#I don’t have the time right now to write this but maybe I will make it a little project

[moonstruckme]

hii i was wondering if you could write something for poly! jily? i have reynaud syndrome which means times in the past my fingers have started going black when im really cold but i will always refuse to wear gloves (they make my hands itch), maybe a little bit of angst of them arguing over reader needing to take care of herself better and her not really understanding what the big deal is as she’s had it all her life,

love your work so much <33

Thank you for requesting gorgeous!

cw: reynaud's syndrome/hints at gangrene

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“—cause it’s dangerous, lovely.” Lily hears the upset in James’ voice as soon as the door opens. “It’s scary.” 

Yours is low and soothing to balance it. “I can barely even feel them.” 

“That’s the scary part!” 

Lily sets aside her novel, turning around on the couch to see you both. James has two grocery bags in one hand and your hand in the other. He holds it close to his chest protectively. 

“What’s the matter?” she asks. 

Your eyes go to hers with a familiar our boyfriend is a nutter look. “Nothing,” you say. 

“Stop that.” James is shocking in his sternness. “Can you move them?” 

“I can move them fine, Jamie. It’s okay.” 

“Let me see.” Lily’s known you long enough to put together what this must be about. She sits up on her knees, reaching over the back of the couch for your hand. Frowning, James releases it into her care. “Oh, sweetheart…” She cradles your discolored fingers. Irrationally, she’s afraid they might break if she’s not careful. “Let’s run some water over them, okay?” 

You both let her lead you into the kitchen. James looks terribly uneasy, a concern in his soft brown eyes that Lily sympathizes with. She turns the tap on, letting it get warm before drawing your hand underneath. 

Your expression twinges, but you don’t complain. “I’m really fine,” you mumble, uncomfortable with all the worry being directed at you. 

“Just wiggle them around for a while,” Lily murmurs in reply. James is watching the water run. He still hasn’t set down his bags. “Jamie, the groceries?” 

“Right.” James’ voice is clipped. He lifts the bags onto the counter. Takes a couple of steps backwards, starting to unwrap his scarf. “I’m just, I’m going to…” 

You turn to watch him disappear into your bedroom. For all the insouciance you’ve projected, now your expression is worried too. 

“I don’t think he’s ever been so angry with me,” you say. 

Lily steps closer to you, putting her hands under the stream of water with yours. She begins gently massaging your cold fingers. It is rare for James to be so upset. It makes it scary when it happens, not because of his response but because you know you must have done something very grievous to provoke it. 

“He loves you a lot,” she says after a moment. Pressing her shoulder to yours. “I love you a lot, too.” 

“I love you,” you murmur, shy. 

“I think it scares both of us when you let yourself be hurt. I know it doesn’t feel like a big deal to you, but it does to us.” 

You bite down on your lip as she coaxes blood back into your fingers. Lily’s heart twinges, but she knows it’s a good thing. It hurts as you’re getting better. 

“This has always happened,” you say, wiggling your fingers as if to demonstrate. “I can’t avoid it, it’s been like this my whole life.” 

“You could wear gloves,” Lily points out. 

Your mouth twists. “They itch.” 

Lily fights the urge to roll her eyes. You’ve had this argument a dozen times before; it’s a pointless battle. 

“We’d just worry less if you did.” She kisses your cheek. “How do they feel?” 

“Okay.” You’re grimacing, the circulation returning. “Almost back to normal.” 

She releases your hands, drying hers on a tea towel. “Keep them there for a few more minutes, please? Just to be safe. I’ll check on James.” 

Lily unloads a few groceries before she goes, ensuring everything that needs to be refrigerated goes in. Your fingers are nearly back to their normal color by the time she steps out. 

James is sitting on the edge of your bed. He hasn’t removed his scarf or his coat. His shoulders are slumped. When James is upset like this, he droops. Like a plant that’s full of too much water, like his body is suddenly too heavy to hold up on his own. He leans, he slouches, he finds something else to bear the weight. 

Lily smiles commiseratively. “Hi.” 

He looks up, eyes big and tired. Droops further when she steps between his legs, hugging him. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Are you in a fight?” 

“No. I don’t think so.” James’ arms come around her middle, squeezing. “I sort of thought you’d be in a fight once we got home, honestly.” 

Lily laughs. “Guess I’m not in the mood.” 

“Caught you at a bad time?” 

“Something like that.” She uses her nails to scratch lightly between his shoulder blades. “She’s alright.” 

A deep sigh. “She carried one of our bags most the way home. I didn’t even think about how she couldn’t put her hand in her pocket with it. And of course she didn’t have gloves.” 

“It’s not your job to think of it, love.” 

“I know it sounds loony, but I really thought her fingers were going to fall off.” 

Lily rests her chin on his shoulder. “I had a similar thought,” she admits. 

“She’s alright now, though?” James’ voice is fretful. 

“Yeah. She’s alright.” 

When they return to the kitchen, you’re still holding your hand under the tap. 

Lily smiles. “I think you’re alright,” she says. “Thank you.” 

You turn it off, watching James nervously as you flick water off your fingertips into the sink. He goes over to you, and your expression melts with relief as he wraps his arms around you. You go up on your toes to hug him back, damp fingers pushing into the curls at his nape. 

“I need you to take better care of yourself,” he says, voice soft but not thin. 

“Okay,” you agree readily. “I’m sorry I scared you.” 

James hugs you tighter. Your face turns in towards his neck. “I’m sorry for being so harsh.” 

You and Lily both laugh. She boosts herself up onto the counter, crossing her legs and watching the two of you with a fond ache in her chest. 

“Jamie, your harsh is everyone else’s mild.” 

“I was harsh,” James argues. “I didn’t say I love you all the way home. I do, by the way.” He pulls back to look at you, urgent. “I love you so much.” 

You roll your eyes, but a good deal of the acerbity is lost when you smile. “I know.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

i was watching priscilla and it reminded me of ssc, do you think you could write this scene of priscilla snapping at elvis abt the dress? but with ur own little twist? you don’t have to ofc!

a/n: i definitely mentioned this before but the dynamic between rafe and the reader in sugar-coated chains is sorta loosely based off of sofia coppola’s priscilla

"you expect me to wear this?"

your voice is sharp, cutting through the silence of the bedroom as you hold up the dress he picked out—another delicate, doll-like thing, soft lace and pastel fabric meant to make you look small, sweet, perfect.

rafe barely glances up from where he's sitting, legs stretched out, casually flicking the ash from his cigarette into the tray beside him.

"there’s nothin’ wrong with it, angel." his voice is slow, easy, like he's already bored with the conversation. "looks real pretty. just like you."

and that only makes the frustration burn hotter in your chest.

"that's not the point, rafe." you grip the dress tighter, your nails digging into the fabric. "i-i’m not some doll you can dress up however you want."

that makes him look up.

his eyes flick to yours, sharp blue narrowing just slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

"well isn’t that what you been doin' all this time?" his voice is lower now, laced with something rougher. "wearin’ what i like, actin’ how i like. and you didn’t seem to mind it before."

your breath catches, because maybe he’s right. maybe, for too long, you’ve let him shape you into exactly what he wanted.

"well, maybe i-i mind it now."

you toss the dress onto the bed, your hands shaking as you cross your arms over your chest.

and for the first time in a long time, rafe doesn’t have a quick response.

just silence.

just him, staring at you, lips parting like he’s about to say something—but nothing comes out.

and for once, you turn away first.

[dirtypr0mises]

JUST LIKE THE TEXT I SENT YOU FROM THE BED ⋆ — b. eillish

in which; — after the entire breakup, billie is dangerously obsessed. you? not so much. she has to win you over.

billie x mean!reader (question mark)

cw; idrk.. playful bullying, teasing, intro to smut

yapyap; hey…. this is awk. it’s been a while, 7 months to be exact, (gulp). caelynn has been so stressed and i’m very sorry yall i will TRY key word…! anyways first time writing in a decade wish me luck..

walking past billie was her ex, you would’ve thought she would try to ignore her and drift her eyes everywhere but there, but the truth is, that’s all she could look at, everything kinda went in slow motion, the way her hair moved in the wind, the way she strutted effortlessly and confidently had billie in a chokehold.

billie looked at her for maybe a few seconds, it felt like years before she realized y/n was no longer in sight. she snapped back into reality and tried to go on about her day.

a few hours later, billie texts y/n a simple ‘hey’. read. ‘fuck’ she mumbled to herself, ‘why did i do that’. she grabbed her pillow and held it, staring at the wall until she felt a buzz right beneath her left thigh.

She hurriedly picked up the phone n saw y/ma name brighten across the screen, a big smile stretched across her face.

‘hey billie’ she texted back. they conversated for a while and the conversation ended with ‘I guess you can come over’

and just like that billie was back to her old ways. she immediately drove as fast as she could legally to the apartment which y/n resided.

she knocked on the door, smiling as y/ns face peaked through, soon her whole body was in the door frame, scooting so billie could come inside.

‘you look fucking great’ billie mumbled walking past her. ‘hmm?’ y/n hummed, and of course, billie lied her way through that too.

‘so what did you need?’ y/n said.

‘you’ billie replied.

‘you can’t just sit here and pretend like you did lie to me our entire relationship, and turn around and expect me to drop my panties as soon as you walk by, sorry billie, i’ve changed.’

an awkward silence thickened the air as billie just stared, a flash of seriousness beaming upon her face, she took one of y/ns hands ands softly kissed it,

‘y/n, i had no excuse to lie to you, or to treat you bad, i was just shitty. You might have moved on but i seriously want to make it up to you, any way.’

y/n blankly stared at billie. ‘any way?’

‘mhm’ billie smirked.

‘well i do have a massive load of laundry i don’t feel like doing, so let’s start there.’

billie’s annoying smirk quickly wiped off her face as she sighed, playfully dropping her shoulders as she walked to the laundry room, and of course she did the laundry, why wouldn’t she?

‘soooo what now?’ billie said as she pushed start on the washing machine, finally taking a breath of freedom.

in the course of 45 minutes, while billie was folding, washing, and putting away clothes, y/n had took a shower and ordered takeout, for two.

‘come sit down because your going to be drying and putting that load up.’ y/n said as she pointed to the couch as if it was golden treasure.

sure enough, billie did just that, sitting down on the couch and manspreading, fuck how y/n loved that.

y/n stayed a comfortable distance away, eating her food as ‘waves’ played on the tv.

‘eat hoe, i didn’t order two for nothing.’ y/n said, pointing to the box on the coffee table, billie slowly picked up the box and ate the food inside, very quietly. it’d had now been about an hour of eating and smiling, from awkwardness to jokes very quickly. the washing machine signaled it was done so billie walked to the machine, transferring the clothes from the washer to the dryer, coming to sit back on the couch.

manspeading again, billie sprawls her arms on the back of the couch, right over y/ns shoulder.

‘fuck you look good.’ y/n mumbled, audibly enough for billie to hear.

‘what was that?’ billie said softly, but in such a seductive voice it pained y/n.

y/n hummed to try to change the subject, in which billie softly put a finger under y/ns chin, making her look into her eyes.

‘i want all of you.’ billie said, her thumb brushing on y/ns lips before she moved her hand completely.

‘oh fuck you.’ y/n said

‘okay.’ and with that, their lips collided smoothly, billie’s hands pulling y/ns waist towards her and sitting her on her lap.

dundundun

[markleessodalite]

Letters to Lovers: NCT Dream

content: letters that lover!dreamies write to you. some cute and sweet, some a little angsty, some are short and some are a little longer. i wanted to have a lot of variety in these so hopefully i accomplished that

warnings: none that i can think of, chenle's letter is written after he calls reader annoying so if you're sensitive about that i guess maybe don't read that one

a/n: i wanted to intentionally keep the dreamies' roles as just lovers here bc its a vague term that can mean anything, so you can imagine them as whatever that term means to you :) but if you're curious about how i viewed them as i wrote these: mark, jaemin, chenle and jisung as established bfs (jaem is maybe a lil husband coded too), jeno as a friend, haechan as a skinny love of sorts, renjun as a situationship

Mark:

Hey baby! I hope you’re doing well… we’ve both been pretty busy, yeah? I guess that can’t be helped. But I’ve been missing you a lot, and I guess that can’t be helped either. I feel like our signals have been constantly getting crossed lately, don’t you? It just seems like anytime we make plans, one of us gets the time confused, or something else comes up, or one of us is just too tired from everything else going on to make any plans…  Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I’m writing this on paper instead of just texting you. Calling you would be the preferred method anyway, but you’d probably be too busy to answer. I know there’s been a lot of times when you’ve called me, but I was too busy. But anyway, I guess a letter feels more important? Or like… sentimental? That word sounds so dumb right now for some reason.  I guess what I want to say is that I don’t want this weird rut we’re in right now to prevent us from getting closer. I want to turn this into something that makes our relationship stronger instead of weaker. You kind of alluded to that last time we met, that you were getting fed up with how things are right now, but I think you were trying to pretend like you were joking? But I could still tell you were disappointed, y/n. When you think about it, there’s so many reasons why we decided to be together, right? It just seemed so obvious. Like we’re meant to be, as cheesy as that sounds. So I know that right now it kind of looks like this is something that’s gonna break us, but I think we should just change our perspective a little bit. This isn’t like a mountain that’s gonna block our path, its just a hill we have to climb over. And then we can keep on going. Last night I was listening to that one song by The Script, For the First Time, I think you should listen to it too. I think it kinda explains how we feel right now.  Just don’t give up on us yet, okay baby?

