he was determined to make a reality. Jay had no secrets when it came to you. He was like an open book, willingly laying himself bare in front of you, no matter how vulnerable it made him feel.
He trusted you with every corner of his soul, even the parts of himself he once thought were too messy or complicated to share with anyone. With you, there was no hesitation. If something was weighing on his mind, he told you. If he had a silly thought or a random idea, you were the first to hear it. If he made a mistake, he admitted it without shame, knowing you would never judge him harshly.
This honesty, though, also meant that his feelings for you spilled out in the most unfiltered ways. He would often find himself confessing just how much he loved you, even in the smallest, most casual moments. You could be doing something as mundane as scrolling through your phone, and Jay would blurt out, “I love you.” He couldn’t help himself really. His emotions for you were always bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest excuse to overflow.
But there was more to his honesty than just his love—there was his desire, too. Jay wasn’t shy about how much he was drawn to you, how you had this effortless ability to captivate him in ways no one else ever could. It was in the way his eyes lingered on you a little too long when you weren’t looking, or the way he would lean in just a little closer than necessary when you spoke.
Sometimes, his words would betray just how deeply he craved you. It wasn’t always something he could control, especially when the thought of you consumed him in the best of ways. You could feel it in the way his hands would gently brush against yours, as if he was trying to be close to you without seeming too eager, but you both knew better.
“I can’t get you out of my head,” he’d admit sometimes. It wasn’t an exaggeration. He often found himself lost in thoughts of you, even when he should have been focused on other things. He would catch himself daydreaming, imagining the soft curve of your smile or the way you looked when you were nestled against him, your head resting on his chest.
Jay was always ready to voice what was on his mind, he wasn’t one to hide his thoughts, especially when it came to you. He didn’t even try to filter his reactions, which made everything he said feel honest.
You had just finished drying your hair after stepping out of the shower, the warmth of the dryer against your skin leaving a pleasant feeling while the bathroom smelled of the shampoo you liked. You stood in your simple, comfortable clothes, the fabric of your loose clothes falling over your skin, paired with a pair of lace underwear that you had bought on your birthday months ago.
It had been tucked away in the back of your closet, forgotten until now. You had never gotten the chance to wear it before, so when you found it still in its bag, the tag untouched, you decided today was the day. You had ripped the tag off without hesitation, and slipped it on, and now you found yourself rediscovering exactly why you had bought it. The way it felt against your skin, the way it hugged your curves, and the way it made you feel undeniably feminine—it was all so perfect.
You stood there for a moment, lost in your own thoughts, admiring the way it made you feel. But you were quickly pulled from your thoughts by the sudden knock on the bathroom door. “Are you finished in there?” Jay’s voice called out.
You quickly turned off the blow dryer and put it away, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face as you made your way to the door. You opened it to find Jay standing there with a laundry basket in his arms, his usual smile gracing his face. But when his eyes met yours, they flickered down for a brief second and up. Then, in a split second, they darted downwards again, clearly noticing the lace peeking out from under your clothes.
For a split second, he didn’t react—his eyes widened, and you could see him processing the sight in front of him, almost as if his brain couldn’t quite catch up with his eyes. His gaze lingered for a moment too long, and it was impossible not to notice the way his expression shifted slowly. His lips parted slightly, his breath catching as his eyes darted back up to yours, now a little more intense.
“Is that... lace?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, like the question wasn’t one of curiosity, but more of surprise.
You could see his mind working, his thoughts clearly running wild as he took in the sight of you standing there. He swallowed hard, and for a moment, you both just stood there.
It wasn’t often that you saw Jay lose a bit of his usual composure, but now, his hands tightened around the laundry basket, his knuckles white as he tried to remain cool.
“You know,” he finally spoke again, his voice slightly more strained than before, “I was going to help with laundry, but I think I need a moment.” He was trying to regain some composure, but the way his eyes never left you made it clear that the sight of you had ignited something he couldn’t easily ignore.
Jay placed the laundry basket down slowly, the sound of it hitting the floor almost too loud in the silence that hung between you both. His eyes never left you, and his body seemed to move on its own, drawn to you like a magnet.
Without a word, his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer until his body was pressed against yours. The sudden closeness made your breath hitch, as his hands trailed around your waist, fingers grazing the fabric of the lace, the sensation sending a wave of warmth across your skin.
“God
” Jay groaned, the sound low and strained as his fingers gently ran along the edge of the lace, tracing the delicate pattern against your skin. His touch was tender and slow, as if he wanted to savor every second of feeling the lace beneath his fingertips.
You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought to hold back, but there was no mistaking the desire that pulsed in him. “You’re killing me right now,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. The words came out almost like a confession, so unfiltered, as if he couldn’t hide what he was feeling any longer. His breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the side of your neck, the feeling sending a shiver down your spine.
His hands moved down, caressing the lace at your hips before pulling you even closer. The way his body responded to the touch, the way his groan escaped him, it all showed just how much he wanted you. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Unable to resist, Jay leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was gentle at first, testing, exploring. But it didn’t stay gentle for long. The kiss deepened as he lost a bit of his composure, his hands gripping you more firmly, pulling you closer to him. The heat between you both surged, and you kissed him back just as eagerly, matching his intensity.
Jay guided you across the bedroom, your bodies moving together in sync. He broke the kiss for just a moment, his breath ragged as he led you toward the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed. As he spun you around, the sudden shift in perspective made your heart flutter. Now, you were facing the mirror, your reflection staring back at you, and Jay stood behind you, holding you close, his chest pressed against your back.
For a moment, you both just stood there, breathing in sync, before Jay’s lips found your shoulder, kissing it softly while his hands slid to your waist, holding you tight as he whispered sweet compliments in your ear. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin as he continued to kiss along your neck. “So incredible... everything about you
”
You tried to glance away from the mirror, feeling suddenly self-conscious, but Jay wasn’t having it. His fingers gently but firmly grabbed your jaw, guiding your face back so that your eyes met your reflection once more. You could feel the intensity of his gaze as he held you there, making you face yourself again.
“Look at yourself,” he whispered, “don’t look away.” His words were like a command that made it impossible to do anything but meet your own gaze. His hand remained firm on your jaw, gently guiding you while his other arm stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you securely against him. “You see what I see?” he muttered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm. “Do you see how beautiful you are?”
Your reflection stared back at you, and though you felt shy under his attention, there was something about the way he held you that made you feel secure. The way his hands moved—one tracing lazy, gentle patterns at your waist while the other stayed steady at your jaw—was grounding.
He dipped his head again, pressing his lips to your neck, just below your ear, lingering there as though savoring the moment. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and his grip on you tightened slightly. “Every part of you,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection, “is perfect.”
You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as you tried to process his words, his touch, and the way his gaze flicked up to meet yours in the mirror.
Jay’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling against your back as his lips trailed along your neck. The delicate lace seemed to have an almost visceral effect on him, his hands roaming your waist and hips. His fingers brushed against the lace, as if he couldn’t stop himself from feeling it again, marveling at the way it clung to your skin.
“This
” he murmured, his voice rough, nearly a growl, as his hand traced the hemline of the fabric. “You have no idea what this is doing to me.” He paused to take a deep, shuddering breath, his lips brushing against your ear. “You look so—God, I can’t even think straight.”
You couldn’t help but let a soft laugh escape you, the sound teasing in its lightness. “You really like lace that much?” you asked playfully, though you knew full well by the way he was reacting.
Jay groaned, his hand tightening slightly at your waist as he pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “Like is an understatement,” he said, his tone low and almost desperate. His lips hovered near your ear again, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with so much intensity that it made your heart skip a beat. “You have to wear more of it. All the time. For me.”
His bluntness made you smile, and you couldn’t resist teasing him further. “Oh? Are you saying I should go shopping for more lace?” you asked, turning your head slightly to glance at him, your tone light and filled with playful mischief.
Jay groaned again, his head dropping against your shoulder for a moment as if your teasing was physically affecting him. “Don’t play with me,” he muttered, his voice strained. “Do you want me to beg?” His voice was shaky now, his desperation seeping into every word. He pressed another kiss to your neck before continuing, his voice barely above a growl. “Because I will. I’ll beg if that’s what it takes. Just—please, wear more of this, want more of it.”
You couldn’t help the way your smile widened at his reaction, the teasing in your expression making his jaw tighten. “Jay,” you said, feigning an innocent tone, “you’re really going to beg for me to wear more lace?”
His breath hitched, and his hands moved to grip your hips more firmly. “Don’t tempt me,” he warned, though there was no real bite to his words. His forehead pressed against the back of your head for a moment before he groaned once more, almost as if he was fighting to keep control.
