#I'M IN THE SOUP AISLE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

morganaawriterr · 29 days ago

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˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Chapter 01;

— Your Sweet Love

Synosis: In a marriage born out of convenience and plagued by bitterness, You and Sunghoon find yourselves trapped in a cycle of cold indifference and unspoken resentment. Your quiet strength and tender care begin to reach the heart Sunghoon has so carefully guarded. Slowly, walls built from years of hurt and mistrust start to crumble, revealing a shared loneliness neither had acknowledged. With every tentative step toward connection, your hearts yearn for a closeness you’ve long denied yourself selves, leaving both to wonder if you can build something real from the ashes of your forced bond.

Navigation: Intro - 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 Pairing: fem!reader X husband!Park Sunghoon Genre: Arranged Marriage trope; Slow Burn; Angst; Fluff; Smut (kinda) Warnings: cursing, mention of pills (some are drugs); abuse; mentions of blood; sexual content; injuries; heavy themes; juicy tension ;) Music: Listen to 'nevertheless ost' and 'the trunk ost'!! Disclaimer: This story is fiction, and it does not reflect real life in any way. This story is heavily inspired by the kdrama 'The Trunk' on Netflix but with a special twist! Words: 4.4k - New Chapter Every Saturday!!

A/n: It's finally here, im going to pass out HAHA. I'm so freaking excited!! I've been working very hard on this!! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!! Thank you for all the love and support. It means everything to me <3

You've always wanted to get married, thinking deep love and closeness between lovers were all you needed. House chores wouldn’t seem so bad with a loving partner by your side, and fights wouldn’t matter much because, in the end, all that mattered was that you loved each other.

But when you married Sunghoon, that idealized vision of marriage was flushed away. You understood why you agreed to this, but you wished you hadn’t. Nevertheless, it was too late to harbor regrets. Your eyes wandered to the stove, where the kimchi soup was finishing its slow boil. Without meaning to, your thoughts drifted back to your wedding day. Your body tensed at the memory, still so vivid and raw.

The ceremony was beautiful, but it was meaningless. The creative team had chosen blue as the theme color, a perfect match for the day’s melancholy. As you stood before the mirror fixing your braided bun, a single tear escaped, sliding down your cheek. Your chest burned with a dull ache, your heart feeling as though it were being crushed.

You knew this marriage was a necessity—a way out of the life you were desperately trying to leave behind. But it felt wrong. Wearing such a beautiful gown for a union built on fake pretense. As your unsteady hands adjusted the lace of your mermaid-style wedding dress, the door creaked open behind you.

“Are you ready, Hun?” Sunghoon’s mother asked, standing in the doorway with a gentle smile.

As if sensing your turmoil, she stepped closer, wrapping you in a warm hug. “It will get better, I promise,” she said softly, her gaze filled with compassion.

You nodded, managing a faint, forced smile before taking her hand and guiding her out to join Sunghoon’s father. He was a tall man with an air of dominance, his face stern as he checked his gold wristwatch. Hearing your footsteps, he looked up, his features softening slightly. Offering his arm with unexpected gentleness, he led you to the ceremony.

The luxurious hall was lined with guests who rose to their feet, clapping as you made your way down the aisle. You didn’t recognize most of them, apart from your mother, seated at the back with an indifferent expression. She hadn’t supported this arrangement but came to maintain appearances for a friend. Your hands trembled as you walked, the thick atmosphere making it hard to breathe.

And then you saw him—Sunghoon. He stood tall, his black tailored suit fitting perfectly, exuding elegance. The small Prada pin softly shone under the light, showing off his expensive taste. His dark eyes, behind thin-framed glasses, avoided yours entirely. He never once glanced your way. Even when it came time to exchange vows, his gaze remained somewhere behind you.

A sudden noise pulled you back to the present. You peeked into the hallway to see Sunghoon putting on his shoes.

“Are you leaving already?” you asked, concern shaping your voice as your eyes settled on his pale, weary face.

“Yes,” he replied coldly.

“What about lunch? I was just—”

“I’m not hungry,” he interrupted, his tone hard. Grabbing his briefcase, he left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

You closed your eyes and took a shaky breath, forcing back the tears welling in your eyes. Slowly, you returned to the kitchen, where the aroma of kimchi soup lingered. With a quiet sigh, you turned off the stove and poured yourself a small serving, the familiar smell offering a faint comfort.

Sitting down at the dining table, you reached for the bowl of purple rice and began to eat in silence. Sunlight filtered through the open blinds, casting a warm glow across the room as though trying to console you. But it was short-lived. The memories of your wedding night came rushing back, unbidden and sharp.

It was past midnight. Everyone was drinking and enjoying dessert as you and your husband sat together at the main table. Besides you, Sunghoon was completely drunk—yelling and punching the table whenever his glass was empty, scolding the servers for not noticing he wanted more wine, and calling them slow and stupid.

Your eyes stayed focused on your plate, where a carefully made tiramisu sat—your husband’s favorite. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat. Your head was pounding, and it was still hard to breathe. Abruptly, Sunghoon stood up and started walking, disappearing into the vast corridors of the restaurant. His steps were unsteady, causing him to bump into a server and a large flowerpot.

Sunghoon’s mother glanced at you, and her silent look said everything. You stood on sore feet and followed him, moving slowly as you tried to figure out where he was going. Sunghoon slipped into a random room, and after waiting for a moment, you knocked gently and opened the door.

Inside the dimly lit space, you found your new husband swallowing two small white pills. When he noticed your presence, the anger he had been suppressing finally snapped.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sunghoon spat bitterly.

“I was just checking on you. You can barely stand,” you explained, quietly closing the door behind you.

You took a cautious step toward him, but Sunghoon immediately stood and moved away, keeping his distance. He couldn’t stand you—or your fake smile, as if this were some perfect wedding.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he said sharply when you tried to reach out, intending only to fix his crooked tie.

“Sunghoon, you don’t have to be like this,” you said softly, your voice already trembling as warm tears began to well in your eyes.

Sunghoon laughed—a cold, mocking sound that echoed in the room and in your head.

“You’re so fucking pathetic and naive,” he sneered. “What were you expecting, huh? That I’d be thankful you agreed to marry me? Don’t pretend you didn’t get something out of this proposal. You’re nothing but a fucking opportunist.”

His words felt like a slap across the face, but you held your ground. Sunghoon stepped closer than he ever had before, his breath reeking of alcohol and his cheeks painted in a deep shade of red.

“Sunghoon, I’m your wife. You respect me!” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger.

He let out another bitter laugh. Running a hand through his dark hair, looking you in the eyes for the first time that night.

“I will never, never, you hear me?” He said, stepping closer to you again. “I will never kiss you, hold you, or fuck you. No matter what you try, I will never touch you. I will never be yours.”

The venom in his voice left you numb. Before you realized what you were doing, you shoved him back, your hands trembling with rage and frustration. Your body felt like it was burning, and the tears you’d been holding back fell freely.

“I’m not here to seduce you,” you said quietly, pointing a finger at him. The tears streamed down your face as you added, “Do you think I want anything from you? Mr. so rich yet so addicted to pills that he can’t function like a normal human being.” Your voice trembled with rage as the words tumbled out.

Your eyes locked with Sunghoon’s. His gaze, dark and intense sent your pulse racing. You wanted to scream back, to cut him as deeply as he had cut you. But you refused to be like him. Without another word, you turned and left, slamming the door behind you.

As you put another spoon of the soup in your mouth, you realize that you are crying. The salty taste of your tears mixed with the soup you were eating. Sunghoon wasn’t as cruel or angry as he used to be—not anymore. Now he was distant and cold. You knew his pain was rooted in a past relationship, but he wouldn’t let you in to help him overcome it.

Feeling like you couldn’t eat another bite, you got up and began tidying the kitchen. The quiet rhythm of cleaning helped the time pass, and you were grateful for the distraction. You hated how big, empty, and silent his house felt. After finishing in the kitchen, you decided to go check up on his room.

You climbed the spiral staircase, your footsteps echoing in the vast space, and then you entered his bedroom. The moment you opened the door, his expensive cologne enveloped you.

You moved around the large room, opening the windows to let in fresh air. His bed wasn’t messy, so it didn’t take long to straighten the covers. Once everything was in order, curiosity pulled you toward his dressing room.

The space was tall rather than long, impeccably organized, and spotless—just like Sunghoon. As you wandered further inside, your eyes landed on the mannequin at the center of the room. It was bare. A small smile touched your lips. Slowly, but surely, you were helping him open up to you.

The night eventually came, and you found yourself eating the leftovers from lunch alone in the kitchen. You had just finished washing up, so your black hair was still damp and wrapped in a towel. A random show played on the TV, and while you weren’t paying much attention to it, you appreciated the company it gave you.

Then you heard his footsteps. Sunghoon usually took his time coming inside—removing his trainers and setting down his backpack slowly—but tonight, the sounds were different; they seemed rushed. Soon, he appeared in the hallway, catching a glimpse of you quietly eating.

“Hey, how was your day? Do you want me to make you something to eat?” you asked, getting up and walking toward the large man.

Sunghoon didn’t respond; his exhausted eyes fixed on you. As you approached, he didn’t step away. Though he still didn’t fully trust you, part of him hoped you’d understand how he felt just by looking at him.

And you did. Your eyes carefully studied his face, noting the loneliness etched into his features. The dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, the slight flush on his nose and lips—it all pointed to one thing. But instead of pressing him with questions, you silently reached up to help him untie his tie. Your fingers moved slowly and deliberately, working on the knot with practice.

Sunghoon was both confused and relieved. He didn’t want to explain why he felt so sad—he didn’t want to hurt you with the truth. As he watched your focused expression, your eyes so big and fixated on the task, he couldn’t help but find you… adorable. The faint scent of vanilla from your body lotion drifted up, sweet and comforting—just like you.

“I’ll run the shower for you,” you said softly, a gentle smile gracing your lips. “When you’re done, you can join me in the living room. We can share a beer and watch TV.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned and headed to his bathroom to prepare the shower.

After a long, warm shower, Sunghoon stood awkwardly in the arched entryway of the living room. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and he wore a simple black T-shirt and sweatpants. You didn’t notice him at first, too engrossed in the basketball game playing on the screen. But out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

“Here, you can sit down. I’m just watching this game,” you said, tossing him a can of beer.

Sunghoon caught it with ease, a faint, gentle smile tugging at his lips as he took a moment to admire you. Your hair was still a little wet, dampening the collar of your shirt. You wore an oversized T-shirt and shorts, but what really caught his attention was something he’d never seen you wear before: big, square-shaped glasses perched on your nose. They made you look undeniably cute.

Realizing where his thoughts had wandered, Sunghoon shook his head slightly and moved to the couch, sitting on the opposite end from you. He popped open the beer, took a sip, and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the soft pillow of the sofa.

The next morning, when Sunghoon woke up, he felt slightly better. Despite taking his usual sleeping pills, he had fallen asleep faster and slept more soundly. In his mind, it was all because of you and your idea, so he started joining you in the living room every day.

He couldn’t quite understand how you seemed to know him so well, despite him never opening up to you, but he was grateful.

For the next few weeks, Sunghoon settled into a routine: joining you in the living room, drinking a beer, and staying by your side until you grew tired and went to bed.

What fascinated him the most was the way you always respected his space—letting him sit in silence when he needed it or patiently answering his questions about the match when he felt talkative. You were always patient and considerate, even in the face of his coldness.

Over time, Sunghoon began to see you differently. You weren’t as naive or opportunistic as he’d first thought. You were kind, thoughtful, and kind of sweet.

Tonight was no different. You were curled up at the corner of the sofa, your legs stretched out on the comfy cushions. Your large eyes were glued to the game on TV, the screen’s reflection glinting off your glasses. The scent of your perfume lingered in the room, distracting Sunghoon and making it hard for him to focus on the match.

“Did you know I hate basketball?” Sunghoon asks, drawing your attention as you glance at him briefly.

“I know you do,” you respond with a shy smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I just don’t know why.”

Sunghoon stays silent for a few moments, debating whether he should tell you. His gaze drifts to your face, studying your expression. Your eyes remain locked on his, a calm and gentle look etched on your features.

“Well…” he begins, shifting his focus back to the TV. “My dad made me play basketball when I was younger and forced me to quit ice skating. He said ice skating was ‘too girly’ and that I needed to man up.” Sunghoon’s voice is steady, but his eyes stay fixed on the television. "Ice skating was my passion and he took it away from me. I was young and it confused me so much..."

Your gaze, however, never wavers from his face. You notice how hesitant he seems to meet your eyes. You understand this is a sensitive topic, and a small wave of relief washes over you, knowing he trusts you enough to share it.

“I’ve hated basketball ever since. Well, until a few weeks ago, I guess. Now, I can’t sleep without coming here to watch you watch a game.” His words bring a proud smile to your lips.

“See? I’m such a good wife. I make you face your fears,” you tease, a playful grin spreading across your face as your eyes remain on his.

He doesn’t respond, simply leaning back against the pillow and letting out a deep breath. Sensing he needs space now, you quietly shift your attention back to the screen, giving him the room to process.

Yawning, Sunghoon, reached for his phone, only to see no new messages. She hadn’t replied to him today—not that he’d called, only texted. Frustrated, he tossed the phone onto the coffee table and leaned back, closing his eyes. Soon, his thoughts were clouded with memories of his ex-fiancée.

She’d been a good friend when they first started dating, always supportive and caring when he was feeling down. But as the relationship progressed, she became more controlling. At first, Sunghoon thought it was normal—maybe she was just trying to protect him. So he went along with it. He let her tell him to change his clothes when she thought he looked “too good.”

Sunghoon, a simple man who had grown up starved for love due to a lack of parental affection. He fell deeply in love with her, mainly because she was the only one giving him the attention he needed. So, blinded by his feelings, he failed to notice how much control she was beginning to exert over his life.