Renjun:

Hey y/n. I’m sorry for ignoring your calls. I’ve never liked talking on the phone. I was gonna text you, but I never really found the courage to, or the right words. I still don’t think I have the right words, but I really need to say this. This needs to be said now. I can’t keep putting it off.  That night we spent together, it was amazing. Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t think I’ve ever been that comfortable with anyone before, and I walked away from it feeling something that I don’t think know that I never felt before. I think you thought that I regretted going that far with you or something, but I promise there is nothing about that night that I regret.  And this is where I always get stuck. I don’t know how to say what I want to say from here. I’ve tried to think about how to say it without causing you pain, but I’m not sure that’s totally possible. So I’ll just say it.  We can’t be anything more than friends. I’m sorry. I know we said a lot of things that night that may have given us false hope, or made us think that we should be together, but I’m thinking realistically now. We have nothing in common. We don’t want the same things in life. There’s nothing really bringing us together besides a mutual physical attraction, but that’s not something that can last.  Its not a you problem, believe me. You’re beautiful, and you definitely would make a wonderful partner for someone– just, not me. And I don’t think I’d be good for you either.  So, I’m sorry if I said or did anything that night that may have given you a certain impression. I really, really am sorry. But, I’m not sorry that we got to share that experience with each other.  I don’t know what exactly makes people a perfect fit, but I’ve always imagined it has a lot to do with how a person is raised. Our experiences shape who we are, right? Maybe if I was raised differently, or if you had different experiences, maybe we could have worked out. But, not in this lifetime… But I’ll always be your friend, y/n. Always, until the end of time, in every lifetime.  I love you, my friend.

Jeno:

Y/n, I hope this doesn’t make you feel weird or uncomfortable. I would have preferred to do this in person, but I guess I’m a coward in that way.  Last night you said some things that really made me think. You said that I don’t move very fast, that I just let opportunities move past me. You’re right about that. I think that I’m very comfortable in my own bubble. I like my home, I like my friends, I like my job, so I guess I decided I don’t really need or want anything else. I just like the things I’ve always liked. I like doing the things I’ve always done. I think part of me doesn’t like change either. Or just not knowing what’s coming next. After what you said, I realized I want to change that.  If I’m being blunt, the main reason I want to change that is because I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I don’t think I wanted to admit it at first, because it makes me feel vulnerable in a way, and I hate feeling vulnerable. So I guess my plan was to just… keep it to myself. But I realized if I did that, I could be missing out on so much. I don’t want to miss out on things with you. (I mean, only if you feel the same way, of course)  So, that’s all. I really, really like you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it in person, but I hope this letter conveys what I want to say. Although I don’t think I’m the best writer either to be honest, haha.  I guess just, let me know what you think? I’ll talk to you later, hopefully. - Jeno

Haechan:

Dear Y/n, Ha! See? I told you I have pretty handwriting. It looks like one of those old romantic letters from the 1800’s or something, right? Back when they used a bunch of fancy expressions. Like saying you could swim in someone’s eyes. I wonder who was the first person to ever say that…  Another thing they used to do was put stuff in their wallets, like photos and stuff. My dad had photos of me and my siblings in his. But then he started using Apple Pay like everybody else and now no one carries wallets anymore. What a shame. The whole thing is so romantic– the wallet thing, I mean.  So, here’s what I think we should do: we should start carrying wallets with us, and you’ll put this letter in yours, and you can write me a letter to carry in mine. Isn’t that cute? I’m actually curious to see what your handwriting looks like, I know its not as pretty as mine though.  Okay, I should probably end this so that it will be small enough to actually fit in your wallet. Wait, what if we got MATCHING wallets?  Love, Donghyuck <3

Jaemin:

Good morning, pretty! Sorry you didn’t get to wake up to my kisses, I needed to make an early run to the bookstore before it gets busy (definitely not to get that book you’ve been talking about lately or anything…) I brewed some coffee, I put some in the fridge for you so you can make your iced latte :)  Also, did you know you mumble in your sleep sometimes? I could’ve sworn you said my name this morning, but I was too enamored by your cute sleeping face to really pay attention to what you were saying.  Actually, I realized that I might do that pretty often. I know sometimes you get annoyed with me, for spacing out or not paying attention. I’m sorry for that. It’s really not intentional! Honestly, how can I not be distracted when you’re the most beautiful person in the world? Sometimes when I look at you it takes my breath away– literally, and then I have to focus on breathing and I might miss a detail or two. That usually happens when you wear those pink diamond earrings, they bring out your eyes so well… But I’ve been getting better! At the detail thing, I mean. So hopefully by the time I get back you’ll be awake, and I’ll have a new, collector’s edition of this book for the prettiest person in the world. I love you y/nie! <3

Chenle:

I know a letter slipped under your door is probably the last thing you would expect or want to see, but you’re not answering my texts or calls, so this is my last resort.  I’m sorry for what I said. All of it. I was out of line. I was just angry, and like the immature brat that I am, I just wanted to make you angry too. But I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you, especially since I wasn’t even angry with you in the first place and you were just trying to help me.  I think it hurt my pride a little bit that you had to help me. It made me feel inadequate, or like I can’t do anything. But that’s not something that’s your fault. That’s my own insecurity that I need to deal with, because there’s nothing wrong with receiving help from people that care about you. I don’t know why I was so sensitive about it. I think part of it was that I didn’t want to seem weak in front of you– I want you to feel like you can rely on me, and instead I made you want to avoid me.  But all those things I said, about you being annoying or too much, none of it is true. I was annoyed and frustrated with myself. I could never be annoyed with you. I want you to be around all the time. I want you to come back. I understand if you don’t want to, if I hurt you enough to make you leave for good, I know that’s my fault. But I really, really hope you don’t feel that way. I think that’s all I can say. Please come back. Please.

Jisung:

Y/nie, Happy birthday! I hope you like this gift! I’m sure you probably will. Its all you’ve been talking about lately. You weren’t kidding when you said it was super rare– I had to basically stalk this one eBay account to make sure I won the auction thingie (I’ve learned that I HATE using eBay by the way) So, I can imagine what you’ll say when you get this. You’ll probably be like “something like this is way too special” but that’s… kind of the point.  We’ve been dating for a while, and it’s been mostly casual stuff, but I’m at the point where I want to be serious with you. I want to be your boyfriend, officially. I would have told you this in person, but a letter seems better. Because you said once that you love having mementos to remember good things, so maybe you can keep this letter and it will remind you of a good feeling. At least I hope this letter gives you a good feeling…  So yeah, I’ll leave this gift in your living room and just wait for you to call me when you get it :)  P.S. I know you said the extra key you gave me was just for emergencies and this isn’t really an emergency… oops!

[cutiefulism]

cw. nonmc!reader, reader n sylus r close long-distance friends, reader has a bf, implied stalking, lowk dialog for sylus is hard to write. also, based off of that one scene from you. i just needed to post🪫🪫

the beauty of shopping with sylus is that it’s so easy.

not just because of his black card (though, that definitely helps), but because he always seems to know exactly what you want and need.

you’re low on body wash? he’s already placed it your cart, waiting like a smug cat for you to notice only at the self checkout.

you’ve been craving some new, trendy sweet treat? he deliberately lingers around the aisle and watches you longingly gaze at the bag before dropping it in the cart for himself. (he’ll end up giving the whole thing to you later, claiming he didn’t like it.)

your bedroom door has been creaking? he casually brings it up just as you two pass the aisle, and you can’t help but agree. it really has been squeaky, and sometimes, late at night, you swear you can hear it opening and closing. weird.

plus, you thought sylus couldn’t hear it over the phone.

huh. maybe it’s louder than you thought.

his infinite wisdom doesn’t seem to end at mere grocery store runs, either. he does big purchases too, when you finally get away from your boyfriend and return to him.

you two walk through the mattress store with sylus a firm presence behind you and the salesman thoroughly scared away. they don’t know what’s best for you, he does.

you’re a cute shopper, he thinks. if it’s even possible for shopping to be cute.

then again, you make anything cute.

you’re just so concentrated, brows knitted together and your top row of teeth gnawing at your bottom lip, like you’re going into battle rather than buying a bigger mattress for you and your boyfriend.

sylus would prefer you be buying that bigger mattress for yourself and not that . . boy, but he keeps that venomous thought to himself.

as long as he makes you happy, sweetie.

even though sylus could make you much happier.

“sylus.”

like a dog heeding its master’s call, he stops right beside you, both of you staring down at a king-sized mattress.

he knows this brand. in fact, he’s invested a hefty amount of money into it. they’re pretty good, with cooling and heating features, along with being able to change the angle of it.

top of the line, of course.

you test out every aforementioned feature, and he doesn’t even need to use his evol to see that you’re sold. that’s the kind you want.

and so, that’s the kind you’ll get, price tag be damned.

you pat the space beside you, and sylus lies down. considering he’s practically 6’5, the bed isn’t quite long enough to accommodate him, and his feet dangle off the edge, earning a giggle from you.

again, cute.

“you probably had to get a custom-made mattress, huh?” you tease, and sylus only scoffs, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

“i’m not that long.”

you kiss your teeth. “but your feet are dangling off the edge! i bet you curl up all cute like a kitty just to fit, then.”

he hums. “definitely not.” you do, though.

you shoot sylus a flat, disbelieving look, one of which he only responds to with a smirk. “still . . this is a really nice bed,” you mumble and press yourself deeper into it, as if you can simply sink into the foam and springs. “so expensive, though . .”

he lets out an affirmative hum this time. “downsize. it’s cheaper, and your bedroom can’t fit a king.”

true. you’d probably have to take all your furniture out to even squeeze it in there.

“yeah, i think . .”

wait.

how does sylus know that?

you turn your head to look at him, the amusement now vacant from your face as you stare at him. he stares back.

“how do you know that?”

. . .

silence. not the peaceful kind, but the kind where you’re both holding your breath, tension and anxiety (moreso on your part) seeping into your frames.

the kind of tension that makes you rethink your boyfriend’s words, about how “weird” and “creepy” your friend is.

the kind that has you wondering if, perhaps, his words hold some truth.

sylus shrugs his broad shoulders, a move that should be casual but seems just a little too stiff. “a guess. it isn’t all that hard to figure out your layout from video calls.”

it was the briefest of pauses, but it was long enough for you to notice that there’s a strange twinkle in his crimson eyes, as if he knows something you don’t, like you’re a pig being led to the slaughter with a dangling carrot.

but no. no way. that’s ridiculous!

for one, sylus is your friend. you two have been friends for a couple of months now, actually, and have gotten pretty close.

two, his answer makes perfect sense. you’ve probably shown off your room without even noticing it, and he’s always been perceptive.

there’s no ill will here. why would there be?

you sigh and the tension deflates out of you like a balloon. this is what you get for watching all those docuseries late at night. you’re definitely watching something different tonight, like a cheesy romcom or a corny action movie.

“eh, you’re right,” you say as you push yourself up and off the mattress. “it’d probably be way too much to try and squeeze a king in there, and then i’d have to move all my stuff around . .” you tsk. “i should just stick with a queen.”

sylus follows your lead and gets up, and whatever was in his gaze earlier is gone now. “mm, yes.”

that boyfriend will be fine. he doesn’t have a choice but to be.

regardless, he doesn’t let you two leave without a swipe of his card. you’ll get that mattress, and he’ll get to watch you roll around on it when it comes.

a win-win, no?

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

I love that you are writing for Dr. Abbott! 🩵

Can I pretty please request him with a younger reader like mid 20’s (or just the general idea of an age gap because I love me an old man) where he finds out he’s her emergency contact. He’s obviously older & he thinks she should pick someone her age instead in case something happens to him but he’s the only one she wants in every part of her life and reassures him. I hope that makes sense & isn’t too lame!

Not lame!! Loves an older man!!! They can be so sexyyyyy!!

Listed

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x MedStudent!Reader

Summary: Dr. Jack Abbott isn’t a man who lets his guard down easily. He’s precise. Composed. Rational. But when he finds out you — bright, mid-20s, and entirely too stubborn for your own good — listed him as your emergency contact, something in him unravels. Not because he doesn’t care. But because he cares too much.

He didn’t mean to see it.

You left your chart open on the counter when you got called away to Imaging, and Jack just needed the last lab values to sign off on your pre-op clearance.

He scrolled. Found what he needed. And then his eyes caught on something else.

Emergency Contact: Dr. Jack Abbott Relationship: Personal

His brow furrowed. Personal. Not “supervisor.” Not “colleague.” Just… personal.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t bring it up that day, or the next, or even the one after that. But it stuck.

Because he knew he was older. Knew people talked. Knew that in some ways, he’d always have a foot out of the world you were still building for yourself. And part of him had convinced himself that was good. Safe.

But seeing his name there, in black and white, in a space reserved for the one person you trust when everything goes wrong—It scared the hell out of him.

He finally brought it up when you were sitting in his office after hours, half-eaten takeout between you, the city lights bleeding through the window.

You were cross-legged in his chair, scrolling through your phone and humming under your breath when he said, quietly—

“You should change your emergency contact.”

You blinked. “What?”

He kept his eyes on the food. “I saw it. On your chart. The other day.”

You tilted your head. “Okay… and?”

“I just think,” he said, voice too even, too careful, “you should pick someone closer to your age. Someone who’ll be around for a long time. Just in case.”

You stared at him. Slowly put your phone down.

“Jack.”

“I’m not saying it to be dramatic—”

“No, you’re saying it because you’re afraid,” you said, soft but sure. “That you’re not enough. Or not right. Because of the age difference. Because you think I should want someone who can run a marathon with me or go to brunch with my college friends.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t look at you.