“I’ll do it,” he muttered, his voice low but filled with conviction. “If it means I get to see you like this every day, I’ll fill your closet with lace. Every color, every design—you’ll have so much, you’ll never wear anything else.”
You turned slightly, your smile softening as you reached up to touch his cheek, your fingers brushing against his skin. His eyes met yours in the mirror, filled with so much love that it almost overwhelmed you.
“I don’t think you’re ready for that much lace,” you said, but your tone was softer now, playful without being dismissive.
“Try me,” he challenged you, “I’ll prove it. I’ll make it happen. Just say the word.”
Jay would do anything to show you just how much he adored you, and if it meant filling your wardrobe with lace to see you smile—and to indulge his newfound obsession—he would gladly do it, no hesitation.
.....
And he did do it. After that day, it was as though a switch had flipped in Jay. He started bringing home lace in every imaginable color and design—soft pastels, bold blacks, rich jewel tones, delicate florals. Every type he could find was soon tucked away in your closet. It was thoughtful, sweet even, a little peek into how deeply he cared about you. But his reaction every time you wore it? That was something else entirely.
You weren’t used to seeing him like this, so utterly undone, so out of touch with his usual composed demeanor. But you couldn’t deny how much you loved it. You loved the way he folded for you, how a single glimpse of white lace beneath your clothes could derail him completely. Oh, you had him hooked. So much so that every time you wore it, his eyes would darken, his breaths would hitch, and whatever train of thought he had? Gone, like it had never existed.
Lace was his weakness, yes. But lace on you? He was gone—reduced to a pleading man, desperate for just one look, just one touch. And when you finally gave him permission, the transformation was instant. His hands would tremble slightly as they reached for you, his lips brushing reverently over the fabric like it was sacred.
“One more taste,” he’d whisper, his voice rough with need, “and I swear I’ll lose control.”
But the truth? He’d already lost control. The moment his fingers skimmed the lace against your skin, he was a goner. You saw it in the way he looked at you, like nothing else in the world mattered but you in that moment. His touches grew hungrier, his kisses turned sloppy and uncoordinated. And the marks? Oh, you had plenty. They were proof of just how completely he surrendered himself to you, his passion for you spilling over in ways he could hardly contain. Jay never held back when it came to you, and the lace only seemed to amplify that desire.
It wasn’t just about how beautiful you looked in it, though that played a part. No, it was the way you made it look—how effortlessly you wore it, how it became a part of your natural allure. He was mesmerized by you, completely at your mercy, and he didn’t care one bit.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he’d groan, his voice shaky as he traced the edges of the fabric with his fingertips. And maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t realize just how thoroughly you owned him. But every time he dropped to his knees for you, every time he lost himself completely in the feel of you, the sight of you, the essence of you—you were reminded of just how deep his devotion ran.
Jay was yours in every way, and he wasn’t ashamed to show it. Especially when you wore lace.
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phosphns · 3 days ago
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MILAN , chris s.
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đŸ«. you take chris around milan, enjoying a cute night in the sweet italian atmosphere.
warns. bf!chris x italian!reader | established relationship, fluff, cursing, kissing, pet names [babe, pretty], some italian sentences, flirty comments, no use of y/n
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The Prada fashion show had been nothing short of breathtaking.
When Chris asked you to go with them at the show, you were beyond excited. Not just because the show would have taken place in your hometown, but also because you’d always loved fashion. You couldn’t believe you were really going to attend a Prada event, so it all felt like a dream when you actually stood in the first line, examining every outfit with heart-shaped eyes.
Chris stood beside you, his hand wrapped securely around your waist. He looked so cool in that black suit, but you could tell that he wasn’t used to this world. His brothers, Nick and Matt, were nearby, doing some comments about the designs now and then and trying to sneak pictures of the show that they would have posted later.
“You okay?” Chris leaned in close, his voice soft in your ear. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the air of sophistication around you.
“I’m better than okay,” you replied with a smile, your Italian accent giving your english words a unique charm that he adored. “This doesn’t even feel real.”
“Yeah,” he said, his lips curving into a grin. “It’s wild, right? I didn’t think we’d actually get invited to something like this.”
You nod, your gaze not leaving the runway, too focused on the way models walked or held the precious bags.
After the show wrapped up and the crowd began to disperse, Nick and Matt said their goodbyes, leaving you and Chris alone. The night was still young, and the streets of Milan were alive with lights, laughter, and the allure of adventure
Chris took your hand, pulling you away from the crowd of paparazzi and fans surrounding the fashion show area, leading you to a quieter spot.
As soon as you were alone, you wrapped your arms around his neck, caressing the back of his head while his hands moved to your hips. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
You smiled, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes. You nodded. “You have no idea how much,” you said, before connecting your lips with his in a sweet kiss that expressed all your happiness and gratitude.
“Thank you,” you added after pulling away. He gave a confused little smile. “For what?” he asked, his fingers running up and down your sides in a reassuring but very sensual way.
“For giving me the chance to come,” you answered, looking up at him. It was true; you were extremely grateful to have been invited, but above all, you were proud of him. In such a short time, he had managed to get so far, doing it all on his own, with his brothers. You were thankful to be with someone like him.
He smiled sincerely, then his smile turned into a knowing smirk, and he added mischievously, “You have no idea how many more times I’ll give you that chance.” You gave him a playful tap to reprimand him.
“Can’t you be serious for five seconds?” you scolded, trying to hold back a grin. “Not when I’m around you, pretty,” he replied, making you blush.
You decided to pull away, taking his hand. “I want to show you something,” you said, stopping the first available taxi. Chris didn’t say anything, getting into the car after you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You leaned forward, murmuring the destination to the driver in Italian, so Chris couldn’t understand.
Once back in your seat, the dark-haired guy wasted no time asking where you were taking him. “Wait and see,” you replied simply, leaving him in suspense. He playfully huffed, but didn’t say anything else, partly because he wanted to play along, and partly because he wanted to enjoy the view outside the window: Milan by night was enchanting, whether seen through the eyes of a local or a tourist. The lights, the life, the sounds, never failed to amaze you
Finally, the taxi stopped, and after paying, you both got out. In front of you was the square, illuminated by the lights of the street lamps and the reflections from the lively bars filled with people. Some stopped for a drink, others greeted each other with laughter and chatter.
Chris looked up, his eyes widening when he saw the cathedral. Its gothic facade seemed even more impressive under the dark sky. “Holy shit,” the guy exclaimed, looking at the building in all its beauty.
“Pretty, right?” you asked, standing beside him in front of the majestic cathedral. He nodded, but after a moment, his expression shifted slightly as he turned to look you in the eyes. “It’s almost as beautiful as you,” he whispered, getting closer to you. His low voice carried a teasing tone.
You turned to look at him too, rolling your eyes playfully. “Stop being cheesy.” He laughed and shrugged. “What? It’s true,” he replied, though his tone made it clear he was just messing around. Before you could respond, he turned suddenly and looked around.
“Hey, excuse me, could you take a picture for us?” he asked a passerby, who happily agreed. You looked at Chris, confused, not understanding what he had in mind. You watched as he handed his phone to the man with the camera app open. Then he came back to you and grabbed your waist, pulling you close to him for the umpteenth time that night.
Once again, he didn’t give you time to react, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you slowly and sensually, as if in that square full of people, you were the only ones who mattered. It was just the two of you, and time seemed to slow down.
When you pulled away, you let out a chuckle. “That was definitely corny,” you whispered, our faces still close. He winked at you and took the phone back from the stranger after thanking him.
“Okay, maybe a little,” he said.
Chris gave you a soft tap before wrapping his arm around your waist and dragging you to a nearby bench. The two of you sat down, and you rested your head on his shoulder while he opened the photo app to check out the shots.
“Babe, we need to post these, you look so sexy,” he said, placing a hand on your thigh while adding the photo to his favorites. “Mhmh, sure” you replied, making him smirk, clearly proud of his choice.
“So,” he began, “teach me something in italian. You know, to make me sound cooler.”
You couldn’t hold back a smile at his silly idea, but you didn’t refuse. “Are you trying to impress the locals?” you teased him.
“Of course, I want to show off my italian skills,” he replied with an obvious, cocky tone. “Alright then,” you said, giving him an amused glance. “Sei un coglione di prima categoria, ma sfortunatamente ti amo lo stesso.”
The brunette blinked a few times, as if trying to register the sentence, which sounded so odd to him. “Wait, I caught a ‘ti amo,’ right?” he said, his expression amused but also a little curious. You looked at him, returning his usual smirk. “You only got that part,” you replied, pretending to mock him.
