#You wander a little out of your bubble and you start seeing shit that makes you want to talk to a flat earther

[caterpillarinacave]

you’ll really see some of the most insane, alarming, out of this world thing on tumblr and your just supposed like. move on with life.

[4rticbolt]

The Menacing Bra |Master-list|

Fluff, kissy-kissy, crack, cringe and cliche?? Longish-drabble

You and the cook have a moment, and he actually grew a pair to make a move

……………….

Laundry day.

Oh boy, what joy, the repetitive chore that tested your limits. Chipping away your mental capacity and motivation to do absolutely anything.

You’d spent hours on end scrubbing and rinsing the clothes, only to wear again, ferevently repeating the cycle.

You cursed, pinching a clip to your nose. You’d always wished there was some cheat sheet, some easy way out, other than free labor from the boys.

Especially when you’d gotten stuck with Nami and Robin’s clothes too. You’d kindly asked, seeing their closets were getting low, and they’d never decline an offer like that.

Because, honestly, who would? Washing clothes by hand was time consuming, and neither you nor the women had the patience for it.

Sure, you might be throwing yourself under the bus here, but you cannot for the life of you throw fucking soap and bubbles for an hour.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you scrubbed and submerged the materials, hoping you could get done with this before lunch was done.

Which, the odds were in your favor, as you hadn’t procrastinated as much as you normally did. Meaning you’d started early on it, and there was nice weather! Though, that luck didn’t last long as a distant crash emitted from downstairs.

“Spoke too soon,” you muttered, hearing a distant laugh and girlish scream follow after one another. A familiar shout rang after and a chaotic catchy cackle echoed.

You didn’t even want to think what the cook was dealing with now.

However, speaking of the boys if you even had to touch their laundry you’d pass away. That was an actual health hazard, and even thinking about it made your skin crawl.

You shuddered, shaking your head as a shiver ran through your spine, causing some bubbles to fly.

Ew. Just imagining the men’s laundry was a shit show. Maybe not Sanji’s, he actually cared about his hygiene. Regardless, it was still gross

Without even realizing, your thoughts filtered back to the cook who’d still been hollering in the kitchen. Consequently reprimanding the idiots for whatever crime they outdrew.

Though, the thought of his agitated face made you smile.

The way his brows creased into a frown, and the way his jaw would have clenched- sharpening his chin.

You silently cursed as your mind wandered further, leaving the rest of you to the mercy of your imagination.

Ok, sure, maybe you had fallen for the hopeless romantic- but how could you not?!

He’d always showered you in devoted affection—heartfelt compliments, and any craving you could think of. You saw him as the perfect package.

At-least in your eyes.

Maybe a little perverted in the terms of others, but that was just his charm, or so you’d convinced yourself. You’d never had an issue with him, he didn’t really lust after you— or anyone else for that matter.

Not that you knew of, which made it easy to brush off.

Ok, sure- maybe an unhinged comment every now and then, but it could be a lot worse.

Deep down, his selfless acts and perverted thoughts felt more like a puppy love than anything. Appreciation, admiration, and his firm morals… sounded oddly refreshing.

…

Though, speaking of that said appreciation, you were almost done with this stupid laundry- just had to hang your bra. The deck was quieting, meaning lunch was ready. So, as quickly as you could, you stepped onto the railing, reaching the height needed where you could hang the garment.

Ignoring the warm breeze that rushed past, you hopped down to deal with the soapy water, dumping it overboard.

“____! My love! Lunch is done,” Sanji beamed, his voice glowing with excited as he rounded the corner.

“Yeah, just a sec!” You replied, shaking the tub over the railing to rid it of any suds.

Turning back, you weren’t met with the face of the cook, but a wet towel flying towards you, followed by a sharp gust of air.

“Shit-“ Thwack

“Damn wind! You alright?” Sanji’s voice reached you, muffled over the violent winds. The pressure was immeasurable as it howled over the ship, shoving you against its side with blunt force.

You managed to holler back, but the towel had still blocked your vision, making it hard to see. When the wind finally died down, the sopping towel fell dramatically from your shirt, leaving an imprint far beyond its original color.

“Ugh, what the hell? A storm’s gotta be coming through, but Nami didn’t mentioned anything though,” you spoke, looking up to the cook but you froze, seeing the sight in-front of you

No.

Actually die.

He’s dead, you killed the man- or well, the that bra that covered his face did. He was as red as a tomato, frozen in place. You almost laughed at the sight- if you weren’t embarrassed out of your mind.

Your hands slowly came out infront of you, hesitating at what to do with yourself. And the situation.

“Uh, Sanji?”

..

“S-so soft..” he whispered, before you watched him plummet to the floor.

There he goes…

You let out a long sigh, kneeling beside his waist as you watched him pathetically bleed from his nose. He twitched, looking like a cockroach you’d just squashed, possessed by something beyond reason. If not already, he was clearly as down bad for you as you thought.

Tossing aside the bra, your hands hovered above his face for a moment, before you gently patted his cheek, hoping to snap him out of it.

“Hey, helloooo earth to sanji?” You sang, growing more worried as the seconds stretched painfully on.

Sure he had nose bleeds, but never this bad, not to mention he was out like a light.

“Hey!” You’d snapped, unable to wait any longer, as you’d slapped his face a little harder, watching as his eyes fluttered open into hearts.

“Yes, darling,” he stuttered, quickly dabbing a hanker chief to his face. Sanji felt as though he’d been flown through heaven itself, in the cusp of a bra.

“Are you okay?”

“Haha..yes, lovely,” he said dreamily looking up at you as if you were an angel.

You could only grumble at the sight, with the way his eyes shined up at you, melting your heart. You tried to fight it, but your eyes eventually mirrored the same, softly watching him. Without the hearts

In the blink of an eye, Sanji was up, offering you a hand as he sent you charming smile, as he looked down to you.

“Are you sure?” You hummed, taking his hand.

“You’re offly pink.”

“Only for you my Angel.” He spoke with zero hesitation, loving the way your eyes rolled and your face flushed. Feeling a bit warm, you decided to step back, and he suddenly pulled you closer.