You stood up, walked around the desk, and sat on the edge in front of him. Your voice was quieter now.

“You’re the one I call when I have a bad day. When I’m scared. When I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked up at that, meeting your eyes.

You shrugged, small and honest. “Why wouldn’t I want the person I love to be the one who’s called if something happens to me?” The word love hit him like a sucker punch.

“I don’t care how old you are, Jack,” you said. “I care that you’re you.”

He swallowed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah,” you said gently. “It is.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling like he’d been holding it in for days. Maybe he had.

You slid your hand into his, thumb brushing his knuckles. “You’re not temporary, Jack. You’re not just the for now part of my life. You’re the forever part.”

Silence.

Then—“I’m not going to live forever,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No one does,” you replied. “But you’re here now. And that’s who I want.”

He looked at you for a long time after that. Like he was trying to find the cracks in your certainty. But there weren’t any. There never had been.

And finally, quietly—He squeezed your hand and didn’t let go.

[lulualuana]

Miss me?

writing and uploading something twice within the same month? unheard of

wc: 919

cw: car sex, semi-public sex, little rough, dirty talk, teensy bit of praise, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap that thang yall!), creampie, i think that's it..

enjoy?

The way Leon’s fingers gripped your ass was utterly sinful, blunt nails digging into your flesh just enough to add a light sting to the mind-numbing pleasure you both felt. 

When he promised to take you out for dinner after being away for so long on a mission, you knew full well that the night would end with the two of you getting a little more than frisky, you just didn’t think that you would both get a little too impatient to wait the drive back to your apartment. 

That’s how you ended up in the backseat of Leon’s car, hands gripping his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself as he bounced your body up and down, your nails digging into his skin a lot more bitingly than his did to yours as the windows quickly fogged up. It felt so fucking good, and he knew as much. It was why he was so cocky about it, the filthiest of dirty talk spilling from his lips as he worked you up and down his cock. 

“Fuck, you like that don’t you, baby? Like bouncing on my cock like this?” His words are met with a string of ‘yes’s and many other blissed-out curses that has him groaning at how needy you sound, his grip on you tightening. You were sure to have marks the shape of his fingers later from it. 

“What part do you like about this the best, huh?” He asks in a breathy growl, not really expecting you to answer. He could tell from your expression, he wasn’t going to get much out of you any time soon. Except an orgasm, of course. Your was head tipped back, eyes screwed shut and jaw slack as you rambled about how good his dick felt. Fuck did it boost his ego. 

“Like feeling me nice and deep inside you?” He continues, lifting and dropping you down in a particularly sharp motion that he worsens as he bucks his hips up into yours, his dick nudging deep enough to have your eyes crossing. “Or maybe you just like that anyone walking by can catch us, huh?” His words spark a dizzying amount of nervousness beneath the muddled mess that was your thoughts, but it's contradicted by the way you squeeze around Leon so tight. 

Someone could walk by and just see you two. You hadn’t chosen the most secluded spot before you got fed up with not having Leon inside you, and while his windows were tinted, you were sure that the car rocking and your loud moans gave any potential pedestrians a clear image of what you were really doing. 

You want to think about it a little more, maybe put a pin in the joyride and continue someplace that’s a little more private and protected.. but where’s the fun in that? Where’s the fun in thinking reasonably? You’d be lying if you said the potential of being caught didn’t arouse you in an inexplicable way, and you’d be lying even more if you said you had the capacity to think about anything other than Leon right now anyway. What was the point in thinking about anything other than your boyfriend fucking you so damn good in the back seat of his car after being gone for 2 weeks? 

He seems to catch onto your line of thinking (or attempt at it) and gives you his own answer in the form of his hips snapping up into yours, stealing your attention right back. “Don’t worry baby, no one will catch us,” he soothes almost a little deceptively, his words like sweet honey in your ear when your grip on his shoulders falters in favor of your chest resting flush against his, your arms draped over his shoulders instead to hold him close as he works you. 

He’s practically just holding you in place at this point, fucking up into you good enough to reduce you to whimpers and pleas. “I’ll make you come before anyone can.” The sultry promise is too fucking good, combined with the way he drills into you, it’s not your fault when it has you reeling, pussy clamping around around him as stars pop beneath your shut eyes, back bowing under the pleasure. 

“Thaat’s it,” he drawls, still working his dick into you with more effort now, his jaw clenched tight despite the reverent way he gazes down at your shivering body, his own orgasm impending to match you own. “Look at you.” And he’s looking, that’s for damn sure. 

The pretty little dress you had worn to dinner was all sorts of twisted and rumpled, the tights you had worn beneath were torn along with your panties so he could get to you, your hair was a mess, your cheeks were flushed and your eyes had this glaze over them when you had finally opened your eyes to look at him. You looked like sex personified and if Leon were a stronger man he wouldn’t have come. But he wasn’t and here he was, his hips stuttering to a stop as pearly white warmth spilled into you, his head tipping back with a throaty groan to accompany the sensation. 