“I got it! Woah, I’m basically fluent now,” he exclaimed, leaning back on the bench and taking a long, satisfied breath.
“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed.
He shot you a teasing glance. “Yeah, and yet you publicly said, I quote, ti amo.”
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yaps. “milano we love you” we all say in unison. ALSO requests are open, so feel free to request anything!
wc. 1.2k
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cursingtoji · 15 hours ago
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the cardio machine i want is on the cardio machine
cw: gym rat toji x loser!gf - size kink, sweat kink (?), toji is a big old meanie. loser!gf series: geto gojo nanami.
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loser!reader who, like a million other sedentary people on new year’s eve, said “new year new me” and proceeded to enroll at the local gym.
gym rat!toji who knew how things are in the beginning of the year, so the first week he arrives one hour earlier than usual to avoid all the lazy fucks that won’t last two months.
of course he makes a few mental bets on the ones that would quit and how long it would take, you included.
it’s easy to spot the “i don’t want lift weights cause i don’t want look jacked” type of girl.
at the breaks between one set and the other he looked around, not surprised to see you slowing down the treadmill after running not even two whole minutes.
sometimes he caught you staring at him through the mirror, not an uncommon occurrence amonst the women there, though you surprised him one day by tapping his shoulder after he finishing his weighted squats.
“can you
 give me a few tips?” he looked so intimidated, from up close his shoulders looked like a wall, he stared at you from above, dark green eyes seemed to be heavily judging you, “never mind this was a bad idea, sorry” you turned around, grabbing you bottle and running off the gym.
by the time you managed to gather the courage to show your face back there two whole weeks had passed.
“consistency is the key you know” you were distracted looking down your phone while slowly walking the treadmill when the handsome man appeared beside you, the sudden presence destabilized you.
before you could become the viral video of the week when inevitably a gym employee decides to post the security footage of your ass rolling off the active treadmill, toji wrapped one big arm around your waist and pulled you to the stable floor.
“you caught me off guard the other day” he said completely unfazed by saving you from a life of embarrassment, “then you disappeared.”
“yeah i didn’t know if i wanted to come back anyways, i haven’t see any results so far” you pulled the hem of your shirt down.
toji snorted, “‘course you ain’t seeing results, sweetheart, you don’t lift.”
“well, it’s hard
” toji rolled his eyes, there was always an excuse.
though he also did a new year’s resolution of being more patient, for his kids primarily but teaching a cute thing like you could be a good exercise too.
soon enough, toji was correcting your form, texting you asking why you haven’t showed up to the gym and ringing your bell incessantly when you complained about muscle pain and said you wouldn't go that day.
“it’ll feel better once you start to move” he explained, resting on your door frame when you opened the door on your pajamas.
“let me alone, just today” you whined.
“you asked for my help now go put on something without cartoons on it” he waited for you to turn around and slapped your butt. it had been only one week he was coaching you but there was already a weird intimacy due to the fact he was pretty much always looking at your body and touching you.
to correct your form. obviously.
"what do i have to do today, coach fushiguro?" you asked from your bedroom through an ajar door which allowed toji to get a peek at your pink underwear and cute ass.
"cardio, bicycle first. get some blood flowing on those sore muscles" he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows watching you bend over to grab a biker shorts at the lowest drawer then holding back a laughter at the grunt of pain coming from you.
"once it gets better i can teach you other types of cardio" he walked around your kitchen examining your cabinets and stuff you kept in your fridge. needless to say it was all junk.
"can't wait" you replied sarcastically, failing to understand the meaning.
it took a few more days till you got used to toji's training, then he decided to focus on your upper body.
"such a simple movement, how do you manage to get that wrong?" he raised from the bench he was sitting behind you watching your form through the mirror. you almost dropped the weights at your feet when he came close. it was almost scary how much bigger than you he was especially seeing it throght the mirror. his right hand wrapped around yours on the dumbell and his bicep touched your arm as he pushed your arm closer to your body, "tuck your elbows in, straight your back" his free hand pushed your shoulders till they were touching his chest.
how come he smelled so good, so... musky and...
"are you even making any force?" he lowered his head, his reflection looking annoyed. so you decided to ignore the sudden heat between your thighs and flex your arm the way he taught you.
and just like he promised, when you were consistent enough and handling a good 5 minute run he decided to show you a more pleasing cardio.
"toji please~" you whined, thighs burning from riding him, you were using his rock hard abdomen as a support, but still.
"one more minute, come on" he looked at the watch on his wrist and slapped your ass, "haven't i prep-ed you good enough?" his thumb rubbed your bottom lip then pushed in meeting your tongue, where you tasted yourself in his digits one hour after he ringed your bell and said he was going to reward your good discipline, but he had to strech you first.
"good girl" you felt his abdomn flex when he raised from his laying position on your bed, "now leave it to daddy" he pecked your lips and quickly changed positions, putting a pillow under your ass and rolling his neck to start his cardio of the day.
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blushsturns · 2 days ago
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what if u write a fic where chris ties down sub!reader and he edges her until she's literally sobbing shaking crying
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title: tied up
warnings: daddy kink, edging, pet names, rough sex, unprotected p in v
w/c: 1325
as much as chris loved seeing your pretty face all dumbed out and spent, there was something so intoxicating about seeing you like this; face buried against the sheets with your hands skillfully tied behind your back, ass up and your needy pussy on full display. all for him.
fuck, what a sight to see. you looked so fucking perfect and he couldn’t get enough of how well your pussy took his cock as he slammed into you repeatedly, hitting your sweet spot with each and every thrust. your legs started to shake uncontrollably, a string of muffled moans falling from your lips.
“you’re taking it like such a good girl, aren’t you, ma?” he grunted out through gritted teeth as his hands grabbed onto your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh causing you to push your ass back against him. “such a good girl f’me.”
his thrusts were relentless and your body was full on shaking uncontrollably now. your hips rutted back against him to try and match his rapid paced thrusts as he pounded in and out of your tight heat vigorously. the way your tight pussy swallowed him whole each and every time he pounded into you was such an intoxicating feeling and he was fucking obsessed.
chris was a freak in the sheets and you fucking loved it. you also loved the aftercare you’d receive once he was finished with you, but it always left you sore and unable to walk properly for days after. chris fucking loved knowing he could do that to you.
your moans were becoming more intense, your arms stayed tied behind your back as he pounded into you relentlessly. you tilted your head to the side to breathe, choking out a couple moans as you look back at him with pleading eyes. you could tell you were about to cum. your stomach tightened, fire coursing throughout your veins. “daddy i’m gonna cum. can i cum?” you asked him through choked moans, pushing your hips back into his as he continued to fuck into you.
he growled at this, shaking his head at your words. once he felt your pussy start to flutter, signaling you were about to cum, he abruptly (and oh so rudely) pulled out of you causing a whiny groan to leave your lips. “no. you absolutely may not cum.” he said through his clenched teeth, anger building up inside of him.
you felt yourself on the brink of tears at the sudden loss of his cock no longer inside of you, your pussy clenching onto nothingness. this wasn’t the first time you have witnessed chris like this in bed. you loved every single second of it. the pure dominance, the roughness, the ability to make you feel so fucking good that you are brought to tears. he’s denied you of orgasms before, but this one seemed to be the worst one yet.
“chris.” you cried out, looking back at him with tears now spilling down your cheeks, rutting your hips back against the bed in hopes to grind against something, but his cock now was rubbing against your ass cheeks. “please. please let me cum?”
he shook his head in disbelief at your pleas, a darkened chuckle emitting from his lips. he lifted his hand up and instantly made contact with your ass cheek, causing your body to jolt forward and let out a sharp gasp. a pinkish colored hue was visible on your danity skin, both of his hands kneading your ass cheeks in smooth, slow circles. you moaned at the feeling, your core throbbing and dripping wet with your arousal. “you can do better than that, princess. beg for it, like the dirty little whore you are. come on. i know you can do it.”
you loved seeing him like this. even though he was teasing you beyond belief, it was so fucking hot to see him in his element. you looked back at him with pleading eyes, tears streaming down your already tear stained cheeks. “please, daddy! let me cum! need you to fuck me until i can’t even stand straight. want you to pump your cum deep inside of you and fill me to the brim. need you to fuck me like the dirty slut i am.” you choked out your words, rutting your hips back and letting out a gasp as you felt the tip of his cock again your glistening folds once again. “please daddy! fuck me and let me cum! i’m all yours. use me as your personal fuck toy.”
you could hardly see him now through your blurred vision before blinking back more tears, your arms aching from being tied up behind your back as you impatiently wait for him to listen to your eager pleas.
chris grunted in response to your pleas, running his tip along your folds repeatedly, licking over his lips in a hungry motion. “such a dirty little whore. begging to be fucked like one. need to cum, baby? that’s so cute. i don’t think you’re ready for it.”