He could tell you were nervous, and once again loved it. He loved everything about you- how your heart raced, how your breath quickened- and he could go for hours naming every reason. Then, bringing his hand to your waist, he drew you even closer, leaning into you.

“____? Is it too much?��

Absolutely.

No. Not even in the slightest.

You repeated to yourself, but no words came out of your mouth, not even a response, as you were far too stunned. Unable to control the thumping in your chest, you watched as a soft smirk tugged at his lips.

“Haha… I’m joking, easy,” he mused, reaching a hand to very gently push the hair out of your eyes.

For a moment, he locked your gaze.

If felt as if he’d been holding your heart, squeezing it softly as he leaned in.

Sanji shamelessly moved his hand from your waist to the nape of your neck, pulling you in, and you could feel the heat rise between you as he watched your lips like honey to a bee.

The cook thought you looked far too sweet not to be held, not to be touched—and he couldn’t even comprehend how’d you taste. He was far too eager to wait.

His lips longingly met yours, and you matched his intensity, sliding your hands from his chest to his neck, pulling your waist against his.

Sanji groaned, his legs almost buckling at the touch, and he needily slipped his tongue to meet yours. The kiss was feverish, a first-time rush, but deep.

A door behind you suddenly opened and a hangry, impatient captain ruined your moment.

“Sanji! Can we eat now?!” A gummy Captain huffed, far outstretching the scene. “Hey what are you-“

You and Sanji frantically pulled away, letting out a stifled cough you walked past the boy.

“We’re done! He just came to tell me lunch was done! All is well, all is just fine!” You cheeped, fleeing the scene, as you were bright red once again. Awkwardly leaving a very hungry Luffy, and a now seething Sanji behind.

“Huh? What’s her deal-.”

“Did you have to ruin that?!” He snapped, grabbing and shaking the gummy dolt. He didn’t even bother to hide the blush on his face.

“You idiot! Could you not see I was having a moment! I’ve waited forever for this- and you just had to plow through and ruin it!”

“Wh-at moment! And what d-o you me-an ruin it! I just sa-id I was hun-gry!” his rubber head flopped back n’ forth, as he tried- but ultimately failed avoiding the cook’s wrath.

Yeah, sure, Luffy might’ve been hungry, but so was he. Practically starving.

………………………………

[fashionteahouse]

forever - paul x reader

AN: << request from @milkmarue1227 : Hiii 💕can you do a Paul x reader and they are in high school or college and reader is hyperfeminine also a cheerleader or like a queen bee but she is very sweet and Paul imprints on her and everyone is like super judgmental, because they are both so different but Paul and reader are like so in love and doesn’t care what they say (pls make it fluffy with a little spice)🫶🏼

<< i sure can 💜 hope you enjoy :)

Eyes followed the outfit that was being worn that day. It wasn’t much to pick out of your closet but you received a lot of compliments with people asking you where to purchase. You happily tell them, surprised at the fact that people liked the basic outfit.

Unlocking the small lock, you open the metal door to place your things in and only keep out the books and notebook that you need. Turning to make your way to your class, a bump hits your way and you soon find yourself watching the items that were previously in your arms, fall to the ground.

“Oh, shit.” you hear a strong male voice say. Before you could bend down to grab them, he quickly swoops them up and hands them back to you. “Sorry.” he tells you.

Meeting his eyes, you faintly tell him, “Thank you.” It was Paul Lahote. He barely came to classes these days but for some reason, him standing in front of you, bubbled up warmth and happiness and excitement all throughout your body.

He turns to walk away and you found yourself blushing. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, a good friend of yours starts to walk by your side.

“Did you get everything?” they ask you.

You nod.

“Are you going to cheerleading practice today?”

“Of course.” you say.

Walking to go into your class, you see Paul being scolded at an adult. You hear a faint voice tell him, “Your absences are going to hinder you.” Paul let his eyes wander, letting the professor’s words go through one ear out the other. His eyes find yours again and you almost trip on your feet with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

In the field outside, you go over the routine that’s supposed to be displayed at the next sports game. As you all are warming up and stretching, you catch Paul walking out of the football field, angry expression clear as day on his face.

The sun glistened his skin, the sweat making it shine as his muscles moved about, while he was on his journey. You almost drooled at the sight. A voice snaps you out of your fantasy land.

“No way, you’re checking out Paul Lahote.” someone you were acquaintances with, comments to you in a hushed tone.

“I was just looking around. And if I was, what’s so bad about it.” you tell them innocently.

Even the blind could see that the guy oozed desirability. You found yourself hoping he desired you back.

“You’re joking right? He’s social suicide.” they exclaim and laugh.

With a day of hard work out of the way, you walk to the dining hall and find Paul getting food. You hurry up and get into the line that he’s most likely going to get in, making sure you’re in front of him.

When it’s your turn to scan your food card, you tell the dining hall cashier, “Put his food on me.”

You don’t wander off the scene too quickly. Slowly grabbing the plastic utensils, you hear Paul trying to pay but was met with, “She already paid for your food.”

Walking out you hear, “Hey.” call out to you.

You turn around, to see the gorgeous god standing in front of you.

“Hey.” you politely say and give him a small smile.

“Thank you for paying. You didn’t have to do that.”

You look down for a second before asking him, “What if I wanted to pay for it?”

You both sit together and eat. Stares are burning on both of you but you both don’t care. With Paul, it was easy not to care. No matter what people said, he still carried his confidence.

“It’s nice to see your face around here. You barely come anymore.” you tell him as he scoops his food into his mouth.

While he chews, he wonders if he should tell you. He makes his mind up when he realizes the beautiful girl in front of him, blessed by the spirits, was his imprint.

“I have a lot going on. They’re threatening to kick me off the team.”

“Why? Is it grades?” you ask him, genuinely concerned.

He nods but shrugs, “It’s not like I’m going to finish out school anyway.” he mutters.

“I can help you, Paul. I would be happy to help you out.” you tell him and he takes a look at your face. The look makes your body feel like jelly.

“It’s okay.”