You both settle as he empties into you, chests heaving against one another as his grip on you finally softens, his fingers rubbing in a hope to soothe the ache that probably lingers beneath his touch. “So..” He starts, drawing your attention to the sly grin on his face. “Did you miss me?”

~~~

so what are you guys getting me for my birthday? :)

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Chapter 5

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Victor: It’s time we re-evaluated your duties!

Kate: W-whoa!

Victor made a grand announcement as soon as I opened the door to his office. Surprised and confused, I stepped in.

Victor: Now, please take a seat. This is a very important task ahead of us.

Kate: Um, thank you?

Victor pulled out my usual chair. Holding back my questions, I sat down. He took his seat across from me with a serious look on his face. With his elbows on the table, he laced his fingers together.

Victor: Kate, I’ve been thinking for a while.

I swallowed nervously. Seconds passed in silence. And then, as he drew in a deep breath, Victor spread his hands wide.

Victor: Aren’t you doing far too much work!?

Kate: …Huh?

I couldn’t help the noise of confusion that left my mouth when I heard the exact opposite of what I was expecting. Still looking deadly serious, Victor continued passionately.

Victor: What exactly are your current duties!?

Kate: Um… I accompany Crown on missions and record what happens, and I also help you with your work here.

Victor: That’s right, your work even includes that now!

Kate: Uh…

(Well, I didn’t set out intending to become Victor’s assistant…)

Recording what happened during Crown’s missions were my duties as Fairytale Keeper. But the main reason I began helping Victor with his work was because I wanted to learn more about him.

(But it’s not as if it’s really difficult or anything…)

Normally it only took an hour to finish, maybe two or three at the most. And on top of that, having half an hour to an hour of break for tea time here in the office had already become a part of my daily routine.

Victor: Maybe you yourself don’t see it, but I think you’re already doing more than enough work.

Kate: But I think you have a lot more work than I do…

Victor: I’m fine. It’s to be expected as Her Majesty’s aide, after all.

I’ve seen how much work VIctor has to do each and every day. I doubted that there was anyone else who worked as hard as he did. Even during his rare days off, he was always thinking about Crown’s matters. It was like even his private life had become entirely consumed by work.

Victor: By now, you’ve already been on a mission with everyone in Crown, haven’t you?

Kate: Yes, that’s right. But only when you requested that I join them.

I’d never been on a mission outside of the ones where Victor requested my presence. So that’s why I didn’t feel like I’d been doing too much. However…

Victor: I was wondering whether it was time you became someone’s personal Fairytale Keeper.

Kate: A personal Fairytale Keeper?

Victor: Isn’t it overwhelming if you have to join everyone on their missions, and write reports on all of them? Victor: I had thought it was a good idea. However…

Kate: Victor?

Victor: Ah, it’s nothing.

There was a slight pain in Victor’s expression. He slowly opened his mouth to continue, as though it was hurting him to speak.

Victor: It’s just that it might make it difficult for you to come by so often to help me, so I realized how lonely I’d be.

(He really thinks that?)

Kate: I’d also be lonely if we stopped doing this.

Though I found VIctor’s behavior cute, I also felt the same way. I figured I should tell him directly. Although I hadn’t been doing this for very long, this routine with Victor had already become a comfort to me.

(When I go on missions with Crown, I learn more and more about the injustice that exists in the world. And every time, I wonder just what it is that I can do.) (I keep trying to face forward and meet things head on, but I can’t help but think that…)

Every time I witnessed another tragedy, I felt the urge to do something. But the knowledge of how little I could do haunted me.

(That’s why the time I spend with Victor is so important to me.)

Even though I didn’t speak about it, maybe Victor noticed something anyway. He never asked me about the missions in any detail when I’m in his office.

Kate: I want to keep going on missions with Crown as Fairytale Keeper, and I also want to keep working with you. Kate: Is that alright?

I must have looked nervous. With a conflicted smile, Victor opened his mouth.

Victor: If that is what you wish. Victor: But if it’s ever too much, you must let me know immediately, okay?

Kate: I will. Thank you.

With that discussion done, I got ready to start working. However…

Victor: But you really have been working too hard lately. You should rest for today.

He stood up and headed for his desk.

Victor: You stayed up late last night researching to prepare for the mission you’re going on with William, didn’t you? Victor: You’re doing more than anyone asked of you. So rest your wings a while.

Kate: But-

(Isn’t there a lot to do today?)

As I was about to ask Victor that, he firmly shook his head.

Victor: Take it as a personal request from me.

He looked at me with puppy-dog eyes, everything about him radiating cuteness. I felt my heart skip a beat.

Victor: Pretty please?

(I’m sure if Jude or Harrison were here, they’d call this gross and tell VIctor to stop acting like a child.) (But there’s no way I can say no to that face…)

Victor was normally the ever-reliable man of a hundred talents. Seeing him act like this hit me right in the heart.

(I can’t rule out that he knows I’m weak to this kind of thing, but still…)

His eyes were practically sparkling. The gap between now and his normal behavior made my pulse race in my ears.

(I know he’s messing with me, but I’m still going to say yes anyway.)

Kate: Fine, I will.

Victor: Excellent! Have a good rest.

I gave him a nod as he waved goodbye to me, and left his office. Dark clouds hung in the sky outside.

-----

William: So you knew he was manipulating you, and you still lost.

Kate: “Lost” is a strong word… But… yeah…

We were seated at the upper floor of the theater. I kept my eyes on the stage and my voice low as I spoke with William. He looked amused as he rested his chin on one hand and similarly kept his eyes on the performance. Young, beautiful actresses were performing on the stage. However, their acting skills were still quite rough. It was pretty obvious that they were all new to the stage. Today’s mission was to approach the women under the pretext of becoming their patrons, Investigate to see if they were potential targets of human trafficking, and collect solid evidence if so. Sitting in the box across from us was the suspect, an aristocrat who was eyeing the women on stage with a cigar in hand.

William: Victor knows that look works on you. William: He’s not one to put on the cute act otherwise.

Kate: I know…

On stage, the actress’ eyes sparkled with excitement.

That there could exist a future where that brightness would end up snatched away was unforgivable.

(According to William, the theater staff are all also accomplices. None of them should escape justice either.) (We have to do something before things get worse.)

Before their eyes, so brilliant in the pursuit of their dreams and belief in the future, clouded over. Maybe I was getting more worked up than usual because these actresses were performing on the stage that I held so dear, and they were similar in age to me.

William: I won’t need to be that forceful. But I will pass judgment on that man, and everyone else involved, before these women become victims.

Kate: That’s a relief to hear.

My eyes darted back to our target. He was whispering to someone who looked like he was one of the involved theater staff.

William: Seems that things are moving quickly.

The staff member briefly left, and when he returned, he had a piece of paper in his hand.

Kate: That’s…

William: A sales contract.

The target scribbled on the contract with a quill pen, then withdrew a check from his pocket. He exchanged it for the contract, and then the staff member left once more.

William: It’s time for our mission to begin.

Applause filled the theater as the curtains drew to a close. Seeing our target stand, we also stood.

William: We’ll seize the contract from the target as planned.

Kate: Got it.

We exited the main stage area before our target did, and made sure to stand apart from each other as we walked down the corridor. As the suspect appeared, William called out to him.

William: You’ve left awfully early. Are you not staying for the curtain call?

Target: Lord Rex! To think I’d meet you here.

Distracted by William, the target didn’t notice me hiding behind him.

Target: Well, the acting was quite poor, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Target: I wasn’t in the mood to watch for much longer.

William: I’d prefer to say that those actresses still have room to grow.

Target: Ah yes, that’s right. It’s–

As he was getting drawn into the conversation, I approached the target from behind, and bumped into him.

Kate: Oh, I’m sorry!

Target: What do you think you’re doing?

Kate: I’m so sorry, I was going to the restroom and I got turned around.

As I lied shamelessly, William brushed his hand across the target’s coat.

William: Oh my, you have something stuck there.

Target: Do I? Where?

As the target was distracted by trying to check his coat, I saw my chance and reached for the target’s inner pocket. It wasn’t difficult to steal the contract.

William: It’s alright, I’ve got it.

Target: Thank you very much. And as for you-

I kept the contract hidden behind my back as the man glared at me. William spoke up.

William: If she hadn’t bumped into you, I wouldn’t have noticed the dirt stuck to your coat. William: Thank you, miss.

You’re welcome.

I’m sorry for bumping into you. (+4/+4)

Smile awkwardly.

Kate: I’m sorry for bumping into you, sir.

Target: …I’ll let you off just this once.

William: The restroom is that way, miss. You can’t miss it. William: Well then, we shall be leaving first. William: Do be careful. And now, if you’ll excuse us.

Kate: Thank you very much.

After making sure both the target and William were gone, I started running in the other direction. Stashing the contract deep in my purse, I left through the emergency exit.

(I’m glad it worked.)

When William suggested that I steal the contract while he distract the target, I was nervous whether I’d be able to do it. But everything had gone according to plan. I felt my shoulders drop as the tension bled out of me. However, the mission wasn’t over yet.

(It’s not over until I rendezvous with William and we return to the castle!)

If we didn’t return with the evidence, then the entire mission would be pointless. My hands tightened around the strap of my purse and I steeled myself.

Kate: …Alright.

The plan was to sneak around to the other side of the theater through the alleyways, meet William, and then take a carriage back to the castle. If I head straight to the meeting point with no delays, it’s only a few minutes away. Even though this was an alleyway, there were plenty of people passing by out in front. I’d been told that it was a safe area, but still…

(It’s better to hurry.)

The silence was starting to get to me, so I took another deep breath to calm down and started walking faster. Just a little while ago, I was regularly navigating alleys like these to make my deliveries. But maybe because it’s been a while since I’d walked around by myself, I was starting to feel nervous. My hands tightened again around my purse. I was always supposed to be accompanied by someone from Crown if I left the castle. At first, I had thought of it as a way to keep me in line. But as I’d gotten to know Crown better and realize that they were protecting me, they began to feel more like escorts than wardens.

(And Victor always makes me feel the safest.)

He always had a kind word ready, and a gentle look. Whether he acted cheerfully or adorably, Spending time with Victor always made me relaxed. It made me happy.

(Maybe it’s because Victor always puts others first.)

Every time I noticed a small act of consideration from Victor, it filled my heart with warmth. This level of care must be why he’s able to succeed in his role as the queen’s aide.

(...I really want to see him.)

Tomorrow, in his office. When I open the door, he’ll be waiting for me with a soft smile. And he’d ask me: “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

(When I get back, I’ll write up my report immediately and hand it to him first thing tomorrow morning.)

While I was daydreaming, I checked to make sure no one else was walking down this alley, but–

(Huh?)

I saw the fluttering of black hair disappear around a corner deeper into the alleyways.

Kate: Victor?

Although I only caught a glimpse of him, that was unmistakably Victor.

(What is he doing here?)

I found myself turning to follow him, drawn in by how much I had wanted to meet him. I approached slowly. Voices echoed in the alley, and Victor’s was among them.

Victor: –evil.

I heard the sound of groaning, and I hurriedly rounded the corner.

(...What…?)

The sight of several people sprawled on the ground met my eyes. They had their hands wrapped tightly around their own necks, rapturous expressions on their faces. They were dead.

Kate: Ah… wha-

In response to the shock I couldn’t contain, Victor spun around, illuminated by the light of the moon. The eyes that met mine were impossibly cold, almost inhuman. My voice died in my throat as I realized… …I knew nothing. I was just a little robin, kept safe and ignorant inside a cushion-lined cage.

[revelboo]

Can I please have some crumbs of my male wife Skids?

I don't really get why he's so underrated in the fandom, but the fact you're writing fiction for him brings me such joy I can't even put it into words.

Thank you

Sure!

Hysteria Pt 5

Skids x Reader

• Never recharges well, processor humming away, too busy to rest. Running scenarios, probabilities and unable to stop. That’s why he hears the slide of your blankets. Hears when you stand and the barely there sound of your feet walking across his berth. Head turning, he dims his optics and opens them enough to see you toeing the edge. Arms slightly away from your body, you look like you’re about to take flight, rocking slightly. And then pitching forward. Swearing, he lunges, paint scraping on his berth as he snags you before you hit and you go wild in his grip, struggling and screaming. “What are you doing?” He snarls, servos trembling and you look up at him, hair in your face and terrified.

• “Skids?” Voice shaking, you look back at him. Why is he just holding you out over the side of his berth? Like he was about to drop you. Clinging to his servos as he stares at you, unable to stop trembling, you try to get a better grip on him. “Were you going to drop me?” And he recoils, hauling you up against his chassis. Why? If he wants you gone, if you’re bothering him, all he has do is tell you. Not hurt you.

• “No,” he blurts as your eyes go shiny, about to start leaking. “You pitched yourself off the edge, I caught you.” Why would you think he’d do that to you? But something about your expression snags at him. “You walked to the edge and then just fell forward.” And your brow furrows in confusion like you have no idea what he’s talking about. Like you didn’t just try to break your own little neck. Flopping back onto his berth with you cradled against the mesh of his neck as his spark anxiously thrums, he swears. “Why did you do that?”

• “I’d never do that,” you mutter, but he’s so distraught about it, you can’t really believe he was about to drop you. Had you been sleepwalking? You’ve never done that as far as you know, but you’re so tired, so stressed. All the time. Afraid. Nightmares coming for you about your captivity every time you try to sleep. Awake you’d never do that. But asleep? Don’t want to think about it as you shudder and curl against the underside of his chin. “Don’t let me do that again, okay?”

• Shuddering as he vents, he stares at the ceiling. You’d been so reluctant to let Ratchet scan you, to let anyone touch you but him. But Ratchet had insisted, and he doesn’t know what the medic had gotten from those scans, but maybe he needs to ask. “I won’t let you get hurt.” Not anymore. Servos sliding against your side and hip, he stares at the ceiling. Thinks about your question, about wanting to forget. Feels those missing pieces in his own processor, that aching sense of something right there on the tip of glossa, but forever out of reach. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Even if he knows you’re so broken because something already had. Something you can’t talk about. Something you want to erase.

• Arms and legs drawn up against yourself, you can hear the soft sound of his internal systems rumbling under you, that soothing rhythmic thrum. Feel his servos stroking over you almost absently. Making promises he can’t keep, that you know you can’t hold him to. But you need to believe the lies, that you’re finally safe, that you’re never going back to that place. Because you do when you sleep. Can’t let go of the fear and pain, but they can make you forget. Skids had as much as admitted that there was a way. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what it’s like to be scared all the time even though it’s over. For it to feel like it’s not over, like what happened is looming over you even now. Waiting to drag you under.

Previous

[sturniolohohoho]

"I can be in love with somebody but still be fine with not doing anything about it"

a/n: i saw this clip and it actually made me so horribly sad so you know i had to write some soul-crushing angst about it!! <3

w/c: angst, uhhh sadness?

______________________________________________________________

Chris doesn't know when it started. Maybe it was always there, buried under years of late-night conversations and the way you always reached for him first.

Maybe it was the way you laughed, the way you made everything feel lighter just by existing. Or maybe it was the moment he realized he could never have you.

Either way, it doesn't matter now.