First, she forbade him from going out with his male friends. Then he wasn’t allowed to drink unless she was around. Eventually, she started going through his phone. Sunghoon didn’t see a problem with any of it—he had nothing to hide, and he was so in love that he couldn’t see anyone but her.

When they got engaged, Sunghoon and his fiancée moved in with his father. The house was massive and soulless, drained of warmth and happiness after his mother left. His father wanted Sunghoon close by to teach him about managing the family business, so the arrangement seemed ideal.

When his mother found out that Sunghoon was living in her old home, she decided she would visit occasionally to check on him. She knew how difficult his father could be.

One day, when she arrived, she was greeted by the sound of shouting. Her heart raced as she rushed toward the bustling scene, fearing the worst.

What she saw left her horrified. Sunghoon’s fiancée had just slapped him across the face. The old woman felt sick to her stomach, tears forming in her eyes as she stormed into the kitchen.

“What is going on here?” she demanded, her voice stern and echoing off the walls.

Neither of them answered. Sunghoon stared at his feet, his right cheek stinging from the slap. He should have been angry, but all he felt was fear—fear of what his lover might say or do.

“Nothing. I was being controlling, and she just defended herself,” Sunghoon finally muttered, his voice barely audible, his eyes refusing to meet his mother’s.

She didn’t believe him. She had already noticed how that woman carried herself around the house, acting as though she owned it. Her posture was always stiff, her chin held high, and her words—sharp and venomous—always seemed to pierce through Sunghoon, planting doubts in his mind and making him believe them.

But before his mother could say another word, Sunghoon grabbed his fiancée’s hand and pulled her out of the kitchen. As he left, he caught a glimpse of his mother’s worried expression but chose to ignore it.

Sunghoon opens his eyes suddenly and notices you still leaning against the sofa, your attentive gaze fixed on the screen as the game unfolds. He picks up his beer, taking another sip, but his attention suddenly shifts to you. The way you always treat him so gently unsettles him. You're always there—helping with his clothes, making him food, offering your company. He doesn’t like to dwell on it, but the affectionate way you look at him makes him wonder why he’s been so distant and harsh toward you.

You don’t deserve it.

As if she somehow sensed his thoughts about you, Sunghoon’s phone lights up with a message from his ex-fiancée. She casually explains that she’s been busy—on a date. She spares no details, ensuring he knows everything. From the red dress she wore to the perfume she used, and even the sex she had with the man afterward. Sunghoon’s eyes grow watery as he reads it, hating the way she always twists the knife.

“You know, you can always put your phone in sleep mode,” you replied playfully, taking a sip of your beer.

“What?” Sunghoon asks, his attention snapping to your face.

“Didn’t you wake up because of the notification sounds?” you ask, your brows knitting together in genuine curiosity.

“Oh…” Sunghoon murmurs. “Wait, I was sleeping?” he asks, confused—he hadn’t taken his pills yet.

You give him a puzzled look in return. “Yes, you were even snoring,” you tease, shifting your gaze back to the screen to hide a laugh.

“I don’t snore!” Sunghoon protests, annoyed, but as soon as he catches the mischievous smile on your lips, he softens. Realizing you’re just teasing him, he can’t help but chuckle.

You don’t say anything else, simply adjusting your glasses and returning your attention to the match. But Sunghoon’s gaze lingers on you, burning holes into your frame as he stares without shame. You shift slightly, straightening your back and subtly pushing out your chest—just enough to give him something nice to look at.

Sunghoon doesn’t even realize he’s staring until he becomes aware of the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. The shirt you’re wearing today is more revealing than usual, offering him a glimpse of your bare cleavage. As if that weren’t enough, the sweet scent of your perfume fills his senses again, leaving him utterly mesmerized.

He leans back against the pillow and closes his eyes, trying to banish the thoughts of you from his mind—your pleading eyes, your intoxicating scent, your undeniably beautiful face. Before he realizes it, his body relaxes, and he falls asleep once more, this time with you on his mind.

After a few minutes of silence, you glance to your side, only to find Sunghoon snuggled up on the sofa, his lips softly pouting as he sleeps peacefully. A small smile creeps onto your face at the sight, glad that he’s finally found rest.

The reason you invited him to spend time in the living room with you, was to help him establish a routine and eventually fall asleep naturally—without needing his pills.

Sunghoon thought you didn’t know about them, but you did. Some of those pills weren’t just regular sleeping aids. They were a mysterious drug that might make him sleep, but they gave him restless nights and vivid nightmares. The worst part being, he seemed to be addicted to them. You’d first noticed it when, one night, you caught him wandering the house, unable to sleep with just the usual pills.

Getting up from your seat, you search for a fluffy blanket and gently drape it over him. You hope he’ll stay on the sofa all night—a sign that his sleeping habits might finally be improving.

As you walk toward your bedroom, your thoughts drift to where he could have gotten those pills. And you silently pray that your suspicions are wrong.

The next morning, you woke up feeling energized and positive. Driven by a craving for something salty and delicious, you got out of bed and headed straight to the kitchen.

Soft music played in the background as you cooked, your body swaying slightly to the rhythm while you happily prepared breakfast.

As you turned around to start washing some plates, you jumped slightly, startled to find Sunghoon standing against the door frame. There was a different look in his eyes as he examined you—your revealing shirt from yesterday still on your skin, attracting his eyes like a magnet.

Then, after sniffing the new aroma in the air, his curious eyes moved past you, focusing on the stove to check what you were cooking.

He had woken up to the gentle sound of the music and the smell of freshly made food. The things between you seem to be going alright, so he thought he might try joining you for breakfast this morning.

Your cheeks flushed red under his intense gaze, unaccustomed to receiving this much attention from him.

“Good morning,” Sunghoon said, his deep, teasing voice carrying a hint of playfulness as a small smile tugged at his plump lips.

Not used to speaking with him in the morning, his raspy voice caught you off guard. “Good morning, Sunghoon,” you replied with a soft smile.

As you set the side dishes on the table, Sunghoon’s eyes remained on the food. It must have taken you at least two hours to prepare all this, and he was quietly impressed by your effort and dedication.

When you finally sat down next to him at the table, you noticed his phone light up with notifications—three times, to be exact. Whoever was texting seemed insistent.

“You’re going to keep ignoring that?” you asked, curious, as you scooped a spoonful of rice into your mouth.

Sunghoon gave you a brief, questioning look, his thick left eyebrow arching. When you met his gaze, he quickly looked away and continued eating.

“I don’t feel like responding,” he said suddenly after a stretch of silence.

You rolled your eyes and slid his phone closer to his hand.

“What if it’s something important?” you asked, half-concerned, half-curious to see his reaction.

Sunghoon picked up his phone but ignored your question. His long fingers tapped on the screen quickly, and you averted your gaze, not wanting to seem like you were staring.

<Aren’t you going to say anything? Yesterday, from: true wife>

<Hey, don’t leave me hanging, Hubby!! Yesterday, from: true wife>

<You’ve been more distant lately… Today, from: true wife>

Sunghoon sighed as he read the texts, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t understand why she was suddenly so desperate for his attention.

After a deep breath, he quickly typed a response: I’m okay. I’ve just been busier, that’s all.

Once sent, he locked his phone and pushed it aside. Right now, his focus was on how he would manage to eat all the delicious food you’d prepared.

“These tastes exactly like my mom used to make!” Sunghoon exclaimed, his mouth full, and eyes sparkling with joy as he looked at you.

“I know,” you replied with a sly smile, your tone implying something else.

Sunghoon turns his head to face you, giving you a confused look, his eyebrows knitting together. But you avoid his gaze, keeping your eyes firmly fixed on the food on your plate. You have secrets too—secrets he has no idea.

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bbokicidal · 6 months ago

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"Where Did I..." | Corruptive!SKZ [H.H.]

If you've read any of my other works (on my previous account) you would know that I have a knack for (and often write) corruption kink!skz lol. So this delved into that a little, because the theme of 'dumb bimbo gf' tends to go along w/ that. if you want it rewritten more specifically, lmk. ALSO - i labeled the title as a 'bimbo gf' because just saying 'dumb gf' feels a little rude i dunno lol.

warnings : NSFW CONTENT (MDNI), corruption kink! hyunjin during the NSFW headcanons, MEANDOM!Hyun, and I'm talking fucking mean. Like calling you dumb to your face mean.

Hyunjin w/ A Bimbo!GF

BF!Hyunjin who cherishes you so so much and absolutely will help you with anything you need or ask him for. He'll do your laundry if you aren't sure which button to push, will cut up veggies for soup if you don't know how to, will hand you your phone even when it's right in your back pocket.

BF!Hyunjin who thinks that it's sooooo fucking cute every time you forget something. He'll tip his head and let his hair fall in his face as he watches you fumble with your phone, forgetting how to turn on Do Not Disturb.

BF!Hyunjin who adores the way you get pouty when you forget where you put your favorite dress. He'll watch you get mumbly and all cute about it before offering to just buy you a new one - find one online and he'll go to the store to get it just for you.

BF!Hyunjin who thinks it's SO fucking cute when you walk in a room and pause, eyes glossy and lips popped apart because you can't remember why you walked in there in the first place. He'll stare with a giggly smile as you walk out, then back in, and eventually sit down with a pout as you try to remember.

BF!Hyunjin who ties your shoes for you after watching you knot your laces two different times. He'll just straight up tie them - he won't teach you how to because he thinks it's just so cute watching you forget and fumble. He wants to tie your shoes for you forever.

BF!Hyunjin who has to do the grocery shopping because you can never remember where a single thing is in the store, even if the aisles are labeled. You just go along as his pretty little arm candy.

BF!Hyunjin who doesn't let you carry cash because you count twenties like they're tens and he's not going to let you embarrass yourself in some fancy store - Just take his Black card.

Corruptive!BF!Hyunjin who thinks your 'stupidity' adds to your sexiness in bed. He is obsessed with the way you so willingly submit yourself to him because you don't know any different and you're just too dumb to figure out how to top him.

Corruptive!BF!Hyunjin who presses his thumb into your lower lip to pry your mouth open, murmuring about how cute you are on your knees and how you should just stay his pretty dumb bitch forever.

Corruptive!BF!Hyunjin who hums out shit like, "Open your mouth for me. Just like that. Now sit pretty and let me fuck your throat since you can't suck me off right." And, "You're just my dumb little whore, huh? Don't know any different; Useless unless you're acting as my personal cocksleeve."

Corruptive!BF!Hyunjin who tells you he's so happy you're his girlfriend - and how he knows you'd never cheat on him because you're too dumb to go out and find anyone else.

Corruptive!BF!Hyunjin who pumps you full of his cum and then blatantly lies to you, telling you there's no chance you'll get pregnant because of some dumb reason he makes up in his head. He takes EVERY precaution afterwards to clean you up however and make sure you actually won't get pregnant, but he's going to let you believe that his cum can't get you pregnant so he can keep filling you up.

Corruptive!BF!Hyunjin who tells you it's totally normal for guys to share their girls with his friends just so he can have threesomes with you and the others - He knows for a fact Changbin, Minho, and Seungmin love how dumb you are, too. And you just look so pretty all confused and whimpery with their cocks stuffing all your holes.

Corruptive!BF!Hyunjin who makes the effort afterwards during aftercare to assure you that he absolutely does love you, and that he doesn't really mean all of those harsh words he said to you during sex. He adores you the way you are and outside of the bedroom he really wants you to know that his love runs so deeply for you. He'll curl up from behind and wrap an arm over your waist after cleaning up, press kisses to your shoulder and hold you as tight as possible as he whispers about how one day he'll marry you and keep you safe from the word. And those mean cashiers who can count right.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagine #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz fic #skz imagines #stray kids scenario

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hunny-bean · 2 years ago

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Too Close For Comfort

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: Frank comforts you after he is forced to kill a man in your shared motel room.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), Gun Violence, Dead Body (Not Frank's. Don't Worry), Explicit Sexual Content, Little Pinch of Angst, Long Ass Flashback, Porn With 3.5k Words of Plot

A/N: This is the first fic I've ever written! I've been wanting to write for the JB fandom for a while and I finally decided to go for it. I'm planning to write for a lot more of his characters in the future, but I figured Frank was a good starting point. Hope you like it! I'm open to feedback if you've got it. XOXO.

Read on AO3

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

After almost three months of living in an old stolen pickup truck and a series of shitty motels, you had learned to count your blessings. An important one, you quickly came to realize, was good water pressure. You were in the middle of your forth shower in the three days you and your new travel partner had been in this town, and you were trying your best to savor the moment. Since the closest companion of long showers is long trains of thought, you allowed your mind to wander back to how your adventure first began.

You took a step back in the cereal aisle in your local grocery store to examine the top shelf and ran directly into someone trying to pass behind you. Startled, you dropped the basket you were carrying full of frozen veggies and canned soups, and watched them roll in all directions. You whipped around so quickly you almost joined your soup on the floor, but luckily a strong hand shot out to steady you before you could.

"Whoa. Sorry 'bout that," the stranger said. And that was how you met Frank Castle. Surprisingly, your first impression of him had nothing to do with his gentle giant aura or his warm, gravelly voice. Your first impression happened before you even laid eyes on him, and that was how backing up into him was like hitting a brick wall with your car. He didn't stumble or falter. He didn't even flinch.

"No, sorry, that was my fault," you replied, your cheeks flushed from creating a loud noise in a public place. The stranger removed his hand from your arm and glanced down at the floor where your bags of peas laid, slowly thawing.

"You, uh... You want some help with those?"

"Oh, I got it, don't worry."

The man mumbled an "alright" and you watched him start to walk away, expecting him to leave the aisle, but he only took a few steps before his foot brushed a stray can, and he bent down to help anyway.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that," you said when all the groceries had been collected.

