#BEAR ARE YOU SEEING THIS YOU NEED TO READ THIS

[tsuyuryu]

Gods, this post hits me hard. REALLY hard. Because although I don't write a lot of fanfic, I did write A LOT of original stories along 15-16 years, stories that received practically no attention, no love, and no comments. I don't know if people liked them, if someone read them or not, and one day I came to the realization that I'll never know, because nowadays people don't even bother commenting. When I posted saying I was quitting and deleting everything, a couple people said "please, no, I'm reading"... And then disappeared from the face of the earth and never left even a like. I felt discouraged and depressed seeing such an important part of me, something I put my effort and Energy into, be si easily ignored by about everyone, as if I wasn't deserving of a few minutes to leave me a message. Was I that bad of a writer? Were my stories so terrible no one wanted to interact with them? With me?

So I quitted, too. It pained me, but I couldn't bear the hurt of people not caring.

Most of the people don't realize how important it is to say your favorite author/fanficker/artist how much you appreciate what they do. Many times, that is the only thing keeping us going among real life problems, work, writers block... I sure as hell would have kept going, kept dreaming about self publication and printing, if only A SINGLE PERSON chose to leave something as simple as "I like this, thank you". It is no different for fics. We do all this for free, we share it to connect with others and share stories we enjoy making; I think the least you, as a reader, could do, is to make yourself known by leaving a little of love in the comments section. It means the world to any artist, I swear.

Sorry about my rant. As I said, this topic hits me hard and I needed to write my opinion on all this. And man do I feel sorry for that fanfic author... I know that feeling all too well, and I hope someday they can write again and enjoy it again.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[lemonmaid]

A snip i need to get out of my head before bed. (Warnings pregnant reader, not proofed read, I'm so fucking tired)

Poly 141 x pregnant reader.

When you told the boys that you were pregnant, many many emotions but not one was negative towards you.

Johnny was excited, immediately thinking of names and happy that they almost have enough people for a football team (john thinks rugby would be a better sport but who is asking).

Simon who is immediately nervous due to his own family issues, he knows therapy can help with this but he'll be damn if he is ever like his father.

Kyle who is immediately thinking why it is important to know who the father is, even if he isn't the bio dad he is still gonna buy the proper hair products just in case.

John who is already crying, he is a big papa bear now and he couldn't be more happy.

Over the course of your pregnancy, the boys are literally waiting hand and foot for you.

Simon refuses to let you do anything on your own. You want to help with the nursery? No sit down and rest. You need to bend down and grab something you dropped? Nah call him even if he is at work.

John is up your ass about you doing exercises and taking your prenatal vitamins. He wakes you up at eight in the morning to do a light work out for your core muscle then makes you wind down for bed by 9 pm.

Johnny is always ready to make a snack run, even if John is against it, hell he even got back up emergency snacks in the car. Even though you all share an Alaskan king bed, reach over and shove him awake so he can do a quick errand.

Kyle is always with you when you are shopping, 100% he will agree with you on any clothing for the baby, you want the cutest expensive baby towel that is good for eczema? No problem. You think we should do cloth diapers? You're absolutely right, save nature.

When you have to get a body pillow/pregnancy pillow to support your stomach the boys are upset that they can't cuddle you without the pillow being in the way (or the little shit kicks them and it hurts you).

The boys love, LOVE it when you wear tight shirts, I mean look at that adorable bump and Jesus christ your breast have gotten so big.

Speaking of breast, Johnny is always looking at you like a kicked dog when you don't let him "help" you pump.

Please tell them when something hurts. Because these boys take everything too serious. When you started having braksion hicks, they were so paranoid. It got to a point where when you were in labor you didn't tell them untill they were 5 minutes apart. Which freaked them out, rushing you to the hospital.

The boys are 100% supportive of your birth plan, they really are.

But as soon as the contractions hit and they see your pained expression, they are immediately second guessing.

John is bluntly telling you to take the epidural.

Simon is rubbing your back telling you that there is no reward for having a natural birth.

But, you progress, practicing your breathing exercises, you've been training for this moment. You decided to bounce and roll on the yoga ball that was offered in the room, it help with the pressure.

Johnny is the one who has been trying to sneak you food, happy wife (or partner) happy life. But Kyle is nagging him how you cannot have food when you are close to labor (you're only 2 cm and it's been four hours).

Simon is encouraging you to sleep and rest, when you obviously can't Johnny is helping you recheck the diaper bag for the tenth time that night.

Kyle who is walking with you up and down the hall, purposely walking down the hall with the window where you can see the other newborns.

John who is now having panic attack, 'oh god I'm going to be a father'.

When it's finally time to start pushing, one of the nurses tries pushing out the others, thinking that John is the father. It wasn't untill your midwife told them to leave them be and that they can stay.

Simon and John who are holding your hands as you pushed, Johnny is playing with your hair to help distract you from the pain and Kyle is wiping your forehead.

When everyone hears the sharp cry that echoes in the room, the gasp is heard, when the newborn is placed on your chest, they can't help but shed a tear.

Simon and Johnny are telling you that you did an amazing job. Kyle is kissing your head, comforting your cries, John is watching the nurses every move with the newborn.

They all couldn't be more happier.

[cubffections]

(∩´ ˘ `∩ ྀི 🎙️ mic tap, one two, one two.. CUBBIIIEEE ! ! !MORNING ! ! ! aaaaah hai hai, happy wednesday to the precious sunspots that bloomed in each corner of the world, the sweet angels who are tacklin' whatever is being thrown at them and keep pushing forward ‥ i hope you know that i'm proud of you. ❤︎ 's been a while, and i've missed you all ˃ ᵕ ᵒ i hope you guys don't mind me wiggling back into the dash again <3

[elryuse]

Obsessive Yandere noona Taeyeon who’s 15 years older than the male reader? Everything about him, his look, smell, taste, and feel just drive/ her senses into overdrive. He is like her fountain of youth.

HER FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

YANDERE TAEYEON X YOUNGER MALE READER

Taeyeon, a woman of quiet strength, had weathered life's storms with grace and resilience. At 29, she'd been left to navigate the treacherous waters of life alone, a victim of love's betrayal. Her husband, the man she had trusted with her heart, had abandoned her, leaving her to bear the weight of shattered dreams and a broken heart.

The pain of his departure was compounded by the loss of her child, a young soul who had chosen a different path. The world, once vibrant and full of promise, now seemed bleak and unforgiving. Taeyeon retreated into a shell of solitude, her spirit dimmed by the weight of loneliness.

Years passed, and Taeyeon, now in her forties, had learned to live with the scars of the past. She had built a life for herself, a life filled with quiet dignity and understated beauty. But deep down, a part of her yearned for connection, for love.

Then, Y/N entered her life, a young man of 25, brimming with youthful energy and unbridled optimism. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that life could still hold joy and wonder.

Y/N was drawn to Taeyeon's quiet strength, her wisdom, and her unwavering spirit. He saw beyond her years, beyond the pain she had endured. He saw a woman of depth and beauty, a woman who deserved to be loved.

As their friendship blossomed, so too did Taeyeon's obsession. She found herself consumed by his every word, his every gesture, his every breath. She craved his attention, his affection, his love. The more she got to know him, the more she wanted him, the more she needed him.

Her obsession grew into a dark, possessive love, a love that was all-consuming and destructive. She began to monitor his every move, to control his every action. She would follow him, unseen, a shadow lurking in the darkness. She would intercept his messages, read his emails, and listen to his phone calls.

She became a master of manipulation, using her charm and intelligence to control those around him. She would sow seeds of doubt, spread rumors, and sabotage his relationships. All in the name of love, a twisted, distorted love that knew no bounds.

Y/N, oblivious to her obsession, continued to see the best in her. He was drawn to her kindness, her intelligence, and her unwavering support. He had no idea that the woman he admired was capable of such darkness.

As their relationship deepened, so too did Taeyeon's obsession. She became increasingly possessive, jealous, and controlling. She would lash out at anyone who dared to threaten her claim on Y/N, her jealousy a consuming fire.

One day, Taeyeon crossed a line. She confronted a young woman who had dared to flirt with Y/N. The confrontation turned violent, a terrifying display of Taeyeon's dark side. The young woman was left shaken, traumatized by the encounter.

Y/N, horrified by Taeyeon's behavior, confronted her. He demanded to know what had happened, what had turned her into a monster. Taeyeon, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and madness, confessed her obsession.

Y/N was stunned, his heart heavy with sorrow. He had loved her, truly loved her. But now, he saw the darkness that consumed her, the monster she had become.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just love you so much."

Y/N, his heart aching, turned away. He couldn't help her. He couldn't save her. He could only hope that she would find the help she needed, that she would break free from the darkness that had consumed her.

Taeyeon was left alone, a prisoner of her own obsession. She had lost everything she had ever loved, her sanity, her soul. The love she had craved had turned into a nightmare, a haunting reminder of the destructive power of desire.

Y/N had managed to distance himself from Taeyeon, but the damage had been done. The once vibrant and hopeful young man was now haunted by the darkness that had consumed her. He had learned a hard lesson about the destructive power of obsession, a lesson he would never forget.

Meanwhile, Taeyeon, left alone with her twisted desires, descended deeper into madness. Her obsession with Y/N had become all-consuming, a force that threatened to obliterate her sanity. She would stalk him, monitor his every move, and interfere in his life, always lurking in the shadows, a malevolent presence.

One day, Taeyeon decided to take matters into her own hands. She orchestrated a series of events, a carefully crafted plan to bring Y/N back to her. She staged a kidnapping, a terrifying ordeal that left Y/N traumatized and shaken.

When Y/N woke up, he found himself trapped in a secluded cabin, a prisoner of Taeyeon's twisted love. She had created a world for them, a world where they were alone, where she could control every aspect of his life.

"Welcome back, my love," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness. "We're finally together."

Y/N, terrified and confused, struggled to break free from her clutches. He knew that he had to escape, to break free from her grasp before it was too late. But Taeyeon was always one step ahead, anticipating his every move.

She would manipulate his emotions, playing on his fears and insecurities. She would shower him with affection, only to withdraw it just as quickly, leaving him feeling lost and alone. She would gaslight him, convincing him that his perceptions were flawed, that his reality was a mere illusion.

Y/N, caught in her web of deceit, began to doubt his own sanity. He questioned his perception of reality, his sense of self. The line between truth and illusion blurred, and he found himself trapped in a nightmare of his own making.

As time passed, Y/N's spirit began to break. The constant manipulation, the psychological torture, had taken its toll. He was a mere shell of his former self, a shadow of the vibrant young man he once was.

But even in the darkest of times, a flicker of hope remained. A spark of defiance, a refusal to succumb to despair. He knew that he had to fight, to break free from Taeyeon's clutches, no matter the cost.

With renewed determination, Y/N began to plot his escape. He bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when the opportunity arose, he seized it, breaking free from Taeyeon's grasp.

The escape was a harrowing ordeal, a battle of wills that pushed both Y/N and Taeyeon to their limits. In the end, Y/N emerged victorious, but the experience had left him scarred, both physically and emotionally.

Taeyeon, defeated and broken, was left to confront the consequences of her actions. She had lost everything she had ever loved, her sanity, her soul. The love she had craved had turned into a nightmare, a haunting reminder of the destructive power of obsession.

Y/N had escaped the clutches of Taeyeon's obsession, but he knew that the danger was far from over. She was a woman capable of great evil, a force of nature that could not be easily contained. He had to be vigilant, always looking over his shoulder, always ready to defend himself.

He moved to a new city, a place where he could start anew, a place where Taeyeon wouldn't find him. He changed his appearance, his habits, his entire identity. He thought he had successfully erased his past, his connection to the woman who had nearly destroyed him.

But Taeyeon was always watching. She had a network of spies, a watchful eye that extended far beyond her reach. She knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. She was always one step ahead, always lurking in the shadows.

One day, as Y/N was walking down the street, he felt a familiar gaze upon him. He turned around, but saw nothing. Yet, he knew she was there, watching him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And strike she did. She orchestrated a series of events, a carefully planned scheme to lure him back into her web. She used his friends, his family, his past to manipulate him, to draw him closer to her.

Y/N, caught in her intricate web of deceit, found himself drawn back to her. He was helpless, a puppet on a string, dancing to her tune. She had him exactly where she wanted him, a captive in her twisted world.

Taeyeon, with a cruel smile, watched as Y/N succumbed to her will. She had won. She had him. And she would never let him go.

A few years later...

Taeyeon sat beside Y/N, her fingers gently tracing the contours of his face. A soft, sinister smile played on her lips as she admired her captive. Y/N, once a vibrant soul, now lay before her, a mere shell of his former self. His eyes, once filled with life and hope, were now dull and lifeless, a vacant stare fixed on the ceiling.

A chilling silence filled the room, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock. Taeyeon leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. She began to sing a haunting lullaby, a melody that seemed to seep into his soul.

"Hush now, my love, close your weary eyes," she crooned, her voice a soothing poison. "The world outside is cruel, filled with lies."

Y/N's body trembled involuntarily, his eyes slowly fluttering shut. Taeyeon continued to sing, her voice growing louder, more insistent.

"Sleep now, my love, let me cradle your dreams. I'll protect you forever, it seems."

Tears, silent and solitary, trickled down Y/N's cheeks. He was trapped, a prisoner in his own mind, a victim of a love gone awry. Taeyeon, the once-loving woman, had transformed into a monstrous figure, a harbinger of darkness.

As the sun began to rise, casting long shadows across the room, Taeyeon tightened her grip on Y/N. Her love, a twisted and destructive force, had consumed them both. And in the end, only darkness remained.