Because you're sitting on his bed, knees pulled up, scrolling through messages that aren't from him. Because you're talking to someone else, to Ben, and you don’t even notice the way Chris is staring at his hands like they aren’t his, like he isn’t fighting every instinct to reach for you.

“Okay, but tell me the truth,” you say suddenly, nudging his knee with yours. “If I text him first, does that make me look desperate?”

Chris forces himself to look at you, to push down the sick, aching feeling in his stomach. He gives you the best smile he can manage. “Nah, you’re good. He’d be lucky to hear from you.”

You grin and go back to typing, completely unaware that you’re breaking him in real time.

Chris exhales slowly. He wonders if this is what drowning feels like—lungs full, chest tight, knowing the surface is right there, but never quite reaching it.

And the worst part?

You have no idea.

Because he’s never told you. Never let it slip, never allowed himself the selfishness of hope. Because he knows you. And he knows that if you knew, if you even suspected, your face would soften, and you'd give him that look, the one full of guilt and pity.

And Chris would rather carve the feeling out of his heart with a blunt knife than ever see you look at him like that.

So he shoves it down. Again. Just like always.

You sigh dramatically, locking your phone, stretching your arms over your head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Chris.”

Chris swallows. Smiles. “Yeah.”

He knows exactly what he’d do without you.

Because he's already living it. ___________

Later that night, when you’ve gone home, when the room still smells faintly like you, Chris sits on the floor of Matt’s room, knees drawn up, a half-empty water bottle in his hands.

Matt watches him, brows furrowed, because he knows. Of course, he knows.

“Dude,” he says, voice quiet, careful. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Chris lets out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“Chris.”

Chris tips his head back against the bed frame, staring at the ceiling like it holds some kind of answer. He doesn’t know why he says it, why he finally puts it into words, but it slips out anyway, low and tired and true.

“I can be in love with somebody,” he says, “but still be fine with not doing anything about it.”

Matt doesn’t answer right away. And when Chris finally looks over, Matt is just watching him, with a gut-wrencing expression

Chris forces a smile. “It’s fine.”

Matt’s watches him. He nods, but Chris knows what he’s thinking.

No, it’s not.

______________________________________________________________

NOOOO ILL CRY. BEN WHEN I CATCH YOU BEN

taglist: @sturniolosrtewsexy @sturnbrooke @emely9274

comment to be added!

[chxrryhxrt]

James potter pure smut and he’s whimpering. Maybe we’re pegging him, maybe he’s being a munch, I don’t know I just need him really bad 😔

Birthday Boy - James Potter x Female Reader

Synopsis: It’s James’ Birthday and Sirius kindly gifts the pair of you an empty dorm for the night. It only seems right that you fulfil one of James’ fantasies.

Warnings: smut, handjob, anal (male receiving), swearing

A/N: tysm for the ask and sorry it took so long to write! this is my first time writing for James, my first time writing smut, and my first time writing pegging, so please be kind! (though constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged pls i need it) 😭

Sunbeams poured through the windows, thawing the condensation that thinly coated the panes. As the early morning light began to cast a warm hue over the Gryffindor common room, you made your way down the staircase, clad all in pyjamas.

Most students would choose to spend their Sunday curled up in front of the fire, or running around with seemingly endless energy, in the case of some particularly rowdy first years. Knowing this, you and your friends had decided to get up early to give James his birthday presents, hopeful to avoid the daytime rabble.

Socked feet met with the cozily carpeted floor as you scanned the room, eyes falling on a drowsy looking James – no longer asleep, but not awake quite yet. Settling down opposite him, you made sure to offer a grateful smile to the other three boys, knowing that he likely put up a fight, not being a morning person by any stretch.

Even as he noticed you take a seat he refused to perk up, choosing his usual melodrama instead.

“Can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” he huffed, sinking deeper into the sofa, “and on my birthday as well.”

“Don’t be daft, Prongs, it’s only six thirty – you’re up earlier on a weekday,” Remus reasoned, elbowing the sulking boy beside him. He quietened down – albeit reluctantly – as the logic of Remus’ observation sank in. That was, until Sirius decided to pipe up.

“I dunno mate, it does seem unfair that I should have to lose my beauty sleep for this muppet–“ he leant close to Peter, fingers pulling his skin taut– “do you see the wrinkles this has given me?”

Before their descent into typical marauder chaos, you interjected, swiftly moving the conversation forward.

“More importantly than your complexion, Sirius,” you began pointedly, “it’s James’ birthday and he should open his presents,”

Amazingly, at the mere mention of gifts, any remnants of fatigue disappeared, Peter being the first to hand a neatly wrapped box to James, a little bow adorning the top.

Thick hands grasped the package, only a soft rustling audible as he held it up to his ear, shaking it around. Swiftly declaring that he couldn’t possibly guess, the ribbon was untied and wrapping paper torn off, revealing a maroon knit sweater with a stag embroidered on the front. As he said his thank you’s, he slipped the jumper over his head, groaning at its softness.

“You need to feel this,” he urged, not leaving much choice as he grasped your wrist, running your palm along the sleeve, “it’s so soft,”

Hearing this, Peter beamed proudly, “It’s made from puffskein mohair,”

Everyone else took turns at handing him presents, the chairs around you filling up as Marlene and Dorcas arrived, followed by Lily. The room was brighter now, the midmorning light sending dust motes flying through the air. A steady stream of Gryffindors flowed past your small huddle, some wishing James a happy birthday, but most just focussed on making it to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. Almost instinctively, you pushed yourself up and merged into the crowd. James, trusting Sirius with his presents, hopped up too, his toned arm coming to rest loosely around your waist.

Stood patiently, you leant against his chest, awaiting the moving staircase. Taking this opportunity away from any prying eyes – or at least anyone who would care, as you had lost both Marlene and Lily in the masses – you decided to let James in on a secret.

“I’m so glad you liked your tickets to the Quidditch World Cup,” you confessed, running a hand down his chest, “they were a total pain to get a hold of,”

Looking down at you, eyes wide and gentle, he replied, “I loved them - seriously, best present ever, I can’t wait.” He tenderly stroked your hair. “Besides, I’d love anything you got me, even if it was like, a single shoe.”

Lips sealed tight to hold in a laugh, you got on tippy toes, mouth at his ear.

“That’s good, because Sirius agreed to let us use the dorm tonight. Maybe we could try out that thing you suggested?”

Heat flooded James’ face as he pulled you in tight to his side, his gaze elsewhere as he offered a short, yet very enthusiastic, nod. 

Hours were spent chasing James around on his new broomstick – courtesy of his parents – as he got used to it, readying himself for the match against Ravenclaw later in the month. Sirius joined the pair of you in practicing, whilst Remus and Peter (who were much less athletically inclined) grabbed snacks for everyone to share before heading to The Three Broomsticks.

It was late evening now, as you arrived back at the castle with James in tow. A thin sheen of moonlight illuminated your path up the staircase, stone steps twisting their way to the boys’ dorms.

Arm working to haul your boyfriend in behind you, the bedroom door swung heavily shut. Despite promises to give you some alone time, you knew better than to trust any Marauder, so, to be safe, you swiftly cast a locking charm.

Satisfied, your gaze fell upon James’ shirtless figure, bent over and wrestling to remove his jeans.

“Woah, Buckaroo,” you laughed airily, tentatively moving toward him, “let’s go slow, yeah? Tonight’s all about you.”

Brown curls bounced with his nodding, catching the warm light and reflecting it with a glisten akin to that in his eyes as he faced you. One hand threading into his hair, you dragged him down to you, your lips meeting in a slow kiss.

Testing the waters, you tugged lightly, a stifled groan leaving his mouth, and a trail of goosebumps rising as you trailed your fingers down his bicep.

“Please,” he whispered, face inches away from yours, “been thinkin’ about this all day,”

This somewhat desperate admission makes you reconsider any teasing. It was his birthday after all, it only seemed fair that he gets what he wants so badly.

You soften. Lowering yourself to the floor, you undo his belt, ridding him of his remaining clothes, and begin to work his cock with your hand. Though, he needed little help, already well past half-mast.

“Jamie, you’re so hard for me.” You tease, licking his tip fleetingly. “You could’ve told me you were feeling needy, I would’ve helped you out.”

Your mouth takes his full length then, and James’ fingers fly to your hair, in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Evidently unsuccessful though, as the moans spilling from him seemingly replaced any need to breathe.

“More,” he panted through ragged breaths, “please,”

Spurred on, you gripped his calves, taking him all the way down your throat. Some tears welled in your lash line, but you blinked them away, too focused on pleasing your boyfriend. Swallowing around his cock and working your tongue around the head, it quickly became clear that he was close, so you pulled off, rising from your knees. 

“Get on the bed, I’m gonna grab some things.” You directed, feet padding over to the chest in the corner. Having removed your clothing, you rummaged around, grabbing a bottle of lube and a strap-on.

When you returned to James, you found him on all fours, waiting more patiently than you had expected. The bed dipped as you clambered behind the boy, who began to whine and wiggle his hips around at your arrival.

You ran your palm down the plane of his back, soothing him with intermittent shushes.

“I’m just going to start with one finger,” you warned, careful to take your time, “is that okay?”

“Yes - need it so bad,” he whined, a deep sigh of relief leaving him as your middle finger eased into him, gradually beginning to move it.

Noticing his weak attempts at taking you deeper, you reached for the lube. The boy in front of you shivered, taking a sharp inhale as the cold liquid made contact with his skin and you pushed a second digit in. You continued to crook your fingers, working back and forth in preparation for what was coming next.

Minutes later, once you deemed him loose enough, you retracted your hand, receiving a rather bitter look from James.

“Hush, I’m gonna fill you with something even better – “ you lined up with his entrance, tapping against his hole – “you just gotta be patient for me.”

Attention fully on his arse now, you tried to sink in, met only with tight resistance. This was normal, you had heard (mostly from Remus and Sirius, as they were your main source of information on the topic – though you wouldn’t tell James this), but forcing would simply not help. So, you offered a little distraction, your body folding over James’ as you reached for his rouged cock, stroking it and paying extra care to run your thumb over the tip.

Muscles slackening, his whole body becoming less tense, you managed to push in to the hilt, your pelvis pressed against him as you gave him time to get used to the feeling of his arse being filled completely.

“You can move,” he assured between gasps for air, “please- please move,”

Grasping one of his hips, you bottomed out, keeping a steady pace as you thrusted into him.

Meanwhile, your other hand continued to jerk him off, a particularly guttural whine being made as you massaged his balls.

A few short minutes later, and James was already a mess, fisting the sheets beneath him and pushing back to meet your thrusts. You could tell he was close from the way he struggled to hold himself up, so you began to speed up your movements, eager to make him come.

“I’m- fuck- I’m gonna-“ he tried, voice shaky.

“I know, come for me, pretty boy,” you encouraged, pressing kisses into his spine and whispering quiet praises to him.

As soon as he reached his peak, hot spurts of fluid leaking down onto the duvet, you urged him onto his back. With a small cloth you had grabbed earlier, you began to wipe him clean, careful not to overstimulate him. At the sight of this, however, your boyfriend’s brows knitted together with confusion.

“What about you? You didn’t get to come-” he started, interrupted as your lips pressed to his in a sloppy, passionate kiss.

“Tonight was just for you, Birthday Boy,” you reassured, “besides – we don’t have long ‘til Sirius tries to bang down the door,”

i hope you enjoyed and have an amazing day wherever you are 🩷🩷

dividers by @enchanthings-a

[inadaydream99]

The Office Dynamics

A/N - I had so much fun writing these! Each of these are inspired by characters and scenes from The Office

Disclaimer: this does not represent any of the members in real life and is for entertainment purposes only!

Chan

The Late-Night Desk Conversations

While chan has to stay late every night to keep on top of his copious amounts of work, you choose to stay. Not because you’re so dedicated to your role, but because it’s an excuse to hang out with him. And so, it’s become part of your daily routine to be the only two left at work after hours.

As expected, it’s just the two of you once again, the glow of your computer screens and the sound of the rain tapping against the office windows. You break the steady silence with a yawn, stretching dramatically, which makes Chan glance your way. “Need a bedtime story?”

You smirk. “What, like The Tragic Life of an Overworked Employee?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re hilarious. Remind me why I put up with you?”

You grin. “Because if I weren’t here, you’d have no one to make fun of your disastrous caffeine addiction.”

It’s moments like this that make your heart flutter. It’s just so quiet, easy, and comfortable.

There are times when you can tell he wants to go, but he always lingers by your desk a little longer, as though he’s waiting for something… maybe he’s hoping you’ll ask him to stay… like right now. There he is, loitering. And you weigh the thought for a second as it crosses your mind.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard, pretending to still be focused on your work. But the words aren’t making sense anymore, and neither is the way your heart beats just a little faster when Chan doesn’t immediately grab his things to leave.

Instead, he stretches again, arms reaching over his head, his sweater riding up just slightly before he lets out a soft sigh. “Alright,” he says, but he doesn’t move. He just looks at you, eyes flickering with something teasing yet unreadable. “Tell me, how much more suffering do we have left?”

You glance at the document in front of you, but really, you’re stalling. “Depends,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Are we talking about tonight’s workload or the existential kind?”

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. “Both, obviously.”

You exhale dramatically, tapping your pen against your desk. “Well, tonight’s suffering is about… thirty more minutes if we really focus.” You pause, then add, “Existential suffering? Probably lifelong.”

He lets out a low laugh, and the sound does something dangerous to you.

“See, this is why I like being around you,” he muses. “You make my impending burnout entertaining.”

You smirk. “Happy to help.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the rain outside and the occasional clatter of keys. Chan, now sat back in his chair and not making any real move to leave, spins his pen between his fingers before finally speaking again.

“You know,” he starts, quieter this time, “you don’t actually have to stay late every night.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone.

“Says the guy who practically has his name engraved on this desk?” you counter, trying to keep it light.

He smiles, but there’s something softer in it now. “I mean it. You could go home. Get some sleep. Not stress over this job like you do. I’d still be here.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? You could go home. You could leave him to his late-night habits, his empty office, his half-drunk cups of coffee and his relentless need to be the last one standing. But you don’t. You never do.

Maybe he knows that. Maybe that’s why he stays by your desk longer than he needs to.

You could say something. Ask him why he always waits until you’re done before packing up. Ask him why he notices your yawns, your stretches, the way your fingers slow on the keyboard when you start getting tired. Ask him why he lingers.

But instead, you just smile.

“Yeah,” you say, looking back at your screen. “I know.”

Minho

The Post-It Note Pranks

Your daily routine with Minho consists of endless banter, stolen glances, and… a Post-it note war. A little unusual, yes, but it’s been happening for so long that neither of you can remember how it started… only that you’re both incredibly competitive and stubborn.

Today’s round begins when you stick a note to his monitor: Try to look less busy today.

It doesn’t take him long to retaliate with one on your keyboard: Try to do actual work today.

And so the war escalates. You retaliate with a note on his stapler: I licked this.

So Minho counters with one on your favourite coffee mug: I spit in this. (He didn’t. Probably. Hopefully.)

The next morning you arrive to find a hundred yellow notes covering your desk, each reading: I win.

You huff, turning to the culprit. “Minho-”

But then, from the corner of your eye, you spot a pink one hidden under your keyboard. Sheepishly picking it up, you read: By the way, you look really pretty when you’re annoyed.