"No problem," he muttered. You weren't sure why, but there was something off-putting about him. Later you realized it was the stark contrast between his gruff outer appearance and his quiet way of speaking. He was so intimidating but he seemed so trustworthy. "You have a nice day, ma'am."

Before he could walk away, you found yourself calling out to him, too curious to let him leave without asking any questions.

"Hey, I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you. . . new in town?"

He seemed amused by your attempt to start a conversation, but decided to indulge you anyway. "I'm just passin' through. So you, uh, you really know everyone that lives here?"

Although he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, he kept subtly glancing around like he was about to cross the street or something. When he turned his head, you noticed the remnants of a week-old bruise on his jaw.

"Pretty much, yeah," you responded. "So, life on the road, huh? Sounds pretty exhilarating."

He let out a friendly chuckle. "Yeah, I guess it can be. If exhilarating is what you call lukewarm showers and buying all your food from the gas station."

You smiled back, happy the man seemed to be warming up some. He seemed less on edge, and you weren't sure why, but that made you feel accomplished in some way.

"Well, this isn't a gas station," you remarked, playfully contradicting his earlier statement.

"You're right, it's not," he said. "But I had to make an exception because-" You watched as he pulled a round object from his jacket pocket, holding it up and waving it slightly as if to show it off. "-gas stations don't carry mangoes."

You mock gasped, unable to fight back a smile. "Pocket fruit? I hope you were planning to pay for that. Or are you 'just passing through' because you're on the run from the police?"

You expected him to laugh at this, but instead you saw him staring intently over your shoulder at a man who had just entered the aisle. He seemed to identify the new arrival as some sort of threat. You saw that they were looking directly at each other, and you suddenly felt uneasy. Before you could ask what was wrong, several things began happening at once.

The man at the end of the aisle pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at the two of you. No, not at you, just at the kind stranger, who immediately pushed you behind him as the first shot rang out, followed by a second one. Thankfully, they both missed the two of you, but the second bullet grazed the basket you were still holding which was sticking out from behind the stranger's leg. Instantly, you dropped the basket and began sprinting for the nearest exit with the stranger close behind you.

You ran through a door marked 'EMPLOYEES ONLY,' which the stranger quickly barricaded with a tall shelf packed with bulk boxes of paper towel rolls. As the shooter banged at the door, the two of you found an exit at the back of the stock room, which you flung open and rushed through into the building's side alley. The stranger pulled you behind the building to where his vehicle was conveniently parked, almost as if he'd been anticipating an emergency escape. Too terrified to argue, you didn't protest when he ordered you to get in the passenger seat and jammed his keys in the ignition. He tore out of the parking lot and onto the main road, carrying you away from your home and the man who had tried to kill you both.

It took you half an hour to work up the courage to ask questions.

"Who was he?" you asked, softly. You're sure he heard you, although he seemed happy to pretend he didn't.

After a few long moments, when he realized you weren't going to stop staring at him until he answered, he begrudgingly responded.

"A bad man."

"Why did he wanna kill you?"

"I, uh, took something from him," the stranger said, studying his rear view mirror to see if you were being followed.

"Are you a bad man?" you asked, tentatively.

At first he just sighed, and for a moment you thought that's all he was going to give you for an answer, but then he spoke.

"I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're asking."

"Then. . . can you take me home?"

"I can't turn around yet, not 'till I know we're not being followed. Then I might be able to take you back so you can pack a bag or two."

"Pack?! For what?" you exclaimed, dreading the answer. There was another awkward silence while the man planned his answer. "Why do I need to pack? Tell me!"

"That man, the one with the gun? He has a, uh, habit of targeting his enemies' loved ones."

"But we barely know each other, why the hell would he-"

"He doesn't know that."

"Besides," he continued after a while, "I don't really. . . have any loved ones. So he's kinda grasping at straws to find somebody I'd want to protect."

"So, he thinks you would care if I died, and now we're both in danger?" You stared at him in disbelief.

"Pretty much, yeah," he mumbled.

After that, the truck was silent for a long while. The only time you spoke in the next two hours was to give the stranger your address. You watched the trees and road pass by beside you, trying to figure out what you would pack when you finally made it home for possibly the last time. You were lost in thought so long that you were pulled out of your head by the truck's tires bouncing over the dip in your driveway. You didn't even know you had turned around.

"You get ten minutes. We're traveling light, so don't go crazy." You began to hop out of the truck before the stranger's voice stopped you in your tracks. You turned around and saw that he was looking at you for the first time since you escaped the grocery store. "For the record," he began, contemplating what to say next, "I would care if he killed you."

You just stared back at him, not knowing how to respond to that.

"I'm gonna keep you safe, alright?" he promised, and you believed him.

You nodded, and went inside to gather your belongings. There was just something about this man that made you want to trust him. You managed to fit everything you needed into a large duffel bag and a back-pack. Looking around you, you realized something. You lived alone and all your friends lived out of state. This town had nothing to offer you except a shitty restaurant job. Most likely, the only person who would even notice you were gone was your boss. You took a deep breath before returning to the truck, putting your life in the hands of someone you just met.

You hopped back in the passenger seat, and the stranger helped you toss your bags in the backseat after checking that they were of a reasonable size. "You ready?" he asked.

"Fuck, no. Lets go."

The two of you took off down the road in a different direction than before, hoping to throw the bad man off your trail. After about an hour on the road, you looked over at the stranger to find him smirking slightly, lost in thought.

"What?" you asked, happy the mood seemed to be lightening despite your situation. He glanced over at you momentarily, and instead of providing a verbal response, he just reached into his pocket and handed you a slightly dented but still perfectly ripe mango. You took it from him with a smile.

"What's your name?" you asked.

He looked at you for a long moment, before seeming to make a decision. "Frank. What yours?"

You were brought back to the present by a torrent of freezing cold water, telling you you had been in there too long. You were thankful that Frank seemed to prefer morning showers. As you stepped out and dried off, you thought about the man chasing you. Eventually, when Frank opened up to you, he revealed that his name was Jordan Carlisle, and that his father was involved in the murder of Frank's family. You also discovered that the thing Frank had taken from him was his father's life. It had been so long since that day at the grocery store, and you wondered if you'd ever see him again. Maybe by this point, he'd given up on his revenge, and decided to leave Frank in peace. But Frank said Carlisle wasn't the type of man to just give up, and that if you ever wanted to stop running, someone would have to die.

During your few months together, you also learned that Frank wasn't the type to run away or avoid confrontation. The only reason he hadn't met Carlisle half way and taken him down was to keep you safe. That and the fact that he had been forced to leave behind some supplies shortly before you met and was left with nothing but a handgun, two bullets, and a pocket knife. (All things you could use to kill a man, but probably not a trained assassin).

You were both anticipating the end of the chase, however, because Frank had recently acquired various new firearms and a respectable pile of ammunition, and he was getting a little tired of running. Also, there's only so much distance you can put between you and your attacker before he realizes he's moving in the wrong direction. You had just pulled your favorite cotton nightgown over your head when-

*BANG*

You heard the unmistakable sound of the motel door being forced open. You heard a gunshot and something hit the floor. The sounds of a physical struggle just behind the bathroom door simultaneously relieved you and caused your heart to slam against your rib cage. At least you knew Frank was still alive. Unfortunately, so was the person who broke in. You couldn't see him, but you were pretty sure you knew who it was.

Two more gunshots shocked you into motion. You slid under the bathroom sink and tried desperately to remember what Frank told you to do on your first night together in case of a break in. He told you to get outside and find a hiding spot or barricade yourself in a closet or bathroom and wait for him to come get you. His voice in your head was commanding you, "Do. Not. Move." You tried to do as you were told but the urge to make sure Frank was alright was growing stronger. The muffled grunts and thuds were scaring you. You couldn't tell who had the upper hand and you didn't know enough about guns to determine which shots came from which man.

A loud cry of pain from Frank was your final straw. There wasn't a single thought in your head, let alone a plan, but you couldn't keep hiding while someone you cared about was potentially getting himself killed. You ran to the bathroom door, unlocked it, and threw it open with as much force as you could manage. The door slammed into the wall beside it with a loud crash. A distraction.

Just a few feet in front of you, Jordan Carlisle was caught off guard by the sound and he twirled around to find the source. Almost instantly, his gun was trained on you. Suddenly, you felt consumed by fear unlike anything you'd ever felt before. You heard the gunshot and flinched violently backward, as if you could somehow escape the bullet, stumbling back onto the bathroom floor. You screamed and squeezed your eyes shut tight, waiting for the impact, but it never came. You hesitantly opened your eyes just in time to watch Carlisle collapse onto the dirty motel carpet, eyes open and unseeing. He was dead. The chase was over.

Almost immediately you burst into tears, unable to get the image of his lifeless body out of your head. You knew you should be relieved, but there was something about almost dying that made you prone to emotional outbursts. You gazed up at Frank across the room, who still had his gun pointed at the spot where Carlisle had been standing moments before. He slowly lowered it and looked over at you where you were sitting on the floor, sobbing. He seemed angry, like every cell in his body was infused with a furious energy, and he had just shot the thing he was taking it out on.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!" Guess now it was your turn. "I TOLD YOU IF SOMEONE BREAKS IN, YOU FIND A PLACE TO HIDE AND YOU STAY THERE."

"I was j-just wo-horried about you," you hiccuped.

"I HAD IT COVERED."

"I'm sorr-"

"YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN YOURSELF KILLED. THEN ALL OF THIS RUNNING BULLSHIT WOULD HAVE BEEN FOR NOTHING."

You turned your head away from the shouting and found yourself looking directly at Carlisle again. This time, you were unable to turn away. It was like you were completely frozen, tension locking all your muscles in place, rendering you incapable of even the slightest movement. Your tears began falling harder but you were barely making a sound. Your lungs were tight and burning. You couldn't even draw in a full breath. Frank's reprimanding faded into background noise. You found yourself wishing desperately that you were anywhere but in that room.

"Oh, fuck," Frank muttered when he saw you damn near hyperventilating. He calmed down considerably when he realized yelling at you was only making things worse. "Shit, I didn't want you to see this."

He made his way over to your side of the room and knelt down to be at eye level with you. You barely acknowledged his presence.

"Hey, look at me," he asked gently. You didn't move your head. Softly, Frank cupped your cheek, the one farther away from him, and used it to turn you in his direction.

"You're gonna be okay," he promised. "Can you stand, sweetheart?"

Seeing Frank alive and calm helped you come back to yourself. Slowly, you nodded. Frank stood and held out his hand to you, which you used to pull yourself up with a little effort. You managed to get upright, but your legs were shaking so hard you weren't sure if you'd be able to walk. It was pathetic, and you were quite sure Frank would agree, but he didn't say anything about it. He just took one look at you and scooped you up into his arms. You were embarrassed by your incompetence, but you had finally stopped crying, and that was an accomplishment in and of itself.

Frank carried you over to your bed on the far side of the room and laid you down carefully. On your way over, you passed his bed which was closer to the bathroom, and saw two bullet holes in the pillow Frank had been laying on when you left to take a shower. That was when the relief hit you. You felt no more grief or fear or regret, only solaced by the fact that you were both alive and safe at last.

"Stay here, alright? Don't move," Frank murmured. He turned to walk over to the body again but you grabbed onto his arm before he could leave. He looked back at you questioningly.

"I heard you get hurt," you mentioned shyly. "What happened?"

Frank's eyes revealed that he was happy you were talking again. He seemed touched that your first concern when the shock wore off was for him.

"Ran into the nightstand," he admitted, rubbing his side. "It's just bruised, nothing to worry about."

You had a feeling he wasn't telling you the full story, but you decided to accept his answer. As far as you could tell, he wasn't bleeding anywhere and he didn't seem to be in much pain. Satisfied, you let go of his arm and turned to face the wall. You had a feeling you wouldn't want to see what was about to happen.

You laid there for a while, listening to Frank working behind you. You heard something being dragged across the floor, several grunts of effort and a sickening thud. You heard the faucet running in the sink and the sound of the bathroom door closing. There were footsteps moving around the room. . . the sound of someone changing clothes. You smelled the air freshener left in the bathroom cabinet masking the scent of blood.

Finally, after God knows how long, you felt the bed dip slightly as Frank sat down on the edge. You sat up and moved next to him, resting your head on his shoulder after a moment of hesitation. He put his arm around your shoulder and held you closer to him. The two of you weren't usually this affectionate, but you had certainly grown closer during your time together, and you figured the situation called for it.

"Do you think the police are on their way down here?" you asked.

Frank shrugged. "Probably not if they haven't shown up by now." Frank tried and failed to fight back a small smile. "Either that guy behind the front desk is a really heavy sleeper, or he did something to piss off the jackass in our bathtub. The only other people in this dump checked out yesterday," he said. You couldn't help but smile at that along with him. You were just so happy to be alive.

The more you let that thought run through your head, the more you wanted to be close to him. You needed more than an arm around your shoulder after you almost got shot in the head. You wanted to be held. 'Oh, sue me,' you thought. 'Who wouldn't?'

But you tried to let it be enough. You weren't sure how Frank would react to more than what you were already doing and you were too nervous to find out. You felt Frank shift next to you and realized that overthinking had caused you to become tense. The silence between you grew slowly thicker and you were worried he was about to pull away from you. In that moment, Frank standing up seemed like the absolute worst thing in the world that could happen to anyone, and you weren't about to let it.

'Fuck it', you thought, and with one quick movement, you were straddling his lap with your arms thrown over his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He was caught off guard for a brief moment, but a second later his arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you just as tightly. You buried your face in his neck, breathing him in and savoring the feeling of his pulse against your cheek.

"We're okay, Frankie," you breathed. "It's over."

"I told you I was gonna keep you safe, sweetheart. I don't make promises I can't keep."