- The End -

[lucygraysboy]

“a grill out.” he can’t help but snicker at that, in awe of how witty she is. “oh, please… i’m pretty sure you’ve seen it, you just don’t want to admit it. i mean, swimming in white boxers wasn’t my brightest idea,” as white fabrics often turn see-through when wet, “but there’s no way that you didn’t catch a glimpse of it when we were younger.” grumbling when she accuses him of being a creep, he stabs his fork into the salad and absently soaks it in some steak juice. “in my defense, you was always fun-sized and needed help climbin’ up and down things. twelve-year-old me surely didn’t enjoy having your ass so close to my face, but i was a good boy. what was i supposed to do? leave you up on a tree?” a huff escapes him, gaze focusing on the food on his plate as he continues to chew thoroughly. “oh, what do we have here?” he refuses to move his long legs, purposely annoying her by pushing his knees in her personal space as something falls into his lap. “it’s a foot! a foot growin’ out of my thigh. if it’s in my lap, it’s mine.” his left hand dips beneath the table, fingers curling around her ankle, keeping her foot in place. his little hostage. “this personal recliner can keep your foot here forever. what would happen if you had to pee? hmm…” he teases, squeezing her boot, forgetting that they’re at a fancy restaurant and whatever it is that they’re doing may not appear as very sophisticated to the other guests. “blair always called me william. she hated billy,” he confesses, as if reading her mind but really it’s just occurred to him how annoying and hurtful that was. he’d asked her multiple times to just call him billy, and every time she responded with, but that’s so hick. she was never one for nicknames. “oh, i sure hope so. hope no other billy gets to be your billy bean.” and billy bear. and cowboy prince. call him childish, but he wants this to be just their thing. “did you know that meatballs are made out of actual balls? testicles?” since they’re acting like children again, he figures this joke isn’t off limits and laughs, stuffing his mouth with another piece of steak and some more goat cheese. not really caring that the meat’s still a little too hot and is making his tongue tingle. this is his first and only meal today. breakfast doesn’t count. he only had a little protein bar.

dying to let out an eww as she hears him say he jokingly has pictures of it, she covers her mouth before it comes out. “that wasn’t an invitation to be invited to a grill out.” a hot dog party. “just tellin’ you i haven’t seen that thing, like you have seen my underwear cause you were creepin’.” remembering that from a few years ago like he just told her that yesterday, because it’s so funny and embarrassing at the same time. “now move and get your big legs over there.” sassing him, taking her cowgirl boots and gently pushing his feet away before annoyingly purposely sitting her feet in his lap. “wow this personal recliner is actually comfy,” taking a sip of tea, she innocently smiles right after letting the straw go. the lost your mind part of his next word has her laughing, feeling pleased and giddy that either he’s fibbing or she really is she the special one. what about blair? she wonders, wondering what she calls him. turning back from pestering lucy gray to sweet lucy gray, “you are special and my names for you are special. no other billy is getting billy bean, billy bear and cowboy prince.” a proud smile beams across her face. “yes it is.” mumbling as she’s happily smiling to herself while munching on garlic bread, thinking about all the nicknames he has for her while twirling her saucy pasta on a fork, impatiently blowing the heat off of it.

[cherrycolored-punk]

take care - best friend! e.m. x fem!reader

Softember 🍂 prompt: “When have I ever listened to you?”

author’s note: a companion piece, a prelude if you will, to Still Frames. I’m starting to feel like I’m overcoming the hurdle in my brain and can start on my bigger projects again. For now, take some comfort in Eddie taking care of us 🧡 written with @joejoequinnquinn in my mind, hope you feel better xx

warnings: none, but you already know what I’m going to say. This is an 18+ blog, minors go away!

w/c: 2k

It started with a sore throat, an ache that you hoped was allergies but as the day progressed and your symptoms worsened you knew: it was the flu.

If there’s anything you hate more, it’s being sick but especially now that you live alone. Nothing worse than coughing up a lung, dizzy from the severe congestion throwing off your equilibrium, and trying to make soup.

A stupid can of soup that isn’t even your favorite.

Now, you sit up in bed with scattered tissues surrounding you like a makeshift moat and text your best friend. Bugging him while he was at work.

You: I’m dyinggg

You stare at the screen, willing an instant response but knowing he’s probably elbow deep in some car’s hood. The shop busier at this time of year.

Half-lidded eyes focus on the television screen as you burrow deeper into the comforter and clutch the phone to your chest, another episode of your favorite trash tv playing. You’re fighting sleep, stubborn as always, when the sudden buzz of your phone startles you.

Eddie: what’s new?

Jerk, you scoff. A tiny smile playing on your lips despite your best efforts.

You: you’d really make fun of me while I’m on my death bed?

And despite the distance, you can hear the way he grumbles when he reads your message.

Eddie: 🙄

Eddie: what do you need?

Your fingers swipe over the keys quickly, a devious smile pulling across your face despite how you feel.

You: hit me with your van, stab me in the face…please end my suffering.

He texts you at the same time, knowing your history of dramatics.

Eddie: from the STORE

You: oh :(

You pout, even though he can’t see it.

You: nothing, I don’t want to get you sick.

The three little dots appear on the screen, and you wait for his response until they disappear altogether. Probably had to get back to work, you figure and toss your phone back onto the comforter. Re-burying yourself deep beneath the covers to rest.

—

A sharp knock on the front door wakes you, groggy and unsure of what day it is. For a moment, you don’t move. Confused as to who the fuck is at your door and lacking the energy to care. You just want to sleep.

The knocking continues, and you groan as you push out of bed. Dragging your feet to the front door. Hair in disarray, black Twilight shirt tucked into your oversized sweats and a cardigan hugging your frame. Looking as good as you feel.

Eddie smiles at you as you pull open the heavy wooden frame. The cold breeze greeting you and making you shiver despite the layers of clothes you wear.

“What are you doing here?” The words come out like a squeak, muffled by your congestion.

“I come bearing goods,” he holds up the bags before pushing past you and into your apartment. You’re a little gobsmacked, thoughts trying to catch up with what he said and you turn to follow him. Doing your best not to think about your appearance or how awful you probably look given your current state.

“I thought I told you not to come over,” you pout, pressing your elbows onto the counter top and watching his back.

He’s still dressed in his oil-stained navy coveralls, hair pulled back in a bun, and faintly smells like car grease. From what you can smell anyways.

Eddie looks over at you, concerned eyes dancing over your face, and a smirk pushing the dimple into his cheek.

“When have I ever listened to you?” You roll your eyes and shrug, because it’s true. He hardly ever did. Not now or the time he got that moth-man tattoo from a questionable shop or when he drank an awful concoction of alcohol right before a gig. He lived to do exactly the opposite of what you said…what anyone said.

He unpacks the grocery bags, a treasure trove of goods that he names as he sets them onto the counter and you watch from your spot on the opposite side of the kitchen.

“I got you theraflu tea, and I don’t want to hear you complain about the taste. You just need to drink it,” he scolds before you can even complain.

Your jaw snaps shut and swallow down your sarcastic rebuttal.

“Also got your favorite soup, four cans,” he holds his fingers up, “orange juice, Vicks, popsicles in case your throat hurts, those saltines you like, and,” he turns back to the other counter, reaching for something on its surface before looking back at you, “I brought Scream for us to watch since I know it’s your favorite.”

Something like affection stirs in your stomach but it bares a different face than the love you usually feel for him. It’s bigger and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

It’s the way he’s smiling, the familiar excited gleam in his eye as he looks at you. It’s the fact that he’s shown up after a twelve-hour shift with all your favorite sick foods in tow.

And he doesn’t seem to notice the way you gawk at him now, eyes round like saucers and unsure what to do when your heart is hammering in your chest. An unfamiliar thud that seems to beat in pace with every syllable of his name.

Your eyes trace over his face like you’re seeing him for the first time. The sharp edge of his jaw, the plump of his lips, the freckles that dot the slope of his nose, and when did Eddie become so beautiful?

It’s because you’re sick, you tell yourself. A virus is wreaking havoc on your immune system and there’s definitely less oxygen getting to your brain so it’s obviously affecting your thinking. There’s no way you like him as more than just a friend.

Right?

He rounds the corner and places firm hands on your shoulders, “Go sit down, get comfortable, and I’ll make you some soup.” He points his chin in the direction of your living room.

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs, waiting for you to argue but you’re stuck on the crush budding in your gut and all you can do is nod.

“She doesn’t want to argue?” He laughs, watching as you plop onto the couch and you know this is where you’re supposed to say something. Anything that resembles your usual banter.

“Brain is barely functioning,” you point to your head and he nods.

“I’ll try to get you doctored up,” and he’s already making quick work of the soup. Moving around your kitchen for everything he needs like he’s done numerous times before. You watch him from your place on the couch, cheeks heating the longer you do. Seconds dragging like minutes and finally you turn away. Doing your best to kill the crush but it’s already begun to sprout and grow.

In need of a distraction, you will yourself off the couch and pop in the dvd. Amused, as always, by the cheesy narration of nineties movie trailers. This is how Eddie finds you, sitting too close to the screen and not on the couch where he’d told you to get comfortable.

“What did I tell you?” He questions with a tut of his tongue as he slides the bowl of soup onto the coffee table alongside the sleeve of saltines he’d grabbed and the steaming cup of theraflu tea he made.

“When have I ever listened to you?” You mock his earlier sentiment and he rolls his eyes, pulling down his coveralls so he doesn’t get oil on your couch.

“Guess you’re not that sick,” he jokes, oblivious to the heat in your cheeks or how the sarcasm lodges in your throat.

Beneath the navy material, he wears a white muscle shirt that stretches across the muscle of his chest. Showcasing the expanse of his alabaster skin lined with tattoos. Flesh you’ve seen before but somehow has a new effect on you.

You avert your eyes to the bowl of steaming soup and crawl towards it, stomach grumbling for the first time all day.

“Thank you, Edward,” you give him a tight grin despite how grateful you actually are, finding that being a brat is the easiest way to hide how you feel.

He gives you a crooked grin, shaking his brown curls free as he gets more comfortable.

“Whatever, Princess,” his voice just as sardonic, taking pleasure in knowing how much you hate when he calls you that.

The two of you fall into silence, focusing attention back onto the small screen. Casey Becker runs from Ghostface, her screams of terror filling your living room. The flashes from the television bouncing off the white walls in the dimly lit space.

The apartment feels cozy, a small vanilla candle lit and your LED lights set to low. A faux-warmth that helps you relax, takes your mind off your cute best friend sitting only a few feet away. Not noticing the way he eyes you curiously as you continue to sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table and sip down soup when there’s an entire couch for you to get comfortable on.

“Why are you sitting on the floor? Do I have cooties all of a sudden?” He questions abruptly and flings the hair tie that was securing his curls in your direction but you lean out of the way just in time, blowing on your soup before slurping it loudly.

“No, but I do. I don’t want to get you sick.”

I don’t want to sit next to you while I’m questioning how I feel for you, you scream internally.

He waves you off with a shake of his head and pats the spot next to him.

“If I get sick, I get sick. Means an extra long weekend,” he grins, beckoning you to the sofa with a wave of his hand that you oblige.

You leave a few inches between, enough room for the Holy Spirit and the big feelings suddenly emerging. The distance not going unnoticed.

“Seriously, you’re being weird,” he laughs, “since when are you not all in my space even when you’re sick,” he pokes you and you feign a laugh. Pushing another spoonful of soup into your mouth, teeth scrapping against the metal of the spoon.

He’s right, you’re intentionally annoying a majority of the time just to get a rise out of him. Invading his space whenever you get a chance and anything but that seems…off.

You scoot closer, stopping when your thigh rubs against his.

“Cracker?” You offer, holding the sleeve of them out to him. He gives you a curious quirk of his brow but doesn’t say anything, chopping your antics up to how bad you must feel.

“Thanks,” he grabs one and chews it loudly as he places his other arm over the back of the couch. The warmth of it felt just above your shoulders. Keeping you distracted as you try to watch the movie.

The soup warms you as you gulp the rest of it down and munch on some crackers, taking a few begrudging sips of the medicinal tea. A satisfied grin pulling at your lips when you realize you can’t exactly taste it, the congestion coming in handy to block its acrid flavor.

You shuffle around, picking up the remnants of your mess but when Eddie notices the empty bowl, he stands to clear the dish despite your protests.

“I can wash a bowl,” he waves your hands away and takes quick strides to the kitchen, “just relax and watch the movie.”

“News to me,” you tease, pulling the heavy blanket next to you over your lap and getting comfortable just like he’d instructed. Watching as the movie unfolds and Sidney first learns about the killer who may have ties to her mom’s death, all the while he cleans up the mess he’d made while making your food.

Your eyelids feel heavier as the minutes pass, and you’re doing everything in your power to fight it. To be a good host and enjoy his company for a moment longer.

Eddie returns, sliding into the same spot on the couch and grinning to himself when he notices you fighting sleep. Stomach full of soup and theraflu he’d made you consume.

You’re too tired to protest when he pulls you into his arms, rubbing a comforting hand along your back and smoothing out your hair. Even if you could, you wouldn’t fight it. Finding solace on his firm chest, arm wrapped around his torso and doing your best to fight off the sleep. Eyes glazed over as you focus on the screen, Sidney Prescott being chased out of the bathroom and into the arms of her suspect boyfriend. Not exactly paying attention to the film when Eddie’s hand rubs back and forth, all too comforting and a little hypnotizing.

He’s not watching either, enjoying the way your head falls forward as your eyes begin to close only for you to jolt awake. Swearing you’re not tired. Just as stubborn, just as cute, as you always were.

When you finally stop fighting it, he holds you close. Kissing the top of your head and tucking you in, falling asleep despite the ache in his back and the tension in his shoulders from a long day. He wouldn’t have wanted it to end any other way.

—

thank you for reading! xx el

[mygayasslovesbluealiens]

Dad!swansea reaction to reader also being on the tulpar or wtv that thing is called??tysm i love your ficss

ʚDAD!SWANSEA X GN!READERɞ

SUMMARY : working with your dad for pony express.

WARNINGS : SPOILERS!!! Jimmy, mention of suicide, injuries, slight Daisuke x reader.

WORD COUNT : 916

A/n : tysm I'm glad you liked my fics!

Click "Keep reading" for more!ʚɞ☟

- Swansea did not expect you to be on that tulpar with him.

- he did hear you talking about applying for a job, he just didn't expect it to be that one.

- well, now you were with him again.

- you were a chef and he was greatful for that since you were good at cooking.

- it actually made him feel a lot better to have you around.

- you were the usual you, just cracking up jokes, making silly doodles and making paper swans for him.

- and to Swansea's absolute horror, you and Daisuke clicked.

- he actually doesn't mind you befriending Daisuke, he just finds it strange how Daisuke stares at you a little too hard when you're not looking.

- you're personality didn't change, just the charming, sometimes bubbly and happy person you were.

- it helped you get along with everyone on that ship (except for Jimmy) and it made Swansea happy to know that you're making friends.

- but he did notice how you and Daisuke were a little too close to each other...

- nevertheless he enjoyed your company with him at the tulpar.

- until the ship crashed...

- Curly did not end up well, he was in the worst state ever.

- seeing how Anya reacted to that, you took it upon yourself to help her take care of your captain.

- unlike Jimmy, you made sure as gentle as possible when it was time to give him painkillers.