“daddy please! i am ready! i need it.” you cry out, rutting your hips back to feel his cock slowly slide into your tight heat once again causing your head to roll back against the pillow and immediately moaning out in pure ecstasy, your moans muffled against the pillow.
he lets out a growl, shaking his head at your desperation. he was getting fed up with it, but also with the fact that he was also edging himself in the process which wasn’t fun at all. “fine. you can be a dirty little whore and take this cock and cum all over it. but you also have to let me cum deep inside of this tight little pussy too.” he grunted out, running his tip up and down your glistened wet folds.
chris begins to thrust back inside of you, allowing you to take every inch of him until he’s balls deep inside of you. you let out a loud cry, your face pressed against the pillow. he grabs onto your ass cheeks for leverage as his thrusts grow more erratic, signaling his release was rapidly approaching.
your pussy swallowed his cock so nicely, squelching sounds of your arousal surrounding his thickened cock as he pounds into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot with each and every thrust. “fuck, such a dirty slut.” he grunts out, sweat pooling against his hairline and down to his forehead as he speeds up his thrusts.
the only sounds in the room are of your bodies making contact and your breathy moans. you were so close and now that he gave you permission, you can fully let go. “g-gonna..cum!” you cried out against the pillow, your words muffled against the fabric as you thrust your ass back into him.
he raises his hand up to smack your ass once again before gripping onto it roughly to hold onto it as he continues to pound into you, the feeling of your pussy beginning to flutter and clench around him causing him to let out a throaty groan. he was so damn close to his orgasm. “yeah? you gonna cum all over this big fuckin’ dick baby? do it. prove to me how much of a fuckin’ cockslut you are.” he spoke through gritted teeth, his head lolling to his shoulder as he continued to pound into you.
after giving you the permission finally, you came all over his cock and he filled you up to the brim. your arms went limp as they fell to your sides, your body falling onto the bed as his release spills out of you.
chris was great at aftercare, grabbing a washcloth to clean you up, water for you to drink and cuddle you underneath the sheets.
sure, he edged you, but at least he gave you what you wanted in the end. after all, he wanted it too.
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taglist-
@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @giveheavensomehell @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @sturniololuv08 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @katiebug3851 @fetusjikook @poppingmypussy4chris @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @sturnzslut @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @y3sterdaysproblem
thanks for the request! you guys can send any more requests to my inbox!
-nessa ჊
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andhumanslovedstories · 18 hours ago
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you think often of how nurses should speak and relate to patients, and i highly appreciate knowing you put this kind of thought in and share it with other nurses. but as someone who often occupies the patient position, i'm curious if you have any thoughts on ways for patients to interact with nurses, when we are in decent enough control of our faculties to make choices about that. i would like this knowledge from both an altruistic perspective in recognizing nursing is difficult and not wanting to voluntarily make it difficulter, and a wholly self interested position of knowing nurses who like interacting with me give better care. what helps as a professional and as a person?
I'm surprised how much I had to think about this question. What do I want patients to do? I don't know. A lot of it is basic human decency, some of it is specific to my nursing workflow, but overall I find it complicated saying what patients "should" do. I cut out about 500 words of navel gazing from this post explaining why. Here are answers I've come up, in no order and not of equal importance.
--a lot of it is basic "polite interaction with another person in a professional setting." If you're asking this question, you probably care about treating people well in general. If you wouldn't say it to a barista, would you say it to your nursing tech?
--don't do joke answers to basic orientation questions like "what's your name" and "where are you right now", because it's annoying to have to clarify if you're actually confused or if you're fucking with me. I know they're annoying. Just answer correctly so we can move on.
--have some flexibility and patience. Hospitals have a lot of moving parts, and each person interacting with you has other patients that also need care. My hospital and state has mandated nursing ratios. The maximum amount of patients I've had in one assignment is five. Other hospitals have far less protection, and nurses may have six, eight, twelve other patients. Our respiratory therapists each cover multiple units. One CNA might cover the entire floor. I know if melatonin is the difference between you sleeping or not sleeping, it is very frustrating for someone to bring it late. I just ask you keep in mind that there's dozens of reasons that might happen besides someone ignoring you.
--help us help you. If you can lift your arm up for me to put a blood pressure cuff on, why are you holding your arm completely limp so it's like putting pants on a toddler than doesn't want to get dressed? If you can help roll yourself in bed, help us roll you. If your IV is beeping, hit the call light so someone can come turn it off. If you don't have urgency issues and you can tell you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon, call before it's an emergency. If your IV hurts when I give you medication at 8 pm, tell me then, not when I'm trying to give you your midnight antibiotic and all the evening staff have already gone home.
--if you don't understand how something works in the hospital (what happens when you hit the call light, how often are people going to take your vital signs, why can't I get up and walk around the room), just ask. It's really easy for people who work in a hospital every day to forget other people aren't familiar with it.
--don't treat doctors noticeably better than you treat everyone else.
--pet peeve number one: if I give you pills in a med cup, you can just use the med cup to get the pills to your mouth. You don't need to pour the pills into the palm of your hand and then pop them into your mouth. You're gonna drop the pills, and I'm gonna end up on the floor looking for a tiny tablet of dilaudid.
--bundle requests, especially low-importance ones. If you ask for crackers and you know crackers make you thirsty, just request your drink at the same time. Don't make me walk to your room, the nutrition room, and your room again ten minutes later.
--I don't expect people in the hospital to be pleasant all the time, and I don't take snappiness personally, but I always really appreciate the patients who apologize or even just acknowledge their behavior.
--I love patients who acknowledge my work. I don't need effusive praise or a thousand thank yous. It means a lot for someone to just be like "hey, thanks for your help tonight."
--have patience with repeating yourself. If you've got something important and complicated to convey, practice a quick understandable blurb that takes no brain power from you. There may be something that you've told the staff a dozen times, and it may be documented in your chart, but in the hospital you see many people who have never worked with you before and for whatever reason didn't read that info in your chart. For example, I'm a float pool nurse which means I almost never see the same patients twice. I can get sent to a different unit and a different patient load at literally any time. I can't familiarize myself with complicated documentation or read every nursing note. Especially not for patients I know I will only have for four hours. I know repeating yourself is annoying, I know it sucks to have to explain your bathroom routine or your preferred pain med or when you like to get pills or whatever every shift. And it's great when people make that information very easy to find! But if you just accept the reality you'll be repeating yourself a lot anyway, it makes doing so less frustrating.
--pet peeve number two: don't exaggerate to make a point. This is such a human thing to do, and god knows I catch myself doing it all the time, but you can raise objections in a way that's factually true. I've got a lot of concrete data that people are very often wrong when they say they're been "waiting for hours" after hitting a call light. The computer has a time stamp of the last time I was in your room. I know it was 45 minutes ago. There's a timer by the call light. I know you called twenty minutes ago. And I know it feels much longer when you are waiting for basic cares or pain control or anything pressing. Things can be unacceptable without needing to be exaggerated. When the exaggeration is the base of your complaint, it undercuts your credibility. Honestly I find it really irritating when I spend a disproportionate amount of my shift with one patient only for that patient to tell another staff member that I've been neglecting them. Just say I did a bad job, don't pretend I wasn't there at all.
--don't ask me to pull my mask down so you can see my face. like cmon dude.
--I'm not saying you have to send all your visitors out of the room when I'm there, I'm just saying have some sympathy for how nerve-wracking it can be to do your job while being intensely watched by five other deeply invested people with limited context for your actions.
--this is a nebulous and difficult one. You might have a lot of emotion that you don't know what to do with. What you shouldn't do with it is channel it into every interaction you have with a healthcare worker. If you feel guilty about how you haven't visited your mother in a while and now she's in the hospital, you gotta find ways to deal that don't involve getting extremely passive aggressive at your mother's night nurse.
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yuechihua · 2 days ago
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remember me as i am.
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summary: When Harumasa asks for an unexpected favor, you accept, against your better judgement. The last thing you expected was to have to pretend to be his spouse at a doctor’s appointment.
notes: 4.5k words, author's notes, fake marriage, fake dating, ambiguous relationship/feelings, fluff with some light introspective sadness
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“I need you to do me a favor.”