You put a hand on his hand, “Please?”

He looks at your hand, relishing the softness of your skin on his.

You both spent a lot of time at the university’s library. You found him very funny. You kept trying to get him to focus but your ribs were tender from laughing at his effortless humor.

Looks from other guys let you know that they were jealous. Guys you knew who were smart, started coming to you for help on their work. You played them off to the side, seeing through their plans.

“Be careful, Y/N. The guy is a dumpster fire and you shouldn’t be the gasoline.” you listen to your roommate one night.

“People don’t even know the guy. Quit being so hard on him.” you tell them.

They tsk and shake their head, “Just trying to look out for you.”

You turn from your side and lie on your back to watch the ceiling.

With Christmas break coming, work was piling up. You felt like you weren’t going to be able to go home for the holidays.

You hear a knock on your dorm door. You open it to find Paul. Your roommate was at her own class while you were using your space to study.

“You weren’t in the library.” he says and sits in your roommate’s desk chair.

You gesture to the open laptop with papers, “I’ve been drowning. Sorry.” you say apologetically.

“Are you going home for break?”

“Doubt it. Plus, my family’s on vacation anyway.” you tell him.

“If you don’t have plans, I can take you to Christmas dinner.”

You agree. There was no way you were turning that down.

One weekend as you were going Christmas shopping, watching the snow fall, you spot Paul in a shop.

“Hey stranger.” you tell him and interrupts his focus on a display.

It seemed like the day after he visited your dorm room, he stopped coming to classes.

“Hey.” he replies sheepishly, you were a bit concerned, he never showed any signs of nervousness.

“What’s going on? Are you avoiding me or something?” you ask him and tease, trying to keep the air light.

“No, I’m not avoiding you,” he says and chuckles and looks down, “I’m on academic suspension.”

You feel your heart drop at his inconvenience. You place a hand on his arm for support, “I’m sorry.”

He nods and you look out in the snow, falling outside of the window.

“Will hot chocolate make you feel better?” you ask him, trying to cheer him up. He smiles at you and you do a dance in your head.

Blowing on the chocolate steam, your face burns with warmth as you slowly take a sip.

“I see you’re still at school. Do you take me up on my offer for Christmas dinner?”

“Yes.” you tell him.

He walks with you all the way back to your dormitory. Students still point looks at the both of you, so you slide your hand into his, keeping him close to you.

“I had a good time today.” you tell him.

“You did?”

“Yes. We should hang out more. You’re not so boring.” you tell him and this get a happy reaction out of him.

“Take my number.” he tells you.

After you take it, he looks at you. As if he was searching for something. You already found what you were looking for so you do something that makes sense in the moment to you. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

You turn, open up your dorm door, and go inside. You smile and don't realize that your roommate is still there, packing her bag to visit home.

“What are you smiling about?” she asks while smiling.

“You’re not going to like it…but I kissed Paul on the cheek.” you say excitedly and take your coat off.

Your roommate sighs, “You’re barking up the wrong tree. Everybody on campus knows that he’s suspended. Who knows if he’s going to come back anyways.”

“Why does everybody know that? Cut him some slack.” you say and shake your head.

You mailed your family their gifts from you and for the heck of it, you buy Paul a gift as well.

On Christmas day, he takes you to a Christmas dinner. You got to meet the people who he called family. His brothers were a joy to be around, your belly was full from the food and your ribs hurt from their jokes.

In his car, the heat was blasting softly through the vents as you watch him reach in the backseat and pull out a wrapped gift. You both trade gifts with excitement plastered on both faces.

You both tear open the gifts at the same time and you both look and chuckle at each other. Appreciative for the gifts, you both say, “Thank you.” to each other at the same time and laugh at the fact.

Giving him your parking spot, you persuaded him to come up to your dorm. “My roommate is gone.”

That’s how you two faced each other, taking your time to get to know each other with lips and eventually with tongues. The way he made you feel was addicting. Paul held and cradled your beautiful face.

His voice was your lullaby every night. You held your phone close to your ear when he would soothingly talked about his day. He listened to the waves of your voice in his own ear as you would make small, simple conversations.

Before you knew it, spring had came. You and Paul were held hand in hand walking through a flowery meadow when you decided to ask him, “Are you done with school?”

He looks down and just nods. He didn’t want to look at you when he answered. You didn’t say anything. Catching your silence, he decides to add, “There’s a reason. I have to show you something. But just don’t get scared.” he tells you.

You nod as he lets go of your hand. “Turn around.” he tells you.

You don’t feel nervous, just anxious to know what he’s going to show you. You soon hear loud popping and a snarl and feel a nudge on your back.

You slowly turn around to see a large silvery wolf, you were deprived from words. The animal was beautiful but just by looking into their eyes, you can tell it was Paul.

Acceptance was in your mind, body, and spirit.

Paul didn’t know how he’s gotten lucky to get an an accepting, kind soul to be by his side. Sitting in the meadow, you both finally felt like you understood deeply about each other.

He told you about imprinting, you happily accept. You already felt happy. Knowing this person was going to make you happy forever. The thing that stuck out to you while he explained it was, “I will always love you. I’ll love you forever.”

Your heart felt filled with love and adoration that you felt like it was going to burst.

You decided to spend spring break with him on the rez. Every year, you and your friends would go out of town for spring break.

The shocked emotions erupted when you told them you were staying back to stay with Paul and the rez. You ignored them, stubbornly following through with your plans.

Paul was gentle. You liked how you were able to see past his hard shell.

“You’ve never done it with anyone before?” he looks down at you, and asks.

You meekly shake your head, feeling embarrassed as your elbows rest back beside you on his bed. He takes your chin and makes you follow his gaze, “It’s okay. Just tell me if I’m too rough.” You nod at his suggestion.

He let you grip and use your nails as much as you needed to on his skin. When he finally pushed through your barrier, your body clung onto his movement. The richness of the feeling he gave you made your mind blow. The soft moans from your mouth sounded like musical notes to him. He made you feel like a woman, how he handled your body, as your movements were in sync with his like perfect rhythm.