The two of you stayed like that for a while, content to just hold each other until the sun shone through the curtains. Well, you thought you were content, but it wasn't long before the closeness started to affect you. He was just so warm and solid, and suddenly you felt like he was wearing too many clothes. You wanted to feel him. Feel his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin on yours.

Your stomach was tight with desperation and you felt tears forming behind your eyes. You needed to be closer. Your thighs tightened around Frank's hips and he felt your breathing get heavier against his neck. You shifted your position slightly to ease some of the wanting in your veins but you froze when you heard Frank's breath hitch.

As you settled your weight on his lap again, your new position provided a new sensation. There was something warm pressing against your inner thigh. Even through Frank's impenetrable denim jeans, you could feel it heating up.

Frank was just as aroused by your position as you were. He wanted you, too, but you knew he would never admit it because he cared about you too much to do anything that could potentially hurt you.

The worst part was, you could feel it getting bigger and pulsing softly right next to where you wanted it the most, and he knew you could feel it. He knew, and he knew you wanted it, but he still wasn't saying anything about it because he was too damn stubborn. He probably thought you weren't in your right mind and would regret it in the morning but that was just such bullshit. You could never regret him, and you were going to make sure he knew that.

There was still some part of you that was afraid to make a move, and that part of you really wanted Frank to break first. So, you decided to make him unable to ignore it any longer. Pretending to adjust your position again, you settled down directly on top of his bulge, making sure it was exactly where you wanted it. The feeling of his cock hardening against you sent another wave of desperation through your body, causing you to tighten your limbs around him again. Still feigning innocence, you rolled your hips once for good measure, grinding down on him to see his reaction.

You didn't see it so much as feel it, when his arms tensed up around you and he turned his head away from you in frustration. You could feel your blood pumping hard, and you were sure your face was flushed. You wondered if he could feel your heartbeat the same way you could feel his pressed up against your clit. You felt his cock twitch again, even through three layers of fabric, and you could barely take it any more. You rolled your hips again, purely on instinct, and accidentally let out a soft moan.

Frank exhaled sharply and slid his arm from around your waist to pull your head away from his neck.

"What are you doin', sweetheart?" he asked, looking at you sympathetically when he saw your wrecked face. Suddenly, it was all too much for you, and there was nothing you could do to stop a rogue tear from sliding down your cheek.

"Please," you whispered, and that was all you had to say.

He put a hand on the back of your neck and pulled you toward him before lightly brushing his lips against yours. You pushed forward, wanting more, but Frank pulled away before you could really kiss him. He just sat there for a moment, searching your eyes for any signs of reluctance or any lack of clarity whatsoever. In the end, he found nothing but pure desire and maybe, just maybe, love.

This time, when he leaned in, you met him half way. This time, it was more than just a brush of lips. Frank kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. Gentle, yes, but also tortuously deep. You felt his tongue brush against your lower lip and gently coax your mouth open to kiss you harder, and it was warm and wet and perfect. As your need got worse, you began to grind down on him again, sighing into his mouth from the friction.

The hand he had on your neck moved up to tangle in your hair, tugging gently, while the other one shifted to settle on your lower back as he encouraged harder, slower movements of your hips. As he forced you down against him, the feeling of the rough denim on your clit through your thin panties caused you to whine quietly. Every slight movement sent sparks shooting up your spine.

You shifted your body backwards and reached down between you to tug at his zipper, but it didn't want to come down. Frank let you struggle with it for a moment, but just as you started getting frustrated, he took over for you.

In one swift movement, you were on your back underneath him, your legs still hooked around him. He sat up for a moment to pull off his shirt (revealing his fucking perfect abs that seemed completely unfair and you were about to LOSE YOUR MIND BECAUSE HOLY SHIT) and then he was back on top of you, pressing one last kiss to your lips before pulling away to look you in the eyes.

"You sure you want this, sweetheart?"

"Don't you fucking dare leave me like this, Castle."

Frank snorted, rolling his eyes affectionately. "Yes, ma'am."

With one hand, he reached down to unzip and tug down his pants and underwear, freeing his flushed cock from it's uncomfortable confines. It was bigger than you expected it to be, which is saying something because you already knew he was big from rubbing against it. He was so hard it looked painful, and he gave himself a few tugs to take the edge off. Just watching it drip onto the bed had you feeling dizzy. You were unbearably wet and all you wanted was to feel it inside of you.

Luckily, Frank seemed to tell as much, because he slid his hand up your thigh, kissing your neck gently and pushing the hem of your nightgown up to your stomach. He hooked the fingers of one hand in the waistband of your underwear but he paused there, waiting for some sort of go-ahead. You nodded at him, and he sat back again to tug your panties down your legs and pull them off.

This time, instead of immediately climbing back on top of you, Frank took a moment to admire you from an upright position. He gazed hungrily at your exposed cunt before swiping a finger through your folds and brushing your clit with the pad of his thumb. You jolted at the feeling, whimpering when he did it again just to watch you shudder.

"Frankie, please," you whined.

Frank decided to have mercy on you, and he came up to kiss you as he lined the tip of his cock up with your aching hole. He pushed slowly until the thick head was all the way in, surrounded by your soft, fluttering walls. It was a stretch, and it wasn't even half-way in. You appreciated Frank giving you a moment to adjust, but you didn't want one. You wanted to feel all of him, even if it hurt.

Hooking your legs tighter around him, you tried to push him into you. It didn't work, obviously. You didn't think you could move Frank if you barreled into him full-force, but he got the message.

In one smooth thrust, he buried himself fully inside you, grunting loudly and whispering an "Oh, fuck" into your neck. Your back arched up off the bed and you moaned loudly as his cock hit sweet spots inside you that you didn't even know existed.

Having Frank hovering over you, connected to you in so many ways, was easily the best thing you'd ever experienced. You were both breathing heavily and shaking as you waited for the initial pleasure shock to wear off.

Once you adjusted, you shifted slightly under him, trying to fuck yourself on his cock. Whatever stimulation you managed to get from that was nothing compared to when he actually started moving. Each thrust was slow and deep, sending waves of bliss coursing through you. You couldn't stop the gasps and whimpers that kept escaping, nor did you want to.

Franks arms were on either side of your head, closing you in so all you could see and feel was him. You had never felt so safe in your entire life. Every movement was so complete and perfect. Nothing was rushed or forceful, but it was still all pure pleasure. You were sure you had never been this wet before.

Feeling Frank's back muscles shift under your fingertips as he thrust into you was mesmerizing, and hearing him moan softly and curse against your pulse point was sending shivers through your body. Every time Frank pushed his cock back inside you, you felt yourself ascending further, rapidly approaching your peak. Every time he pulled out slowly so you could feel it dragging against every part of your sensitive walls, you wanted to sob from feeling so good.

It wasn't long before you were crying out from your release, tightening your grip on every part of Frank and leaving long scratches down his back. When your climax finally hit, you swore you were having an out-of-body experience.

"Attagirl, that's it," Frank whispered as he felt you spasm around him. "Oh, fuck, sweetheart. Where-" he began. Reluctantly, you rubbed your hand on your stomach. You hadn't had access to birth control in almost six weeks and shitty motels don't provide condoms. Even the ones with good water pressure.

You rubbed the back of Frank's head gently as his thrusts grew more erratic, grabbing onto and playing with his hair. Suddenly, he pulled out of you and jerked his cock barely three times before he was finishing on your stomach with a quiet groan, painting it with his cum.

Breathing heavily, the two of you collapsed next to each other, coming down from your highs and processing what just happened. Idly, you began playing with the mess on your stomach as you thought about what was next for the two of you. There was no way in hell you were letting Frank drop you off at your house and just take off after that. You know you said "It's over," but it couldn't really be over, right?

"Stay with me," you whispered.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, baby."

"I'm not talking about tonight. When you take me back home, stay with me."

Frank pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at you in disbelief. "Sweetheart, I don't think I can-"

"Then I'll stay with you. My house is a family heirloom, I've only gotta pay for water and electricity. It'll still be waiting for me whenever I need it."

"I can't let you do that. You have no idea how much I want to, but I'd get you killed."

"Then stop moving for a while. No one would find you in that town. Just stay with me. Please. If you hate it, you can leave."

Frank sighed, glancing around the room before settling his gaze back on you. He brought his hand to your face, brushing his fingertips down your cheek like you were a precious artifact. You both knew he wasn't ready to let you go.

"Okay."

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#jon bernthal #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal smut #frank castle fanfiction

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yourjughead · 1 year ago

Text

Boyfriend

Sweet Pea and Y/N have been seeing each other in secret for some time but as a new serpent enters the playing field, tempers flare but is it all what if seems?

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SP POV

"So when are you guys gonna stop pretending it's just sex and actually just sign the marriage licence, it's been like 7 months which is basically decades in the Serpents"

The water I gulped down nearly took deathly grip at Tonis comment.

"N-o no no" I managed to choke out between rapid taps to the back from Fangs.

"Toni please don't kill the man, I'm sure YN wouldn't like if you bumped off her play thing" Fangs quipped while watching the colour return back to my face.

"I'm not her play thing, if anything she's mine"

"And who exactly could you be talking about like that" of course she's going to join the conversation at the most inconvenient time. I wish the water had just finished me off.

"Y/N, we were just messing with him"

"Ah yes Toni because I love when my sex life is the topic of conversation amongst my friends, although I suppose you've nothing going on in your own lives" she dropped your tray next to me before sliding in across.

"And how is Cheryl?" you added, Toni sunk down on the seat with a groan.

"And Kevin?" sending Fangs sliding too, leaving me grinning into my soup. I caught her hand beneath the table as the other two tried to take back hold of their pride. We shouldn't have even been talking about this so openly in school, I'm really not trying to put a target on my back.

"If you do marry eachother I'll officiate"

"That's very nice Fangs but don't you need to be able to read to do that?" Fangs caught his chest in feign hurt at Y/Ns joking tone. We shouldn't be talking about this, they know I'd never be allowed to marry her, I can't even openly date her.

As if on que, Y/N dropped my hand quickly to place both in front of her tray, her eyes following the newest recruit to the Serpents. Jughead Jones. Now there's the only person her father would let her marry, another serpent legacy.

"Hey guys"

"Hey Jughead!" She responded very much too excited to him in my opinion.

"Y/N, I'm heading to Pop' wanna come? I know you really want to try it" how could he know what she wants? I'm what she wants. Right?

"Sure, see you later guys" y/n smiled and I could feel my other best friends shuffle awkwardly in their seats as y/n then strutted off with her future husband.

"SP-"

"Don't" I silenced Toni's saddening tone with a raised hand, I don't need their pitty.

~ 3rd Person

Over the next few weeks you spent more and more time around Jughead. Your father approved massively of this budding relationship, not going unnoticed by Sweet Pea or the rest of your friends. You and Jughead would go on jobs together, meet up before and after meetings together and just in general be together. It was becoming more and more difficult for Sweet Pea to be around and he began to retreat into himself.

5 weeks later - 3rd Person

Sweet Pea sprawled out across the tattered sofa of his very own trailer. Trying to take his mind of you and Jughead, he flicked through tv channels, then the books in his reach before finally landing on reading his history book absentmindedly. His eyes eventually weighing more than the book and closing. Dreams of you in eggshell coloured dresses waltzing up a flower covered aisle to meet a groom with a blurry face but a very prominent crown beanie splashed across his mind. The image jolted him from his sleep, crashing him to the floor.

Sweet pea rubbed his face with the blanket thrown across him, trying to remove the image from his thoughts. The soft glow from his ajar bedroom door across the darkened living room caught his eye. His hands ran down the blanket that was not there when he drifted off. Your hushed voice eventually met his ears from the bedroom, his senses waking one by one. He misses you breaking into his trailer nightly, the last time having been a few weeks ago.

Sweet Peas Pov

Collecting myself from the floor I snuck over to the door where I could accidentally on purpose hear her speak more clearly on the phone.

"Yeah there's just no future there - yeah - I really like being around him but what's the point when I don't want to continue - yeah yeah - I don't want any more feelings to grow - mmm - I just have to be with him to get where I need to go - yeah you're right- talk later love you Sis - bye - bye - bye" oh god it's happening, the end, she's ending it with me. I don't care if she's using me, just as long as she's with me. Right?

I heard her jump up from mattress. Crap crap crap. I went to scramble back to the sofa, sliding along the laminate in the blanket she had wrapped on me, flying straight back onto the floor. Ugh god my head. As I blinked her shape standing over me came into focus, I gave a small nervous laugh.

"Sweets, are you having fun down there?" She laughed offering a hand and instantly regretting it as I pulled her down on top of me.

"Now I am" I rolled her into the blanket and deep into my chest, squeezing as if letting go would mean she's gone forever. The closest we'd been in awhile.

"Sweet - Pea - You're - Crushing - Me" she attempted through my chest and began go gently push from me. It's already happening. She rolled her head up and gently kissed my cheek and I released my grip.

"Why are you on the floor"

"Why are you in my house?"

"Touché" she smiled before sitting up to retrieve her buzzing phone from her pocket.

"Who's are you giggling at?" I hate myself for asking but seeing her smile at her phone the way she smiles at me gave me reason.

"It's just something Jughead said -" ugh god why why why "- and I don't giggle" she gently hit me into my chest as I rolled from her and then up off the floor. I crossed the room towards the fridge where I rooted around.

"He was telling me about the book he's writing over lunch today, he's really got something for making up elaborate plans, we actually decided to -"

"We?" I almost growled at her as I pulled a beer from the fridge and turned to her disapproving stares. I know she doesn't like when I drink on week days, we were brought up in bar culture and she hates bringing it home with her. I'm not even sure she'd call me home anymore.

"Sweet pea don't get like that over Jughead, you like him I thought" she moved towards me in the kitchen, the blanket drapped over her still. I leaned on the fridge across from her and watched her prop herself up onto the countertop, her phone now next to her.