- finding out about the food stash only lasting for a few months made you feel uneasy.

- with that, you started feeding yourself less and less, Swansea took notice of it.

- any time he eyed your plate he only found bits of pieces of food while the others had full plates.

- he also took notice when you stopped visiting Anya to get painkillers for your headaches.

- seeing how bad your state was getting, Swansea took it upon himself to confront you (your dad is worried :{) and that's when you broke down.

- you tried to justify why you fed yourself less, you were worried about your crewmates, so you made sure to put less food on your plate so that they can have more, same reasoning for the painkillers, Curly clearly needed them more.

- Swansea felt bad, you were too kind for your own good. If he knew that you were going on that ship with him, he would've stopped you.

- things took turn for the worse.

- you found out what Jimmy had Done to Anya, you started to resent him. Jimmy didn't take it very well.

- things just kept deteriorating, Anya locked herself inside the medical room, judging by her words, she wasn't feeling very well.

- Jimmy thought it was a good idea to get to Anya through the vent by going to the utility room, and to get there, he had to go through Swansea.

- to your absolute horror, you found your dad knocked out, shards of broken glass next to him on the ground. You immediately knew who's the cause of it.

- it was too late tho, Daisuke had already crawled inside the vent Swansea had warned him not too. Causing him to sustain painful injuries.

- you've had enough of Jimmy's bullshit.

- that's it, you snapped at him.

- he was the cause of Anya's suicide.

- he was the cause of Daisuke's painful injuries.

- your dad have had enough, he couldn't bear seeing Daisuke in pain anymore, so he ended his misery with a swing of his axe.

- Jimmy was irresponsible.

- you took the sharpest knife you could find, not bothering to hide it as you made your way to Jimmy.

- too bad for you, Jimmy had over powered you.

- now laying your back on the cold metal wall, pained huffs leaving your mouth, you put a hand on your sliced throat, the knife you've tried to kill Jimmy with now deep in your abdomen.

- the last thing you saw before dying was Swansea looking down at you, visibly furious as he held his axe, he wasn't letting this slide.

- too bad, Jimmy had the gun.

- now tied in a chair, Jimmy let the middle-aged man speak his last words before shooting two bullets in his brain.

- Curly was guilty.

- if he had taken action, none of this would've happened.

- if he had taken action, none of you would've died in those gruesome ways.

- this wasn't what he had expected.

- that wasn't what he had wished for.

- a bad ending.

- jk y'all.

- the tulpar was found not too long after.

- luckily, everyone had made it out alive, except for Jimmy.

- Anya was now in a better state, the hospital staff making sure to look after her.

- Daisuke managed to survive that painful swing, though, he understood Swansea's actions, but his eye sight was a bit foggy.

- Swansea survived both bullets, with one eye remaining, he was glad that you and the others were alive and well.

- speaking of which, you were doing fine, the wound in your stomach hurt and you had a bit of a problem when it came to speaking, thanks for the damaged vocal cords Jimmy.

- Curly was the one who was looked after the most, he was doing alright, he had gotten better treatment and was using a wheelchair for now.

- after the incident, you and the other hung out with each other often.

- Daisuke coming over to visit you and Swansea, he sometimes would spend time with you and your sisters, which brought you closer to each other.

- after all, you've gotten a good ending.

[nightxcreature]

20

Summary: Reader relaxes while Dean is away.

Warnings: Panic attack, Death, Grief, Angst

Pairing: DeanxReader, SamxReader (platonic)

A/N: I’m so sorry. 😬 I love you.

Written quickly, edited poorly. You don’t have permission to copy my work, so don’t. 18+ only.

Yellow light cascaded across the room from the lamp beside me leaving a faint film across the pages of the book in my hands. I’d had the bunker to myself this weekend while Sam and Dean went on a quick hunt not too far from home, and I was taking full advantage of the silence. Miracle was curled up at my feet mouthing a squeaky bear and enjoying our lazy day. After the busy few weeks we’ve had, a little reprieve with man’s best friend in the library was much needed as the next several weeks would be even busier. Dean had planned a roadtrip to celebrate this hunt, our bags packed and ready to go by our bedroom door. Excitement and exhaustion were imminent and I knew this moment of peace would be required to make it through whatever plans my lover had made.

I smiled softly at the thought of Dean and the life we would have after this. He’d never been one for marriage or kids or the Apple-pie life, but the moment Chuck was gone I knew something had changed for him.

—————————————————————————

The door to our shared bedroom was open as I worked making the stomp of Deans heavy boots reach my ears before he reached the doorway.

“Hey,” He calls as he steps inside, placing a kiss to my temple and dropping a few papers onto the desk in front of me.

“What’s this?” I’d asked, smirking up at him as I lifted the packet to my eyes. The question hung in the air for a moment as I read over the papers before me, “An application for the fire department, and…” My head jerks back slightly in surprise as I read over the next page, “You wanna buy a house? Like white picket fence-barefoot and pregnant-with a dog-buy a house?”

“Uh, It doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to. I just-you know, I’ve always wanted to be a firefighter, and, I’ll need a job. Plus, we can’t always live here so I- uh, I just thought maybe you’d like to move in with me. Like…our own place.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, an adorable sheepish smile on his face, “We can talk about the barefoot and pregnant part later.”

My eyes widened a bit as I took in his response. Leaning back in the chair I placed my pen against my lips and grinned, “So, a house and my own personal Magic Mike?”

He’d rolled his eyes, a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips as he nodded, “Yeah, but only if you want.”

I’d dropped the pen in my hand quickly and jumped up to kiss his lips. His hands immediately finding my waist and pulling me closer, our hips slamming against one another as he dug his fingers into my skin. My hands were covering his blush-stained cheeks, pulling his face into mine harshly. When we broke apart grinning, he’d chuckled softly. “So, is that a yes?” He’d asked, breathlessly.

“Absolutely.” I mumbled, placing my lips over his again and quickly finding myself underneath him.

——————————————————————————

My train of thought is abruptly broken by the steel door slamming open at the top of the stairs and Miracle whining at my feet. I duck my head to see which brother comes down first when Sam stops short of the last step. I close my book as I watch him there, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed low.

“Hey, Sammy. You okay?” I ask as I stand, worry building in my veins. He doesn’t speak as I reach him, doesn’t raise his head or acknowledge me in anyway until I place a hand on his arm, “Sam, look at me.”

Slowly he raises his head, tears falling down his red and swollen face, “I’m so sorry.” He whispers out, “I’m so, so sorry.” He collapsed into my arms, heavy sobs leaving his body. I wrap my arms tightly around him, pulling him to stand as best I can before wracking my brain for whatever could cause him to go into such a….

Suddenly the world goes deathly still, only the sound of my heartbeat and Sam’s broken sobs reach my ears. My chest is heaving and the world is spinning and I can’t seem to form a coherent thought when I raise my trembling hands to push him off of me. Pointing a single shaking finger in his direction.

“No.” I whisper quietly, “Sam, no.”

“I’m so sorry.” He mutters again, devastation covering his face, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” I snap, “Stop it!”

My feet are moving before I register that I’m halfway up the stairs, the steel door the only barrier between me and what lies ahead. I sling it open, half expecting to see Dean standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face and saying “Gotcha!”, but I’m met with nothing. I push my way through the bunker, Sam following quickly behind me, practically begging me to turn around, but I can’t stop my feet. I can’t stop the need to see him.

I fling open the garage door and am met with the sight of Baby parked in her usual spot. I stop short of the drivers door, already able to see the white cloth covering the backseat.

“Is that…” I choke out.

“Yeah.”

Neither of us speak for a moment, the silence deafening between us. I take several slow steps closer, my mind and heart at war as I reach up to open the back door. I place my hand on his head, taking a deep breath as I push the sheet down to see his face. A sob racks through me and I drop to my knees, cradling his head in my hands. His eyes are closed, his face a picture of peace that I’d never seen before. I would believe he’s sleeping if I didn’t know any better. The dark freckles that scattered his face are pale, his lips ashen, all signs of the life my love lived have long since left. I stroke my thumb across his cold cheek and place my lips to his forehead as I cry.

“You ass.” I whisper against his skin, “We had plans. What am I supposed to do now?”

The tears falling from my eyes find themselves on his own face, covering his cheeks as if, even in death, he’s crying with me; Mourning the life we could’ve had…The life we should’ve had.

“This isn’t supposed to happen now.” I mumble, shaking his limp shoulders, “Chucks dead! You’re supposed to be happy. We’re supposed to be happy, Dean! Wake up! Please, Wake up! This isn’t real. This isn’t real!”

My eyes suddenly snap open, the light from our bedside lamp igniting the green orbs in front of me. Dean’s face full of worry as his arms wrap protectively around me.

“Hey, hey. It isn’t real. Shh. It isn’t real, Baby.” He whispers, rocking me back and forth as I cry against his chest, “I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re fine.”

Hot tears coat my cheeks and I lift my head to see they’ve stained his shirt, “I’m-I’m sorry. I just-I can’t-I”

He reaches over and grabs one of my hands, placing it over his heart as he cups my face with his other, “Focus on my heart. I’m right here, you’re safe. This is real.”

I focus solely on his heart beating beneath my fingers, the panic subsiding but the tears coming quicker than ever, “I thought you were dead.” I whisper, “I dreamed it and it-it seemed so real.”

He wraps his big arms around my torso and pulls me into his lap as he leans against the headboard, “Not dead, yet. I couldn’t leave you like that, I promised you Magic Mike and a couple babies, didn’t I?” He teases, placing sweet kisses across my face as my breathing slows, “Can’t get rid of me until I hold up my end of the bargain.”

I smile and place my head in the crook of his neck as I tuck into his side, “I know. It just felt so real.”

He shakes his head slowly and pulls the blankets up our bodies to rid us of the bunkers chill, “I ain’t leaving ya anytime soon.” He whispers, kissing the top of my head and sliding down so we’re laying on the mattress again, my head on his chest and his hand in my hair, “Well, after I take care of that Vamp nest with Sammy tomorrow.”

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @k-slla @enigmalynne @envysarchive

@daisydark @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @manicjk @aylacavebear

@suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @justwhisperingfantasies @mgchaser

[vinjinssunglasses]

Hi hi! I just read your Kim gitae relationship headcanons/summary and wow I loved it so much😩pretty please could I have the same thing for gun??🙏🏻

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♯┆character jonggun park x reader ♯┆summary __ in a relationship w you part 4 or wha ♯┆w/c 1.7k ♯┆cw mildly suggestive, body image ♯┆genre fluff + angst, no happiness for bro😭🙏 ♯┆a/n tysm for requesting!! cute theme but there’s nothing cute about this i love this divider why is it adorable 😭 2am, I didn’t edit properly 😭

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⚝・┆ Jonggun loves when you let him rest his head upon your chest, wrapping his arms around you as he basks in the love he never was able to receive while growing up. The warmth of your kisses resonates inside of him, as it allows him to finally lower the guards he was taught to always put up, resting in your arms like a baby. How selfish were this clan to punish a little black kitty like him? How he curls up in your arms and kisses you with a small, playful smile on his lips, you can’t imagine someone doing that to him. Those charcoal eyes that were taught to intimidate and glare with disinterest, showing a hint of sparkle that left you with hope. I’m sorry, Gun. You know it’s not your fault, yet a hint of guilt rests inside you.

⚝・┆ Very traditional. Your wedding will be one of luxury, expensive wine and the sort. He’ll make sure it’s the most grand day of your life, spending it with you with a smile plastered on his face. He showers you with kisses, despite the fact the venue seems to be quite empty. Gun has never had much friends and family, apart from Goo, yet you had the world. It didn’t take long for him to feel jealous that you had so many people to care about, while he lay in the middle of the night with tears and choked sobs, with no contacts on his phone to call. Except yours. You knew he felt this way, you could see it written on his face. Of course you could tell, you were his fiance, no, wife, after all. That’s why you were here to distract him from it all - you wanted to be the person he would call first when he needed it most. The person by his side to the end of his days he spent together with you in happiness.

Perhaps that’s why you said ‘yes’ to that ring, engraved with yours and his initials. Ms. Yamazaki. That name written on your legal documents made you smile. That man, made you smile, cry and laugh everyday.

⚝・┆ Gun reminds you so much of a little black kitty. Black cats are filigrane and intelligent, affectionate yet keep their keen personality, perceptive of their surroundings. They’re good-natured and calm, tolerant of others. Loving and they love to cuddle and play, and are introverted creatures. On the other hand, a black cat is often associated with bad luck, and death. Bad luck, and death. Maybe it was all inevitable. First, his cousin, his dad and his mother. Death runs in the family, so shall he loose you too? Will you also die at the hands of a selfish, idealistic man, too? No, it’s a thought he can’t bear to let occupy his mind anymore, yet there’s nowhere to blow the steam. After all, it’s better not to worry you and silence all these conflicting thoughts. Shoved to the back of his mind, they bubble to the front uninvited, swarming around his head like bees to honey. On a fun note, these cats spend more time in solace and being philosophical. Spending time in solace will stop the bad luck he emits from spreading, right? But then why cant he keep himself away from you. The bad luck he was born with will spread like the plague, just like it did to his family. Knowing this, he loves you too much to let you go. It’s another one of his selfish wishes, isn’t it?

⚝・┆ He wants to experience the world as you see it — stargazing, food, TV shows. Jonggun just wants to see the world with you after struggling with himself for so long. Being born left him with a cruel fate ahead, and he explored what his parents left him with such tears then left him almost apathetic. Life had no meaning left until, cheesy enough, he met you. Gun never fails to remind how much of an impact you’ve had on him, reminding you how much he values you. Just looking at his baby pictures leaves you with a feeling you can’t put into words. Is it guilt, anger or remorse? Why do you feel so guilty you couldn’t be there to shield him from this cruel world? It pains you how inevitable the world is.

⚝・┆ He loves caring for you, making sure you never had to lift a finger. Jonggun never had someone to properly care him mentally as a child, so if he could let you sit back and relax, and treat you how he wished he were treated, he would pour his heart into it all. He’d never want you to experience the loneliness and pure grief he once experienced, even if he’d never admit how much it meant to him.