The feeling of him was addicting. Every chance you both gotten to be alone, you made sure to love on each other. The shivers and shakes he brought out of you made you almost see white.

You were glad that you waited. You waited for the right person and that person was Paul. You just didn’t understand the controversy that he faced. He made sure to be tender to you and you were happy.

[fikefries]

wheels of fate (m.s) part one

part one: shadows in the dark

warnings: implied almost assault, swearing, mentions of alcohol

summary: when you find yourself in the face of danger, an unexpected character comes to your rescue.

1.1k words

you sit on your dorm bed, staring blankly at the incomplete essay on the laptop in front of you. today was not your day. partying the day before your thesis was due was not the best idea. the words blur together as your mind wanders, boredom gnawing at you, and an immense craving for salt-and-vinegar chips bubbling in your stomach. you look across your room to your tiny electric clock sitting on your desk, its blue hue slightly lighting up the darkness of your dorm.

1:37 AM,

you sigh, shutting your laptop with a small thud, rubbing your tired eyes, and pull yourself out of bed. you left out a soft groan at the state of your room, mini skirts, tube tops, and empty bottles of tequila sprawled out on the floor. the room feels stifling, and your hunger is rising. you need to get out, even if just for a little while.

grabbing your phone and hoodie, you decide to make a quick trip to the 24/7 convenience store down the street. it isn’t far, and the walk will do you good. you slip out of your dorm quietly, tip-toeing down the hall—not wanting to wake your roommates.

the cool night air is a nice change as you walk through the campus gates and onto the empty night streets. the city has a different feel at night—quieter and more solemn. you stuff your hands into your jacket pockets, trying to shake off the unease that creeps up your spine. you know that walking down a dark street in the middle of the night isn’t the safest thing to do for a girl like you—but hey, what are the odds something happens the one night you decide to go out?

as you reach the convenience store, you notice a small group of tall men huddled around the energy drink section. they are dressed in black t-shirts, black jackets, and have on fingerless gloves. you realise that most of them are holding motorcycle helmets, automatically assuming they are night bikers. the area you live in is notoriously famous for its biking culture—one that results in many police chases and gunshots. knowing this, you keep a safe distance away from the group of men, but one seems to catch your attention. a boy who looks around your age is holding a motorcycle helmet and has multiple piercings adorning his ear. you can’t help but stare at his sharp features and siren eyes, the way he looks with his jaw clenched, a toothpick resting in his mouth as he stands patiently, waiting for the rest of the guys to sort out their choice of drink. you don’t even realize you are staring so intensely until he starts looking around the small store, before his eyes catch yours.

shit.

you quickly avert your gaze and pretend to inspect the different flavors of chips. your embarrassment doesn’t falter, as you feel his sharp gaze burning into the back of your head. you turn to quickly grab a few snacks and head to the counter.

"just these, please," you say, trying to act normal and confident, not wanting to garner more attention from the possibly dangerous bikers.

the cashier barely glances at you, engrossed in his phone.

“have a good night,” he mumbles as you pay and leave the store.

you begin your walk back to your dorm, nervously munching on a bag of chips you bought. you decide to take a different route, hoping to enjoy the quiet streets a bit longer, distracting yourself from the awkward encounter you just had. your thoughts wander, and you find yourself lost in your own world, not noticing the ominous figure that has started following you.

“hey you,” a gruff voice breaks through your thoughts, making you jump in fear. you turn to see an old, ragged man approaching you, his eyes gleaming with something sinister, a creepy smile etched onto his face, revealing his crooked teeth. “what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here alone, hm?”

your heart races, and you quicken your pace, turning around occasionally to see if you lost him, but the man keeps following you, his grunts growing louder as he catches up to you. you begin randomly taking different paths and alleyways in hope of losing the man. you've heard stories of what has happened to other girls on campus before and you know how dangerous the situation you are in is.

god, i should've just stayed home.

you glance around at your surroundings, slowing down your pace, realizing you have run into a more isolated and unknown part of town, and are now at a dead end, with nowhere to run to as the creepy man catches up and starts walking towards you.

“leave me alone,” you manage to shout, your voice trembling in utter fear and desperation.

“come on, don’t be like that,” the man sneers with a wicked smile, closing the distance between you.

before he is able to touch you, the sudden loud roar of a motorcycle engine echoes down the street, zooming towards your direction. the old man halts his actions, his expression shifting from predatory to wary and he slightly backs away from you. a sleek black bike skids to a halt in front of you, and the rider jumps off with an air of cold confidence.

the rider removes his helmet, revealing the boy from the convenience store with sharp features and piercing eyes that seem to see right through you, his hair messy from being underneath the helmet.

how is he here? did he follow me? did he hear me screaming?

he barely glances at you before fixing his gaze on the old man.

“get lost,” he says flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, his blue eyes glaring coldly at the man.

the old man hesitates, clearly intimidated by the biker’s presence. “hey, boy, i don’t want any trouble,” he mutters, fully backing away from you, as you let out a sigh of relief.

“you already found it. leave before you actually fucking piss me off,” the biker replies, his tone cold and unwavering.

the old, creepy man shoots one last menacing glare at you before turning and disappearing into the night, knowing not to mess with a night biker—especially in this part of town. the biker turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice and eyes still stoic and devoid of warmth.

you nod, swallowing hard. “yeah, thanks. i—”

“be careful” he interrupts, already turning back to his bike.

“wait” you nervously call out, hesitantly taking a step forward. “what’s your name—i mean thanks for saving me, i don’t—” you stutter.

he pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “matt,” he says simply, putting his helmet back on and revving the engine of his bike before heading off into the night.

tags: @isasturns @sofieeeeex @scqrletsmadness

a/n: im thinking this will be a 10 or more part series! let me know if you have any ideas!

[writingforstraykids]

Always back to you - Chp.4

Pairing: Minho x m!Reader (mention of 3racha)

Word Count: 7000

Summary: Minho gets a call from his ex-wife, asking to meet Minjun. Hesitating, he agrees to the meeting but not without you by his side. You both find your way around each other as the boundaries between friendship and love dissolve more and more...