When Asaba Harumasa whispers those words to you across your shared desks at the Section Six office, hand cupped around his mouth for emphasis, eyes glittering with mischief, you can’t help but brace yourself for whatever ensuing trouble he’s going to drag you into.
“What’s the favor?” you respond evenly. “If it’s to convince Yanagi to accept your request for time off, I’m not going to do that.”
“It’s not that!” Harumasa insists. “But it’s about something that’s important for the well-being of Section Six.”
You glance around the room; Soukaku is doodling with crayons on some confidential reports, Miyabi has left for a meeting with the rest of the section chiefs (and you can guarantee that she isn’t paying any attention), and Yanagi is steadfastly working through a towering stack of papers on her desk, so high that you can barely make out the top of her head. No one is paying attention to the two of you.
“Well, what is it then?” you say, and Harumasa casts a furtive glance at Yanagi before leaning closer to you, bracing his elbow on your desk. He’s enjoying himself a little too much, you can’t help but feel, what with how his smile curls like a satisfied cat.
“We need to meet up on our day off, preferably in the morning and somewhere near Lumina Square,” he says conspiratorially. “It’s too risky to pull off here. But it’s important, partner, so make sure you’re not late.”
“If it’s something that’s important for Section Six,” you whisper, tilting your own head closer to the shell of his ear, “Maybe it’s something that we should bring up to the others. What is it? Some illicit venture into a Hollow? Should I call Phaenton, too?”
“There’s no need for all of that,” Harumasa says hastily. “You only need to bring yourself. Maybe a disguise,” he adds, “to avoid public notice. This is a confidential mission. I’m relying on you.”
You let out a small sigh. Visions of curling up on your couch tomorrow, browsing through books with a mug of warm, sweet tea vanish in front of your eyes. “Fine. I’ll be there. But you owe me for dragging me out on our only day off.”
“I’ll make it worth your time, I promise.” Harumasa has the audacity to wink at you, like you’ve agreed to some ridiculous, under-the-table deal. 
Maybe you have. It certainly feels like it when you drag yourself out of bed the next morning, donning sunglasses, a long, caramel-colored coat buttoned up to your neck, and pulling a hat low over your head to complete the look. You’re out the door and on the train to Lumina Square before ten minutes have passed.
You’re set to meet Harumasa at some nondescript corner of the square, an alley boxed in by towering buildings and mostly hidden from view. What does he have in store for you? Despite the playful attitude he had yesterday when asking you for help, there was also something serious underpinning his words, even as he tried to pass it off as a flight of fancy. Harumasa would never ask you for help unless it was something important. 
You’re certain that you’ll have to wait for Harumasa to show up a few minutes late, making some slap-fash excuse. To your surprise, he’s already waiting for you. You almost can’t recognize him at first. He’s forgone his usual headband; instead, he’s wearing a hoodie, a cap, and a facemask, slouching against the wall, staring aimlessly at the sky. 
“Harumasa?” you say.
At your voice, Harumasa immediately straightens, lifting himself off the wall. You can hear the smile in his voice, even if you can’t see it. “There you are!”
“You’re early,” you say. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”
Harumasa slings a casual arm around your shoulder. “Well, I didn’t want to miss our date. But don’t let Yanagi know that I’m capable of showing up on time, okay?” 
“It’s not a date,” you say, lowering your sunglasses to give him an unimpressed stare, “It’s a mission. Or so you claim.”
“It is,” he says. “Come with me. I’ll show you our place of operations.”
Harumasa still has his arm around your shoulders, but you don’t shake him off as he leads you confidently through alleys and down back roads, avoiding the bustle of crowds in the main section of the city. The breeze is cool, the sunlight warm on your face againsr the winter’s chill.
Eventually, the two of you stop in front of a hospital, a towering construction of shining metal and glass reflecting squares of blue sky. People bustle in and out of the sliding front doors, letting out gusts of sharp, chemically scented air.
Harumasa is silent as he stares up at the building, his hat shading his eyes. You can’t make out his expression, but you lean your head on his shoulder, a brief, reassuring touch.
He seems to come back to himself, then, and Harumasa’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he resumes talking in a clear, casual voice, “So, this is where our mission is taking place. Here’s the gist of it: I need you to pretend to be my spouse.”
“What?”
“Come on,” he wheedles. “I’ve been avoiding coming here for a while, but they’re not taking my excuses anymore. And they wanted me to bring a family member over to verify some things.”
“You could have just said so from the beginning,” you say. “I was beginning to think you wanted us to infiltrate somewhere.”
“If you think about it, we technically are,” Harumasa muses. “Besides, isn’t it more fun if I tell you we’re on a mission, instead of just giving everything away? Also, this is necessary to Section Six; what are they going to do without their star Executive Officer?”
The arm around your shoulder is shaking imperceptibly; sometime during his words, his grip has tightened, just slightly, as if he’s clinging to you to keep from sliding down a cliff. The unspoken truths hover in the air: that you’re the only one in Section Six who knows about his Ether Regression Aptitude Syndrome, and that he can’t ask anyone else to help him for this.
“Why your spouse, though?” you say instead. “Why not just say I’m a distant relation? You could also just not specify what our relationship is.” 
“Because it’s more fun for me,” Harumasa replies. Typical.
Within the next few minutes, the two are checking in at the front desk after a brief wait, Harumasa wading through tedious paperwork and bureaucracy and health insurance forms with clipboards and pens that click more than necessary. 
“Make sure to tell the doctor I’m here with my spouse,” Harumasa emphasizes, tapping the clipboard with his pen. He slides his arm around you, drawing you closer to him, and you try to resist the urge to pull away and keep your face schooled in a neutral, pleasant expression.
“All right, Mr. Asaba,” the receptionist chirps. “He’ll be out to see you in a bit!”
The waiting room is filled with rows of yellow and white plastic chairs, carpeting worn by the tread of countless anxious patients, and stacks of old magazines on tables and televisions mounted on the walls playing a cheesy blockbuster with the voices muted. A bored child plays with the hospital’s block toys on the floor, his mother talks quietly into her phone in front of him, and an elderly man flips through a magazine, his cane resting on his lap.
You and Harumasa settle into your seats, side by side. In the space between, where your hands dangle, his knuckles brush against the back of your hand before he draws your hand into his. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve somehow become his stress ball, something he needs to touch to ground himself. 
“Still holding up alright?” Harumasa whispers. “You cleared the first hurdle.”
“Maybe I should be asking you that,” you whisper back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m used to it.” At times like this, you wish you could see Harumasa’s mouth, because his eyes betray nothing. 
Still, when the receptionist finally calls out, “Asaba Harumasa, the doctor’s here to see you,” you don’t let go of Harumasa’s hand. The doctor is stocky and short, with tired, drooping eyes, and he frowns when he sees Harumasa.
The three of you start walking down the hall, the doctor setting a rapid pace as he lectures Harumasa. “You’ve been avoiding my calls for the past week. Do you know how hard it is to get in contact with you? Proper medical care requires consistency!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Harumasa says without sounding sorry at all, but he seems more focused on swinging your joined hands together like a child on a swing set. 
In the doctor’s office, the two of you are finally separated as Harumasa perches on the examination table. You’re sitting in a guest chair lined up against the wall across from him. The doctor moves through standard physical procedures with a deft, practiced hand. Harumasa follows along easily, thoughtlessly, as if these processes are second nature: the lights shining in his eyes, the blood pressure cuff around his arm, the routine questions. 
However, whenever the doctor is distracted recording results or marking down Harumasa’s answers, Harumasa will pull down his mask and make faces at you, to which you’ll respond with a roll of your eyes or your own exaggerated expressions of annoyance. 
“Have you been resting well?” the doctor asks sternly, turning back around just as the two of you quickly settle into more typical expressions. “You’re not pushing yourself at work, I hope?”
“I haven’t,” Harumasa says, with wide eyes. 
“Hmpth.” The doctor turns to you. “Well? Is he being truthful? As his spouse, I trust you’ll be honest for the sake of his health.” Behind the doctor’s back, Harumasa strikes you with an expression of mock disbelief, raising his eyebrows dramatically. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but you control the tremor of your lips. 
“He hasn’t been pushing himself hard at all,” you say smoothly. “If anything, I think my husband has been resting a little too well.”
“All right. And your medications, Mr. Asaba? Have you been taking them properly?”
“Right as instructed, every morning and night,” Harumasa says. “My lovely spouse would know. They’ve seen me dutifully take all of them.”
“He has,” you verify. From what you know, anyways, Harumasa never misses a dosage. 