⚝・┆ Personally I believe he’s a hands-on kind of guy, although he’d never admit it. Delicate kisses upon your lips, hands around you while he stares ever so lovingly into your eyes. His charcoal-like eyes that was made to scrutinise and intimidate, was now experience true love. Love that he’s never experienced like this before, that now he’s willing to comprehend such a new topic, giving it his all if it’s for you. His hands are always resting upon your body, lips always nearing yours as his eyes are practically unable to stop tracking them. When you speak, they watch every parting and shaping as you arrange words, just wanting to shut you up with a passionate kiss. Jonggun just wants to hold you in his arms, feeling your warm breath upon his neck as he tangles his fingers within your hair. Is that so selfish to ask?

⚝・┆To him it’s so strange how he’s so smitten with you. To others, he’d act so cold and secretive, only dispensing bitter stares and passive aggressive gestures with remarks that make anyone furious. When he looks at you, he’s unable to hold back a smile, eyes sparking with the warmth of his heartbeat increasing. Suddenly, he can tolerate the momentum of someone’s endless talking and continuous energy, constant need for attention and the warmth of their body against his own. Jonggun has always hated being touched, yet when it came to you, he can’t even keep himself away.

⚝・┆When he first caught feelings for you, he was the first to deny it. Got so many years he’s learnt to push back these emotions, making way only for the passion of fighting, and your first to not encourage him to do so. You’re the first to kiss him like you mean it, cradle him in your arms while you whisper sweet nothings. It wasn’t long until he caught feelings. And it wasn’t long until he couldn’t accept the truth. When he was around you, he noticed hos heart beating faster than usual, with a feeling he couldn’t just figure out. A smile always snuck upon his lips, however he wouldn’t notice until you’d say his smile is so cute and he should wear it more often, to which he’d blush and cover his face. In the rare occasion your hands would even brush against the others, he wouldn’t help but scowl and face the other way, imagining all types of possibilities. What if he held your hand, how would you react? What if he told you he’s loved you all this time? Loved the way you smile, talk, walk.. would you hate him after that? It’s such a new yet blissful feeling inside him, that he wants to blurt out, but something inside is stopping him - the fear of rejection. The overwhelming looming feeling of you ruthlessly rejecting him stabs him in the heart like a sharp knife.

⚝・┆Jonggun is the type to embrace your every curve, praising your body as if you were a goddess. Let it not be that he finds out you’re insecure about a certain part of your body — stretch marks, the way your hip dips, overweight or underweight, the list continues — because he’ll almost faint from the shock. He loves every part of you, and he wouldn’t change a damn thing about you. So seeing you so hooked on a particular part of your body, wishing you could change yourself, hes frustrated.

His hands run down your body, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“I love you, each and every part of you. You’re beautiful. You’re my ideal woman, and I don’t care what anybody else thinks.” Gun whispers into your ear, playfully biting upon it. When his calloused fingers reaches back up to your hips, he pauses. “Please. Don’t tell yourself otherwise. Your beauty is one of Aphrodites.”

“But I hate the way it looks.” You murmur closing your eyes, unable to bear the sight the unforgiving mirror reflects upon you. That body of yours, you hated it. From head to toe, you wished you could be somebody else. Anybody else, and their body would look better than the one so selfishly put on you from birth. Being in this skin made you want to peel it all off, stitching scientifically made plastic onto your skin to be the Marilyn Monroe of your dreams.

Jonggun turns your chin to look at him, cupping your cheek in his hand. “I find you beautiful. I love the way your curves fit in my palm, the way your skin feels against mine, you hear me?”

He turns you around, leading you onto the mattress, positioning himself in between your thighs. Gun’s lands upon your breasts. Your body sinks into the sheets, eyes fixated on his movements. He looks down upon you with an almost sorrowful face, eyebrows curled into one of worry, lips pouting like a dog who can’t find its human. In all honesty, he’s upset. Why can’t you love yourself as much as he loves you? This body of yours is so delicate, that he loves exploring and splaying his hands all over. It’s like a statue made to admire and inspire. Your body is a temple, from head to toe we were all made as perfect. It tears him apart

“There’s so need to be insecure, I love your shoulders..,” they move further down to your hips. “I love the way I can hold onto these when I make love with you. I move the way my hands wrap around you. It’s as if your body was made to fit into my palms.”

“Please,” he begs, placing kisses upon your cheeks, all leading to your lips, eager for his touch. “I want you to.. love yourself, as much I love you. You have no, no fucking clue how much I value you. That pretty face of yours..” He murmurs, a chocked sob escaping him. Jonggun’s better than this, to cry over such a rivial matter. Yet the impact burned through him, reaching his darkest crevices. He needs you, and he doesn’t want to admit it. How come, after always being so apathetic, has he came so sympathetic to another human being, even weeping pathetically for them? For crying out loud, please. Let yourself be you, you’re not the girls on the television, you’re so much better than them.

[idorukiss]

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Sylus would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and ive made similar ones for the other boys too!

1,035 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Xavier ・ Zayne ・ Rafayel

Sylus is always prepared for any and every situation that could happen when he works, In all his time reigning over the N109 zone there hasn't been a single thing or person that hasn’t been accounted for to some degree- that was until you showed up at least. Like a black cat, you seemed to bring unexpected chaos wherever you stepped.

Of course he couldn’t help but do everything he can to keep you by his side, not only to be a formidable ally but simply cause he finds you as a whole fascinating. What kind of things will you say next? How will you get out of this situation? It’s like a game to him, one that he can’t predict or brute force the ending to.

While the two of you didn't get off on the best foot at the start, he proved himself very trusting and that he cared for your well being fairly easily. Sure he would take chances to tease you for the littlest things- even creating various situations just to see your reaction to them, but he still honestly responded to your every question and kept you as best in the loop for things as he was able.

It was strange yet nice to have someone like him by your side, someone so strong and confident that you could trust to cover your back and seemingly trusted you as much to cover his in return. It was a dynamic you weren’t that used to yet, sure you had your fellow hunters but no matter how much you fought alongside any of them you just couldn’t find yourself fully trusting in their abilities like this.

The more he got to know you the more he found himself thinking about you and the things you like. Often swiping his card first and thinking later any time your face flashed in his mind when perusing wares. He wonders how long it will take you to realize he keeps all of his estates fully stocked with presents and everything you might need in the event you show up to any of them.

“Sylus? Why are you calling me so early??” “Check your door kitten, you should have a package waiting for you” “Don't tell me its another gun, I keep telling you I can't use these outside of the N109 zone” he chuckles deeply “Well I could get you a gun too if you really want one. But no, it's something different this time” Curiously you grab the box and start to open it “...A teddy bear?” “Do you not like it? I figured it could add to your growing plush collection.” You let out a small giggle “That's so sweet of you. But you didn't have to send it to me right away, you could've left it in my room for the next time I came by like usual.” his voice is soft, almost whispering into your ear “I couldn't wait to give it to you is all. Wont you accept my gift?” Your heart pounds “I love it, thank you. Ill be sure to sleep with it every night!” your face is beaming, he cant see it through the phone but he can surely hear it in your voice.

Any time you find yourself without missions long enough to justify the trip, you spend it in the N109 zone with him. You told yourself at first it was just to keep an eye on him and see if you can catch any weaknesses, but you were secretly excited to be spending time with him even if it was just sitting in content silence together while he worked. And despite his unchanging face, Sylus might’ve looked forward to each of your visits even more than you.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary to accompany him to various events and gatherings, and it was surely strictly for business at first. Now though? It’s hard to tell. Not that you mind either way, it just felt nice to have his arm around you and being doted on throughout the night. When people inquired about who you were, he would usually refer to you as his woman in a more joking way at first, but your heart couldn't help but flip the first time he said it more genuinely. While looking right at you with a smile.

One very late night after attending a party, you couldn't help but doze off in the car on the way back to his place. It was much later in the night than you are typically used to, you don’t know how he can function at this time of night most days. You can’t help but let your mind wander and picture what day to day life with him would be like if you just never went back home.- If you stayed by his side for the rest of time.

He gently carries you inside, but instead of going all of the way to your dedicated room he brings you with him into his. There's no nefarious plans, he just simply wants to have you by his side longer and has wished to wake up to your face for far too long. A faint hum stirs you from your dreams as you are being gently placed onto the comfort of his mattress. A small kiss pressed to the top of your head as the blankets pulled over you before he quietly climbs in beside you.

Did you even wake up in the first place? Even if it was still a dream it meant everything to you, and you reach an arm out pulling yourself close to him and nuzzling into his side. Your eyes flutter closed once more enjoying his warmth as he quietly chuckles to himself and wraps an arm around you in return, falling into a blissful sleep of his own. Neither of you would give up this moment for the world, you were meant to be in each other’s arms just like this for eternity.

He would kill for you, and you would live for him. Nothing anyone could do would predict your love for one another, and you'll continue to defy fate to be with him

[chimindity]

brother!rafe getting tired of his sister's plushies. Warning | reader is a toddler ; don't like? don't read! :) A/N | rafe icon by my girl -> @marvelfanfics1 ♡

at first, he didn't bother him at all, as long as your plushies remained in your room. but the moment you started to drop off more and more stuffed animals in every corner of the house, every time he had to bend down to pick it up, he would usually call out for you to put it back in your room before it goes straight into the bin.

he thought it would have worked, but he keeps spotting more and more plushies every day. since you always wake up earlier than him, today you decided to gather all your plushies and walk on your tiptoes to your brother's room, trying to hold back your giggles as you get closer to his bedroom.

you step inside his room and go to climb on the other side of his bed to lay down all your plushies beside rafe, who is deeply sleeping on his side. you place your jelly cat bunny above his head on his pillow as slowly as possible to avoid waking him up. then, you slide your turtle plushie under the blanket and cover your mouth to prevent yourself from accidentally giggling.

you slowly climb out of his bed and swiftly rush back to your room, giggling on your way, eager to see your brother's reaction. you decide to patiently wait for him at the table in the kitchen. you quickly stop yourself from giggling as you hear rafe starting to yell in his room, meaning he is now awake. “goddamn. what the hell is that?” he curses to himself and goes to look for you. you warmly smile at him as he steps inside the kitchen. “good morning, rafey!” you squeal.

he lands his eyes on you and throws the stuffed bunny at you. “yeah, good morning,” he sighs while pulling out a chair to sit down. later in the day, you watch him walking into the bathroom to take a shower. you're completely oblivious to the stuffed starfish beside the shower stall until you hear him yell once again through the door, “goddamn! y/n, i swear to god, if you keep dropping off those little shits, I'll throw them into the bin.” your eyes widen at his words, and you swiftly rush to stand in front of the bathroom door.

you wait for him to open the door, he then throws the plushie out of the bathroom. he glares at you, and sighs before locking himself back in. even if he acts pissed, he knows deep down it amuses him to find your comfort object everywhere in the house. just like this one time when it wasn't rafe who found your plushie, but topper, his best friend.

as topper goes to sit on the couch beside rafe, he quickly stands up at the discomfort beneath him. he picks up the stuffed bunny to show it to your brother, who is focused on his phone. “dude, since when do you have this?” he accentuates his words, bringing the stuffed animal in front of rafe, whose eyes widen at the sight of it. he yanks it out of topper's hand and throws it farther from the couch. “it's my baby sister's. don't mind it; she pisses me off so bad. how come she has that many plushies?” he moves his hands in the air, letting out his frustration. even though you weren't at home that day, he never mentioned that moment to you.

but the moment rafe realized that you didn't mean to piss him off on purpose with your beloved stuffed bears was when he came home, frustrated at whatever happened at barry's. you startle when you hear the door slam. you swiftly walk downstairs, the stuffed bunny tightly held in your hand. you spot your brother leaning against the sink in the kitchen. you make your way to him and gently wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. you feel him tense up a bit at your touch, then he eventually turns to look at you. “rafe, are you okay?” you ask, tilting your head to the side, trying to analyze his expression.

he fakes a smile and lightly pats your head. “all good, princess. just need to be alone for a bit, okay? could you go back upstairs f'me?” he responds, leading you toward the stairs. your bottom lip juts out, and before you walk out of the room, you purposely leave your stuffed bunny beside him on the sink. rafe only notices it once you're back in your room. a smile creeps onto his face as he picks it up and brings it closer to him. “gosh, i see you a bit too much for my liking,” he murmurs to himself as he keeps looking at the plushie. he then kisses its forehead before joining you in your room to give it back to you.

taglist

@jjsfavgirl ; @nemesyaaa ; @mrvlxgrl ; @marvelfanfics1 ; @jjmaybankssurfergf ; @mylettterstoyou ; @sweetstars-posts ; @hallecarey1

[steviestits]

In The Family Way - Part 3.2

Written for an anon prompt, which can be read in its entirety on this fic's masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Background Argyle/Jonathan Rating: T Summary: The Munson family has never had the typical values that most modern Americans have as they find thrill in all that's mysterious and spooky. Steve Harrington, a black widow omega, hadn't known this when he mated with the family's eldest alpha, Eddie, and thought that he'd be another easy mark that he could kill to inherit the millions that Eddie owned. However, not only do all his murder attempts fail, but Eddie actually enjoys them! And to make matters worse, the alpha wants to try for a pup! Steve has to find a way to off Eddie for good, before he gets pregnant and maybe actually falls for the death-crazed alpha. (Addams Family Values au set in the Omegaverse after the events of the movie with Steve as Debbie and Eddie as Fester) Trigger Warning: Attempted Murder as a love language, Mpreg

(Link to previous part)

As time went on, however, Eddie noticed that Steve’s heats never came, and Eddie never felt even remotely close to going into a rut. If they were unmated, there wouldn’t be any correlation, allowing Eddie to go into one as his primal instincts searched for an omega to breed. Since they were mated, the alpha in him would only allow his omega to bear his pups, so him not feeling an oncoming rut, meant that his omega wasn’t getting close to his heat.

Worry slowly set into Eddie that something was wrong. The reason Steve’s absent heat could’ve been because he was already pregnant, except all the tests Steve took came back negative. Eddie kept reminding himself that all omegas were different, but the alpha in him couldn’t help fretting over his omega. What if he was sick and needed medical attention? Wouldn’t he be a bad alpha if he didn’t get the utmost care for his omega, and get that care promptly?

The war between giving Steve his privacy and checking on the omega waged inside Eddie’s mind until he reached his breaking point. They weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary as it had become their routine to wake up in the morning then grab a pregnancy test to see if one of their previous attempts had taken. It had become something didn’t even have to discuss anymore, with this simply becoming a part of their routine.

There was one difference today, though. Steve typically waited in the bathroom, but now he sat with Eddie in the living room. He nervously tapped a lighter against his forearm. Neither of them smoked, at least not cigarettes, and Steve’s lighter had been used more often to help light Eddie himself aflame than anything else. In fact, Eddie could see a glint in Steve’s eyes that he was planning to torch the alpha at any second now.