Well, that made your heart skip an unexpected beat.

You continue to stare at the note, your heart pounding a little too fast for your liking. Then your eyes flitter to find Minho, still watching you, with his chin propped on his hand and that infuriatingly smug smirk on his lips. He quirks a brow, waiting for your reaction.

Feeling irritation at his clear attempt to fluster you into submission, you grasp a pen and scribble a reply before closing off the few steps to his desk and sticking the note right onto his forehead.

He blinks up at you, momentarily stunned, before peeling it off to read: That’s cheating.

But he simply chuckles, the sound low and amused, and you’re too aware of how close you’re standing. His eyes flick from the note back to you, and for a second, the office noise—keyboards clicking, printers whirring, distant voices—fades into the background.

Then he leans forward slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch, and murmurs, “You’re just mad because you liked it.”

You scoff, crossing your arms even as heat creeps up your neck. “In your dreams.”

He hums, twirling the note between his fingers. “Maybe.”

Before you can fire back, he casually sticks another Post-it onto your wrist. You glance down, expecting another teasing jab.

Instead, it’s just a simple message: Lunch?

You hesitate for only a second before rolling your eyes and scribbling your response. When you slap the note onto his desk, he barely has time to grab it before you’re already walking away.

He flips it over and grins.

Try to keep up.

Changbin

The “Fake Dating” Bet

You and Changbin are always fake-flirting in the office. It started as a joke - dramatic declarations of love, exaggerated winks, calling each other “babe” just to get reactions.

But then your pesky colleague Jisung bets that neither of you can keep it up for a full week without actually catching feelings.

You and Changbin just share a smug side glance. Challenge accepted.

Day one and you’re already getting alarmingly used to it: Changbin leans against your desk, smirking. “Morning, darling. Did you miss me?”

You roll your eyes. “Tragically, yes. My heart aches without you.”

The problem? You do miss him. You do feel your heart race when he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. And by day two, when he casually pulls you into a side hug and murmurs, “You know… we’re really good at this,” you wonder - what if we weren’t faking?

Day Three: You’re officially losing it.

Changbin’s hand finds the small of your back as he guides you through the office, and instead of rolling your eyes or making a joke, you nearly lean into it. When he calls you babe in that lazy, affectionate tone, your stomach does an embarrassing summersault.

Jisung is watching. He’s always watching, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he observes every lingering glance, every subtle touch. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.

“You’re getting soft,” you murmur to Changbin when you’re alone in the break room. You mean it as a tease, but it comes out quieter, more uncertain than you intended.

Changbin raises a brow, stepping closer. “Am I?”

He’s so close. The air between you crackles with something that wasn’t there before—except, maybe it was, and you were just too busy pretending to notice. Although, you don’t step away. And neither does he.

Day Four: You’re so screwed.

You tell yourself you’re overthinking it. That this is just the nature of the bet. That Changbin isn’t actually looking at you differently, and your heart isn’t racing faster than usual when he throws an arm over your shoulders and keeps it there, fingers idly tracing patterns.

Then, after a long day, you find yourself walking out together. It’s dark, the city buzzing with life, and Changbin hesitates before speaking.

“You know this is the last day, right?” His voice is softer than usual, like he’s testing the weight of the words.

You nod. You’ve been thinking about it all day. Tomorrow, the bet is over. And then what?

Before you’re able to spiral, Changbin reaches for your hand. Not dramatically, not for show—just a gentle brush of his fingers against yours, hesitant but hopeful.

“We don’t have to stop,” he murmurs.

You should laugh it off. Call his bluff. Make a joke about it. But instead, you allow his fingers to thread through yours.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I know.”

Hyunjin

The Office ‘Secret Handshake’

You and Hyunjin have a dumb, overly complicated handshake that started as an inside joke but has now become a thing that everyone knows about and finds incredibly annoying.

It’s all dramatic finger snaps, spins, and an unnecessary over-the-head high-five at the end. Everyone rolls their eyes when you do it, but neither of you care.

Until one day, during a particularly boring meeting, when you glance at Hyunjin from across the conference table. Without a word, you start subtly miming the first move under the table.

Hyunjin bites his lip to hold back a laugh before mirroring your movements. You both manage to get through the whole sequence without breaking eye contact, even as Chan - your long-suffering team leader - sighs, “I know you two are doing that stupid handshake.”

After the meeting, Hyunjin nudges you, grinning. “Maybe we should make it our thing for real.”

Your heart skips. But before you can question him on it, he sends you a wink and strolls away.

You stand frozen in the hallway for a second, replaying Hyunjin’s words in your head. What does he even mean? The handshake is already your thing. It’s dumb, ridiculous, and completely unnecessary—but it’s yours. Unless…

Your thoughts short-circuit for a second, the thought coming into your mind and destroying your rationality.

By the time you’re able to shake yourself out of it, Hyunjin has long disappeared, but you can still hear his whistling from down the hall - sounding so casual for someone who’s just wrecked your entire brain.

And it’s not until mid-afternoon when you see him again.

Acting on impulse, you grab onto his sleeve just as he passes you in the break rooms entrance. “Okay, what did you mean earlier?” You try (but miserably fail) to sound casual.

Hyunjin just looks at you with a slow, knowing grin spreading across his lips. “What does what mean?”

You narrow your eyes, knowing that he’s acting sheepish because he thinks it’s funny. “You know.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think, then suddenly steps closer. The break room is luckily empty, but still, the space between you feels too small. “Are you asking if I meant us?”

Your breath hitches, the air becoming so thick you feel like you’re about to suffocate. He watches you for a moment, his confident stare burning into you - trying to read every emotion and thought that flickers behind your eyes. “Because I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t mean it.”

Your brain short-circuits again.

There’s no way he isn’t enjoying this - he has that glint in his eye, the one he gets when he’s teasing but also dead serious. And the worst part? You can’t even think of a good response because you want more, too.

Before you can properly process it, Hyunjin reaches for your hand and, with a dramatic flourish, initiates the first move of your handshake. Automatically, your fingers snap into place, muscle memory taking over. The spin, the sync, the final over-the-head high-five - it’s all the same. Except now, as your hands linger just a second too long at the end, Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“So?” his voice is softer now. “Our thing?”

Your heart pounds, but you can’t fight your grin.

“Yeah,” you smile, lacing your fingers through his before he can pull away. “Our thing.”

Jisung

The Office Supply Heist

Jisung has a bad habit of stealing things from your desk - pens, sticky notes, even your stress ball. Every time you call him out, he plays dumb. “What? Maybe you’re just bad at keeping track of your stuff.”

But you’ve finally had enough. So you set a trap. Leaving a small notebook and pen on your desk, you write on the first page I know what you’re doing - so when he flips it open he’ll see.

Sure enough, Jisung swipes it within the hour.

When he flips the notebook open and sees the message, he bursts out laughing. “Okay, maybe I take your stuff. But only ‘cause it’s yours.”

You cross your arms. “That’s the worst excuse ever.”

Jisung shrugs, twirling your stolen pen between his fingers. “Or… it’s the best one.”

You roll your eyes, but secretly? You kind of love it. Nonetheless, you scoff, shaking your head as he continues twirling the pen like some kind of smug magician. “So what, you steal my stuff just for fun?”

He smirks. “It’s more entertaining than ordering office supplies like a normal person.”

You narrow your eyes. “You do realize the company provides free stationary, right? There’s literally a whole cabinet full of it.”

Jisung tilts his head, pretending to consider this. “But those don’t have the same charm. Yours are just… better.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” he counters, grinning. “It’s like stealing fries off someone’s plate. They just taste better.”

“That is not the same thing!”

Jisung just shrugs, tapping the pen against his chin. “Agree to disagree?”

You shoot him a glare before holding out your hand expectantly. “Give it back.”

He hesitates, twirling the pen one last time between his fingers. “Hmm. Nah.”

“Jisung.”

“What?” He leans back in his chair, completely unfazed. “They’ve got sentimental value now.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “They’ve been in your possession for thirty seconds.”

“Yeah, and in those thirty seconds, they’ve become my favorite stationary.”

You lunge forward in an attempt to snatch the pen first, but Jisung is faster, jerking his hand away just in time. Laughing, he tucks the pen into his pocket before grabbing the notebook and standing up. “Tell you what - if you want them back, you’ll just have to come steal them from me.”

Before you can argue, he winks and strolls off toward the break room, leaving you sitting there, half-annoyed, half-amused. You sigh, shaking your head. This is not over.

Felix

The “Accidental” Coffee Dates

Felix always seems to be in the break room at the exact same time as you. Suspiciously so.

“Wow,” you say one morning, entering the break room at the same time you do everyday to retrieve your first cup of coffee. “What are the odds?”

Felix blinks innocently, but his cheeks tinge just the slighted bit pink. “What do you mean?”

“You definitely time your breaks to match mine.”

He grins sheepishly, “Maybe I just happen to also need a beverage at precisely -” he pauses to check his watch, “10:03am?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? So you don’t just come in here to check what mug I’m using so you can steal it from me later? Because somehow they always end up on your desk?”

Felix smirks. “Well, maybe I don’t want a whole coffee and I just like sharing yours.”

Well, that makes your heart stutter.

Felix watches in amusement, waiting for whatever sassy comeback you’re coming up with. He’s never flirted with you so blatantly before, but it’s clear he’s trying to figure out if you’re into him too.

You hesitate, your fingers tightening slightly around your mug. The break room feels smaller somehow, quieter, the usual hum of the coffee machine and the distant chatter of coworkers fading into the background. Felix is still watching you, his smirk softened into something more patient, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll take the bait.

Your mind races through the past few weeks - the way he always seems to find a reason to linger when you walk in, how his “accidental” coffee thefts have become a running joke, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Maybe it really was time to stop pretending this was just about caffeine.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, then tilt your head. “So, what you’re saying is… we should just only share one cup from now on?”

Felix grins, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his expression. Surprise, maybe. A little anticipation. “I mean, if that’s what you’re offering.”

You tap your fingers against your mug, considering. “Mmm. I don’t know. Feels like a dangerous precedent.”

“Dangerous?” He leans in slightly, elbows resting on the counter. “How so?”

“Well,” you muse, pretending to think it over, “first it’s coffee. Then maybe it’s lunch. Next thing I know, we’re getting dinner, and suddenly people start thinking it’s a thing.”

Felix hums in amusement, nodding as if this is a very serious concern. “Sounds risky.”

“Very.”

He takes a step back to fully assess you, folding his arms. “And would that be such a bad thing?”

There it is. The shift from playful to real, the challenge hidden beneath his casual tone. He’s putting the question out there, giving you a choice. Your heart instantly kicks into overdrive.

You could brush it off, keep playing the game. Or you could take the leap.

You exhale, setting your cup down on the counter, exactly halfway between you. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Felix’s smile is slow, knowing. Then, he picks up your cup, slowly lifting it to his lips, taking an exaggerated sip before handing it back. “Guess so.”

Your fingers brush as you take it, and just like that, the game changes.

Seungmin

The Mutual Roasting Sessions

Your entire relationship with Seungmin revolves around mercilessly making fun of each other. It’s just how it’s always been between you, so effortless and lighthearted. And you know he’s as addicted to it as much as you are.

For example, yesterday when you walked past his desk, you caught a glance at him scribbling something, working away like a maniac and couldn’t resist: “Seungmin, you literally have the handwriting of a serial killer.”

“At least I write things down. When’s the last time you actually met a deadline?” He’d quipped after you, throwing you a quick glance that revealed just a hint of his smirk.

Okay, you admit, that was fair… you do have a habit of being a little late with deadlines.

But were you about to let him get away with it? Absolutely not. However the next day, you were mid-roast when Seungmin had suddenly leaned in closer, smirking. “You know, if we ever dated, our love language would just be insults.”

Your first response was to let out a snort, followed by an “If we dated?”

Oh, you’d regretted that right away. It’d only taken half a second to notice the way his smirk faltered. But Seungmin had been thrown off by your reaction for just long enough to let slip the flicker of something real behind his eyes.

“Shut up,” he’d muttered, looking away.

Then later that same day, you’d caught him sneaking a glance at you, and suddenly, the teasing didn’t feel so lighthearted anymore.

Which brings you to present day and, for the first time in forever, Seungmin seems off his game. It’s subtle, but you notice it - the way his comebacks aren’t as sharp, the way he hesitates a fraction of a second too long before responding. The way he keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

If the other day hadn’t happened, you would have found it funny, the King of merciless teasing suddenly being flustered? Hilarious. But now, you can’t help feeling awkward - wishing you’d not made a joke out of him before.

In an attempt to restore your normal dynamic, you try to test the waters. The next time you see him, you make a show of stretching before dropping onto the seat beside him with a sigh. “Man, I don’t know what I’d do without you, Seungmin.”

He raises an eyebrow, suspicious. “Finally admitting I’m the best thing in your life?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpan. “I mean, who else would insult me so consistently? I’d have to pay someone.”

His mouth twitches like he wants to smile but refuses to give you the satisfaction. “That’s true. You’d be lost without me.”

There it is again - that tiny hesitation, the way his gaze flickers to your lips before snapping back up. You should let it go. You should let the moment pass. But you’re insistent.

Instead, you tilt your head, feigning curiosity. “Hey, Seungmin?”

“What?”

You lean in slightly, just enough to close some of the space between you. His breath hitches.

“Were you serious?” you ask, voice quieter now. “About… the dating thing?”

For a second, Seungmin does nothing. Then, he scoffs, but it sounds a little forced. “You think I’d actually want to date you?”

You don’t even flinch. “I think you wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t at least think about it.”

Silence. A long, charged pause where neither of you move. Then-

“Shut up,” he mutters again, looking away.

But this time, when you catch him sneaking another glance at you, he doesn’t look away so fast. This time, he holds your gaze for just a second longer. And this time, you maintain eye contact with him, trying to prove that you’re not as against the idea as you’d initially made out to be.

Jeongin

The ‘Fake Office Enemies’ Game

You and Jeongin pretend to be workplace rivals for fun. You’re not sure how, or why, it started. All you know is that you’re both on the same strange wavelength and just get so much fulfilment from it.

“You got the last blueberry muffin?” you gasp.

Jeongin smirks, taking a slow, deliberate bite. “Should’ve been quicker.”

So you decide to take it up a notch, escalating things by dramatically declaring, “Jeongin is my nemesis!” in front of the entire office.

To your surprise, he steps closer, grinning. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

You hesitate - too aware of how close he suddenly is. His smile is still teasing, but there’s something softer in his eyes. Something almost fond.

“…I’ll get my revenge,” you say weakly.

Jeongin hums, tilting his head. “Looking forward to it.”

The game, it seems, just got a little more complicated.

You tell yourself it’s nothing - just another moment of playful rivalry, the same as always. But as you settle back into your seat, trying to shake the heat lingering on your face, you can feel Jeongin’s eyes still on you.

The rest of the office drones on, people returning to their work or previous discussions, but your mind is elsewhere. You’re too aware of Jeongin sitting just across the room, the way his fingers drum idly against his desk, the occasional amused glance he sends your way like he knows something you don’t.