The doctor peppers Harumasa with more health-related questions and logs down all his answers. It’s over before you know it, and Harumasa leaps off the table as soon as the doctor puts away his clipboard. 
“I’ve missed you, cutie,” he says, throwing his arms around you like you haven’t seen him in months, snuggling up to you as the doctor watches with a weary expression. 
“The two of you get along well,” he says stoically.
“Oh, we do,” Harumasa chirps. 
“Make sure to make a follow-up appointment, Mr. Asaba. Your health appears stable, and your symptoms haven’t worsened.”
“I’ll make sure he does,” you supply, shooting a quick, withering glance at Harumasa, who only gives you a pleading expression in return. “He won’t be late to the next appointment.”
“I appreciate that, Mx
?” the doctor trails off questioningly.
“Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa interjects. “That’s their name.”
“That’s right,” you say. “Thank you for your time today.”
Harumasa wraps his arm around your waist, giving the doctor a lazy wave, and then the two of you are through the door, down the hall, and out of the hospital. Once you’re a street away, Harumasa finally speaks. 
“You were excellent there, Mx. Asaba,” Harumasa says. 
“Of course I was. Though you don’t need to call me that.”
“Why? I think it has a nice ring to it,” he muses. “Mx. Asaba and Mr. Asaba.”
“I was serious about what I said back there, you know,” you say. “You need to make your follow-up appointment soon. And you should try to show up to it on time.”
“You’re so strict. What if I need you to come with me again to feel better?”
“Then just tell me when, and where,” you say. “If you need me there, then I’ll be there, no matter what.” 
A brief flicker of surprise lights across his face, before it smooths out into his usual relaxed smile. “You’re soooo good to me, Mx. Asaba. Since you went out of your way today to help me with such a confidential mission, let me treat you to some food!” 
“I suppose that’s what a good spouse should do,” you say. 
Harumasa’s arm is still around your waist, but you can’t bring yourself to shake it off as he enthusiastically guides you to whatever restaurant he has in mind. His grip is casual, loose enough that you could shrug it off if you really want to. But if you do, then he’d never pull close to you like again.
Harumasa is attentive in that way. If you set a line, then he would never cross it. All his jokes feel like a casual calculation of the distance between the two of you. How far is he allowed to go? How much are you willing to put up with? What’s the boundary of your relationship? 
It’s like he’s waiting for rejection, offering you the chance to push away from him in a way that would make it easier for both of you. The way he touches you is akin to possession, but from a man who’s afraid to say he deserves to call you his.
Yet, if you push a little too close, more than he’s comfortable with, then he’ll run away like a skittish cat, afraid your affection will turn to boredom or cruelty. You’ve been with him long enough to understand this. So you’ll play along with his jokes, his little white little lies and deceptions, if it’s the only way he’ll let you stay close to him.
It’s a date, or a confidential mission, or whatever excuse Harumasa wants to use. What a complicated, beloved partner you have.
“We’re here,” Harumasa says. You’re at a ramen shop, with low stalls pulled up the counter, the simmering heat and steam from the kitchen feeling like a miniature summer. Thankfully, it’s empty, but your disguises ensure that neither your nor Harumasa’s fans will bother you for pictures and autographs in either case. 
“Order whatever you want,” he says, and you pick up the laminated menu, browsing through the various options. “Oh, wait. Pose for a second.”
Harumasa pulls out his phone, opening the camera, and aims it in your direction. You make a quick peace sign, menu held aloft in your other hand, and the shutter snaps. “What’s that for?”
“You looked nice,” he says. “I’ll send it to you later.”
“I didn’t realize you liked photography.”
“It’s a good way to preserve things that are fleeting, but important to you,” he says. “Moments that won’t last, people that might leave. Things like that.”
“Are you planning on divorcing me already?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand, peering at him over the top of your sunglasses. 
Harumasa places a hand over his heart. “Me? Never.”
The two of you place an order for ramen, and it doesn’t take long for the noodles to arrive. It’s simple, but delicious: hearty, flavorful broth, bamboo shoots, seaweed, fish cakes, slices of charred, fatty pork, and an egg with a jammy yolk.
Neither of you talk as you sit in silence, slurping noodles and drinking spoonfuls of broth. It’s been a while since you’ve gone out for a meal like this, and even longer since you did so with someone that wasn’t some sort of business partner or official whose good graces you need to stay in. 
You glance up with a mouthful of noodles to find Harumasa watching you, chopsticks in hand, a small smile on his face, as if he’s never seen anything so charming, his own ramen forgotten. Your face burns for reasons you don’t want to identify; you’re only thankful he doesn’t ask for another picture.
Harumasa lets out a sigh of appreciation when he’s done, placing his chopsticks neatly over his finished bowl. “Soukaku once cleared out almost all the noodles in this place, did you know that? I’ve been meaning to go ever since she told me.”
“Did it match your expectations?”
“I don’t normally like heavy food, but this time, I didn’t mind it,” he says. “Or maybe it’s because you looked like you enjoyed it a lot. It made me appreciate this bowl more.”
“Smooth-talker,” you say. “If you’re done, should we head back–”
“Wait, there’s somewhere else we should go,” Harumasa interrupts, holding up a hand. “We need dessert after a meal, don’t you think?”
“Really? A dessert? What are you thinking of getting?” you ask.
“There’s a popular drink shop around here. They serve milk tea in these cute little Bangboo shaped cups,” Harumasa begins. “I thought it might be fun to check it out.” 
“I thought you hated sweet things,” you supply. The two of you stand, and you smooth down your coat as Harumasa adjusts his facemask. You’re ambling down the street again, but this time, you loop your arm through his, pulling him close. It’s an effortless gesture, and it’s startling how easy it is to press so close to him.
“Well, you don’t,” he returns. “And it’s a popular date spot too. Can’t I take my lovely spouse out some more?”
You bump him with your hip. There’s no need to keep up your pretense anymore. There’s no one else here to listen to your lies. Both of you know this, but you can’t bring yourself to state the obvious. If you point out the script, then the curtain will fall and the play will end, your fragile happiness disappearing as the actors take a final bow. “Sure, if you keep paying.” 
The two of you end up in front of an inconspicuous milk tea shop. There’s no outdoor or indoor seating, but there is a counter and a blackboard with the menu chalked in, alongside doodles of smiling Bangboo holding milk tea on the side. A tired salesgirl stands in front, her expression at odds with her bubblegum pink uniform. There’s a few teenagers milling nearby, hands cupped around their milk tea and conversing in giggles.
Harumasa tilts his head as he looks at the menu, hanging above the two of you. “They sell iced coffee here,” he muses. “I thought this was a milk tea place.”
“They probably want to offer a variety of drinks for people who might not like milk tea,” you supply. 
“What are you getting?”
“The Bangboo special milk tea,” you say immediately. “It’s their speciality, and it comes with a Bangboo shaped cup. If it’s cute, I might take it home and wash it so I can reuse it”
He eyes you with amusement as the two of you approach the counter, where Harumasa slides his card across the counter. You make a note to treat him out to dinner at some point; as much as you tease, it wouldn’t sit right with you if you didn’t return the favor. “One iced espresso and a Bangboo special milk tea for me and my spouse, please.”
“Got it.” The salesgirl doesn’t bat an eye as Harumasa leans against you, his eyes crinkling at the corners like a pleased cat.
It doesn’t take long for your drinks to arrive. Your milk tea is in the shape of a Bangboo’s head, and topped with a pile of jellies over delicately set tiers of differing flavors. You take a sip, and you’re flooded with a creamy, milky sweetness.
Harumasa, who hasn’t even taken a sip of his espresso yet, looks amused as he watches you. “Let me try some of yours.”
“You won’t like it,” you protest, but Harumasa is already pulling down his face mask and leaning towards you. You raise your drink to let him take a quick sip.
He licks his top lip in thoughtful contemplation. “Way too sweet.”
“I told you. Now give me some of yours,” you say. “It’s only fair.” 
He obliges without protest, tilting his straw towards you. You take a quick sip, but it’s cold and bitter. You wrinkle your nose; you’re no stranger to coffee, especially when shifts run late into the night, but you still like to add creamer and sugar to take the edge off. 
“Coffee is an acquired taste for true adults,” Harumasa says when he sees your expression. “Maybe I’m just a bit more mature than you.”
“Sweetness is also an acquired taste,” you quip. “It’s good to learn to enjoy the sweet things in life.”
“Maybe it is. Oh, wait. Before you finish your drink. Let’s take another picture.” Harumasa pulls out his phone again, and you don’t protest as he raises it and angles it down towards the two of you. You raise your cup, and Harumasa lopes his arm around yours, locking the two of you together.  