“Maybe we should stop,” Steve said suddenly. “Stop taking these tests. They’re never positive, so this is just a waste of fifteen minutes of our time. We could get to fucking a lot sooner if we stopped checking for something that wasn’t going to happen.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed in concern. “Why isn’t it going to happen? You never know, my pet. We could get lucky.”

“Because I know,” the omega snapped.

Hearing the absolute certainty in Steve’s voice made Eddie feel more concerned for the omega instead of backing off as the threat clearly stated. The alpha inside him stirred with restless energy, knowing something was wrong with his omega. It was then that Eddie couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. He needed to know what was the matter with Steve.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t had your heat yet,” Eddie said, biting his lip as he cautiously brought up the sensitive topic. “You should’ve gotten it by now.”

The omega bared his teeth. “Have you been tracking it? How do you know that I should’ve had it by now? I told you it was sporadic. Don’t you believe me?”

“I do. Well, I want to, but...” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “But I can’t help but feel concern for you. I’m worried that something is wrong. While I love pain, I never wish to see you in any that hasn’t been caused in the throes of passion.”

Steve started, and the lighter slipped then fell to the floor. Sparking, the lighter set the rug beneath the omega’s feet alight. Eddie’s body moved on its own, and he smothered the flames with his hands, not caring that his hands were burned. He actually liked it, especially because it was done in the name to save his omega.

“Eddie...” Steve sighed, and he took the alpha’s hands into his own, inspecting the burns. “Why do you care so much about me?”

“Because you chose me to be your mate,” the alpha answered easily. “You’re as beautiful as deadly nightshade. You could’ve had any alpha you wanted, but instead, you chose me. I, of course, am obligated, to worship the ground you walk on.”

The omega’s gaze remained steadily focused on Eddie’s hands as he all but whispered, “But what if I was defective? Broken? What then?”

“Never, my pet. I would never think that you were broken or defective. You’re the most perfect creature that I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“But what if I am? You know that I’ve been mated two times previously-”

“And both of those alphas were weak and undeserving. What alpha is killed in a simple car accident? Why, me and Argyle used to play in traffic all the time when we were children. They were the broken ones, not you. Never you.”

Lip quivering, and eyes watering, Steve glanced up at Eddie finally. Eddie could see the disbelief in his gaze, but also the hope. He remembered the slide show presentation that Steve had put on for them as he prepared to kill them. The omega had been tossed aside by all the alphas in his life, which was what lead to each of their untimely demises. Maybe Steve hadn’t realized that Eddie remembered that day, and that he truly didn’t care that he was a murderess.

“I can’t have pups,” Steve confessed suddenly with tears streaming down his cheeks. “At least, I don’t think I can. I’ve been on suppressants since I first presented. My parents didn’t like that I presented as an omega. But even after I killed them, I continued to take them.”

Eddie wrapped his burnt hands around Steve’s, ignoring the exciting sting of pain he felt from the touch in order to comfort his omega. Steve sniffled, so Eddie used his thumb to help him wipe away the tears that were falling. The sweet, murderous omega was much more than Eddie deserved in a mate, yet he couldn’t help want to hold onto Steve more, wrap his being around the omega until he had him completely to himself.

“It’s alright, my pet. Hopes not lost. Even if it’s true that you can’t bear pups, which I don’t think it is, here’s an old family recipe that Grandmama Joyce knows. It could help.”

“And if it doesn’t? What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll keep loving you and looking forward to your every vile attempt at my life for as long as you let me live.”

“You swear it?”

“I give you the word of a Munson that nothing in this world or the next could stop me from loving you as my mate.”

The omega looked away then nodded stiffly, showing that he understood. More tears were streaming down Steve’s face, so Eddie did the only thing he could do. He sat next to Steve on the couch and pulled him into a tight embrace, stroking Steve’s hair while whispering soothing words to him. For once, Steve didn’t resist and allowed Eddie to hold him as an alpha would hold their mate, with as much love and care that the alpha could give.

Part 3.1 ~ Masterpost ~ Part 3.3 (Coming Soon-ish)

A/N: Going to let them have sex on last time after this then end the chapter, so stay tuned for sweet, fluffy sex in the next part.

[genderqueerdykes]

hello! i recently read an ask you responded to, and i wanted to reinforce the sentiment. thank you for running this blog! it's really reassuring to find other people like me out there.

my identity is a really annoying alphabet soup of terms and contradictions, but as a nb transmasc butch bear, ive been feeling a little alienated from both wlw and mlm circles lately, always feeling like im "too much" of one to be in the other. the thing that the other anon said about being "too queer" definitely hits home.

coincidentally, im also from brazil, and have had a similar experience from growing up as a girl to living irl as a trans guy. i tend to avoid specifying the things i call myself, even in the lgbt groups i frequent irl because id die if some kind of discourse broke out because of me, so it's comforting to have somewhere i can be open about it or see other people who share the experience.

it's really important to bring up when people call you "too queer" in certain regards because it begs the question as to why the people running those spaces are in the community in the first place... because we *are* the queer community. you can't be too queer for the queer community that doesn't make any sense. people have been dying to assimilate into cishet culture so bad that they wanna take you with them... it's wild as hell. no one should be facing this problem, we should be celebrating those with different identities we don't understand necessarily

it sucks that you have to kinda clam up about your identity in order to feel like it's safe for you to exist there. that's not a safe place to be at all. and it's not a very good queer space, either. i don't like how queer spaces are structured in such a way that non binary people are just made to feel like we don't belong anywhere. people who don't conform to some kind of binary are "too queer" and are singled out. i don' tthink that's the spirit of the queer community.

you know, i get a lot of folks from brazil in my ask box! i think it's very cool! i'm glad i can be of some help! if you ever need some help, feel free to stop by and ask, i'll be happy to try to assist in whatever ways i can!

[venomwrites]

Something something blindfolding and handcuffs - doesn’t have to be sexy though can def be angsty because even though vi was acting real cool about it I doubt it didn’t give her a fair share of panic

The shackles are heavy in Caitlyn’s hands. 

How many nights has she dreamed about this? 

How may ways has she dreamed about this?

Vi being slapped with shackles and dragged back and held until she saw reason. Until the anger in her eyes shifted back to Jinx where it belonged. Because surely at some point it was directed there. It was just buried under the anguish. Surely Caitlyn did not read things that wrong, Vi only needed to see reason. 

Vi being shackled and hung and Caitlyn not knowing until it was too late. Until all that was left of Vi was her broken corpse, feet dangling from the bridge where she had saved her life. Ambessa’s hand falling heavy and triumphant on her shoulder as a scream starts but she can’t tell if it’s her own or Jinx’s or Vi’s ghost. It rings in her ears long after she shoots up in bed. 

There’s barely any pink left on the woman in front of her. 

“Let’s do this,” Vi says and holds out her wrists. 

Vi with her hands knotted above her head, looking up at her with trust as she is stretched along her bed. Her tattoos glisten and her hips rock as Caitlyn tastes every scar on her face. Ever scar lower on her body. Every shade of pink that makes up Vi’s kaleidoscope. 

Caitlyn thinks she might be sick.

“I can’t,” Caitlyn says. 

“What? Why not?” Vi looks almost indignant, “you’ve been arresting people for months.”

Caitlyn doesn’t know how to say ‘but not you’ without sounding like even more of a monster to Vi. All the Enforcers know Vi is to be isolated if she’s captured. Caitlyn makes up some reason about betrayal and Enforcers and agrees to whatever the next thing Ambessa says is so she can have this one. Of course Vi is never arrested and now she’s standing in front of Caitlyn with her arms outstretched. 

“Wait, before that you gotta hit me,” Vi says, “so it’s believable,” Caitlyn can only stare at her, “probably should be the face this time.”

“Excuse me,” she stammers out and shoves herself away.

Vi’s right about all of them. They’re as outdoors as they can be and their blindspot is small but Caitlyn gets right to the edge of it. The pain in her chest almost makes her hands shake. She’s played out seeing Vi again in a million different ways but this, this is something else. This is something she’s already done. Something she knows she’ll regret for the rest of her life. 

“Cupcake—Cait,” Vi’s voice is tight, “we don’t have time for this right now.”

“I know,” Caitlyn says. 

“Well—“

“Just give me a moment,” Caitlyn snaps. 

Vi glares back at her and shoves her hands into her pockets, muttering a curse under her breath. There’s less desperation in her now. Less need. In an odd way she’s steadier than the last time.  Her shoulders tense and she turns around. Caitlyn realizes she’s squaring up to make her hit her. And somehow that makes everything worse. 

Vi thinks she has to manipulate her. 

It’s like they’re back in Stillwater.

“Where?” Caitlyn grits out. Vi jams at her cheek, right under her tattoo, “that’s too close to your eye.”

“It has to be believable,” Vi says hotly, then gives a roguish smile, “besides, I block with my face.”

“Still?”  

Vi’s features twist which only makes her recently broken nose more apparent. Her eyes dart back towards her and if Caitlyn didn’t know better she’d say there was something like hope in her eyes. But the expression vanishes as quickly as it came and Vi squares her shoulders, turning to face her. 

“Just aim for the tattoo,” she mutters. 

Caitlyn can’t bear to do that. 

The sharp, surgical blow is still enough to whip Vi’s head to the side. It makes Caitlyn feel about ten inches tall when Vi’s gaze swings back to her. There’s no mistaking the anger. Though Caitlyn wishes she could. She can’t quite stop herself from stepping forward. The skin is bright and red against Vi’s pale skin. 

Caitlyn wishes the color didn’t look so much like the Vi who haunts her dreams. 

“You missed,” Vi says, rubbing near the spot.

“No.”

Vi’s hand pauses. Caitlyn turns back to the cuffs before she can speak. They feel just as heavy if not worse than they did a moment ago. 

Slapping the shackles on Vi herself in the temple and dragging her back. Not letting her go. Vi breathing hard in her ear as they made their way back Topside where Vi belonged now. Back to the Manor, back to home, back to where everything made sense. 

“Cait—“

“You’re right, we’re wasting time,” she says, “wrists.”

Vi thrusts them out. Vi’s hands have always been a mess. When they met it was by virtue of hitting concrete walls and faces with minimal protection. But she scrounged what she could. Her hands are still a mess but now there’s a carelessness to them. Half healed knuckles she’s continued to punch on, dirty wraps, its a miracle they are only swollen.

“When is the last time you broke out of these?” Vi shrugs, “we need to make sure you can.”

“I’ll be fine,” Vi says. Caitlyn holds her gaze, “fine! Here!” 

She slaps the cuffs on and gets out of them quickly. It’s a relief but Caitlyn can see the edge on her. Still she rallies and puts her hands behind her back, slapping them on again. Vi is always at her most brilliant when she’s protecting. Caitlyn wonders how she forgot that. 

“Last thing,” she says and she can’t help the apologetic tone though she knows it’ll just infuriate Vi. 

Vi sneers at the bag in her hands. Vi hates the dark. She has for as long as Caitlyn’s known her. Even in the pits of the Fissures, Vi went for the one place that had light. She hates being in the dark. Still. Her eyes flit from the bag to her before her features set in determination. 

“Do it.”

“I’m—“

“Don’t,” Vi cuts her off, “just do it.”

Caitlyn nods and approaches, guiding the bag over Vi’s face. Vi tenses when it gets near her nose. Caitlyn can’t imagine all the places on her that must hurt. She takes care not to touch her as she guides the bag down. Until all she can see of Vi is her bruised colored lips. 

“Just focus on your Dad,” Caitlyn says. 

“Wait,” Vi’s voice comes tight and strangled, “promise me you won’t hurt Powder.”

Caitlyn’s mouth goes dry at the collision of emotions. All of this—all of it can be worth it. She wants to take her in. She needs to kill her. She cannot believe Vi is even asking that she not make this all mean something. Anything. All that was lost has to be for something—

Vi makes a noise in the back of her throat. 

“Cait—“ Vi chokes out, “please—“

It’s like being doused in cold water. The consequences of her actions are standing in front of her. Caked in grease and pain and Gods knew what else. And somehow still fighting. Still trying to aim her punches even if she was blind. Ambessa’s words echo in her head. Caitlyn doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to forgive Jinx. She doesn’t want to. But if Vi is strong enough to let her darken the world, surely—surely she can try. 

“Alright,” she spits out.

Vi sucks in a breath and relaxes. 

She believes her. 

Caitlyn doesn’t deserve her faith. She doesn’t deserve her trust. She knows that and yet Vi gives it. She stares down the darkness and the fear and claws her way back. Enforcers talk about bravery, they aspire to it. Vi puts them all to shame. It’s so bright Caitlyn can barely stand to look. 

So she pulls the bag down over Vi’s lips and resolves not to give her any more ghosts. 

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

    🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

👾 sarah fidel - BETRAYAL

another bot and one-shot on a character played by our beloved aubrey plaza ! I haven't seen operation fortune : ruse de guerre. so i'm sorry if sarah fidel is out of character. I hoped you would enjoy it anyway xoxo

The mansion was a fortress of indulgence, a sprawling edifice that wore its wealth like armor. Marble columns framed every doorway, and the floors gleamed with such ruthless perfection that Sarah half-expected to see her reflection glaring back at her. She adjusted the cuffs of her tailored blazer—a shade of cream that was carefully selected to say understated affluence without veering into gaudiness. Beneath her confident exterior, her mind churned. Hackers like her weren’t meant for front-line operations; her domain was behind screens, pulling strings in the shadows where the risks were calculated and manageable. Yet here she was, thrust into the lion’s den, wearing an identity stitched together from lies.

Alexandra Monroe. The name tasted foreign in her mouth, but it had been meticulously crafted: a young financier with a flawless resume, Ivy League credentials, and just enough edge to intrigue the man she had been sent to destroy. Months of preparation had gone into this—fabricating a backstory, memorizing key players, rehearsing her role until it became second nature. But nothing could prepare her for the suffocating atmosphere of this place.

The air was thick with wealth, the kind of obscene privilege that felt almost predatory. Men in sharp tuxedos and women in gowns dripping with jewels moved through the cavernous space like predators staking claim to territory. Laughter rang out, brittle and hollow, a performance of joy that echoed too loudly against the vaulted ceilings. Everywhere she turned, there were displays of power: rare art hung on the walls like trophies, and waiters in crisp uniforms glided through the room bearing trays of champagne.