When lunch finally rolls around, you make a quick escape, heading toward the break room for a moment to collect yourself. You shouldn’t feel this flustered - this has always been a game. A silly, harmless, pretend-rivalry game.

But the way Jeongin had leaned in earlier, the way his voice dropped just slightly, the way his smirk had softened at the edges… It didn’t feel like just a game anymore.

You shake your head, reaching for the coffee pot, only to find it completely empty.

A familiar voice hums from behind you. “Looking for something?”

You turn, already knowing what you’ll see. Jeongin, holding the last fresh cup of coffee in his hands, lifting it to his lips with that signature smirk.

You narrow your eyes. “You did that on purpose.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says innocently, taking a slow sip.

Your hand twitches at your side. “You do realize this means war?”

Jeongin tilts his head, pretending to consider your words. “Hmm. Does it, though?” His gaze flickers down to you, the teasing light still in his eyes, but something else lingers there too. Something almost expectant.

You don’t know why your heart speeds up at that look.

Before you can come up with a witty retort, he steps forward, lowering his voice just enough that you can feel the shift in the air between you. “You’re taking this rivalry thing pretty seriously,” he muses, tapping a finger against the coffee cup. “Almost like you actually care about beating me.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “Of course I do. What kind of nemesis would I be if I didn’t?”

He grins, leaning in just a fraction closer. “Oh? So if I stopped playing along, you’d miss it?”

Your breath catches. It’s a simple question. A playful one, really. But for some reason, you don’t have an answer ready.

Jeongin watches you carefully, the smirk on his lips softening ever so slightly.

For the first time since this game began, you feel like you’re standing at a line. One you hadn’t even realized existed until now. And you have no idea what happens if you cross it.

“…I’d just find someone else to be my office enemy,” you say finally, forcing a casual shrug.

Jeongin clicks his tongue. “Ouch.” But there’s no real offense in his voice, just that same easy amusement, the kind that always makes it hard to tell exactly what he’s thinking.

Then, before you can react, he lifts the coffee cup and presses it into your hands.

Your fingers wrap around the warm ceramic instinctively, blinking up at him in confusion. “What—”

“You can have this one.” He grins. “Consider it a peace offering.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re plotting something.”

“Maybe.” He winks. “But you’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t you?”

And with that, he turns and strolls out of the break room, leaving you standing there, holding the coffee he’d stolen for himself.

Your so-called enemy just let you win. And you don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he did it, or the fact that you kind of liked it.

[call-me-mother-darling]

Honey Never Spoils

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Authors note: Hey chicas, I tried my best with this. As fucked up as it sounds I'm not used to writing cute fics so hopefully this is up to your standards. Just as a warning this isn’t like a super fluffy fic. To make the fluff more impactful there will be action and fighting before it. I tried to make the fighting as short as possible without leaving out info.

Feedback is always encouraged!!

Plot: Natasha asks you for a huge favor

Warnings: men... men having the intention of treating a women like an opject, shooting, punching, violence, Red Room (if you watched the movie you understand), death, fake flirting, drinking, being drunk (let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 2445

I am currently at a bar getting trampled by what seemed like actual children. They must’ve gotten kicked out of the bar close to campus so this was their next best shot. The place was grubby and smells of body odor and bad decisions. What in my right mind am I doing here? I had just finished a mission so I came to Budapest to lie low and enjoy the architecture. Plus the safe house is here. 

Just when I thought my night wasn’t going to get any worse my body is being forced to the side. I can’t help but glare at the bitch that pushed me. I’m met with beautiful green eyes.

“Hello?!” I yell over the blaring music but she is just staring into my soul.

“What the fuck did you push me for?” I yell again waving my hand in front of her face. Just trying to get any reaction from her.

“You speak english?” She questions.

I look at her with an annoyed look. That's all she has to say after she slammed into me. 

“Yes of course I do. Do I look fucking hungarian to you?” I question rolling my eyes.

I begin to walk away when a hand covers my mouth and I'm being dragged away.

“Shh be quiet pretty girl” A sweet russian accent plays in my ear.

Out of my own shock I freeze. 

I do not have time for this.

Realization quickly washes over my body. I think quickly of all possible scenarios. She could be planning on killing me, maybe I owe her boss money? If it’s the boss I’m thinking of, he definitely knows what kind of girls to send my way. I struggle against her grip before I throw my head back and force my elbow into her side. Her grip loosens slightly but she insists on digging her nails into my skin. If she draws blood I'm gonna kill her. Fighting against her nails I twist toward her. It wasn’t by much but it was enough to grab her jacket and slam her into a wall. By the look in her eyes she was shocked but a small smirk played on her lips as soon as I noticed the red hourglass tattoo on her collarbone.

Shit

“What do you want from me?” I growl at her.

“Your love.” She confesses. 

“Are you insane?” I glance at the tattoo, instantly regretting my words.

“Don’t answer that” I say slowly, stepping away from her.

I watch her every move. She's trained to move like a cat, quiet and deadly. If she were to move I wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

 A smirk slowly pulls at her lips. “Who are you?" 

“Given your smirk you already know who I am Natasha.” I have known Natasha since she blew up the Red Room. I was one of the widows that was saved. I couldn’t be more thankful but why did she feel the need to attack to get my attention.

“It is good to see you too, Widow.” She pushes herself off the wall and circles around me. Like a panther hunting her prey.

“Don’t call me that! What do you want?” I question.

“I need your help finding this man. He is part of the few that got away before the Red Room got destroyed. Given you’ve been lying low for over a year now I think it’s time you get back in the action.” She nudges my arm. 

“What do you say, honey bun?” I roll my eyes at that.

“Okay fine, what do you need me to do?” I ask.

“You see that man at the bar with the gray hat? That's him. I need you to flirt with him and get in his head. Bring him to this address.” She hands me a small slip of paper with an address written in red ink. Classic.

In the Red Room we would color code our writing blue means easy target, red means dangerous to widows, green means dangerous to all, black means orders came from Dreykov directly.

“I will be waiting in the bedroom. Get him drunk, knock him out, do whatever you need to do to get him to this address.” I nod in understanding.

“Got it.” I confirm, eyeing this man. He’s huge. Around six foot five and at least three hundred pounds. I take a deep breath stepping in his direction. A strong hand grips my arm. I look back at Natasha staring at me. Her eyes scanning my face like this is the last time she’ll see me. 

“Please pretend like you’re gonna see me Natalia. I got this. You know I've handled worse” I put my hand over hers, running my thumb over her knuckles. You can see her face soften when I say her real name. 

“I know, любовь. I just worry. But go get him. I will be waiting for you.” Natasha says her accent is thick. Her accent always gets worse when she’s scared. 

I nod and sway towards him. I have to make it seem like it’s his idea. Taking a drunk girl home and taking advantage is his specialty. I pretend to drunkenly fall into the seat next to him. Asking the bartender for a strong drink purposefully slurring my words. 

“Hey sweetie” A masculine voice whispers in my ear and I fight the urge to lean away from him. His breath smells of whiskey. His hand cements itself to my hip in almost a bruising restraint. 

I giggle and lean against him. “What are you doing?” I eye his arms pretending to be impressed by the muscle showing through his shirt.

“You're so strong!” I grip his bicep, puffing out my chest. His eyes practically burn holes into my breasts. 

“I’ll show you how strong I am, sweetie. Let's get you home.” He says paying his tab and apologizing to the bartender. “Sorry bro my wife doesn’t know her limits sometimes.” The bartender chuckles.

“No problem man, mine is the same way.” God they talk like they own the women in their lives. Like we are objects. Disgusting. 

He leads me out of the bar, me stumbling over my own feet. 

“Can we go to my house, it’s thirty five- uhhh wait I don't remember.” He chuckles.

“I wrote it down, hold on.” I pause swaying slightly and I scramble to get the piece of paper out of my pocket and hand it to him. He doesn’t question why I don’t have my own address memorized as he takes the paper from my hand.

“Ah yes, I know where this is. Don’t worry sweetie we can go to your house.” he says, leading me in the direction of the house. The cold breeze leaves goose bumps along my skin. It has to be at least one in the morning.

The front of the house is one of an old vintage home. It is absolutely breathtaking. He stops at the end of the driveway.

“Do you have keys?” He asks and I shake my head in response.

“I’ve always had an open door policy.” Given Natalia never gave me a key I can only assume the door is unlocked. My stomach drops as we walk closer to the door. So many what if’s circle my mind. What if Natasha isn’t here? I didn’t see her leave the bar. What if he doesn’t want to go to the bedroom? What if Natasha doesn’t make it to me in time? I haven't done a mission like this in a really long time so my nerves are acting up. I beg them to be calm and keep a level head. 

“Let's have some fun. My room is upstairs.” I giggle, pushing aside my worry. 

He just chuckles at my drunkenness and leads me to the bedroom. When we step into the bedroom he roughly drops me on the bed and goes to lock the door. The door to the connected bathroom opens slowly, a pair of green eyes peeking out. Relief settles over me. He turns back around and eyes Nat. Looking her up and down like she is a piece of meat.

“The more the merrier.” he smirks.

There's no way this bitch just said that.

Anger washes over Natasha's face and she runs at him. Her fist collides with his throat and he is sent back gagging and trying to catch his breath. As he kneels down her knee slams into his nose. A loud crack rings through my ears. She was so quick you could see him struggle to catch up.She pulled her infamous gun from the back of her jeans and shoots him execution style. 

She kicks him over and looks my way. “Are you okay honey bun?” 

“Yes, I'm okay. Everything just happened so fast and honestly I didn't expect him to go down that fast.” She chuckles at me.

“They always second guess a woman's ability to fight. It helps in these situations especially when a man thinks he’s an ‘alpha’.” She rolls her eyes at her own statement and I can’t help but laugh. 

“Come on, let's get you home.” She motions for me to follow her after she kicks the man out of the way.

“I’m gonna pretend you found where I live in a responsible and very legal way.” I say and glance at him on the way out. 

“What will happen to him?” I ask

“A cleaning team will be here in about twenty minutes. Trust me this place will look spotless by the time they are done with it.” I nod trusting her every last word.

We walk outside into the chilly area and make our way to her black nineteen ninety Cadillac. I chuckled at the car and she glanced my way. Giving me a look of questioning.

“Nothing, I would just think you’d have a BMW or some type of fast car.” She almost looks offended at my words.

“First of all I love classics. Second of all get your ass in the car. It's cold out here.” I smile and listen to her command. I hate admitting this but I trust her with my life so I can just shut my brain off.

The drive back to my place was quiet. Her free hand rested on my thigh and my left hand rested on hers rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. Before I knew it she was pulling into my complex. After being in Budapest for so long I requested a bigger apartment. This one comes with bigger parking spaces so when Natasha parks we aren’t fighting to get in and out of the car. After she parked we made our way to the elevator and to my door. As much as this is an old building I find beauty in it. Think of how many people have lived here. How many lives have lived in the same space but experienced it so differently. It’s beautiful to be a part of those many people.

As the door creaks open Natasha holds the door open for me and locks it when both of us are inside. Nastahsa’s gaze falls on the fireplace. More specifically the photos above it. It’s pictures of us and our families when we were younger. Well our assigned families. My favorite picture is of Nat, Yelena, and me. We looked so happy playing with the fireflies. 

“How were you able to keep all of these?” She asked.

“Melina kept them for me. She said that it would help you remember if they ever took your memory.” I say.

You can see the sadness in her eyes. 

“I could never forget you. I spent too much time trying to win you over to forget your beautiful face.” She flashes a smile. 

“You were always such a flirt.” I chuckle.

I grab her hand and lead her to the kitchen. Maybe some tea will help.

“Do you still like peppermint?” I ask pulling the box out of the cabinet.

“You already know the answer to that.” She sasses, blowing me a kiss.

I smile and grab the kettle, filling it with water. I put it on the stove and make my way to the bathroom. Before she even gets the chance to get up I say.

“Stay there, I'm getting a bandage for your hand.” I can hear her huff at that. I can’t help but giggle. I came back with the wrap and a damp washcloth. I lift her up and sit her on one of the kitchen stools, a small gasp coming from her.

“Let me see your hand.” I say and she hesitantly gives me her left hand. It doesn’t look as bad as some of her injuries in the past but it still looks painful. I run the cool wash cloth over her knuckles, a small hiss escapes her mouth. 

“I know my love, I'm almost done.” I say wrapping the bandage over her knuckles and around her hand securing it at the wrist. 

“There we go all done. See not too bad.” I smile looking up at her. Her eyes hold so much love and adoration. I can’t help but blush lightly at the sudden attention. Her eyes search my face, like she is looking for a clue. My eyes glance down to her lips. We both start leaning in. The tension getting thicker.

The tea kettle goes off and I step away, coming back to reality. 

“I’ll get that.” I say shakily. I make my way to the stove turning the burner off. I grab two cups and two bags of tea. I put the bags in the cup and pour the boiling water into each cup.

“Would you like some honey, honey?” She asks, standing beside me with the jar of honey. I giggle and nod. I watch her pour the exact amount I like into mine and a little bit into hers.

“How do you know how much honey I like?” I question furrowing my eyebrows.

“You liked it like this when we were younger.” She answers with a wide smile.

I can’t help but hug her. I can hear the honey fall to the counter and her arms wrap around me tightly. My eyes well up with tears and I hold her as tightly as possible only to loosen it to put our foreheads together.

“I have always loved you.” I confess.

“I love you more.” She says and a wide grin appears on my face.

I lean in and connect our lips. The teas long forgotten

Yes, this is right. Is all I can think to myself

[icrytearsofsadness]

Part two of this ficlet because it’s Billy’s birthday and he deserves something nice, and also because everyone was begging me to write a part two lmao. here you go :)

There’s a note in his locker the next day.

Quarry after school? – Steve

Billy crumples it up and tosses it.

A tiny part of him twinges at the thought of Steve waiting for him there all night, but the rest of him is pleased by it. He kind of wants Steve to suffer a bit after the hours Billy stayed up crying last night. He also wants Steve to be that desperate to see him.

He avoids Steve all day. Doesn’t look at him in practice. Sticks close to Hagan, because the guy repels Steve like the plague these days.

Steve never did tell him why that is. Guess now he’ll never know.

Steve keeps leaving little notes. Billy wonders, idly, what Steve’s friends think about that. If they’ve ever caught him slipping a piece of paper into Billy’s locker and asked questions. Thinks Steve’s way too good a liar to be worried about it, anyway.

Billy reads all the notes. Then trashes them. Can’t bear to stick them in his pocket. Refuses to carry around a piece of Steve after he hurt him.

The notes get longer. They go from quarry? to talk to me to Billy, please just let me explain, I didn’t realize how it sounded and then one day they stop altogether.

It makes Billy almost wish he’d said something to show he was reading the notes, just to get Steve’s hopes up. To make him keep leaving them in increasing desperation.

Billy doesn’t ever want to be alone with him again, but he wants to hurt him. So it’s a shame when that method disappears.

Billy kind of misses it, also. Proof that maybe Steve still cared. Ever cared at all.

Billy feels pathetic.

He feels angry.

He’s not sure how much anger is towards Steve for hurting him and how much is for himself for not being able to get over it already.

About a week after the notes stop, the worst happens. Steve actually manages to catch Billy unawares and alone.