"Y/N, he rocks up into our school, parades around, Mr. Prince of the Serpents, takes you from me all the time so we can never have any alone time together and then -"

"Ah so that's what this is about, you miss the sex" she seemed to toy but I definitely wasn't in the mood to joke.

"No! Well yeah but that's not all I miss, this is the most we've talked in over a month and it's still about him!"

"Sweet Pea don't get angry at me!" She slid from the blanket and the counter. Too late, I was very much very angry which was only increased when her phone lit up, with the one word I'd never heard her use before, boyfriend.

"What the fuck?!" I lunged for it, almost forgetting my height, giving y/n a bit of a fright, something I had never done. Seems to be a day of firsts for everyone. Boyfriend?! Boyfriend?! She tried to reach for the ringing phone, this time I didn't forget my height, answering the phone and hoping I didn't hear the person I knew was on the other head.

"Hey y/n/n, I'll meet you at the usual spo-" I cut Jones off before he could finish, hurling the phone at the cabinets. This time I gave y/n a very noticeable fright as the phone screen came seperate from the motherboard.

"Sweet Pea!! Calm down! You're acting like a raving lunatic, let me explain!" She shouted back, more firsts from her, she had never raised her voice at me before but I suppose I started it. No she did. Jones did. I'm gonna kill him.

"Explain what?! What's there to explain Y/N/N" I used the name he called her like the curse word it was to me.

"Me and you have been seeing each other for like almost 9 months and that has meant something to me, clearly not so much to you" okay Sweet Pea that was probably a bit harsh. I breathed out deeply, trying to release any amount of pressure from chest. She moved from the kitchen and into the bedroom, returning again and putting on her jacket. Damn.

"You have no idea the kind of pressure I'm under Sweet Pea" she almost bit at me as she zipped herself up.

"Yeah I'm sure there's a lot of pressure straddling Jones" I was shocked I said that, she was shocked I said that. I think I don't even believe what I said but then again, he's her boyfriend. Boyfriend?! She's never called me that, would never call me that. This thought pushed the regret for what I said from me and replaced it back with anger.

"Oh whatever Sweet Pea, talk to me when you recover from the concussion you clearly got from the fall" She flew open the trailer door and stormed out into the cold night. I slid down the fridge, her smashed up phone alongside me. Nice one Pea, you really messed up this time..... except she messed up too, she's dating Jones and didn't tell me. She's dating Jones and didn't tell me. She's dating Jones and didn't tell me. I could feel my neck rise again with anger as I stood and went to the front door. I need to pay the serpent prince a visit.

Part 2

#riverdale #riverdale imagines #jughead jones #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale x reader #sweet pea x reader #sweetpeaxreader #fancfiction #sweet pea #sweet pea x you #sweetpea x reader #jughead jones imagine #im

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patchworkcuddlebug · 19 days ago

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The Doll In My Brain

Allison wakes up, feeling well rested. She's still in the doll's uniform, a simple yet elegant maid outfit, as she finds herself politely sat at the edge of her bed. It's perfectly made, and the rest of her room looks immaculately tidied as well.

She stands and stretches her body as her grogginess slowly fades, and as the first part of her morning routine, checks the whiteboard on her desk. "This one has finished our chores earlier than expected, Miss." it writes in a handwriting much better than hers. "It has decided to spend the rest of the night still, to rest our body. It hopes that is acceptable."

Allison grabs the nearby marker, erasing the message with the wipe that the doll so graciously provided. "Thanks again for all your hard work! I feel great this morning. You're a very good doll."

Wishing her doll nothing but satisfaction, Allison begins to change into something much more befitting of a person. Once it tried asking the doll to select outfits for her as part of its nightly routine, but the poor thing doesn't seem to understand fashion all too well if it isn't playing a game of dress-up.

. . . . .

Allison inspects the cucumber closely. She's already collected everything on her list, and is now filling out the doll's list. It took the poor thing a while to build the courage to ask for food, and she wants to do her best to make it happy. She just isn't sure what counts as a "good cucumber" or not.

It's been a conversation in the past. Dolls aren't really supposed to feel hunger, they usually just subsist on tea and magic and the will of their witch. But while constrained to her body, her doll feels the need to care for it as it would a witch, and that includes preparing meals for her. While Allison usually makes herself something best described as "sufficiently caloric", her doll enjoys the act of service too much to simply fuel her rather than nourish her.

"Excuse me, do you work here?"

Allison turns to see an older man, supporting himself on the handle of his cart. She looks down and notices she's wearing a colour a bit too similar to the employee's apron. He continues before she can speak up, asking "I'm having trouble finding the instant mashed potatoes."

He turns and leaves, packets in hand.

Allison blinks, looking around. She's in a completely different aisle. She shakes her head, trying to free herself from the remnants of her haze of docile obedience. Nobody's looking at her, so it seems like the doll didn't do anything a person shouldn't do. It even remembered not to leave her... their? Purse in the cart that time. What a good doll, she thinks to herself, promising to add an extra thank-you to the whiteboard.

. . . . .

Allison sighs as she places her second, and last, grocery bag on the kitchen counter. It wasn't unmanageable, but lugging the food up to her complex's top floor never got easier. Maybe once the temperature wasn't such an issue, she could leave it in her car and ask the doll to fetch it for her... but that would require her body to venture outside, with the doll's uniform and mannerisms. Even under the cover of night, the idea was mortifying.

As she unpacks, her train of thought continues. She wonders if the doll feels the same way about her, if it ever finds itself concerned with how she acts in its body. She's sure it couldn't mind, she couldn't imagine a doll that would dare. Well, now she just hopes the poor thing doesn't feel to bad about borrowing her body...

She's been standing in the kitchen for a while, borrowing the doll's stillness. The food has been put away some time ago.

Regardless, Allison feels the need to check. Sure enough, everything is filed away with an almost mechanical consistence, including the canned soup being alphabetized.

Thank you, doll, she thinks to herself, just in case it can hear her. Part of her laments not doing the work herself, but she cuts herself off before getting caught in the weeds of defining what constitutes 'herself' considering the circumstances.

As a habit, having regained control, she checks the doll's chore list. As reliable as it is, it can forget to keep track of chores it does when it's 'off the clock' during the day. She crosses off "Organizing" and shuffles to the couch, eager to relax.

. . . . .

Allison slowly drifts awake. She looks down at the floor, past the doll's outfit, and sees tea spilled on the kitchen's tile. She quickly figures that she must have passed out on the couch... and that her doll must have felt so emotional about spilling its drink it had to take a break. She can still feel the anxiety in her body, the seizing of muscles and the hastened breathing.

The first thing she does is retreat into her room, grabbing a marker and sticky note. Returning to the scene, she places it on the cabinet just next to the spill, somewhere the doll would surely see it. "It's okay, don't feel bad!" she writes. "It was just a mistake, everyone makes them. I'm more than happy to help out."

There, only now can she risk starting to clean. She places the unharmed mug on the counter, getting on her knees to wipe the spill with a nearby rag. It isn't long before that familiar fade starts to threaten to overtake her, the soothing repetition of her task lulling her to sleep and coaxing the doll back into place.

Her last act for the night, with what willpower her personality had the presence to muster, was to smile as bright as she could. Hopefully, when the doll came back, it would be just a little happier.

#this one's words #dollposting #empty spaces #1k words #this story is for all the systems with doll alters!#dollters if one would be so inclined #this one still isnt too perfectly acquainted with plurality #so it hopes it did a good job expressing the experience through its writing!

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riewritten · 2 months ago

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QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS ˚ · . READ ON AO3

『JOHAN LIEBERT x GENDER-NEUTRAL!READER』

˚ · .─ SYNOPSIS: Set a decade after the monster's last havoc in Runenheim; he managed to settle someplace nobody knew him, resolute to wander alone until his questions were answered. Needless to say, a companion who'd be willing to stay amid his solitude was the last thing he expected on this journey.

˚ · .─ TAGS: post-canon, developing friendships, romance, fluff, soft johan (whew), pining, domestic bliss, acts of service, johan acting like a male wife when he's just a friend lol, johan is soft but his unremorseful tendencies still show itself if you squint hard enough. ˚ · .─ WORDS: 5.8k

⭒ ⊹ ⭒ hapee holiday season, everyone! here's a christmas gift for my johan lovers:)

You come by Johan's crib after a long day of work. The door's open and there’s a faint albeit very comforting scent of smoke oozing out of the kitchen—your favorite soup. You knock softly (as if Johan didn't already sense your arrival with the clanks of your feet from the hallway; he had come to memorize your footsteps at this point). You find him by the stove, stirring something, movements deliberately slow.

“Smells good,” you say, voice light but sincere.

He doesn’t turn immediately, focus maintained on the pot. "It's just a simple dish. I thought you might be hungry."

He says it as if it's nothing. As if he just coincidentally thought of cooking your favorite dish. You smile, walking over to the table where a fresh and warm buttered loaf of bread awaits.

“You always know exactly what I need.”

Johan almost lets out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle, still not looking at you. "I'm learning."

The first time you met Johan, it was in the bookstore you both frequented, the perfect place to disappear for hours in the quiet maze of shelves. You got to know him by the murmurs first then speaking to him second. It was the constant whispers of the librarians and regulars about a blonde man who seemed to have nothing in his closet but turtlenecks and trousers, yet the awe in their voices spoke volumes—albeit in hushed tones—as it tipped from intimidation to admiration. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” one of them had said once, “like straight out of a painting.” “I know,” replied the companion, her voice barely above a whisper. “But doesn’t he feel… untouchable? I wouldn’t dare.” You’d followed their gazes and caught the sight of him for the very first time. Seated by the large window in the philosophy section, he was a picture of quiet solitude. His blonde hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, but it was his stillness that struck you most. Calm and composed—indeed he must be carved from stone. Since then, you’d noticed the way others seemed to orbit around him, drawn in by his presence but never daring to get too close. “I hope someone gets the gall to talk to him,” you overheard one of the librarians mutter once. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time when he spends most of his days here. I get he might prefer it that way, but still…” The words had stuck with you, stirring a strange kind of curiosity. Who was he, this man who seemed to command so much attention yet cold enough to remain distant? Oh, if only you knew what the future holds for you two, you wouldn't be so nervous about it.

“Why are you laughing?”

When you snap out of it, the stove’s already closed and Johan’s attention is full at you. Needless to say, you’re flushed, but you at least manage to smile and say, “Nothing. Just remembered something funny.”

“Great,” he blankly muses as he carries the food to the dining area. “At least we’ve got something to talk about over dinner.”

The first time you gathered the needed gall to approach him yourself was when you were wandering the aisles. He was in his usual spot with a small stack of books aside. His posture was relaxed, one hand cradling a book while the other resting on the arm of his chair. The whispers you had heard didn’t do him justice. He was striking, indeed, but there was something else, something intangible—a quiet volume in his presence hiding beneath the tranquility. It was the same volume that made you hesitate, and so you lingered by the shelves first. It wasn't until the librarian’s words echoed in your mind. “It’s a pity seeing him alone all the time…” Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and blurted out (casually, or so you hoped), “What are you reading?” When his gaze met yours, you felt the air shift. His eyes were the clearest shade of blue you had ever seen, perhaps akin to a lake hiding depths you’ll never reach. Looking back at it, you might’ve been right during that moment, for there are still so many things you don’t know about Johan even now. Going back, Johan took his own time, as if weighing your question, and for a fleeting second, you think he might ignore you entirely. Fortunately, he tilted the book slightly so you could see the cover. “Being and Time,” he said, voice as quiet as the space around you. You’d expect his voice to be deep and manly, but his soft-spoken tone didn’t disappoint you either. In fact, you might’ve liked it more than you imagined. “Heidegger,” you say, mostly to fill the space. “That’s… a lot to unpack.” A faint smile touched his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is.” Then he closed the book in a manner so poised that it felt almost reverent. “Have you read it?” You shook your head. “Not yet. Philosophy’s always been a little intimidating. Too many questions, not enough answers. Not my thing.” For a brief moment, however, you thought it'd be nice to pretend you liked it just so you could talk to him longer. His smile lingered, softer this time. “That’s the point, isn’t it? The questions.” “And you like that?” you took a small step closer. “Questions without answers?” He leaned back slightly, considering you with a quiet curiosity that mirrored your own. “I think it’s better than answers without questions.” “Not really.” He raised his brows, and it didn’t take him too long to signal his hand on the spare chair in front of him, inviting you to his table so you could expound on your answer. You realized then that talking to Johan means having to deal with his words hanging often in the air, and even now you still find yourself caught between wanting to unravel his meaning and simply basking in the way he says it. Amid his tranquil is a tension, that invisible string pulled taut just before it breaks.

And, with that said…

“You don’t talk much about your past,” you start, voice almost shy. “I respect that. But I think I need to understand. Not for me, but for you. We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Johan doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers are wrapped around his cup, staring at the dark liquid inside as though it could offer him the answers. You’re right, all you know about him is that he’s named Johan. He’s past his thirties. He seems to like your company over dinner or while reading his daily dose of books. He likes spending the rest of his day in the library where you two first met after he’s done with his informal job of tutoring children around the neighborhood for a small price—because to quote one parent, “Mr. Johan is good at children! They love him,”—which almost made him chuckle sardonically at one point, only if he wasn’t with you at the time it was said.

He has always been careful with his words, but this time, he seems to hesitate a little longer than usual. Finally, he speaks, albeit his voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

“I’m not the person you think I am, you see…” he starts, and with that simple remark, he's able to deduce that he's not ready to talk about it at all. "...but the past is a weight deplorable people like me are not willing to carry.

Not that he ever would be ready to talk about it, with you no less. Johan had spent so much time hiding his true self for the past decade not any more thrilled to see the reactions of others who’d come to know who he really was, even more not willing to see your reaction once you learn all of it, too.