Warnings/Tags: fluff, single dad!min, angst, domestic shit, emotional hurt!comfort, panic attack,

A/N: Thank you for all the love for the story and little Minjun so far. I hope you enjoy this chapter, some of you have been waiting for what happens here hehe🖤

PART THREE | PART FIVE

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The steady rhythmic sound of a knife chopping vegetables abruptly halts as the sharp, insistent ring of Minho’s phone pierces through the quiet kitchen atmosphere. Minho's hand stills, a sense of dread creeping up his spine as he stares at the caller ID. What? 

Minho glances out of the window quickly, seeing you and Minjun still playing peacefully outside. His eyes wander back to his phone and it takes everything in him to take it into his hand, his thumb hovering over the screen. He takes a deep breath before picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Minho, it's Yejun," comes the voice on the other end, unmistakable and unexpectedly calm. The sound of his ex-wife's voice, not heard in conversations for years, is enough to make his heart skip a beat.

"Hi, Yejun...What's up?" Minho manages to keep his voice steady, though his grip on the phone tightens.

"I’ve been thinking. It’s been a long time, and I want to meet Minjun. I want to see our son," she says.

Minho feels as if the floor dropped from beneath him. The request comes as a shock, reopening a chapter of his life he thought had been firmly closed. He leans heavily against the kitchen counter, trying to gather his thoughts. "I...that’s quite sudden. I’m not sure that’s a good idea," he replies, the discomfort clear in his voice.

"I know it’s sudden, Minho. I just want to be a part of his life," she says.

“Mhm,” he hums sourly, feeling nothing but defensiveness bubbling up in him.

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” she asks sharply and Minho closes his eyes, swallowing down the memories that flood his brain at that tone.

“Means I wonder what makes you think you can leave and then come back once he’s old enough to do a lot on his own,” he says, chewing on his lower lip.

“It’s my right to see him, Min,” she says.

“Don’t,” Minho says firmly. “Don’t even start claiming it’s your right to meet him. You left him once he was old enough to drink from the bottle. You have absolutely no right to demand anything.”

“Gosh, Min, still so emotional, hm?” she groans and Minho puts his phone on speaker, slamming it down on the table and mocking her quietly. Her laugh rings in his ears as she starts talking again. “I want to meet him. If he doesn’t like me, I’ll go.”

“Gosh, Yejun, still taking the easy way out, hm?” he gives back dryly, bracing himself at the table. “Why now?”

“As you said, he’s easy to handle now. I’m curious,” she says.

“Curious…If you meet him, I’m there every damn second, you hear me?” he asks, and she agrees reluctantly. “If you hurt my son in any way, I’m taking him home, and that’s the last you saw of him.”

“Relax,” she snorts. “I’ll be in Seoul next week from Monday until Friday. Let’s meet up then.”

Minho agrees hesitantly, ending the call with a heavy sigh. As soon as he puts the phone down, a wave of nausea sweeps over him, his hand flying to his stomach as if to quell the rising sickness. Pacing the kitchen, he feels his mind race with worries about the past getting back at him, about the potential destruction of Minjun’s more or less stable but happy life.

You get back inside to refill Minjun’s water bottle as he quickly uses the bathroom in the meantime. You find Minho in the kitchen, his face pale, bracing himself on the table. "Minho? What’s wrong? You look sick," you ask worriedly. “You’re feeling dizzy again?”

Hearing your voice seems to ground him momentarily. He looks up at you with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. "That was Yejun," he manages to say, his voice a whisper of distress. "She wants to meet Minjun. She says she wants to be part of his life."

Your expression shifts from concern to shock. You’ve heard of her, of course, the woman who had left Minho to raise Minjun alone and caused much of his earlier heartache when you met him. "Oh, Minho," you murmur, stepping next to him. “What are you going to do?"

"I don’t know," Minho admits, his voice shaky. "Part of me thinks maybe it’s good if Minjun knows his mother. But another part...I can’t bear the thought. What if she leaves again? What if she hurts him? I can’t let Minjun go through that."

You nod, understanding his inner conflict. "This is tough, but whatever decision you make, I’m here. You’re not alone in this, Minho."

Minho looks into your eyes, finding peace in your unwavering support. Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm his racing heart. "Can you... Can you just hold me for a minute?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly asking for that, but somehow, it feels right.

Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. Minho buries his face in your shoulder, allowing himself to feel vulnerable, to accept the comfort being offered. As they stand there, Minho feels a tiny fragment of his anxiety ebb away, the warmth and steadiness of your embrace lending him strength.

After a long moment, Minho steps back slightly. "Thank you, Y/nnie. For being here," he says, his voice thick with gratitude.

"Always," you reply, squeezing his hand.

Minho feels a little steadier, bolstered by your support. "Would you...come with me to meet her? I think I might need someone there, just in case. I uh…I don’t know how it’ll be seeing her again and everything."

"Of course, Minho. I'll be there," you reply gently.

-

The day of the meeting arrives with a tense air. Minho is quiet as you both drive to the cafe where the meeting with Yejun is scheduled. Every now and then, he glances at Minjun in the rearview mirror, who is blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation, chatting excitedly about the new game you had taught him. He seemed excited to meet his mother, which was the only reason Minho decided to let them.

As you arrive and find Yejun already there, a chill runs down Minho’s spine. She looks different, yet somehow the same, and his stomach tightens as he watches her wave them over with a bright, practiced smile. Minjun gently tugs at his jeans, as always when meeting new people. He’s glad to have something to hold onto as he picks him up and soothingly pats his back. 

You stay close to them, looking at Yejun curiously. You had never felt the need to look up old pictures of Minho and her, so you had no idea what she looked like…and looking at her makes you realize she’s stunningly beautiful. Her dark, long curls frame her perfect face, skin smooth and accentuating her bright eyes. A red dress hugs her body in all the right places, and she looks delicate but elegant. God, no wonder Minho had a hard time getting over that. Getting closer, you realize Minjun must’ve inherited the freckles covering her nose, as well as the curly texture of his hair. 