The moment Billy realizes what’s happening – that they’re in the locker room, and they’re alone, and Billy fucked up and didn’t notice until it’s too late – he gets so angry he can barely breathe.

They’re both dressed by now, thank god, but Steve’s approaching him with his mouth already open a bit and Billy sees red.

He doesn’t want to hear it.

So he lunges and slams Steve back against the locker and tells him exactly that.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Harrington,” he snarls, his forearm pressed hard against Steve’s chest, keeping him shoved back without having to touch him with his hands. “Fuck off.”

“Woah,” Steve says, like he’s actually surprised, like he didn’t expect Billy to get this angry. Fucking idiot. “I just – ”

Billy slams his hand into the locker right by Steve’s head. Steve flinches but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop talking, either.

“Please just let me – ”

Billy’s gonna kill him.

He cocks his fist back. Steve doesn’t even have the decency to look scared. He just stares at Billy, his wide doe eyes never glancing at the raised fist. Like he doesn’t believe Billy will hurt him.

Maybe he’s right, because Billy actually gives him another chance.

“Get out,” he says, slowly. Really emphasizes every sound.

“There is no other guy,” Steve blurts. “I lied.”

Billy’s lip curls back. Steve’s gaze finally flicks over to his raised fist.

Apparently Steve takes that as his cue to keep talking, because he’s an actual idiot. Maybe he figures this is his last chance to get it all out and know Billy heard him, which is kinda fair. Billy still hates it.

“It’s just, every time I go out with a girl you just let me go, so I thought maybe it would be different,” he says, rambling fast. “I wanted to see if you’d get jealous at all because I really like you, Billy, and I needed proof that you actually wanted me?”

Billy stares at him. He’s sort of lowered his fist, awkwardly, though he’s still keeping Steve pinned.

“What?”

Billy must sound as incredulous and confused and pissed as he feels, because Steve cringes and barrels on.

“I thought if you got mad about me maybe going out with a guy, that would prove you wanted to go out with me.” Steve sounds kind of sheepish. His voice is quiet. Embarrassed, maybe. “I didn’t think at all about how it would sound, I… I really like you.”

Billy stares at him for another long moment. Slowly releases him from against the locker.

“You lied,” he scoffs. “Jesus fucking Christ, I knew it.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles up. It’s his turn to be confused. “What?”

“The moment you said it was the last time, I knew you lied.” Billy shakes his head. “I knew it, and I let you talk me into thinking you weren’t full of shit.”

“I was full of shit.”

Billy taps his foot. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot,” Steve agrees.

“And an asshole.”

Steve nods.

“No, I wanna hear that one,” Billy says, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re an asshole.”

Steve makes a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. “I’m an asshole.”

“Glad we’re finally on the same page,” Billy replies. He looks at Steve consideringly. “I still kind of want to punch you.”

“That’s fair,” Steve says. “You probably should be angry.”

“Don’t tell me what I should do,” Billy snaps.

Steve does that breathless huff of a laugh again. “Yeah, okay, Billy.”

Billy licks his teeth. Stares at Steve. “If I punch you, will you still go out with me?”

Steve frowns, but like he’s thinking, not like he’s mad. “Not the face,” he bargains.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s got a little pink on his cheeks, now, which is weird, because Billy’s talking about punching him. “I wanna look nice for our date.”

And, okay.

Billy’s still kind of pissed but he doesn’t really want to punch him anymore. Damn Harrington.

“Alright, fine,” Billy says, like it’s a huge burden not to punch Steve, actually. Like he’s really letting him off easy.

And then Steve’s biting his lip like he’s trying to keep from smiling, and that won’t do at all. So Billy kisses him, coaxing his lip out from between his teeth. He keeps kissing Steve, quick little chaste presses until Steve is huffing a laugh against his mouth like what’re you doing, idiot and yeah. That’s good. That’s really good.

Steve laughs again, and opens his mouth, maybe to say something, but Billy doesn’t give him the chance, pressing into his open mouth.

Steve still manages to giggle, and wraps his arms around Billy’s neck like he missed him.

[animelovelover123]

Ooooo I was thinking, what about a reader who gets jealous over the Dmc boys. Like they see someone flirting with him. 👀👀

I’ll be honest, this one was hard for me since I don’t like writing about what “you” do since that is one of the few things that take me out of a story. I’ll try, but if it sounds weird and isn’t what you were looking for, I am sorry, I hope you can enjoy it a bit anyway. ( ´-｀)

Disclaimer: Some of these guys enjoy/purposely let you get jealous because they like it. In real life, this is a manipulative action that can be a sign of a toxic relationship, romantic or otherwise. You can enjoy this fiction, but remember to be safe in reality.

Trigger Warnings: Manipulation

DMC Boys x Jealous Reader

Dante

It depends on the severity of the situation.

If it is some random woman gushing about him after he shows off his stylish skills, he will call you cute and tease you.

“Aww, baby, don’t get jealous now. You got to get used to it, you knew what you were getting into when you stole the heart of the demon hunter with smokin' sexy style.” He says before striking a pose to make you laugh and lighten your spirit.

If he is being propositioned for sex and you cut in before he can give his witty rejection, or he does get it out but you are still upset, he'll lean in a whisper to you the dirtiest of things that he has been thinking about you as a way to show that you’re the only one on his mind and that can get his blood pumping south.

If it is serious, though, with crying, pain, panic, true fear and anger, Dante will drop everything and get you out of there.

It doesn't matter if you just arrived or you wanted to give the person a piece of your mind, Dante picks you up and carries you home or at least to his car where you can have a moment to calm down, to let out your rage. He'll even let you let it all out on him. He won't argue with you, not yet, he knows you're not listening.

Once you have calmed down, or just become exhausted and placid, he'll get as close as you’ll let him and talk.

What happened? What got you so upset this time? Where do these feelings come from? What can he do to help?

Good boy Dante knows when to be playful and when to be serious.

Reboot Dante

This little shit loves it, finds it hot as hell when you get angry and more aggressive in your lovin’ to try to prove a point. And it happens often.

With how free-spirited he was before you, sleeping around with no interest in commitments, having random women and the occasional man coming up to reminisce about a past sexual encounter and wanting more or simply hearing of his prowess and wanting to try him on for size was common. Sometimes it felt like Dante had fucked every other woman in town, or perhaps it was just all the women that go to the clubs and parties you two attend.

Nevertheless, they always seem to find Dante and get right to flirting and grinding. And worst of all, because Dante likes seeing you mad, he will indulge them a bit. He won’t sleep with them, kiss them, or start touching them intimately, but he will let them flirt and touch him while returning some affection like cheek kisses and putting an arm around them, smiling all the while like he likes their attention.

In reality though he could not care less about them and if you weren’t there, he would tell them to fuck off. But seeing you get pissy and maybe even a little violent is hot as hell.

The fucking best though is when you assert superiority. Moments like when you saw a woman rub his chest so you walked right up and grabbed his crotch like it was your property that someone was trying to steal and when you saw him get a kiss on the neck so you grabbed him by the hair to pull him close and shove your tongue down his throat, that shit gets him rock hard.

Is it bad that the first idea I came up with was this little shit head purposely making you jealous and getting off on you dominating him? Even before I thought about how most characters would reassure you, I was thinking “Reboot Dante would pull this shit on purpose”.

Vergil

Vergil finds it infuriating.

Whether it is some random lady trying to flirt with him or he is having an actually intelligent conversation with someone, you getting jealous is an insult.

“Do you truly believe I am so weak a man as to fall for the tricks of painted whores or so fickle that I would run off with any person with a brain?”

He does not understand how you could not trust him and will confront you with this.

His tone, stance, and demeanor made it seem like he was just angry and annoyed. However, if you know him well enough, you can see glimpses of his hurt feelings in his eyes.

If you tell him blatantly that you don’t trust him, and worse so if you bring up his only past relationship resulting in a brief fling and the abandoning of a child, you will get the rare opportunity to see that hurt shown in his expression.

If you try to explain to him that it’s not because you don’t trust him, it's that you don’t trust others or it's instinct, he won't understand until he sees Dante playfully peck you on the cheek.

The phrase “painted whores” is a reference to the DMC3 manga where Vergil says this. (Hopefully I remember to put the pic in and it still works)

This is the official Tokyopop translation and is apparently not accurate at all, but this manga has some crazy lines, and this phrase fits IMO.

Reboot Vergil

Vergil is a charmer; it is a necessary skill in the high society circles he is trying to take down. To gather information and get close to targets, sometimes he has to show interest in people and topics he could not care less about. Sometimes this includes flattering someone and making them think they have a chance with him.

He knows you don’t like this, and he doesn't like it either, but he is firm on his stance that this is a necessary part of his overall plan.

You two have gotten into arguments about this, especially if you threaten to, or successfully do, ruin a plan because of your jealousy. Shouting, screaming, him fighting on the side of logic and you, the heart.

In the end though, it always seems to work out, often with him coming to find you after some time apart to calm down and taking the time to reassure you of his love and loyalty to you.

There is one circumstance in which he should admonish your actions… but when you two are at some snooty party and some woman tries to flaunt her social power, wealth, beauty, and other such attributes to get his attention, he has to use all his socialite training to not laugh as you verbally beat the woman back into her place.

You'll catch him snickering to himself every so often as he remembers a particularly cruel jab you made.

This boy did not get raised in a rich family and become a millionaire without learning how to charm people out of information, which does not bode well for any monogamous relationship he has unless they also know the seedy tricks of the trade.

Nero

Nero, despite trying to act cool and mature, is naïve and bashful. Unless the woman is so blatantly aggressive as to try to grab his private areas or start saying he should ditch you for her, to which he will aggressively reject, he doesn't know how to react to flirtation, so you have to watch over him.

When in Fortuna, he was an outcast; no girl or woman had interest in him. And when he started traveling when he created the mobile unit for Devil May Cry, women looked down on him for being childish or still just avoided him. “So don’t worry, there is no reason for you to stress out, babe.”

In reality, he had many admirers that were too nervous to approach him or did shoot their shot and it went over Nero’s head, who assumed that that’s just how many women are. (blame Trish/Gloria for that)

Like trying to guide a mouse through a maze of traps, you have to watch over Nero and shoo away the women making him uncomfortable.

“Well you're being overly clingy, what’s up? Flirting with me? She just dropped something. Bend and snap? I don’t know what that is. You wanna go home? Sure, I don’t even like parties like this. But, um, could you keep your arm around me like that? Feels… nice.”

I did not start off with the intent to make Nero babygirl coded, but here we are and I like it. I love Nero being horny and needy with you but the poor thing’s brain cannot compute when other people hit on him.

Also, though I purposely left it open for anyone to picture how they were holding Nero at the end, I like to imagine you have your arm around his waist or hips. Would be so cute!

V

V’s type of attractiveness, especially his physical traits, distinctive, so the rate in which you get challengers was dependent on the environment, because in some crowds he is VERY popular.

He is also a sensitive soul, able to articulate his emotions and understand others. So, the moment he notices even a hint of your jealousy, possession, or hurt feelings, he will pull you aside and reassure you of his devotion

“My dearest song bird, do not fret for my heart yearns only for your affection, my body craves only your touch, and no one makes sweet, passionate music like you and I together.”

He wishes for you to not have a single doubt in your mind about the strength of the bond you share, especially because he knew from the fragments of memories and feelings from Vergil how jealousy can destroy a person.

There was but one situation where V was thankful for your protectiveness that bordered on possessiveness.

V had very little demonic power and so struggled to protect himself without the aid of his familiars. At the same time, though, he was mostly human with some of Sparda’s blood, which made him a relatively easy target for blood/life force drainers like succubi, or so you might think.

That was until the tale of the devastating verbal and physical beat down you gave one of their strongest when you caught her trying to force herself on V spread to every succubus in the country and most of the demon world.

This one turned out weird and tone tones are all over the place. :p

[geothewriter]

Vermillion Seas Cardinal Skies: Chapter 28 - Mending the Broken

The time has come for acts of restoration. Of the spirit and of the body. And of the…jewelry? The Avatar is so back.

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Goooooooood Day to y’all! It’s that time again! Chapter 28 - Mending The Broken, eh?! I’m excited to share this…because I’ve had these scenes floating around my head for over a year now! A YEAR! I can’t believe we’ve finally reached this point! <3 I know I’m slow to write, but I’m just glad I’m still putting these out and have kept the consistency for this entire time. Once again, and always, THANK YOU @achillmango! You’re the bomb and absolutely amazing for editing these chapters! You’re *killing* it! Thank you, as always! Now, please enjoy the first bit of Chapter 28 - Mending the Broken!

It’s only a few more weeks until the comet, till the world ends unless Aang can save it. Katara isn’t sure he’s ready, but he has to be. He must be. Yesterday needs to be the last time they have a free day until after they win, or else she just knows they won’t. Last night was fun, and those new bending moves everyone came up with would be amazing in combat, but Toph’s right. There’s just not enough time to practice, to get good at them, to make them work.   She would love to blast steam in the Fire Lord’s face. Make him pay for what he did to Zuko. But…that isn’t her. Not really. Unless he threatens him again, then maybe. But really, what’s the point in thinking like this? There’s not even enough time to think about mastering new techniques, and besides that, today’s going to be special. Today’s that big bending training exercise that Sokka’s been bragging about nonstop. The cobbled path leading across the grassy slope away from the house has seen better days. She smiles at a few flowers that are having no trouble pushing through the tiniest gaps between the rocks. The grass is overgrown, too, but she doesn’t mind it. With just the tiniest bit of tender love and care, this place will look spectacular. Turning her gaze across the ground, the path ahead disappears over the hill, and she wonders if she’ll have the opportunity to come back here. To this island. With– “Hey, Katara!” Suki shouts gleefully as she bounds toward her.  She must be coming to watch whatever Zuko has planned before the big group training session he mentioned at breakfast. The other girl’s been surprisingly quiet this whole morning, and besides her greeting, the only other sound is some small argument making its way across the grass. The stress must be– “Isn’t it wonderful?” She asks, “How liberating it is?” “I beg your pardon?” Katara pauses to look at Suki, finding a knowing smirk plastered on her face. “You know!” She pauses. “When Zuko came to talk to us last night, I thought it was going to be worse than it was, and I thought I knew what it was about. Boy, was I wrong. It was embarrassing, but it was over quickly. But wow! He’s one to talk!” “That’s– what are you talking about?”  This conversation is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She swears, if Suki starts talking about any details involving her brother she won’t hesitate to blast her with water. “So…?” She asks accusingly.  “So what?” Katara responds with her annoyance clear in her tone and continues walking, leaving Suki behind her. The other girl grabs her arm and spins her to face her. “What is it, Suki?” She growls, having about had enough of this. “You don’t have to play coy with me, Katara. I know what’s going on. I saw Zuko coming out of your room last night.” “Suki, I–” “Besides, like I said. It’s liberating! The world could end in a few weeks, and here we are, just living. Anyway,” Suki twirls forward away from her, “See you and Zuko with Toph in a few minutes!” She adds with a wink. They didn’t do anything.

Continue reading on AO3.