With a few press of his thumb, he’s done, and lowers the phone for your inspection. You examine yourself the same way a stranger might; the two of you huddled up together, Harumasa’s cheeks red from the cold, your lips drawn into a smile, looking almost like the married couple you’re pretending to be. 
“You look cute as usual,” Harumasa comments. “But it makes me look bad. I’ve got to stop taking pictures with you.” 
“That’s not my fault,” you protest. 
“Of course it isn’t. You can’t help being the cutest person in the world.” 
You’re saved from thinking up a response that won’t betray your own embarrassment by the curious giggles of the teenagers across from you. They keep glancing furtively from you to Harumasa, hands cupped over their mouths. You can hear whispers of “Section Six” and “celebrities” which doesn’t bode well for your current anonymity. 
Swiftly, you grab Harumasa’s hand and start pulling him away from the cafe, down the streets of Lumina Square. The winter sun has started to droop in the sky, painting the world in a vivid, melting, yolky light. Laughter drifts around you from people lost in their own worlds. 
You’re not sure where you’re going, only certain on heading away from anyone who can recognize you. Harumasa follows along gamely, your willing accomplice.
You fly up a flight of stairs and you’re suddenly on the walkway above the streets, the city stretching out below you, buildings stacked like decadent cakes, people little figurines trotting carelessly by. 
You’re far away from everyone else now, cocooned in your own world. Harumasa’s fingers squeezes yours playfully, and suddenly you’re aware of how his hand feels in yours, warm skin and calluses from his bow and reassuringly slender fingers wrapped around your own. 
You drop his hand, finally, and take a sip of your own drink, which is sweet, so sweet, as Harumasa walks up to the railing and braces his elbow against the metal. 
“You’ve been taking a lot of pictures of me today,” you say. 
“I want to treasure every moment we have together,” Harumasa says, without turning. A cool breeze stirs, sending his hair fluttering, his clothes rippling. 
He’s unfair when he talks like this, the tenderness in his voice making your heart ache over the inevitable future, a predetermined ending. Like he’ll slip through your fingers as easily as water at any moment.
You pull out your phone, swipe to your camera, and raise it to frame Harumasa in the center, backlit by the glow of the sun and the tart light from the windows of buildings around you. 
“Look over here,” you call, and Harumasa turns. He’s beautiful, so beautiful it hurts. “Strike a pose.” 
“Shouldn’t I be the one taking a picture?” he asks. 
“I want to remember you,” you say. “Forever.” 
Harumasa tilts his head back. “Me?” 
“You’re not the only one who wants to cherish every moment we spend together.” 
Harumasa slowly pulls down his face mask, and you can finally see his smile, more brilliant than the sun behind him, flooding through your nerves and filling every part of you with a warm light. 
You press your phone’s camera shutter, once, twice, immortalizing Harumasa for as long as you can. You lower your phone, and join him at the railing, looking down below at the peace you’ve both fought so hard to protect. 
The world is filled with such endless cruelty and stunning beauty in equal measure. And yet, it’s the only world you have. You tap your fingers against the railing, a nonsensical song. 
“For your next appointment, maybe we should try a different restaurant when you’re done,” you say. “And we can walk around and take more pictures. There’s a few art installations around.” 
“You sure you want to come back with me? You’ll have to pretend to be Mx. Asaba again, you know.” 
“I don’t mind,” you murmur. “It has a nice ring to it.” 
“If you talk like that, you’ll make me want to make it official
. Of course, I’m kidding,” he adds before the words can linger for too long. 
“Have you thought about getting married?” you ask.
“I couldn’t do that to someone,” he responds lightly. “Besides, it’d be bad for PR. You know how intense our fan clubs can get.”
Of course, you understand. Marriage is an alien thought for a job where you risk your life everyday fighting against Ethereals and venturing into Hollows. You barely have enough time for yourself after long shifts and overtime and late nights, ready to be called into action at the slightest emergency. Could you bear to leave behind someone you love under the circumstances? Could they bear waiting and worrying for you? You would never be able to provide them any form of normalcy.
“Leaving someone behind like that
 I don’t think I could do it. Or ask them to understand why I can’t give them an ordinary life,” you say. 
“Right, right. I wouldn’t want to make my partner cry,” he says. “I knew you would get it.”
His eyes gleam, two precious pieces of gold. Of course. Neither of you are capable of an ordinary relationship. Whatever the two of you have right now, whatever form you let it take, can’t be named. Something will break if you try. 
Carefully, delicately, you lean your head against his shoulder. He stiffens only momentarily before relaxing, a silent affirmation of your presence. Below, cars rush by, the misty glow of streetlights winking into life as the sky darkens.
“I’ll let you know when I have my next appointment,” he says, voice carrying like the wind.
“All right. I’ll be sure to make the time for you, Mr. Asaba.”
He laughs, a low, soft sound. “Thank you, Mx. Asaba. I knew I could rely on you.”
And it’s nice, like this. For just a while longer, you can forget anything that’s happened before, or anything that might happen in the future. Right now, it’s just you, and him, together. 
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162 notes · View notes
lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days ago
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@zepskies
Jumping right back in to part 3!
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Accurate depiction of me knowing what's about to happen to the readers dad. đŸ‘†đŸ»đŸ‘†đŸ»đŸ‘†đŸ»đŸ‘†đŸ»đŸ‘†đŸ»đŸ‘†đŸ»
And:
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“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off. “What? What is it?!” you yell. He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”
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“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?” You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.
I won't get my hopes up. I will be just as devastated now as when I find out that he is gone for good. 😭
Also I love that you said her mother refused to "entertain anything else" because Dean's job description is literally "anything else" lol. And it really is a wonderful thing (not wonderful like good but you know what I mean) that Dean and the reader can further connect on. Her knowing what Dean really did for a living and him being brave enough to risk his life on the possibility of "a chance."
“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.
It's too late for that kind of talk sexy mountain man. You're stuck with her and she is not going to let you go that easy.
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Am I trying to hide my emotions over Dean going into the wilderness alone to face a wendigo with humor? Yes, yes I am.
You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.
It's a whole vibe 🍞
Side note: I did have to look up what nesting was in the A/B/O universe, but that is so cute. 😭
After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket. Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 
Oh goodness, yes it was a bad idea and I am so happy that Dean showed up when he did, because my anxiety for this reader was THROUGH THE ROOF. I mean yes, go get your man, but gurl please it's snowing and you've got a broken ankle. At least catch a bear or something to pull you on a sleigh lol. đŸ€Ł
Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him.  Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.
See this is why I don't get my hopes up because OH MY SWEET GOODNESS I'M CRYING 😭 But at least Dean is there now to wipe away her tears. AND my tears will soon be dried with the fires of their passion so... LOL 😂
He finally drags you to him in a kiss.  It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.
See I feel better already đŸ„°
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“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”
This is such a wonderful comparison to what it's like being around him for the reader. It holds the warmth and the feeling of home whenever you read it. I love it.
And also you know how much I love the continuing idea of Dean thinking that he's not enough and that the reader would never like him. I know that I always point it out when I read something of yours, but it really always fits him and you write it so well my friend 💚
“Look
even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”
I also love this bit, because Dean reduces himself to physical wealth here rather than seeing all the wonderful qualities of himself that we all love being something that he can give the reader. It really makes their connection all the more loving and real, because the reader isn't asking for Dean to give her things or to be rich, she's just asking FOR Dean. And I think it will be a beautiful and wonderful thing when he realizes that.
This chapter was so wonderful Alex! I loved every heart wrenching bit and I can't wait to read the next one my wonderful friend! ❀
Against the Wind - Part 3
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Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 
Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.
AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo
Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger
Word Count: 3.8K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~
Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist
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Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn
“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”
“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”
You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.
“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.
He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”
“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”
“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”
You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.
“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.
“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus cafĂ©, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 
You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking clichĂ©. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.
“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.
“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”
“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”
You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears
”
You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.
“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.
“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”
Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?
“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”
“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.
He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.
Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.
“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.
A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.
You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.
Not for himself, but for you.
“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.
“What? What is it?!” you yell.
He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”
He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.
Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.
You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?
Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.
No matter what direction you take, you never find him.
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“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.
Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.
“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 
You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.
“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 
A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 
When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 
“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you
do you believe me?”
Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.
“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”
He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 
Wendigo. 
“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”
You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.
“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.
“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”
You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.
“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.
You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.
“Where did it happen?”
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Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.
“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”
“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.
“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 
Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.
“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”
By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.
“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.
Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.
“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.
“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.
Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?
“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”
His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.
“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.
At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.
“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.
Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.
“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”
You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 
Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 
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After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.
For when he gets back. 
You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.
Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 
On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)
On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.
With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.
“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.
You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 
But you’ll have to try. 
After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.
Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 
A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 
“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.
You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 
You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.
“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.
“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 
You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.
He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 
“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”
Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 
“I thought something happened to you,” you say.
Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 
“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”
Your eyes widen. “You found the
thing? The wendigo?”
His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”
You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.
“Did you find my dad?” you ask.
Dean’s expression sobers as well.
“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”
Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 
Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”
He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 
After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 
You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.
He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 
It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.
You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  
But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 
“Sorry
we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.
He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 
“Why?” is all you can ask.
He doesn’t want to answer. 
“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.
“Just
it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.
That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.
“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”
You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.
“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”
Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 
“Look
even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”
You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”
“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen
I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever
”
You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.
“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  
“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.
“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know
”
You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 
“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”
You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 
“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.
Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 
You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 
“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 
Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 
He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.
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AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘
Next Time:
“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.
You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.
“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.
“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.
Your lips curve upwards in return.
▶ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)
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xxacidnekoxx · 3 days ago
Text
Even though I'm a furry chibi artist I don't really care about cuteness that much like ... Something just being "cute" isn't enough for me to care about it.
I don't even see cuteness as a goal or really consider it a necessarily positive thing for every situation?? Like my experience in my life has kinda been being a man with a "baby face" and getting misgendered having grown up with stricter than normal gender rules on me so like.. like the cute stuff it's really ingrained into my being it's all I know it's not really something special to me ... Like they literally tried to hardwire me to be an attractive very feminine woman who would be a mom and nothing else
I have an animator art style . and I think it's really theatrical with big eyes and often standing at a 3/4 angle and the focus being expressiveness I grew up with my coloring books that I had and little girl media like littlest pet shop that I traced over so my muscle memory was like always making things really chibi but I totally take it for granted at this point that it seems like I'm really obsessed with cute things. I also like really like bright colors and pink and stuff because it just looks better idk
I don't know how to not be cute? I don't know anything else....... I'm being serious....and I tried to get more of like... A manly style once and it's .. weird .. I suck ass at it and it makes me hate drawing because I suck. I don't compute .. I don't have muscle memory for that I literally can only draw like circles and squirkles and I don't understand humans at all or how to draw them that much at all I don't know what guns or weapons or machines or robots are .......
But I'm totally okay with being like"the cuteness guy" at this point I love to embrace it.. especially with taking testosterone and being a video games artist who draws sprites it doesn't really get in the way of my masculinity ?? But like I don't really like SEEK out art that is cute in particular? Honestly cute art just feels like the default or what's normal to me.....A lot of my nostalgia is just around "girls"and "woman things" because that's what I had growing up and I didn't realize I was a man until I was well into my adulthood already .. đŸ€·â€â™‚ïž
Anyway I'm even comfortable with being called a femboy and being like yey I'm cutesy but it's not like... Super euphoric necessarily it's more just like FEELS REGULAR and that's comforting is that it feels regular
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gurugirl · 1 day ago
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guru, i have a requests bc I need something ✹fluffy✹ as im healing from closing my fingers in my front door!!
could you write any harry au finding out that the reader is in paramore and wrote the only exception for him?
Oh my gosh your fingers! Ahh I hope you didn’t break anything! 😬
Feel better soon hon ❀‍đŸ©č Enjoy! (also I hope this is what you wanted )
A/N: I didn't mention Paramore specifically (except for some bits of the song) nor are there any physical descriptions of Y/n so it's inclusive! Imagine who you like! xoxo
Word Count: 1,174
Warning: FLUFFFFFFFFYYYY SWEET! (Harry has a quick moment of anxiety)
. .
Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking at when he saw it. Maybe you were just playing a joke on him—? He always thought your singing voice kind of reminded him of a band he'd heard on the radio a few times
 but this?
There you were on video. Right in his phone... wearing a very short skirt hopping around on stage like that. You were usually more of a jeans and t-shirt or sweater gal. It was clearly you–but it was like watching a doppelganger of you.
He blinked his eyes at his screen. His apartment was quiet as he was just waking up and still sitting in his bed. It was a normal morning routine. Wake up and check social media, emails, his daily schedule

He had no idea how this had come across his feed. You. Like that. He rubbed his eyes. Was he still dreaming?
You hadn't been dating all that long but you were both already head over heels. It'd happened so fast and there was still so much to learn about one another but he knew you were it just like he hoped you felt the same. He knew you had a band and he'd heard you sing. You had guitars at your place and you wrote poems and lyrics in your notebook all the time. You were talented.
A text popped up on his screen from you.
See you in five minutes!
Scooting himself out of bed so he could at least brush his teeth he clicked on the page that had posted the video and there were more! Of you! Of this band that he'd heard of in passing. He held the phone up and started watching the next video. You were singing for a semi-large crowd. He pressed the button on his electric toothbrush and felt his heart thrumming harder and harder as you started singing another song. A song he'd heard on the radio.
It was surreal to see you like that. Why hadn't you told him? Why was he finding out like this? Did you not want him to know? Did you not see a future with him at all?
The questions in his brain were buzzing as various puzzle pieces began to fall into place. It made so much sense now that he was thinking of everything but it also had him worried that you never told him. Maybe you didn't trust him.
When he was done brushing his teeth he splashed water on his face and pressed his palms over his sink counter. He was going to have to confront you.
He looked down at his phone and clicked on the next video. The most recently uploaded video.
"I'm Y/n! Thank you for being here with us tonight!" The crowd was loud and he could hear some whistles and cheering.
"This next song is about a guy that I'm falling for hard. It wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't think it ever would. I haven't told him yet but I have this song." You began to sway as the guitarist started to play. "This is for love. For anyone who's felt it. This is for Harry."
He blinked at the screen and you began to sing.
"When I was younger, I saw my daddy cry and curse at the wind..."
Harry was startled when he heard you knocking at his door. You were there and he was reeling from everything he'd just learned. Pausing the video he made his way to his door and opened it to see your pretty face. You immediately stepped in and wrapped your arms around his middle for a big hug.
He hesitantly placed his arms around you after he closed his door. But you noticed something was off. Harry was still holding his phone in his hand as you looked up at him.
"Everything okay?"
He looked like he was unable to put thoughts into words. Like he was stunned or hadn't expected to see you, even though you'd made plans to come over. Stepping back you clutched your hands over his wrists. "Harry?"
His throat bobbed when he swallowed and he blinked his eyes. "You're famous."
Your heart stopped. You knew he'd find out soon. You'd planned on telling him but it was always tricky telling people. You'd dated people in the past that were just looking for clout or trying to get there own name out there by using you. So it was a precaution. But you didn't need to hide it from Harry anymore.
"Yes. Well... kind of. I mean... a lot of people don't really know who I am. I'm not like at that level of fame but—"
"You don't trust me?"
"I do trust you, Harry. I promise." You slid your palms up his forearms and stepped in closer. "I was going to tell you. I just got a little scared because everything happened so fast between us. It just... I wanted to make sure first. I swear I've been planning to tell you because I... god... I just want to tell you everything."
"I don't understand why you never said anything." He shook his head but he didn't pull away from you.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out before I told you. I wanted to share something really special with you and tell you in this like... really romantic way."
He moved his arm and opened up his phone before you heard your song being playe. The song you wrote for him. His eyes flitted from you to his phone as the lyrics you sang poured out around you.
Because none of it was ever worth the risk... Well, you are the only exception...
Harry looked at you, a sheen of tears in his eyes as he let the song play out. You kept your hand on his forearm and let the lyrics do the talking. You just hoped he understood. You hoped that he could see why it took you a bit to work up to telling him.
Oh, and I'm on way to believing

He tucked his phone into his sweatpants pocket and looked at you with soft eyes. Taking his hands into yours you smiled up at him.
"I have a lot to tell you."
He puffed out a low laugh. "I think that's an understatement."
"Are you mad at me?"
He shook his head. "Kind of hard to be mad after hearing that song you wrote for me. Is all that true, Y/n?" He pulled his hand out of yours and lifted his warm palm up to your cheek.
"Yes. Every word of it."
"Does that mean you love me?"
Your heartbeat tripped up on itself as you nodded. "I do. I love you."
His eyes were piercing and so deep with emotion, you'd drown in them happily. "I guess it's time for me to confess something to you then, too." He grinned and you felt his hand move back to cradle your nape. "I love you too."
. .
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