"Minho, it's been too long," Yejun greets, standing to embrace him swiftly. She presses a short kiss onto his cheek that has Minho tensing up, eyes widening. Ah, lovely.

"Yejun," he nods, taking a few steps back, then turns to you. "This is Y/nnie."

"Nice to meet you," you say, offering a polite smile, though you feel the undercurrents of tension.

“And that’s..?” she asks, glancing at Minjun.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Minho mutters quietly making Minjun giggle and cover his mouth with his little hand. 

“Bad word, Daddy!” he protests, making you smirk.

“That’s some kid I stole on the way here,” Minho rolls his eyes at her. “That’s Minjun…obviously.”

“Oh…you’ve gotten big,” she nods, looking at Minjun curiously. 

“Well he was six months old when you left, go figure,” Minho says patiently, with a fake calm smile on his face. “Minjunnie, say hi to your mother.”

Minjun frowns at her softly before looking up at Minho. “Daddy? Mum who ran away?” he asks and you have trouble biting back a laugh at her perplexed face.

“Mhm, that one,” Minho nods, pulling himself out a chair. “She wants to talk to you, so be nice, buddy.”

“Okay,” he nods, getting comfortable in his own chair, blinking at her curiously. 

The conversation starts with trivialities, Yejun asking about Minjun's interests. But soon, she shifts the topic to her life in the US, describing her home, the parks, and the schools that she says would be wonderful for Minjun once he’s old enough.

Minjun listens, wide-eyed, clearly taken with the idea of such places. "Can I see them, Daddy? Can I visit her in America?" he asks, looking excitedly between Minho and Yejun.

Minho feels a pang in his heart at the words, his fear creeping back as he watches his son’s enthusiasm. He tries to keep his voice even. "We'll see, buddy. We're just talking right now."

Yejun leans forward, her tone persuasive. "I have a great life there, Minjun. You could have your own room, a big yard to play in... I'd love to show you around."

Minho feels sick watching the scene unfold, his hands clenched under the table. You notice his discomfort and place a reassuring hand on his knee. As the meeting draws to an end, Minho is quiet, lost in thought as Yejun makes plans to visit Minjun again. "Let’s take it slow, one step at a time," Minho finally says, not committing to anything more.

On the drive back, Minjun chats happily about the things his mother had told him, while Minho remains silent, his expression drawn.

Once home, Minho retreats to the kitchen, his movements sluggish, each step seeming to weigh heavily on him. You watch as he leans against the counter, his face pale and his eyes distant. Concerned, you approach him, your hand gently touching his arm. "Minho?" you call softly, trying to get his attention.

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and there's an unspoken plea for comfort. The day had drained him, dredging up past pains and uncertainties about the future. "I just... I don't know if I did the right thing today," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if she convinces him? What if he wants to go with her?"

You understand the turmoil he's in. The possibility of Minjun wanting to leave with Yejun is his worst nightmare coming true. Stepping closer, you wrap your arms around him, offering him a silent reassurance. "Minho, you're an incredible father. Minjun knows that. Whatever Yejun says or does, it won't change the bond you two have."

Minho rests his forehead against your shoulder, his breath shaky. "I hope you're right," he murmurs. "It's just hard not to feel threatened, to feel like everything we have could be disrupted by her return."

"It's understandable to feel that way," you reply, holding him tighter. "But remember, Minjun loves you. He's grown up with you. That connection, those memories, they're not easily broken or forgotten. You're his dad, the one who's been there for him every single day."

As you speak, Minho's tension begins to ease. He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes, searching for the certainty he so desperately needs. Seeing the sincerity in your gaze, a small smile begins to form on his lips. "Thank you, Y/nnie," he says. "For being here, for supporting me through this."

"Always," you reply, smiling back.

The kitchen is quiet for a moment, the only sound being the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Minho seems to ponder your words, letting them sink in. Gradually, the anxious lines on his face smooth out, replaced by a more resolute expression. "I won't let her take him away," he states, more to himself than to you. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep Minjun with me."

"And I'll help you," you assure him. 

As the evening sets in, you and Minho prepare dinner together, the earlier tension melting away into a comfortable routine. Minjun joins you, chatting excitedly about his day, blissfully unaware of the complex emotions his father has been grappling with. Watching Minho laugh and interact with his son, you feel a profound sense of admiration and love for him. 

Later, as you sit down to eat, the atmosphere is light, filled with Minjun’s laughter and stories. Minho looks over at you, a silent gratitude in his gaze. Despite the challenges, he knows he isn't alone. With you by his side, he feels ready to handle whatever may come.

That night, after Minjun has gone to bed, you and Minho find yourselves on the couch, a comfortable silence enveloping you. Minho leans his head on your shoulder, his earlier fears now calmed by your presence and the peaceful end to the day.

"Today was hard," he admits quietly.

"It was," you agree. "But you got through it. And you’ll get through whatever else comes your way."

-

Minho stands silently in the middle of the living room, the soft hum of the evening settling around him. The faint laughter and shouts of children playing outside drifts through the open window, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside him. His hands tremble slightly as he turns over a small toy that Minjun had left on the couch—a constant reminder of his responsibilities, his fears, and his deep-seated insecurities about being a father. Minjun is staying with Felix and Chan for a few hours and you'll visit to work through a few important aspects of his schedule. 

The weight of his thoughts and the relentless pressure he placed on himself were reaching a boiling point. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as each of Minjun’s innocent questions from earlier that day echoed in his head, “Are you happy, Daddy? Does Yejun like me? Can I go to America?” The questions are simple, filled with the childlike curiosity of his young son, yet to Minho, they are a reflection of his deepest fears—is he truly enough?

The anxiety that had been simmering throughout the day suddenly surges, a tidal wave crashing over him with suffocating force. His breathing becomes shallow, each inhale sharp and unsatisfying. His heart races uncontrollably, pounding against his ribs as if trying to escape. The room spins, and a nauseous feeling tightens in his gut. He's having a panic attack, the intense fear of failing his son overwhelming him completely.