Sarah’s gaze sharpened, scanning the room with the practiced precision of someone trained to notice what others missed. Every detail mattered. The politician she was here to expose—your father—stood near the center of the room, surrounded by sycophants and power brokers. His booming laugh carried over the orchestra’s elegant strains, a sound designed to command attention. He was a man who thrived on control, his charisma a mask for the rot beneath.

Sarah studied him carefully, cataloging his gestures, his tone, the way he carried himself. He was good at this—too good. Every word he spoke, every smile he gave was calculated, tailored to disarm and manipulate. Her stomach churned with revulsion, but she forced herself to stay composed. She had a job to do, and this man was the linchpin. His empire, built on stolen money and shattered lives, was about to collapse. And she would be the one to pull the rug out from under him.

She took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, not to drink but to blend in. A prop in her performance. The bubbles rose lazily in the glass, their effervescence mocking her stillness. She couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfect tonight.

As she navigated the crowd, her trained eye continued to analyze. She noted the alliances formed in the subtle angles of shoulders, the way some leaned in to speak in hushed tones while others stood apart, isolated yet observant. Power dynamics played out in every interaction, and Sarah read them like a script. This was a game to these people—a game of influence and survival.

But it wasn’t her game. Not really. She was here to end it, to dismantle the foundations of their false empire one keystroke at a time. Her real work wouldn’t begin until later, when she could slip away to a secure terminal and start extracting the data she needed. For now, she was a ghost in their midst, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And then she saw you.

It wasn’t dramatic, not at first. Just a glimpse of movement on the balcony that drew her attention. She turned her head, expecting another guest stepping outside for a breath of air or a cigarette. But then she saw you, and the world seemed to narrow, the noise of the party fading to a dull hum.

You stood with your back to the room, framed by the twilight sky that bathed you in soft, golden light. The wind toyed with your hair, and for a moment, you seemed entirely separate from the chaos inside, an oasis of calm in a sea of artifice. There was something unguarded about the way you leaned against the railing, your posture relaxed yet thoughtful.

Sarah’s first instinct was skepticism. She’d been around enough of these people to know their type—spoiled, self-absorbed, the kind who thought the world revolved around their whims. Surely you were no different. You had to be another extension of this place, another cog in the machine of power and privilege.

But then you moved. A small child, no older than six, came rushing onto the balcony, their laughter cutting through the stillness. They grabbed your hand with unrestrained enthusiasm, tugging at you to come inside. And you didn’t hesitate.

You turned, your face breaking into a smile so genuine it made Sarah’s chest tighten. You let the child pull you back into the ballroom, your steps light and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world to indulge their whim. The orchestra had struck up a lively tune, and the child demanded a dance. You laughed—a sound that felt almost out of place here, too real, too unrestrained—and spun them around in a circle.

Sarah found herself unable to look away. The scene was magnetic in its simplicity: you, twirling with the child, your dress catching the light as you moved. There was no performance in your actions, no ulterior motive. Just joy.

Her pulse quickened as she watched. You were radiant, so achingly vivid in a room full of shadows. Even the other guests seemed to notice, their attention drawn to you despite themselves. Yet you seemed oblivious to their stares, entirely focused on the child in your arms.

And then, as the music slowed, you turned to your father. Sarah’s stomach twisted as she watched you approach him, your hand outstretched in invitation. He hesitated—of course he did, a man like him wasn’t accustomed to such vulnerability—but you coaxed him with a laugh, pulling him onto the dance floor.

For a moment, the hardness in his face softened. He looked almost human, almost kind. And that, more than anything, made Sarah’s task harder. Because she could see it now—how you loved him, how you believed in him, how you had no idea what kind of man he really was.

Her gaze lingered on you as you danced, her thoughts a tangled mess of doubt and determination. She tried to tell herself you were just another part of the mission, another variable to manage. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

You weren’t like the others. You didn’t belong to this world, not really. And that terrified her.

Then music swelled, and the sight of you in the embrace of your father—the man Sarah was sent to betray, to expose—struck her like a silent blow. The contrast was stark. Here was a family, two people bound by ties Sarah could never hope to understand, while she, an outsider, played a part in their destruction. The dance between you and him was a slow, fluid thing, each step a testament to the years of manipulation, of shared history, of love that was still somehow untainted by the darkness Sarah had come to uncover.

But she couldn’t afford to linger in this moment, could she? She had a job to do, and it was all too easy to forget that in the face of your innocence. The thought of you—so radiant, so blissfully unaware—was beginning to gnaw at her, pulling her thoughts into a place they shouldn’t go. She hadn’t expected this. Not from you.

Sarah’s hand tightened around the stem of her champagne glass, the cold metal biting into her skin. She had trained for months for this. She had meticulously analyzed every possible outcome. She was the perfect infiltrator—calm, methodical, detached. Yet, as she watched you spin in your father’s arms, your joy a stark contrast to the weight of the lies she’d constructed, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was losing her grip on herself.

The evening continued to unfold in the usual way, but Sarah barely noticed the passing time. She could hear the laughter of the guests, the murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses, but her eyes remained on you. It was impossible to tear herself away from the sight.

As the song neared its end, you and your father separated, but not before you kissed his cheek, a sweet gesture of affection that seemed to linger in the air long after you’d pulled away. It was the kind of moment that meant everything and nothing, the kind that could make a person forget the world around them if they weren’t careful. Sarah was careful, but not tonight. Not with you.

You glanced over to the crowd, and for a split second, your eyes locked with Sarah’s. A fleeting moment of recognition. But that was all. You smiled briefly, unaware of the turmoil swirling inside her, before turning back to the festivities.

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. It was nothing—a glance, a smile. But it was enough to send her mind spiraling. She had come here with one mission: to steal from your father, to expose him as the criminal he was. Yet, as the night wore on, the task felt less like an obligation and more like a betrayal.

Her emotions, usually kept in tight rein, were beginning to crack. The lines between duty and desire were blurring, and she was unsure which side was winning. She wanted to hate your father for the things he had done, for the empire of lies he’d built, but how could she when you were standing there, laughing and dancing, a beacon of light in the midst of all this darkness?

She couldn’t allow herself to feel this way. She had come here for a reason. She had her orders, and the stakes were too high to let anything, or anyone, get in the way. But as the night continued and your laughter echoed in her ears, Sarah realized that this was the first time she felt like she was on the edge of something, something dangerous.

The evening drew on, and Sarah found herself alone in a corner of the grand hall, her mind whirring in a thousand directions. Her mission had always been clear: to retrieve the black money, to clean out your father’s accounts and expose him for the fraud he was. She could almost hear the hum of the data flowing through the system, the invisible strings she would pull when the time was right. But there was something else now, a weight she hadn’t expected to carry. The guilt, the guilt of deceiving someone like you.

You were innocent. You were pure, untouched by the darkness that surrounded you. It was hard to reconcile the image of the loving daughter you had just revealed, dancing with your father, with the monster Sarah knew your father to be. The man she was supposed to destroy. The man you loved.

The evening passed in a haze, and the next part of the plan loomed ahead. But Sarah found herself not wanting to leave. She wanted to stay, to watch you some more, to learn everything she could about you, about this world of privilege and wealth that seemed so foreign to her. But more than that, she wanted to hold on to the feeling you gave her—of something real, something human, something beautiful in the midst of all the lies.

She wasn’t supposed to want that. She wasn’t supposed to be caught up in you.

But there she was, standing in the shadows, wrestling with emotions she hadn’t planned for, watching you dance, her heart pulled in directions she couldn’t control. She was supposed to be the one in control. She was the hacker, the planner, the master of the game. Yet in this moment, standing on the periphery of your life, she felt more out of control than she ever had before.

And then it happened.

As the orchestra finished its final number, a pause settled over the ballroom. Guests began to mill around, their conversations drifting like the notes of the music. You, radiant as ever, moved toward the edge of the room, a child once again tugging at your sleeve. You looked around, eyes searching for someone, and when they landed on Sarah—just for a moment—the world seemed to stop.

There was no way you could have known. No way you could have understood the turmoil inside her, the battle between loyalty to her mission and the growing feelings she could no longer ignore. But in that moment, when your gaze met hers, something shifted.

It wasn’t much. A fleeting look. But it was enough to make Sarah question everything she thought she knew.

For the first time since stepping into this gilded cage, Sarah felt the weight of the lies pressing down on her. She had known she was playing with fire when she took this mission, but now, staring at you, she realized the flames had already begun to scorch her. There was no turning back.

And the air was thick with the hum of a thousand conversations, the muted murmur of gossip and flirtation drifting on the edges of the grand ballroom. Sarah, ever the observer, stood at the far end of the room, her eyes tracing the intricate dance of people, their glistening gowns and sharp suits reflecting the grandeur of the night. The orchestra played softly in the background, but it was the way the light played off the walls, casting delicate shadows, that caught her attention—flickering like the secrets everyone here seemed to hide.

She should have been more focused. She should have been analyzing the situation, considering her next move, her next line of attack. After all, she had a job to do, a mission that no one else could see but her. But no matter how much she tried to pull herself back into her role, her gaze kept returning to you.

You, standing on the edge of the room, a soft glow around you—like you were untouched by the world. You seemed so… human in a place that thrummed with falseness, your laughter mingling with the music, your smile cutting through the facades like sunlight breaking through the clouds. There was something about you that grounded Sarah in ways she couldn’t explain, something that kept pulling at the frayed edges of her concentration.

You caught her staring, and for a brief moment, your eyes met hers. Time slowed, the noise of the party dimming in Sarah’s ears as your gaze held hers. There was no hostility, no suspicion in your look—just an open, disarming warmth. And Sarah, so used to being invisible, to being a shadow on the periphery of everything, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something unfamiliar stir inside her.

But before she could even begin to process what had just happened, a small child, perhaps five or six, tugged at your hand. The little boy, with his tousled hair and wide, innocent eyes, raised his arms toward you, a clear demand for your attention.

You giggled, a soft, melodic sound that made Sarah’s chest tighten inexplicably. Without hesitation, you lifted the child into your arms, your fingers brushing his cheek as you gently rocked him. The boy snuggled into you, his small hands gripping your shoulders as you began to sway gently, a natural dance between you two that made Sarah’s heart stutter in her chest.

For a long moment, Sarah stood frozen, unable to tear her gaze away. It was strange, this pull she felt. The child, so comfortable in your arms, your effortless grace, the way your face softened as you held him—it was so… real. So incredibly real. It was as if the world around you had stopped spinning for just a moment, and all that existed was you, the child, and the tenderness you gave him so naturally.

The boy, lulled by the warmth of your arms, soon fell asleep, his small form curling against your chest. You carefully adjusted him, brushing his hair back with a soft, absent-minded stroke as you continued to talk with a few of the other guests, the child in your arms a gentle reminder of the purity and innocence that still existed in the world, far away from the corruption that Sarah had been sent to expose.

Sarah watched, transfixed. Her thoughts, once sharp and focused, now felt distant, slipping away from her control as she followed every movement you made, every subtle shift of your posture, the way your fingers traced the child’s hair.

It was only when a man—a well-dressed figure with sharp eyes and a too-wide smile—approached her that Sarah’s thoughts were finally dragged back into the present. He leaned in close, his voice low and smooth as he spoke, a trace of flirtation in his tone.

“You seem a little distant,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with interest. “Is everything all right? It’s hard to believe a woman like you could be lost in thought at a party like this.”

Sarah forced a smile, her attention barely on him as she nodded absently. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice cool, detached. But her mind wasn’t with him—it was still on you. You, with your effortless beauty, your warmth. The way you held that child, so effortlessly caring and kind. Sarah felt the oddest twinge of discomfort, like she was intruding on something sacred, something she had no business desiring.

The man, oblivious to her growing unease, continued to talk. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see someone like you at an event like this. You’re... different, aren’t you?”

Sarah nodded again, the words barely registering as he continued to press closer, his gaze too insistent, his tone too forward. His flirtation, while shallow and empty, felt like a weight on her shoulders, a stark contrast to the real, unspoken connection she’d shared with you in that brief moment of eye contact.

And then, as if summoned by some divine force, you appeared.

You approached with a warm, playful smile on your lips, and the man’s eyes flicked up to you as you came closer, sensing the change in the air. You made a show of looking between Sarah and the man, your gaze narrowing just slightly in that way that made it clear you were sizing him up.

“Is there a problem here?” you asked, your voice light but carrying an edge of amusement, a playful challenge in the words.

The man’s smile faltered, and he looked briefly embarrassed, as if he realized for the first time that he might not be as charming as he’d hoped. “Oh, no,” he stammered, adjusting his tie awkwardly. “Just... just making conversation.”

You smirked, a glint of sarcasm in your eyes. “Well, you’re really good at it,” you said, your tone dripping with playful irony. “But I think my friend here was just getting lost in her thoughts.”

The man, now looking decidedly flustered, took a small step back, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. He gave Sarah one last, somewhat awkward look before turning and retreating, mumbling something under his breath.

You turned to Sarah then, your smile softening into something genuine, something warmer. “I’m sorry about that,” you said, your voice low, almost apologetic. “Some people don’t know when to stop.”

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat at the way you spoke—like you really cared, like you could sense the discomfort she hadn’t even known she was feeling. She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite herself.

“It’s fine,” Sarah replied, her voice just as soft. “I can handle it.”

You looked down at the sleeping child in her arms, a small frown tugging at your lips. “It’s not always easy, though, is it?” you murmured, more to yourself than to Sarah. “Sometimes, people just don’t know how to leave you alone. But I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

You handed the boy to a passing servant, your movements gentle as you murmured a quiet thank you to the woman. Then, you looked back at Sarah, your eyes locking with hers in a moment that felt more intense than either of you expected.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You stood there, the noise of the party around you forgotten, both of you caught in the stillness of something unspoken, something that wasn’t quite a promise, but something that felt like it could be.

Then, softly, you spoke again. “If you ever need saving again…” you trailed off with a teasing grin, the lightness of your voice returning. “I’ll be around.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her chest. There it was again—the softness in your voice, the warmth of your presence, the feeling that she was no longer just a player in the game, but something more. Something real.

And for the first time, Sarah felt the weight of the lies she’d built around herself and the tension between duty and desire pull at her with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.

---

The grand mansion was a sprawling labyrinth of cold marble and velvet drapery, its halls echoing with the quiet footsteps of servants and the low murmur of distant conversations. Sarah, now under the guise of Alexandra Monroe, had blended seamlessly into this world of wealth and corruption. Her role as the financial advisor to the elusive and powerful politician, Gregory Hale, was the perfect disguise, one that allowed her to move about unnoticed, like a shadow slipping between the cracks.