But needless to say what he just said is progress. This is the first time in a decade that he has admitted out loud that he is a deplorable being. And that couldn’t be truer for him because even now as you talk, Johan still has no plan to carry the burden of his sins the way his victims would want to.

He is, in fact, stuck in here, wandering aimlessly, still struggling to understand the need for it, still wanting to see the world the way those people had seen it. The vision doesn’t appear to him no matter how many books he reads, how many buoyant children he tutors, or how many happy parents he comes across.

Then why does he allow you to see him little by little if he fails to understand it all?

“What only matters for me right now is what’s here,” He gestures around, eyes briefly meeting yours. “This. You.”

You don’t know what to say, but the fire starts feeling a bit warmer after that remark.

On Johan’s end, he seems to have formed some kind of enlightenment with his remark, too.

Here, in his little crib, with you by his side, he’s slowly but finally allowing himself to be seen (in ways he can and knows how) for the monster that he is, and it's all thanks to your presence. His growing fondness for you has the potential of freeing him from his aimless wandering. And if this fondness, perchance, starts developing for other people as well (to your neighbors, to the kids he tutors, to the parents trusting him, to the librarians doing favors for his books), he believes he could finally start seeing the world the way those people have seen it.

“But I don’t need to know what you’ve done or whatever it is that makes you ‘deplorable’," you quote in the air. "I just want to know you."

And his questions will be answered. And, in time, Johan can finally face the weight of his sins with full understanding.

He looks at you then, his gaze steady and calm. “You already do.”

On the second, third, fourth, and perhaps even fifth time you two came across each other at the library, you had always pretended to see him coincidentally (feigning shock with a high-pitched “Oh hi there, Johan! Didn’t know you were there! It’s been a while! How are you?” that you prayed he didn’t find annoying) because, little did Johan know, your intrigue had been keeping you up at night. You frequented the library—with all sorts of books and topics diverse—to quench your curiosity about lots of things. But with this blonde man, how could your curiosity about him be quenched if not through this? At times, you thought he’d seen through your friendship scheme, but your inner demons brushed off the thought. After all, how could he tell that these moments were, in fact, not coincidental when you two were known by the librarians for frequently requesting library cards because the old ones had been too full to fill up? You glanced at the stack of books beside him and realized that they have a rather eclectic mix—existentialism, psychology, classic literature. “You have a theme going,” you say, nodding toward them. He followed your gaze. “These authors had… interesting ways of seeing the world. I like to understand how people think.” The faintest edge to his voice, however, made you wonder if he was speaking about others—or himself. “Do you ever agree with them?” “Not always, but understanding isn’t about agreement. It’s about perspective.” You nodded then, rendered into silence, unsure how to respond. There was a weight to his words that felt out of proportion to the simplicity of the conversation. But you didn’t mind. If anything, it makes you want to keep talking to him. “I’m sorry—” you said suddenly, realizing you had been standing there for far too long. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just couldn’t help but notice. I’ll be off then! Have a great time.” When his gaze met yours again, there was a flicker of something softer. “It’s not an interruption,” and for the first time, his voice held a hint of warmth. “Sometimes, a conversation can say more than a book.” You smiled at that, feeling a strange, inexplicable comfort in his words. “Well, if you ever need someone to talk to about… questions without answers, I’m around!” He didn’t respond immediately, but his expression shifted, the faintest trace of curiosity mingling with something you can’t quite name. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said at last, and though his words are polite, there’s a quiet sincerity to them that makes you believe him.

After dinner, the quiet hum of the night wraps around you as you sit in Johan’s small, meticulously organized living space. The fire dwindles to a much softer glow, casting long shadows across the room before you notice Johan's gaze flickering between the firelight and you. His hands rest loosely on the arm of his chair, seemingly content in the silence. His stillness betrays a quiet attentiveness though—for he's always aware, always considering.

“You didn’t eat much,” says Johan, proving your musings. It's not an accusation either, just an old flat remark on his end.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I wasn’t that hungry earlier.”

He gets up without a word, movements unhurried as he disappears into the small kitchen. You hear the faint clink of a ladle against a pot and the gentle hiss of steam as he pours something. Moments later, Johan returns with a steaming bowl of soup and a slice of bread.

“Eat."

You hesitate for a moment before picking up the spoon, letting the warmth of the soup seep into your hands. “You don’t have to take care of me like this, you know?”

“I know,” he says simply before meeting your eyes, the usual coolness softened by something you couldn’t quite decipher.

The soup is more than perfect, though—rich and comforting as always—and he knows you'd feel guilty if you don't eat it. “I don’t know how you do it,” you mumble in between, “but you always make things feel… manageable? I don’t know.”

He tilts his head slightly, as though considering your words. “Do expound."

"I’d rather not."

The chuckle he lets out with your statement has made it more difficult for you to hide your fluster, but much to your relief, Johan doesn't press you further.

The same chuckle wraps every crevice of your body with warmth. Oh, to have a friend taking care of you like this. His solitude can be dreary, but so utterly comfortable nonetheless.

Making Johan live next to you will always be one of the proudest decisions you ever made.

It was approximately three months after those fateful (intentional) encounters, that the library had become a haven for you both. Your quiet camaraderie grew into something akin to a routine. You’d share the same table, absorbed in your respective books, the soft rustle of pages turning creating a rhythm that felt comforting in its simplicity. Occasionally, you’d catch Johan glancing at you, and there would go his unreadable gaze for a moment before returning to his book. That time, you were engrossed in a novel while Johan seemed to be studying Hegel. The silence between you was companionable, feeling like you had carved out your own little world amidst the whispers and movements of the library. But the spell broke when Johan spoke, “May I ask you a favor?” Not that it annoyed you. It actually did quite the opposite. Johan, this guy, asking you a favor? He rarely initiated conversations in the first place! Still, you tried to be calm about it, settling down your book with poise and all. “Of course, what is it?” “I’ve been considering moving to a quieter neighborhood. The place I currently reside in… lacks a certain tranquility.” You tilted your head, “Quieter, huh? You don’t strike me as someone who’d tolerate noise for long.” He gave you a faint but genuine smile. “It’s not the noise itself. It’s the... atmosphere. I’d prefer somewhere where the days feel less hurried.” “I might know a few places. My neighborhood is pretty quiet, actually. There’s a lot of greenery, and the people keep to themselves. It’s the kind of place where you can choose to go weeks without bumping into your neighbors or talk to them to your heart's content.” His eyes lit up very slightly, but that rare glimmer of interest in his face made your heart skip. “That sounds ideal. Do you happen to know of any available apartments?” You hesitated, mind racing. The apartment beside yours had been vacant for months. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was cozy, with a small balcony overlooking the courtyard. The thought of Johan living next door—of sharing more than just library visits—has kept your tongue tied for a while. “A-actually… there’s a place right next to mine.” But hey, at least you were still trying to sound casual about it. “It’s quiet, and the landlord’s a nice guy. I can give you the details if you’re interested.” “That’s very kind of you. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate it.” “Not at all!” you replied quickly, perhaps too eagerly. “I can show you the place after we leave here if you’d like.” “That would be helpful. Thank you.”

And now, as you go back to the present, you wonder why you’ve been feeling a bit too nostalgic lately, though it doesn’t stay unanswered when you glance at Johan’s calendar.

This day, last year, was the time you started sneaking on his spot at the library to initiate a talk. Reflecting on it now, your stupid tactics will never be something you’ll regret. He’s one of your closest friends now.

Johan’s friendship isn’t one for grand gestures, but it becomes clear that his acts of care are his way of expressing what he’d prefer not to put into words. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing has appeared on his coffee table. A small vase of daffodils now sits on the windowsill the next time you visit. His dinners are always for two, even when you show up unannounced—and if, for instance, you try to ask him about it, he’d just casually shrug and say, “I just ended up cooking a lot. Eat it while it’s hot.” More, and more, and more. It’s as though Johan is slowly turning his house into your own, too.

The same goes for the stuff you accidentally leave at his place. Your scarf? You’d see it neatly folded on the chair by the door the day after. Feeling a bit too cold during the evening? There, he has a blanket ready before you could even ask.

One night, you arrive at his house later than usual, steps heavy from a particularly grueling day. The door's unlocked, as it has been when he expects you.

“Johan?” you call, shrugging off your coat.

“In here,” comes his voice from the kitchen.

You follow the sound and find him standing by the stove while stirring a pot. The dim light casts a warm hue over him; his sharp features soften along the way.

He glances at you briefly, offering a small nod. “Long day?”

You lean against the doorway with a tired sigh. “You have no idea.”

Without a word, he turns off the stove and begins ladling soup into a bowl. He sets it on the table, gesturing for you to sit.

He sits across from you, his own bowl untouched. Then there goes his gaze, lingering on you, unintrusive but steady, as though he's reading every line of exhaustion on your face and filing it away.

“You should take a break."

You smiled wryly. “From what? Life?”

“From pushing yourself too hard."

His words hang in the air, simple yet profound. You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Johan’s protection of your peace became a natural extension of his care for you. He never pushed you to do anything for him. He never asked for more than you were willing to give. But he shows up. Every day. Quietly. Steadily.

The warmth of this dinner where Johan casually asks about your day, muses about his, shares the books he had read, makes you chuckle at the tomfooleries of children he has tutored, and more has been consuming you. It doesn’t take long until you finally work up the courage to ask a question that’s been lingering in your mind for quite some time.

“Why do you do all this for me?”

Johan looks at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he might deflect, as he so often does when conversations edge too close to vulnerability. But then, he answers, his voice quieter than usual.

“Because you stay.”

The simplicity of his words struck you. Johan, who has always been careful, always guarded, is telling you more than you realize.

“I stay because I want to."

His gaze doesn’t waver, but you notice the subtle shift in his expression—a faint, almost imperceptible relaxation.

“I know,” he replies, and for the first time, there's a hint of something like certainty in his voice.

With the winter deepening and the night growing colder, the warmth inside Johan’s home never falters. The conversations drift to lighter topics—books you’d read, places you wanted to visit, small dreams you’d never share with anyone else. Johan listens intently, his focus unwavering.

“I think you’d like the mountains,” he says at one point. “Quiet. Peaceful.”

You smile. “You make it sound perfect.”

“Well, it could be.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual. “Don't you think so?”

There's something in his tone—something unspoken, undecipherable, and yet undeniable. You realize something that made your heart ache and swell all at once: Johan isn’t just taking care of you. He's allowing you to take care of him, too, in the only way he knows how: by letting you stay. And, just like what happened just now, his likes and preferences will slip out of his mouth without him noticing from time to time, albeit much of them still projected as something you might like instead.

It's not easy for him, you know. But every bowl of soup, every blanket, every quiet moment shared in his little home is his way of saying what he couldn’t bring himself to say outright.

And for now, that is enough.

Johan’s care remains consistent, though you begin to notice small changes in his interactions with you.

His gaze often lingers a second longer, softening in ways you don’t know how to interpret—maybe it even softens a little too much especially when you’re telling him about your days. And his voice—oh, his voice that has bewitched you since the first time you had heard it in the library—recently it lowers in an almost tender way, his tone more perceptive of what you need even before you realize it yourself.

Then there goes the gestures. An extra blanket he drapes over your shoulders on particularly cold nights. A cup of tea that spawns on the table whenever he notices your mood falter. A brush of his hand against yours when he steadies you under the weight of too many things. All these moments feel small, insignificant even, and yet they’ve become harder and harder to ignore.

Maybe it’s a you problem (even though you tried your very best to stop the thoughts, to be fair) but oftentimes you can’t help but ask, has he always been this way?

No way Johan could like you, that much you know. But if we’re talking about you and the things under your sphere, the feelings that you can control, what would you answer if he came one day to ask if you still like him as a friend, or if it has progressed to something more dangerous—what would you tell him, then?

Fortunately, the Christmas season has brought a whirlwind of gatherings—giving you the space that you need from your colleagues. And for the night of Christmas itself, you’ve chosen to attend one with your friends instead of having dinner with him. It’s not that you don’t enjoy his company; you do, perhaps a bit too much, even, but you thought a change of pace would help clear your head.

You never intended to get yourself wasted, but the way you kept thinking of him during the gathering, spacing out, wondering if he managed to cook his own dinner or if he ‘accidentally’ made it again for two. At one point you even considered excusing yourself early just so you could go back home—to him. Oh god, you’re doomed indeed.

Hours later, the cold night air hits you as you stumble back to your apartment, the warmth of good food and too much wine still buzzing in your veins. While fumbling with your keys in the dark, you notice a figure standing at the door next to yours.

Johan.

His posture is impeccable as always, but his face is unreadable, bathed in the soft light of the hallway lamp. His sharp eyes meet yours, flickering briefly to the keys trembling in your hand.

“How long have you been—”

“You’re late.” His voice is rather calm, but there’s a note of something you can’t quite place.

“Merry Christmas, Johan,” you smile softly, the silly intoxicated mind finding his concern oddly amusing. “But oh, wait! Sorry, you told me you don’t celebrate holidays, right? Silly me,” you sway slightly. “Still, I bought you a gift, but I—hic—I left it inside. Maybe you can accompany me inside so y—you could, uh… what was I gonna say again?”

“You’re drunk,” he states the obvious with eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“No, I’m, hehe, not.” Though your keys clatter to the floor as if your body is mocking your denial. “Shit. I don’t have a spare key.” Disappointment so palpable as if the keys falling to the floor renders it unusable.

Johan sighs, bending to retrieve them with effortless grace. Without another word, he steps forward, unlocks your door, and gently guides you inside.

The warmth of your apartment envelops you, and you’re too tipsy to protest as Johan helps you to the couch. He disappears momentarily and returns with a glass of water.

“Drink.” His tone leaves no room for argument. You comply, sipping obediently, though you can’t help but watch him as he hovers nearby, his movements ever careful and deliberate, as though he’s weighing every action. When you finish, he takes the glass from your hands and sets it aside. “You should lie down.”