Just then, you walk in. You stop in track at the sight of Minho, his face pale, his body tense and trembling. Dropping your bag, you rush over. “Minho! What’s happening?” Your voice is laced with concern as you reach out to steady him, your hands gripping his arms.

“I...I can’t breathe properly,” Minho gasps out, his voice shaky. “I feel like I’m not enough for him...like I’m going to fail him.”

You quickly lead him to the sofa, helping him to sit down. “Look at me, Minho. Follow my breathing, okay? In and out, slowly,” you instruct him gently, demonstrating deep, steady breaths.

Minho tries to mimic your breathing, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest. Gradually, his own breaths begin to deepen, the tight grip of fear around his chest loosening slightly with each exhale. You don't let go, your presence a calming force in the storm of his panic.

After a few minutes, as the initial wave of panic begins to subside, Minho feels exhaustion seep into his bones, replacing the adrenaline that had surged through him just moments before. He leans back against the sofa, his eyes closing briefly in fatigue.

“You’re doing great, Minho. Just keep breathing like that,” you murmur, your voice a soothing balm. “You are enough for Minjun, more than enough. You’re an incredible father.”

Tears prick at Minho’s eyes as he listens to your affirmations. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “What if it’s not true? What if I’m not what he needs?”

You shift closer, your side pressing against his, a silent offer of solidarity. “Minho, look at everything you’ve done for him. He adores you. Your fear doesn’t define your reality. You are exactly what Minjun needs because you love him, and you show up every day for him, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

The sincerity in your words, the warmth of your body next to his, it all pierces through the fog of Minho’s anxiety, reaching a part of him that he kept walled off from everyone else. He turns to look at you, really look, seeing not just a friend but someone who has come to mean so much more to him.

Without thinking, driven by the emotions swirling within him and the need to be closer to the one person who seemed to understand him completely, Minho leans in. You hesitate, leaning in a little before you both stop for me a moment. Then you meet halfway, your lips touching in a kiss that is soft and hesitant at first but quickly deepened with shared urgency and emotion. But as seconds pass, the kiss deepens, driven by a mixture of long-suppressed desires and the comforting familiarity that has grown between you over countless shared moments.

All that matters is the here and now—the warmth of your lips against his, the gentle exploration that grows bolder with each passing moment. Your hands move to cup Minho’s face, your touch tender yet assured, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until it is all-consuming.

Minho’s hands find their way around you, pulling you in, his heart pounding against his chest. The kiss grows more desperate, a silent confession of the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. Your breaths mingle, quick and shaky, as the kiss ignites a fire within you both, a blaze that seems to fill the voids you had both carried inside.

But as the intensity of your embrace grows, so does a creeping fear in the back of Minho’s mind. His heart, scarred from past hurts and losses, begins to recoil at the vulnerability he is exposing himself to. The memory of his past, of being left alone when he had dared to love openly, surges forward, casting a shadow over the warmth he feels.

Your hands trace the line of Minho's jaw, gentle yet insistent, pulling him closer. Minho responds in kind, his hands finding the small of your back, pressing you together. The kiss grows more fervent, more desperate, as if you're trying to communicate every unspoken word, every suppressed emotion through this single act. 

As your breath quickens, Minho’s emotions swirl chaotically—a blend of exhilaration and deep-seated fear. The intensity of your connection right here is something he hasn't allowed himself to fully experience for a long time, not since his heart had been guarded against such vulnerabilities.

Suddenly, the weight of his past, the memories of abandonment, and the fear of experiencing such profound loss again surge to the forefront of his mind. It is overwhelming the way these fears claw their way up, threatening to overshadow the warmth and safety he had just been reveling in.

With a sudden intake of breath, Minho’s hands still, and he pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss. His heart is racing, not just with the passion of the moment but also with a creeping dread that he might be setting himself up for another heartbreak. His chest heaves as he tries to steady his breathing, his eyes wide and vulnerable as he meets your concerned gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice choked with a mixture of fear and regret. “I... I need a moment.”

Your face is a mixture of worry and understanding. You reach out, brushing a trembling hand against Minho’s cheek. “It’s okay, Minho. We don’t have to rush anything. I’m here, okay?”

Minho nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. He is terrified, not of the kiss or the connection but of what it signifies. To let someone in so completely was to risk being torn apart again. And yet, as he looks into your eyes, he sees a reflection of something pure and steady—a commitment not just to the joy of their relationship but to the struggles, too.

Minho takes a deep breath, each inhale laced with the scent of your skin, a reminder of the now. “I just... I’m scared of losing myself, of losing Minjun, of being left alone again if this... if we don’t work out,” he confesses, his voice barely a whisper amidst the quiet of the room.

Your expression softens, your eyes filling with empathy. “Minho, love doesn’t come with guarantees, but not giving ourselves the chance to experience it fully is a guarantee of regret. I don’t know what the future holds, but I promise to be by your side through the highs and the lows. You’re not alone anymore, and you won’t be.”

These words, gentle and reassuring, seem to stitch up the raw edges of Minho’s fears slowly. He allows himself to lean into you, feeling the solidity of your presence. “Thank you,” he murmurs, allowing himself to feel the full extent of his vulnerability.

“Thank you for not running,” you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The tension begins to dissipate, replaced by a cautious hope.

“Thank you for staying,” Minho shakes his head gently. 

You smile, your hand squeezing Minho’s. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you assure him. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to Minho’s forehead, a simple gesture that holds a depth of meaning.

Minho allows himself to be held, his head resting against your shoulder, feeling the steady beat of your heart against his cheek. It is comforting, grounding. Slowly, his breathing evens out, the immediate panic subsiding under the gentle rhythm of your assurances.

“You mean a lot to me, Y/nnie,” Minho confesses, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I don’t want to lose you, not because of my fears.”

You smile, your hands sliding down to grasp his. “And you won’t lose me. I care about you, Minho. We’ll face this together, okay? Step by step.”

“Okay,” Minho agrees, squeezing your hands. “Step by step.”

The moment is tender, a delicate truce between Minho’s fears and the possibilities that lie ahead. You stay like that for a while, simply holding each other, finding comfort in the presence of one another.