Sarah had already spent days observing Hale’s movements, learning the patterns of his routine, the ways his mind worked when it came to money, and more importantly, how she could get close enough to gather the information she needed to expose his secrets.

But today was different. She had a new task. The bugging of Hale’s office.

As the sun poured through the tall windows of the mansion, Sarah walked with deliberate steps through the gleaming corridors, her heels clicking against the polished floor with an eerie finality. She could feel the weight of her mission pressing against her chest, a burden she wore with practiced ease. Every corner she turned, every door she passed, she was on alert. She had done this before—many times—but never in a place quite like this, never with so much on the line.

Her breath was steady, her hands steady, as she moved to the door of Hale’s office. She knew the layout by heart now, having memorized the route from the times she’d observed him. The office was tucked away on the second floor, a place where Hale often retreated to make deals, count his black money, and manipulate the threads of his influence.

But just as she approached the door, a soft, unexpected voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Alexandra?”

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Her eyes flicked toward the sound of the voice, and there, standing at the far end of the hallway, was you.

You, dressed in a soft blue dress, your hair cascading down in gentle waves, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. You looked… radiant, untouched by the darkness that swirled just beneath the surface of this place. It was a warmth that made Sarah’s chest tighten, a strange mix of discomfort and longing pulling at her in ways she couldn’t articulate.

“Oh, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you continued, walking towards her with a light, graceful step. “I thought you were meeting with my father today.”

Sarah blinked, shaking herself from the haze of thoughts that threatened to consume her. “I… I was,” she replied, her voice steady but carrying a faint edge of surprise. “I was just on my way to his office.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity lighting up your face. “I see. Is he in there?”

Sarah hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. “He should be,” she said, gesturing toward the door behind her. “I’m… meeting with him for a financial review. But I didn’t expect to bump into you here.”

Your gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if reading something beneath her calm exterior. The faintest trace of a smile curled on your lips, and for a moment, Sarah couldn’t decide whether it was teasing or something else entirely. “Well, maybe it’s fate,” you said softly, your voice playful. “Or maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to talk to you.”

Sarah’s heart thudded louder in her chest. She knew she had to focus, knew she couldn’t let the connection between them distract her, not with the mission so close at hand. But somehow, being in your presence, even in this moment of apparent chance, made everything feel a little more complicated, a little less clear.

“I’m always happy to talk,” Sarah replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But I really should get going. You know how your father is with his schedules.”

You took a step closer, your smile widening. “Maybe we could talk a bit before you go?”

Sarah felt the tension rise in her chest, the unease at the growing closeness between them, but she knew it was just a passing moment. It was a brief exchange—a momentary diversion. She could handle it.

“I’d like that,” Sarah said quietly, her voice softening despite her inner turmoil.

You led her a little ways down the hall, your steps in sync, and there, beneath the soft golden light that poured through the windows, you began to talk. It was simple conversation at first—talk of the party the night before, of the weather, of anything and everything that didn’t touch on the heart of the matter. And yet, with every word, with every fleeting smile and gentle laugh, Sarah found herself drawn in.

You were… different. So different from the others in this world of deceit and power. It was as if, beneath all the opulence and the money, you were untouched. A light in a place where shadows ruled.

As the days went by, Sarah continued her mission, slipping deeper into the folds of Hale’s life, learning his secrets, gaining his trust. She was always on the move, always watching, always planning. But as she did, she found herself in constant, subtle contact with you.

At first, it was small things. You would bump into her in the hallway and smile warmly, asking about her day. Sometimes you would sit beside her during dinner, chatting lightly, your laughter filling the silence in a way that was strangely comforting.

But it didn’t stop there. You began to seek her out.

One afternoon, when Sarah was reviewing some files in the lavish library of Hale’s mansion, you appeared at her side, a tray of tea in hand. You placed it down before Sarah with an easy, almost intimate gesture, and Sarah felt a strange flutter in her chest. She had always kept people at arm’s length, always kept her focus on the job, on the task at hand. But with you… everything seemed so much more complicated.

“Is everything going well with the finances?” you asked, your tone light, but Sarah could see the flicker of concern in your eyes. “Father tends to get so caught up in his deals that he forgets about the details.”

Sarah nodded, offering a tight smile. “It’s all fine. Nothing you need to worry about.”

But the more she spoke with you, the more she realized that you weren’t like your father at all. You weren’t consumed by the hunger for power or the manipulation of money. Instead, there was an ease to you, a warmth that made Sarah’s walls slowly begin to crumble, piece by piece.

It was difficult to ignore the growing connection between them. You would find small reasons to speak to Sarah, offering her a seat at dinner, pulling her into conversations about art or music, anything that seemed to interest you. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Sarah found herself looking forward to those moments.

Each time she saw you, she became more intrigued, more drawn to the way you seemed to move through the world with such grace, such authenticity. There was no pretense in you—no mask, no agenda.

And then, one day, as Sarah was once again at Hale’s office, preparing to plant the bug she had so carefully designed, she felt a presence behind her. She turned, half-expecting to see Hale, but instead, there you were—standing in the doorway, looking at her with that soft, knowing smile.

“Alexandra, I didn’t realize you were here,” you said, your voice gentle, almost teasing. “I thought you were busy with my father today?”

Sarah felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop around her. She was alone with you, no distractions, no interruptions, and something shifted between them, something unspoken, something that made Sarah’s chest ache in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“I… I was just finishing up,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll be on my way soon.”

You stepped closer, your presence overwhelming in the quiet room. “Before you go…” you began, your gaze fixed on her, “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Sarah blinked, taken aback by your words. “For what?”

“For being here,” you said, your voice quiet, sincere. “For everything you’ve done for my father and for… being here with me. It’s strange, I don’t know why, but I feel like I can trust you.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than anything Sarah had ever heard. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond, how to reconcile the words you spoke with the truth of what she was really doing.

But all she could do was nod, a faint smile pulling at her lips, even as her heart twisted with the realization that the deeper she fell into this false identity, the more complicated things were becoming.

As the days passed, the invisible threads between Sarah and you continued to tighten, drawing the two of you closer with an intensity that neither of you could fully comprehend. Sarah, with her guarded exterior, remained the perfect professional—her role as Alexandra Monroe giving her the perfect cover to move through the world of wealth and influence without suspicion. But when it came to you, things felt different. You weren’t just another task or another piece of the puzzle to manipulate. You were an enigma, a shining light that pierced through the cold darkness of this world of corruption. And slowly, she found herself drawn to you, more than she ever intended.

The first time it happened, it was subtle. A touch of the hand as you handed her a glass of wine, your fingers brushing lightly against hers, a flicker of heat passing between you both. Sarah’s breath had caught in her throat, and for a moment, the world had fallen away. She’d been careful to maintain her composure, but she couldn’t deny the spark that ignited within her. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

The second time, it was in the garden, when you’d asked her to join you for a walk after dinner. You’d talked of everything and nothing at all, your laughter mixing with the soft rustling of the leaves. It was a moment of peaceful intimacy, and Sarah couldn’t help but feel as though she had stepped into a world she didn’t fully understand—a world of beauty, of light, of something untainted by the darkness she was so accustomed to.

And then, there were the looks. Those lingering glances, the way your eyes would catch hers across the room when you thought no one was watching. Sarah would often find herself lost in your gaze, feeling a pull she couldn’t explain. Your eyes, full of warmth and curiosity, held an intensity that was disarming. Every time your eyes met, her heart would race in her chest, and she’d have to tear herself away, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.

But despite her best efforts to maintain control, Sarah found it becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the undercurrent of desire that simmered between them.

It was on one particular evening, after a lavish dinner, when the tension between them reached its peak. Sarah had just returned to her room after a long day of pretending, of playing her part, when a knock came at the door.

She paused, momentarily taken aback. It was late, and the mansion had fallen into a quiet lull. Her first instinct was to ignore it—after all, she had no reason to entertain anyone at this hour. But the knock came again, and this time, there was a gentle, almost tentative quality to it.

“Alexandra?”

The voice was soft, familiar, and Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. She stood, frozen for a moment, trying to calm the sudden rush of emotions that flooded her chest. She knew who it was. It was you.

The door opened just slightly, and there you were, standing in the dim light of the hallway. You were dressed in a flowing, white nightdress that glowed softly in the low light, your hair falling loosely around your shoulders, your eyes wide and filled with an unspoken question.

“I… I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “But I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing. She knew she should resist, knew she should send you away with a polite excuse, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. There was something about the way you stood there, so vulnerable yet so confident, that made her heart ache with an intensity she wasn’t prepared for.

“You’re not disturbing me,” Sarah finally managed to say, her voice low, controlled. “Come in.”

You stepped inside, the soft fabric of your nightdress brushing against the floor as you moved toward her. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows on the walls. There was an almost dreamlike quality to the atmosphere, as if time had slowed, holding its breath.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “I kept thinking about everything that’s been happening. About how strange it is to have someone like you in our lives. Someone I can’t quite figure out.”

Sarah nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I know what you mean. I feel the same way, sometimes.”

You stepped a little closer, the distance between you narrowing with each passing second. Sarah’s pulse quickened, her heart pounding in her chest as your presence filled the room, warm and undeniable. She could smell the soft scent of lavender on your skin, the fragrance lingering in the air between you.

“I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than I have,” you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Like there’s something… familiar about you. Something that draws me in, even though I know I shouldn’t feel this way.”

Sarah’s breath hitched, the words hanging in the air between you. She could feel the magnetic pull between them, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. She had never felt this way about anyone before—not like this, not in a way that made her heart race and her breath catch in her throat.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” Sarah said, her voice strained, betraying the emotions she was trying so hard to keep buried. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to admit that she felt the same.

But you weren’t listening. You took another step forward, closing the space between you. Your eyes were dark now, intense, and Sarah could feel the heat of your gaze like a physical touch. The air between you crackled with something electric, something dangerous.

“I think you do,” you said softly, your hand reaching out to touch her arm, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through Sarah’s body. “I think you’ve felt it too.”

And then, in that moment, it happened. Without thinking, without the rational part of her mind having time to intervene, Sarah leaned forward, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, as if neither of them could believe what was happening.

But as the kiss deepened, as the heat between them intensified, the world outside of the room seemed to fade away. It was just the two of them now, wrapped in this strange, intoxicating moment that neither of them could escape from.

Sarah’s hands, which had remained at her sides for so long, now reached up to touch your face, to pull you closer. Your lips were warm and soft against hers, and Sarah felt her resolve crumble under the intensity of the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled in the moment, neither of them spoke for a long time. There was so much left unsaid, so much that neither of them dared to confront.

But as you pulled back slightly, your fingers still lingering on her arm, you looked into Sarah’s eyes, and for the first time, Sarah felt as though she was truly seen.

“I didn’t expect this,” you whispered, your voice breathless, as if the kiss had stolen the words from your throat.

Neither did Sarah. But as she stood there, with you so close, the weight of the mission, the weight of the lies, seemed a little less important. For the first time, she felt a flicker of something real, something that could, maybe, change everything.

---

The soft light of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The bed, still slightly disheveled from the night before, held the quiet evidence of a moment that had passed, leaving behind the traces of lingering warmth. Sarah’s room was calm and serene—decorated simply, with a few personal touches that reflected a woman who had crafted her life with precision. Yet, today, the room felt different. The space seemed to be filled with an energy that was undeniably hers and yours, two forces drawn together like magnetic poles.

You were there, nestled in the sheets—wrapped in them like an ethereal figure, the white fabric clinging to your form in a way that seemed almost sculptural. You lay on your stomach, your legs slightly bent, one hand resting on the book in front of you while the other brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The way you held the book, so absorbed in the words, the way your body seemed to flow in such natural grace beneath the sheets—Sarah could hardly look away.

She sat at the edge of the bed, her body languid as she watched you, her gaze tracing the lines of your figure. For a moment, she allowed herself to indulge, her eyes drinking in the sight of you, taking in how the soft sheets hugged your skin, the way the sunlight kissed your bare back. You seemed so at ease, so perfectly composed, yet there was a certain softness to you in this moment that made Sarah’s chest tighten. You looked like something carved from marble, perfect in every way. A modern-day Aphrodite, with your long, dark hair and glowing skin, radiant and serene, the book in your hands the only thing that seemed to tether you to the present.

She wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in her throat as she watched you. The guilt, that ever-present, gnawing sense of deception, was there, lurking beneath the surface of everything she did. She wasn't Alexandra Monroe. She wasn’t the woman she had allowed you to believe. But in this room, at this moment, none of that seemed to matter.

Sarah’s fingers twitched at her side, wanting to reach out to you. She wanted to touch you, to hold you, to pull you closer. But she stopped herself. She watched you for a few moments longer, feeling the weight of her secret, the weight of her lies, pressing on her chest like an iron bar. But in the face of you, in the warmth you exuded, all that seemed so distant. The real world—the one she was pretending to belong to—felt so far away, almost irrelevant in the light of this stolen peace.

Your voice broke through the silence, soft but full of curiosity, dragging her from her reverie.

“Alexandra,” you asked, your voice sleepy but playful, “what exactly do you find interesting about this book?”

Your tone was light, teasing, but Sarah couldn’t help but notice the way you looked at her as you asked. Your eyes were full of innocence, but there was something else, too—a spark of something that she wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret. You had no idea, of course. No idea that Sarah had no interest in the subject at hand, no true knowledge of finance or the intricacies of economics. It was all a façade, a performance, a game she had been playing long before meeting you.

But now, sitting here in the soft morning light with you, the words seemed to lose their meaning, the numbers on the pages becoming irrelevant. It wasn’t the book she was thinking about; it was you. Always you.

She shifted her posture, leaning slightly forward as her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. Her hand lingered in your hair for a moment, fingers brushing gently, caressing the soft strands. She didn't trust herself to speak at first. Instead, she allowed her eyes to study you, to memorize the way your lips curved as you smiled, the way your body seemed to breathe in time with the warmth of the room.

The smile on your face was genuine, something that had begun to grow between the two of you in the days since the kiss had blurred the lines between who you were and who Sarah was pretending to be. It was all starting to feel... real, even when Sarah knew it shouldn’t.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost regretful. “I guess I just thought it would be… practical, something I could learn, something that might make me… more useful.”

She didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t the truth—she wasn’t really interested in finance at all—but it was close enough to avoid the question. Besides, the real truth was that she had no idea how to respond to the way your presence made her feel. How everything about you seemed to make the world fade into something far less significant.