You nod. But then, Johan doesn’t accompany you to your room. He instead readies himself to leave. Why would he leave? He turns off the lights, assuming you are indeed on your way to your bedroom, and then bids you good night.

No.

The room spins slightly as you try to reach out to him. You fail miserably though, but Johan’s fast reaction steadies you immediately. He picks you up by the arm before you can even fall, “You okay?”

“Don’t leave.”

Johan squints his eyes, his thoughts lurking towards something. “Did something happen at the gathering? Did someone perhaps—”

“No, I—” you stammer because Johan’s proximity seems to have sobered you up. He gently sits your flailing body on the floor. He’s crouching, though his hold on your shoulder didn’t cease. “I just…I just realized something.”

He hums, waiting for you ever so gently to respond.

The same gentleness that pushes you off the edge.

“I like you.”

But the lights are off. You wouldn’t see Johan’s reaction.

The silence stretches painfully, and it doesn’t take long until you feel a pang of regret. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and you think he might leave. But then he speaks, his voice quiet, almost strained. “You didn’t disappoint me,” he says finally, and you find it strange how that simple—perhaps even empty—clarification plucked out a thorn in your vein. “It’s just that you don’t know what you’re saying right now.”

“I do,” you insist despite the haze in your mind. Your eyes scan everything else but his face above, trying to articulate it in a way he’d believe. “I’ve liked you since we met at the library. I pretended to come across you accidentally just so we could have something to talk about. I—I used to sit there for hours just hoping we’d talk. It kept me awake at night… thinking about you, about the way you look when you read. I thought I was just like that because I wanted to be your friend so bad, but I—” you exhale, ragged, exhausted. “I don’t think it passed even when we became close. There go your habits, and how you’re so kind to me… I can’t deny it any further and pretend I just want to be friends.”

Your words trail off, and the silence thereafter has felt suffocating. Johan remains unmoved, his posture rigid, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his head.

“Let's talk about it tomorrow…” Johan starts. “When you’re sober.”

“Okay…”

And yet, no one dares to move.

You finally look up after five minutes or so, and there you catch Johan’s gaze lingering on you—not piercing, but steady, contemplative. His hands rest loosely on your shoulders, yet you notice the slight tension in his fingers, the faint clench, and release as though he’s holding something back.

“You’ve been quiet,” you finally say, voice softer than intended, eyes up at him and nothing else.

“So have you,” he replies, and though his tone is even, there’s something in the way his eyes flicker to yours, then away, as if he’s caught in something too raw to name.

There goes the silence again, not because it’s awkward but because something has changed. Your body can sense it—the urge to move just a bit higher so you can reach his face, perhaps cup his cheeks just a bit, and maybe a small kiss on the forehead too…? Your heart flutters like a bird aching to be let out. Your feelings for Johan have been climbing higher than you ever intended tonight. And yet, the way he looks at you now, guarded but searching, makes you wonder if he feels even a fraction of what you do.

“Johan,” you say, voice trembling, “I…”

He looks at you again but in a manner quite different from how he usually reacts whenever you call his name. Still, you don’t let it scare you off.

“I don’t care if you can’t carry the weight of your past,” you say, the words spilling out like water from a dam. “I just want to be with you, and… maybe—”

It’s just that you don’t get to finish.

Johan leans in fast; you feel the time pacing a bit quicker, perhaps so it could cater to your shock. His hold on your cheek is gentle and controlled, but the way he meets your lips fervently speaks the urgency of it, as though he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’s willing to admit.

And so when you do more than push him away, your hand tentatively reaching for his arm instead—he deepens it further, his restraint crumbling just enough to let you feel his response to your confession. After all, what Johan lacks in words he always compensates in action. His care has always been consistent and predictable in its subtlety and restraint, thus making his lack of control and patience right now unusual and out of character. But even then, his lips have a careful precision that still feels so him.

Oftentimes you'd wonder how Johan's skin would feel against yours. He barely looks alive so you thought he'd feel cold. But oh how wrong you are. His hand languidly slides to your back, and then he abruptly pulls your body towards him. It's warm, perhaps too much that it overwhelms you. His heart is beating fast, the needed confirmation that this affects him just the same.

Johan’s movements feel as though he himself is unfamiliar with this feeling—as if this is the first time he's had this reaction. Your mind then races with questions. Does this mean he feels the same? Or is this meant to keep me guessing? What happens after this?

The thoughts melt away when he pulls away, eyes lidded, lips puffed. “Johan, what—”

Only to kiss you harder again. Perhaps he did because he felt your attention drifting away from him. It’s as if to say you wanted this to happen, so relish it without thinking about anything else. This sudden assertion after keeping himself subtle is doing something in your brain.

Johan seems to take pleasure in your reactions, too—the way you pant as your lips pressed together, your hands clinging onto the waves of his hair, and when you slip out a little moan because his hands slide into your shirt to feel the heat of your back, you feel him smile. Then he becomes more passionate. More desperate. More longing. And in this moment, Johan feels more reachable, more understandable.

Perhaps his lack of usual poise also says a lot about how he’s still doing everything in his power right now to hold back, and he’s asking you to cooperate.

Johan pulls back for good in a rather slow, deliberate manner, just in sync with your panting breaths. His forehead brushes lightly against yours as he stays close.

“I told you, hadn’t I?” His eyes, now open but still lidded, seemingly search your face for something—fear? Regret? Understanding? What is it? “We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober. You’re not listening to me.”

You open your mouth to say something but his fingertip presses gently to your lips.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice softer, reminding you of his restraint. “Not yet.”

But I just want to say that I liked it and I want more.

“Please,” he adds as if he just read your mind.

What a sight to see.

The way his face looks right now makes you feel his inner turmoil. The weight of his past he claims a deplorable being like him will not be willing to carry is making him more reluctant to let himself have this—to have you.

He needs time, doesn’t he? And so you finally nod, temporarily ceasing the itch to have your questions answered.

Johan sighs in relief, sounding genuinely tired as if this night has taken all of his energy and willpower. He doesn’t forget to usher you up, and when he realizes you’re not wobbling that much anymore, he nods, taps your cheeks, kisses your forehead, and repeats his good night.

As soon as the door closes, you slowly walk to your room. Eyes wide, fingertips touching your sore lips, and you plopped on the bed unceremoniously.

For now, in the quiet of your apartment, with the taste of him still lingering on your lips, at least you can now assure yourself that for the first time since you’ve known each other, he finally let himself be vulnerable, even for a moment. And that is more than you ever could have asked for.

🏷️ SUBSCRIBE/UNSUSCRIBE TO STORIES | @chxrry-writes @nefarra @ellabellapumela @skexxll @xeiin-n

@melonvrs @s0m4-sh4rk

#johan liebert x you #johan liebert x reader #johan liebert x y/n #monster fanfiction #johan x reader #johan x y/n #johan x you #johan liebert fanfiction #johan liebert fanfic #monster fanfic #johan liebert fluff #johan liebert x gender neutral reader #johan liebert x reader fluff

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justlemmeadoreyou · 9 months ago

Text

something inspired by this by @harrysblackcoat

***

"Harry, we're just going to the kitchen store to pick up a few things, it's not that complicated," you say with a playful eye roll as you grab his hand and head out the door.

"Okay, okay, but you know I'm hopeless when it comes to this kind of stuff," Harry replies, giving your hand a little squeeze. "I'll just follow your lead."

You get to the kitchen supply store and the sheer amount of options is already overwhelming poor Harry. His eyes go wide as he takes in aisle after aisle of pots, pans, utensils, kitchen gadgets and more. You stifle a giggle at his dear, confused face.

"Where should we even start, love?" he asks, sounding almost afraid.

"Well, we definitely need some basic pots and pans," you say, steering him toward that section. "How about we start there?"

You pick up a simple sauce pan and show it to Harry. "This is a good, versatile size for heating things up on the stove."

"Ooh got it, very important," Harry says seriously, nodding. You put it in the cart.

Next you grab a larger soup pot. "And this will come in handy for soups, stews, boiling pasta…"

"Amazing, yes, put that in too!" Harry says way too enthusiastically for a soup pot. You laugh and add it to the cart.

In the baking section, you pick up a round cake pan. "This?" you ask Harry with a wicked grin.

"Yes!! We absolutely need that! For…cakes!?" he exclaims happily.

You shake your head, still smiling. "Okay babe, in the cart it goes."

As you wander through the aisles, Harry keeps grabbing random items and turning to you with a hopeful "This??" You have to shake your head no at quite a few….interesting choices. A giant slotted spoon that could serve a family of eight. A miniature fondue pot. A quesadilla maker.

"Harry, when would we ever need something like that?" you ask in disbelief, tilting your head up at the strange item he's holding.

He gives you a sheepish smile and puts it back. "You're right, I got a bit carried away. I'll just let you be the expert here."

You grab his hand again and he follows you obediently around the store, only occasionally getting distracted by some shiny new gadget. You fill the cart with basic essentials - saucepans, frying pans, basic utensils, a baking sheet, mixing bowls, and plenty more.

When you're in the aisle looking for spatulas, you're bent over looking for those that're placed lower, and Harry can't miss the opportunity. He grabs a spatula for the hanging display, landing a soft swat on your ass with it, and keeping it back, looking around like nothing happened.

You straighten up immediately, looking around if anyone saw. Hopefully, there was no one, and you grab the same spatula, chasing him till you hit him back.

***

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles concept

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lizzy06 · 6 months ago

Text

Yamada Hizashi(Present Mic) x Reader Fic Recs!! (Tumblr/Ao3/Wattpad)

My Hero Academia Fic Rec Masterlist

The Songbird ✨✨by mighty-mighty-man (Pair_Up), TheTortoiseQueen (fluff, humor) A mysterious woman has appeared-- And has stolen Present Mic's (other) dream job-- The (temporary) music teacher of UA! Just who does she think she is, coming in here with her beautiful dresses and beautiful singing voice, stealing Mic's heart-- Job! Stealing his job! [COMPLETED]

Oscillations/tumblr ✨by @ilcaeryx/Ilcaeryx ( oneshot, fluff, humor) Present Mic terrorizes everyone with the fact that he’s married, even you, his object of affection.[COMPLETED]

A Universe of Coincidences✨ by Aiden21(oneshot, fluff, neighbours) You just moved into your new place and one of your neighbors turns out to be really cute. Or, You're too dumb to recognize one of your favorite heroes out of uniform.[COMPLETED]

Last Night a DJ Saved My Life ✨✨by Lady_Dirtbag (tooth rooting fluff, slowburn)After Present Mic saves you from an attacker, the two of you strike up a friendship. Or: A year of being friends with Present Mic before you idiots realize that you're in love.[COMPLETED]

Fireworks ✨by Lady_Dirtbag (fluff) "Uh, hi there," he said, awkwardly patting her on the head. "Do I know you?" The little girl nodded, her pigtails swinging. "You're my daddy!"[COMPLETED]

Speechless by dupusdiingus (oneshot, friends to lovers, crushes, hurt/comfort) You're roomates with Aizawa and Hizashi, just cute shenanigans as you try to process your crush on Yamada while he's kinda oblivious....Or is he flirting with you?[COMPLETED]

To sing and to listen by @dira333/Fogfire(oneshot, comfort)You're a caretaker at the Crimson Riot Children Hospital. Sometimes calling the nice guy on the radio is the only thing calming down your kids.[COMPLETED]

No Filter by pancakeparker(oneshot, angst with happy ending, fluff) Hizashi has a nasty run-in with some villains. One of them has a Quirk that just makes him act… a little bit different.[COMPLETED]

Reasons Why I Love You by nek0zawakun( oneshot, fluff, humor) "I'm sorry, looks like something came up at school. I won’t make it to dinner, but I promise to make it up to you. How about…me? " [Y/N] chuckled at the silly selfie Hizashi attached and typed a quick reply. "I accept your humble offer."[COMPLETED]

The Call by AizawaIsCrazy(oneshot, suicide mention, hurt/comfort) Hizashi is doing his usual gig, radio show, calm music, q&as, everything was going great. But one call made his heart stop for a minute.[COMPLETED]

Quieter For You (Present Mic x Shy!Reader) by @lordsister (oneshot, fluff)“If I was quieter my chances with (y/n) would be better, right?” “Right.”[COMPLETED]

Number by @specialagentlokitty (pneshot, fluff)When you first met him, you were simply just walking through the store, heading to the cereal aisle.[COMPLETED]

Hello My Favorite Listener ! by SugarThief(fluff, mutual pinning)You are Present Mic’s personal assistant , but things between you both are becoming a little more personal.[COMPLETED]

Soup's On by tustinjomimori(oneshot, fluff) Your attempt to make a hot meal for your boyfriend backfires and leaves you bawling in the middle of his kitchen.[COMPLETED]

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year ago

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Hello, can I request a dream x reader where reader is his girlfriend and she gets pregnant and how they would both deal with that situation. Maybe a scene with there daughter years later

Aisle 43

Pettiness knows no bounds, especially when you're one of the Endless. This means that if a toddler is what's standing in Dream's way, then it's still very much fair game.

Dream of the Endless x Reader | 800+ | cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, vague themes of pregnancy/motherhood, jealousy, super-megapetty!Dream of the Endless, Matthew the 'I'm just happy to be here' Raven, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: hi my love... i may have totally forgotten I had this in my drafts asfhasfha;sfhasfh sorreh. I JUST DID A DRABBLE BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS MELTING CURRENTLY. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT <3

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

I hum as I make my way out of the soup aisle. The little girl that's been following me around the supermarket tugs at my hand repeatedly. I look down at her and she immediately points, "cereal?"

I turn to the pink cereal box she wanted and flatten my lips into a smile, "sorry, kiddo, you're gonna have to-"

"Why are you with a child?"