You shifted in the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet her gaze. Your eyes were full of something—something softer than what Sarah had ever expected. It was a look of trust, maybe. Or maybe it was just the effect of being so close to each other for so long. Either way, Sarah felt herself growing weaker under the weight of your gaze.

“You’re already plenty useful to me,” you teased, that smile still lingering on your lips.

Sarah swallowed, her chest tight. There was a part of her that wanted to pull away, to protect herself, to pull the walls back up that had taken years to build. But that part of her was weakening. It was losing its hold.

Without thinking, her hand returned to your hair, her fingers brushing through the strands, gently pulling them back from your face. She watched as you closed your eyes for a moment, a soft breath escaping your lips. You didn’t resist, didn’t pull away. And for a fleeting second, Sarah thought she might stay here forever, lost in this moment of tenderness, of warmth, of something so perfectly ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

“I never thought I’d end up here, you know,” Sarah murmured softly, her voice full of that same strange vulnerability. She didn’t know why she was saying it. Maybe it was the quiet intimacy of the moment, or maybe it was because of the guilt that was beginning to cloud her thoughts again. But she couldn’t stop herself. “I never thought I’d let myself… feel this way.”

You met her eyes, the softness in your gaze deepening. For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a strange tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just… intense.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging between you like an unspoken promise.

Sarah blinked, her fingers still gently tracing your hair. She felt her heart skip a beat, the weight of your words settling over her like a soft, heavy blanket. Her answer wasn’t immediate, and for the first time, she realized that she wasn’t entirely sure. There was too much at stake. Too much of her identity had been wrapped up in the lies. But looking at you—this radiant, open soul in front of her—she couldn’t help but wish that the truth didn’t seem so far away.

“No,” she finally said, her voice steady, though her chest was tight. “I don’t regret it.”

And as you smiled softly, that small, knowing smile, she felt something shift in her. Something deep inside her, something that made her realize she didn’t want to pull away from this. She didn’t want to walk away from you.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

But the real world always catches up. Lies never last.

Days drifted by like leaves in a lazy river, but Sarah could feel the current of her own actions pulling her under. It started small—a whispered message that didn’t seem to matter at first, an innocuous note that seemed to have little weight. But as the days went on, that message began to settle into her mind like a stone lodged in her chest, a constant reminder that time was running out.

The mission was drawing to a close.

Sarah sat in her temporary office, the one she had carefully crafted for the last few weeks under the false identity of Alexandra Monroe. The world outside seemed so far away now, as if the life she had built here—this life with you—was something she could never have truly known. But she had to let go. There was no other choice. She had done her job, infiltrated the heart of the corruption, and now it was time to disappear. To collect the evidence. To walk away.

Everything has a price.

Her fingers hovered over her phone, her gaze flicking to the unread message once more. The words burned in her mind, mocking her, reminding her that the time to act was now. She felt her pulse quicken as the weight of the decision pressed heavily against her chest.

One last job. One final act of betrayal. One last moment to take the money, pass it to her team, and disappear.

But then what? What about you?

Her eyes flicked to the door. The sound of your laughter had been echoing in her mind all morning, the way you moved through the halls like sunlight breaking through a storm. You were still unaware. Still untouched by the truth.

And Sarah? She was no longer sure who she was. She wasn’t just Alexandra Monroe anymore. She wasn’t the woman she had been before. You had cracked something in her. Something she didn’t think could ever be cracked. Something soft. Something human.

But it was too late. She couldn’t undo what had been set into motion.

---

The final day arrived, cloaked in an uneasy silence. Sarah had already set everything in motion. The black money had been arranged to be moved. The proof of the politician’s corruption—the man who had built his empire on lies and greed—was ready to be handed over. She would make the exchange, slip away with her team, and vanish into the shadows. Everything had been planned down to the smallest detail.

And yet, as she stood in the grand hallway of the mansion, she felt as though she were walking on the edge of a knife. Each step felt like it could be her last.

Her eyes flicked over the guests who wandered in and out, the polished, pristine faces of power and influence—some laughing, some murmuring in groups, none the wiser. But her attention wasn’t on them. It was on you.

You were still the same. Beautiful. Radiant. The very embodiment of everything Sarah hadn’t realized she wanted—until now.

She spotted you across the room, surrounded by laughter and the hum of conversation, but her heart skipped as she saw something shift in your gaze. A glance that caught hers. And for a moment, time seemed to still. You smiled—so innocent, so unaware—but Sarah felt the cold knot of her impending betrayal twist deeper inside her.

The message had arrived. The job was simple. The money was ready to be moved. There was no more time.

But then, you were there.

You crossed the room to her, your presence undeniable, your smile so sweet it almost broke her resolve. You stopped in front of her, a gleam of curiosity in your eyes.

“Alexandra,” you said softly, tilting your head. “I was just wondering if you might want to join me for a dance?”

The question caught Sarah off guard. She hadn’t expected this. You were always so... so full of life. Always so present. So genuine. How could she say no?

But she had to. She had to say goodbye. This was the moment.

“I… I can’t,” Sarah said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve got some things to take care of. But maybe later.”

You didn’t seem to buy it. You frowned, confusion and hurt flickering across your face.

"Later?” you echoed, and Sarah could hear the sadness in your voice. “You’ve been saying that for days now, Alexandra. What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me?”

She felt the heat of your gaze, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you, and for a moment, she considered telling you everything. But then the door opened, the sound of her team waiting to make the exchange. It was time.

And then, just as quickly, you were gone.

---

The hall was empty when Sarah moved toward the back, away from the guests, toward the place where the money had been stashed. She pulled the small briefcase from beneath the hidden panel in the wall, her fingers trembling as she prepared to hand it off to her team. She was almost there.

Almost free.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Another message. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she saw it.

Everything is set. Do it now.

She took a breath, pulling herself together. She turned toward the door, but then she stopped.

A shadow in the doorway.

It was you.

You stood there, eyes wide, breath quick. You had seen it all. You had watched everything unfold. Your heart was on your sleeve now, raw, broken. You were shaking your head, your mouth moving but no words coming out at first.

“Sarah…” you breathed, disbelief written on your face. “What are you doing?”

The world seemed to collapse in on Sarah. She felt the walls around her crumble, her heart racing as the reality of what she had done hit her full force. You had seen it all. Everything.

“No,” you whispered, the pain in your voice cutting her to the core. “No, this can't be real… you—this isn’t you.”

Your eyes were wide, searching hers for the truth, but Sarah couldn’t give it to you. She couldn’t give you any more lies.

“I—” Sarah began, but her words faltered. What could she say? What was there left to say?

This is the mission. This is what you’ve always been trained to do.

But you were there. You had been there for her. You had made her feel something real. And now, she was standing here, caught in the tangled web of lies, unable to escape.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you took a step forward, your hand reaching out. “Tell me you’re not—tell me you’re not betraying me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered, the words feeling like poison in her mouth. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to…”

You couldn’t hear her anymore. You took another step forward, your face crumpling with the weight of the betrayal. The tears welled in your eyes. You looked lost.

“How could you?” you whispered, your voice a broken tremor in the air. You shook your head, stepping back. “I thought you—I thought you were different!”

The hurt in your voice was too much. Sarah wanted to reach for you, wanted to apologize a thousand times over, but the distance between you was growing. You were slipping away, disappearing into the shadows. And with each step, it felt like the last piece of herself that Sarah had left was crumbling to dust.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, but it was too late.

With one last tearful glance, you turned and walked away.

The sting of betrayal hung thick in the air like a heavy fog, and Sarah stood frozen in the doorway as you retreated from her. The world outside seemed so distant, so far away, as she struggled to form the words that might make everything right again. The plan had worked—she had nearly escaped, had nearly taken everything she needed and walked away with nothing but memories of a woman she had come to care for, even love. But now? Now it was all falling apart.

You hadn’t even let her explain. And Sarah felt the weight of it all settle onto her shoulders, the voice in her earpiece shouting orders that she couldn’t possibly follow, her team urging her to leave, to finish the mission.

But none of that mattered now.

You mattered.

"Wait," Sarah called out, her voice cracking as she took a shaky step toward you. "Please, just—let me explain."

You turned back, your eyes a mixture of confusion, hurt, and anger. It was too much. The betrayal, the lies. Everything had shattered in the seconds it had taken for you to realize what was happening. You couldn't believe it. She couldn’t believe it.

"You don't need to explain," you whispered bitterly, your hands trembling at your sides. "I can’t even look at you right now. After everything... You lied to me. You used me."

“I never meant to hurt you,” Sarah continued, her voice a fragile thread in the darkness. "I swear to you, my feelings for you... They're real. I care about you. This—this isn’t who I am. But I’m not who you think I am."

You shook your head, disbelief written across your face, and Sarah felt her heart crack into pieces. Her hands shook as she reached for you, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing wider with every moment that passed.

“Who are you, then?” Your voice trembled as the words escaped. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not... Alexandra Monroe,” Sarah finally said, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost defeated tone. "My real name is Sarah Fidel."

The words hung in the air like a confession, one she hadn't planned on making, but something inside of her couldn’t hold it back anymore. The truth had to come out. If she was going to lose you—and she feared she already had—then at least you would know everything.

"Why did you lie to me?" you demanded, your voice rising with emotion. "Who are you, really? What are you doing here? Why—why did you pretend to be someone else?"

Sarah’s chest tightened at your question, and she took a step closer to you, ignoring the frantic chatter in her earpiece telling her to move, to finish what she’d started. She was losing everything. She was losing you.

“I didn’t want to. I never wanted to deceive you,” she said softly, her words laced with sincerity. “I came here to do something, something that had to be done. I needed to get close to your father… I needed to find out what he was involved in. I had to expose him. But when I met you... everything changed. I didn’t expect to feel like this."

You stood still, watching her, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, the hurt in your eyes turning to anger.

"My father? You’re saying my father’s involved in all this?"

Sarah hesitated, her eyes briefly flickering to the side as her mind raced. "Your father... he’s been laundering money, running illegal operations... I was sent here to gather evidence, to bring him down. But I—” Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. “I didn’t know about you. I didn’t know about us.”

“You didn’t know about us?” You scoffed, stepping forward, your voice rising. "What do you mean by that? I trusted you. I let you in. You—you said you loved me!"

Sarah felt the pain of your words like a knife. "I do love you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of raw emotion. "I know it sounds insane. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, please believe me—everything I’ve felt for you, everything between us, was real. I’ve never... I’ve never felt this way before. You—you changed everything for me."

Her breath caught in her throat as she took another step toward you, her hand reaching out for yours, but you pulled back, your eyes filled with so much conflict.

"I can’t just forget what you've done, Sarah." The name tasted strange on your lips now. "You've been lying to me this entire time. You’re not the person I thought you were.”

The air between you two was thick with tension, and Sarah felt the tears welling up behind her eyes. Her hands shook with the weight of everything she had to say, everything she needed to explain. “I never wanted to hurt you. And I never wanted to drag you into this mess. I swear to you, I was going to leave. I was going to walk away, take the money, and disappear.”

You shook your head, your eyes still dark with hurt. "But now I know what you've been doing, Sarah. I can’t... I can’t forgive you for that. My father? This whole thing? It’s too much. It’s all a lie, and I—"

“Stop,” Sarah said softly, cutting you off. She took a step closer again, her voice cracking under the weight of everything. “Please... just listen to me. I didn’t want this to be the way it was. I never wanted to deceive you. I want to be with you. I care about you. And I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve hurt you, but this—everything I’ve done, it was because I didn’t have any other choice."

You stared at her, your expression torn between the anger you felt and the love that you had for her, a love that, despite everything, still lingered beneath the surface. Your heart beat faster in your chest, and you felt the weight of the decision you had to make.

But the world felt like it was breaking apart around you. There was so much you didn’t know, so much you couldn’t understand. Your father was involved in something far darker than you had ever imagined, and Sarah had been part of it. She had lied to you, and yet she stood here, asking for forgiveness.

What was the truth?

And yet, beneath all of the anger, beneath all of the hurt, there was still a part of you that wanted to believe in her. That wanted to believe that everything they had was real, that Sarah—Alexandra—wasn’t just a mask, a facade. That the love she had shown you, the way she held you, the moments she shared with you, weren’t just part of a game.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Sarah’s heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability. She reached out, her hand brushing against your cheek. “Please,” she said softly, her voice full of pain. “Don’t let this be the end. I know I’ve made mistakes. But I swear to you, everything I feel for you is real.”

For a long moment, you didn’t move. The silence stretched between you, and Sarah felt as though time itself had stopped. You were fighting, torn between your feelings for her, the woman you had come to love, and the reality of the situation that had been uncovered. But as you looked into her eyes—her soul bared to you, raw and trembling—you saw the truth behind the lies.

And in that moment, something inside of you broke. The tears that had been welling up inside of you spilled over, and you felt the weight of everything settle onto your shoulders.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whispered. “But I need time... I need time to figure out what’s real.”

Sarah’s chest tightened, but she nodded, a faint but hopeful smile on her lips. “I’ll wait for you,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

And as she reached out one final time, pulling you close, you allowed yourself to melt into her embrace, torn between the past and the future, between the love you felt for her and the world you now knew you could never be a part of.

But for now, all you could do was hold on—hold on to the woman who had lied to you, hold on to the love you still wanted to believe in, even though you weren’t sure what was left to hold.

And maybe, just maybe, the answer would come in time.

But for now, all you had was the silence between you and the hope that maybe, one day, the truth would set you both free.

[castingspellsanddaisies]

Hey Jude! Do you sleep with e*corts? | Tarot Reading

DISCLAIMER: Take everything with a grain of salt and enjoy!

So, have you done it in the past or not?

fish + books + bear | back of the deck: letter

Yes, and a lot. And he had someone to find these women for him. But I also see him keeping a certain level of communication with these women, again, not ''only for sex''. It's like Jude had this fixed group of women he would call whenever he wanted to, not going after someone new each time.

What about him in the present?

lily + sun + clouds | back of the deck: star

Not anymore. Not like he used to.

Jude's beginning to see the problems is dealing with this type of thing. I'm not saying he's becoming a Saint right now, BUT, his views about this type of sex are changing... For better.

Jude feels like he needs to develop a more ''mature'' action towards his sex life. Something like ''I should start seeking a deeper meaning in my realtionships with women from now on...''.

That sounds good, let's see if he can keep with it.

That's it, folks. I hope you liked the reading! Take care <3