Both said child and I look up and see a darkly dressed man in the middle of two shelves with brightly colored items. The girl that barely reached my hips looks up at the dark silhouette then grabs my hand. She mumbles, "nightmare."

Said nightmare raises a brow. It was almost as if a dark haze began to form around him. A raven swoops down and lands on his shoulder.

In stark juxtaposition, Matthew the raven chirpily greets me and adds, "mind getting me some cornflakes?"

I push my cart forward, drawing near both them, and the item. I grab the cornflakes and go to the side of the sullen looking being. I tilt my head, "Dream?"

Dream, who has not torn his gaze away from the child, finally spares me a glance. I free my hand of the cornflakes, dropping into my cart, and use it to cup his cheek. His expression softens.

My other hand, still being tugged by the baby girl, is now tucked behind me. She peeps cautiously from my shoulder.

"I'm going grocery shopping with my coworker."

"Your coworker is a child?" Dream says with a hurt expression.

I make a face but sigh. Suddenly, the dull pain on my back is blatant. I rub my round belly that was the cause of it, "yeah. Beatrice is a prodigy. She does our work better than anyone in the department."

Dream frowns and deflates even more.

I raise my brows.

Matthew croaks as he cocks his head. He whispers, "he's been upset that you haven't been sleeping properly."

"You've not been in my realm for ages," Dream knits his brows tightly, "yet here you are with a child that is not even your own."

When Dream comes close to touch me, Beatrice whimpers and pulls me back. She panics, "nightmare! Nightmare!"

The strength of the child is not enough to make me fall back, but it is enough to make me lose my balance. I feel myself slowly lose my footing. Dream grabs me before anything happens though.

The glare that he throws at Beatrice makes her instantly clamor.

If her wailing wasn't enough to make me panic, then it was when she ran away. I turn to run after her, but Dream grabs my arm before I can get anywhere.

"Let me go!" I snap.

"But-"

"I can't lose my coworkers kid!"

"Don't worry!" Matthew takes off, "I'll keep an eye on her."

I watch as Matthew soars above the aisles and then look back down to glare at Dream. I pull my arm out of his grip, "you terrified a four year old."

Dream glares back, "she was stealing you away."

I am flabbergasted. "You literally put a baby inside me!" I motion to my baby bump and give an exasperated look, "yet you're intimidated by a 40 pound little girl- who, by the way, barely even makes up a fraction of how old you are."

He does not argue with this. He has no argument with it. Instead, he mumbles, "you dreamed of her when you napped."

I roll my eyes, "and how many times have I dreamed of you, my lord?"

He turns away, eyes landing on my belly. He pouts and stares a moment before he rubs it, "I do not enjoy when I must share your dreams with others."

The idea is equal parts exhausting, irrational, and somehow darling.

"What if I dream about our baby?" I raise a brow.

He lifts his eyes. He looks like he actually was mentally debating in that split second it took for him to reply. Dream speaks, "I would be willing to share with the blood of my blood."

I scoff and roll my eyes yet again.

He kisses my temple. A part of my hard expression chips away. I offer him an exasperated look.

Dream makes a face, "was I too much?"

I nod.

"I've got good news and bad news," Matthew calls as he swoops down, "good news, Beatrice found her mom and stopped crying!"

I release a sigh of relief.

"Bad news, she may be traumatized for life, because when a man wearing a black trench coat passed by, she started breaking down all over again."

My relief evaporates and I shoot a hard glare at Dream before pushing him out of the way. I drag my cart along with me as I walk off to look for them.

Matthew perches on the edge of the cart, "oooh, mind if we get some sunflower seeds too?"

"Not at all, my love."

Dream grumbles upon hearing this and watches as we take a turn on the candy aisle.

#dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless fanfic #morpheus x you #the sandman fanfic #dream x you #the sandman fluff #dream of the endless fluff #morpheus fluff #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #morpheus fanfic #dream of the endless x you

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theorphicangel · 11 months ago

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𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Tags: enemies to lovers, college au, smut, 18+, slow burn,

synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.

Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back.

(college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

Taglist: @oharasfilipinawife @palesatan @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @amelialysm @crimin4llyins4ne @strawberryjuice9 @beezusvreeland @faretheeoscar @lunablackcosplay @t4naiis @peachey-pie @mcmiracles

chapter 4: lord of the lies

series | previous chapter | next chapter

“Tomato soup or chicken soup?”

“Well which one is cheaper?”

“Tomato.”

“Get that one then.”

“Have I ever told you that you're sooooo incredibly helpful?” Lyla mutters out, pushing the grocery cart as you stumble behind texting on your phone. You’re barely looking at where you’re walking as you text your mom.

Today, you had 2 missed calls that you genuinely missed. One occurred whilst you were on your shift and the other whilst you were in a lecture. Currently, you were relaying your excuses to your mother and failing to convince her that you were completely fine at college.

“Right, we need some yogurt and eggs.” Lyla announces, searching around for the specific aisles.

“Uh-huh.” you say absentmindedly, your neck still craned down to your phone. Due to this, you miss Lyla’s smirk as she peers over at you.

“And we also need an inflatable pool and trampoline for our backyard.”

You hum again, thumbs working at double speed.

“Girl, we don’t have a backyard. You really aren’t listening are you?” Lyla sighs. You hum again, still distracted. “You know what? I’ll just meet you at the checkout.”

You raise your head to look at your roommate, finally listening. “Right, we could do that.” You begin to walk over to another aisle to get some personal stuff for yourself before your phone rings.

Reading the caller ID, you internally panic at the sight of your mom calling you. Obviously by now she must be sick of texting you, wanting to hear your voice instead. Looking around, your brain goes haywire in trying to think of an excuse. After a few seconds, you reluctantly give in and swipe to accept the call.

“Hello?”

“Oh, what a miracle! My daughter finally answers the phone after ignoring me for almost a month!”

The sarcastic tone of your mother, echoes loudly in your ear. You wince as you beg to speak but she interrupts you.

“It’s barely been a month mom–”

“And you barely stay on the line for more than 2 minutes when I call you.”

“I'm just a little busy, I swear.” You grimace as you speak.

“You’re not having trouble paying rent are you? Because if you are then I could ask Uncle Robert for some money. Or is it trouble finding a job? Honey, if you’re having any problems–”

“I’m not having problems mom. I’ve found a job and I’m paying the rent just fine.”

Your mother ignores your reassurances, her intonation high in stress. “Is your roommate nice? Are they clean? Tidy? Have manners?”

“Yes, yes and yes. She's great.”

“Listen, I know you’re sick of me calling you but I just wanted to know that I– well we — get worried about you sometimes. You’re so far away from me and–”

“I know, I know and I promise to call more…I’m just really busy, y’know with work and shifts and lectures and homework and…”

“I’m sure you have time in your day to call me honey, even if it’s just for five minutes.”

“I really don’t–”

“I hear all these stories about college kids getting up to no good and I just get so worried that you’ll get caught up too—”

“I’m really not—”

“Is that why you don’t call me? Because you’re out with bad people?”

“What?” You frown at her comment. How the fuck did she jump to that conclusion? ”Mom, no I’m not with bad people. In fact I’ve made some really good–”

“You just need to tell us if there’s a problem because clearly there is one if you’re not calling me as frequently.”

“Mom–” you can barely get a word in edgeways as she interrupts. You hastily avoid people in the supermarket aisle, becoming increasingly frustrated and overwhelmed in a matter of seconds.

“Just be honest sweetheart, you can tell me anything, you know that right?”

“Mom will you just listen to me—” you attempt to speak, your tone becoming even more desperate as you simultaneously try to make your way past a crowd of people shopping. Why the fuck does everyone and their mother choose to go shopping at this store right now?

“I’m here for you darling, if you ever want to drop out of college–”

“Mom, I have a boyfriend okay?”

“What?”

You pause in the middle of the candy aisle, unable to ignore all the halloween candy already up on sale. A beat of silence passed on the phone. You pulled a face, full of absolute disgust at the words that you had just said aloud to your mother. Your mouth was agape, unable to give a reply.

You swallowed thickly, your mind still panicking.

“What did you say?” your mother questioned.

Yep. You were in it now. No take backs.

“I–I have a boyfriend.” you repeat, your voice shaking. You weren’t even aware of what you were saying anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“It– it all just happened really fast.” you blurted out.

“Is he a good guy?”

“Uhh–yeah, yeah.”

“What’s his name honey? Oh! You can bring him over for us to meet at thanksgiving!”

Shit.

“What was that honey?”

“Nothing Mom.” you pull another face at her almost hearing you curse. The next words leave your mouth in a flurry of unintelligible language.

“Ineedtogonowmom,I’llcallyoutomorrow.”

“Promise me.” she quipped quickly before you could hang up.

“I promise.” Was that another lie? You can’t tell anymore at this rate.

“Okay, stay saf–” You hit the hang up button before she can finish.

Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck did you just do?

Your body is frozen. You're standing in the middle of the aisle, unable to comprehend what you have just done. People merely walk past you and you’re only brought back to reality by the sound of Lyla’s voice.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve just committed the worst crime on the planet.” If lying to your mother ever counted as the worst crime of humanity then you deserve to be punished for the rest of your life.

“I’m fine. Did you need anything else?” You changed the subject as soon as possible. Not just for Lyla’s sake of not catching on but also for your own. You need a distraction from what had just happened.

“I think we’ve got everything, unless you still have stuff that you still need to grab?”

You shake your head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lyla raises a brow, a concerned look appearing on her face.

“M’fine.”

“Let’s go to the checkout then shall we?”

You’re left trailing again this time instead of your phone, you’re distracted by the thoughts that were running through your head.

How the fuck are you going to get out of this one? And where the fuck are you going to get a boyfriend from? You’ve completely dropped yourself in a lie that you cannot physically maintain.

You watched on silently as Lyla began to pack on the items onto the checkout treadmill. Anxiously, you chew at your nails, running over the conversation with your mother once more.

Oh god, oh god, why did you say that? You’re so stupid, stupid, stupid—

“Looks like you’re having a good day so far.”

Immediately you’re coaxed out of your thoughts by the sound of a stranger's voice addressing you. It was the till worker.

“Huh? Oh me? I–”

“I was joking by the way. You do not look like you’re having a good day at all.” The man points out, swiping the items.

“I agree.” Lyla hums, packing the shopping items. Suddenly you felt useless, looking around for things to do. Anything to get this attention away from you. The till worker seemed to be young, around your age you’ll assume.

Glancing down at his namepin, you squint to see the bold text say ‘Peter’.

“I mean I’ve been having a pretty bad day myself. First, I got in late because my alarm didn’t go off because my phone died. I mean I have no idea why my battery always runs out when they release a new version of the phone, it’s stupid really. And then I dropped cans of beans on my foot whilst stocking which hurt like a total bit–”

“Oh god, that happened to me once.” Lyla interrupts.

You frown. “When has that ever happened to you ly’?”

“I was in Mexico–”

Peter suddenly gasped, scanning through a pack toilet roll. “You know my roommate Miguel actually–

“Miguel?” You blurt out suddenly.

“Yeah, do you know him?”

You freeze, the eyes of your roommate and the cashier now on you.

“Something like that. But uh– of course you might be talking about a completely different person.” you awkwardly chuckle. You hoped to the heavens above this was not the Miguel that you were thinking of.

Peter frowns. “Is he tall and mean?”

You nod wordlessly.

“Yep, that's him then.”

“Oh god, you won’t believe what he did to her–” Lyla begins before you slap a hand across her mouth. Peter raises a brow quizzical, pausing his movements.

“Nothing! He’s done absolutely nothing. He’s a great guy.” You lie through clenched teeth.

Peter studies the two of you before swiping through the last few items. You quickly pack them into your bags hoping that Peter will brush off the weird behavior from the two of you. Lyla stares at you for your weird behavior, wondering why you had lied but she picks up on the signal and decides to say nothing more. For now.

And thankfully Peter does move on. “Yeah, he really is a great guy. I mean once you’ve survived the grumpy side of him that is, but I think he’s beginning to show off his sweet spot now. He didn’t even snap at me this morning, so that’s a good sign right? Compared to last week he was reallyyyy pissed off and I have no idea why— oh, that’s it, your total is $35.71.”

Lyla rummages for her purse and your hand is removed.

“That’s great, that’s really great to hear.” You say almost robotically. Deep down, you begin to wonder how a guy like Miguel copes with Peter. They’re practically opposites.

“You’re a first year right?” Lyla asks, tapping her card on the reader.

Peter hums, “Studying biochem. How about you?”

You barely listen to the conversation between Lyla and Peter as they both gush about… STEM things. You think you’ll have to forcefully drag Lyla away before she starts talking about her coding club again.

“Hey, you work in that cafe on campus right?”

You’re caught off guard when Peter asks you this question. Unfortunately you make it clear enough that you were not listening to the conversation. “Yeah, yeah that’s me.” You cringe internally, thinking that perhaps Miguel has already told the story of your horrible barista skills. You can picture it already, the two of them laughing at it on the couch together, mocking—

“I rarely see you in the cafe…” you point out, shaking your head subtly as if to physically get rid of that vision.

“Oh.” Peter murmurs, a shade of pink beginning on his cheeks which lead to the tips of his ears. “MJ serves me most of the time so…” He avoids eye contact with you, drawing up the receipt for Lyla.

Ah. You’re quick to get it. He’s got a crush.

“Well it was nice to meet you Peter, feel free to come join us at Coding club.” Lyla reiterates. “Every wednesday 6pm, the computer suite!”

“Noted.” Peter does a little salute at her.

Lyla’s already making her way out of the store and you’re not far behind until you abruptly come to a halt.

Turning around, you swiftly make your way back to Peter before he serves the next customer.

“Hey Peter, can I ask a favor from you?”

lmk if you would like to join the taglist!

#angel writes #under no circumstances fic #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv headcanons #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader fluff

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