When it is time for you to leave, Minho finds himself not wanting to let go. The goodbye is lingering, filled with the promise of soon and more. You leave him with a smile, and Minho watches from the doorway, feeling a mixture of contentment and longing.

That night, as Minho lies in bed, Minjun peacefully asleep next to him, he thinks about the kiss - the way it had made him feel alive, the way it had scared him. He touches his lips, still feeling the ghost of your touch. The fear is still there, a quiet whisper in the back of his mind, but it is slowly being overshadowed by a stronger, more insistent feeling: hope.

He knows the road ahead will be fraught with challenges, but for the first time in a long while, Minho feels ready to face them. With you by his side, he isn't just facing the future; he is stepping into it, one kiss, one conversation, one promise at a time.

-

Minho nervously ties Minjun’s shoelaces, hoping his attentive little boy can’t see the anxiety written all over his face. He gently takes Minjun’s small hands into his and searches his eyes. “Minjunnie?” he asks softly.

“What, Daddy?” his son asks curiously.

“Daddy loves you a lot, okay?” he asks, and Minjun nods contently. “I’m sorry I can’t always be there, I’ll try to get better.”

“It’s okay,” he says, gently patting his father’s head.

Minho giggles at him and pulls him into his lap. “I will always love you, okay? No matter what happens.”

“Always?” he asks softly, and Minho nods firmly. “Always come back?”

Minho cups his face, smiling at him encouragingly. “I’ll always come back to you, buddy.”

“Good,” he smiles brightly. “Yejun now?” he asks, and Minho nods.

“Yeah,” he says, almost feeling a little ashamed for being so relieved about Minjun not calling her his mother.

You open the door, glancing inside. “You two are ready to go?” you ask. “I’ll drop you off at the café, make sure everything’s in place at the location for the shoot, and then come back. I won’t be gone longer than ten minutes, it’s on the other side of the road.”

“Sounds good,” Minho nods, subconsciously chewing on his lower lip. He pushes himself back up and meeting your eyes, you can tell he needs a hug. 

��Come here,” you say gently, opening your arms for him. Minho laughs weakly and hugs you tightly, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. “It’ll be okay,” you tell him, earning a timid hum in return. 

“Daddy?” Minjun frowns up at you two worriedly. 

Minho leaves your warm embrace, picking him up. “I’m okay,” he assures him, his one hand finding yours. Your fingers intertwine almost naturally, and you can feel his hand tremble in yours a little. 

“Liar,” Minjun says softly, not even sounding like he’s judging him for it.

Minho chuckles weakly and searches your eyes. “Minjunnie? You really like Y/nnie, right?” he asks, watching you with a gentle smile.

“No,” he shakes his head, making your heart sink for a moment. “I love Y/nnie, Daddy.”

You both laugh softly, and you gently poke his cheek. “I love you too, Minjunnie…and I care a lot about your Daddy too.”

“I…I love Y/nnie too,” Minho says quietly, and your world stops turning for a few seconds. 

“What?” you ask just as quietly, swallowing hard as tears brim Minho’s soft chocolate eyes. 

“I love you, Y/nnie,” he tells you again, a little less shaky this time. “I do,” he says as if he has to reassure you both he put it into words.

“I love you too, Minho,” you whisper happily, your heart warming. Minho squeezes your hand, searching your eyes timidly. You don’t think much, closing the distance between you two and kissing him softly. Minho sighs quietly, feeling at ease here in the moment of kissing you.

Minjun squeals making you break apart again. “Eww, but yay,” he says with wide eyes, making you giggle.

“Okay, let's go,” you laugh and gently shove Minho out of the room. 

You drive them to the café and Minho shares another quick kiss with you before getting out. You quickly cross the street to check the set, hoping it won't take long. 

-

The tension in the air is thick as Yejun sits across from Minho at a small, brightly lit café in the heart of Seoul. The noise of the bustling city outside does little to fill the silence that hangs between them. Minho watches her observantly as she tries to talk to Minjun, who’s busy coloring in the book she gifted him earlier.

"Minjun, you would love it in America," Yejun begins, her voice infused with excitement. "We have huge parks, and there are so many fun things you can do. There's Disneyland, with all the rides and characters you love."

Minjun's eyes light up at the mention of Disneyland, but his smile falters as he glances sideways at Minho, who sits silently, his expression unreadable. "Can Daddy come with us?" Minjun asks innocently, his voice tinged with hope.

Yejun’s smile tightens slightly. "No, it would just be you and me. But think of all the adventures we’ll have!"

Minjun’s face falls. "But I want Daddy...and Y/nnie," he ads, his small voice growing firmer. "I want them."

Yejun’s patience began to crumble. "Minjun, I’m your mother. I have a wonderful life set up for us in America. You need to think about what I’m offering you."

Minho, who has been quietly observing the exchange, sees the confusion and distress growing on Minjun’s face. "Yejun, that's enough," he interjects calmly. "You’re overwhelming him. He’s only a child."

Yejun turns her gaze to Minho, her eyes flashing with irritation. "You have no right to keep him from me, Minho! You’ve turned him against me, huh? You stole my son!"

The accusation stings, and Minho’s voice grows stern. "Yejun, I haven’t stolen anyone. I’ve been here for Minjun every single day since he was born. He’s my son too, and I have been his only parent for years."

“Well, I’m his mother and-”

Tears well up in Minjun's eyes as the tension rises. He can tell his father is upset and trying not to show it, he may be young but he knows him well. The woman opposite him glares at him and he doesn’t like that at all. "You're not my mum, Y/nnie is!" he cries out, the emotional toll of the conversation beginning to show. "Y/nnie plays with me. Y/nnie makes me food. Y/nnie cuddles me!"

Yejun blinks, her face contorted with a mix of shock and disgust. "Y/nnie? That babysitter? You think he's a better mother than me?”

“Yes,” he says stubbornly, staring down at his coloring book again.

“Minho, what the fuck have you done with this child?” she asks frustratedly.

Minho reaches out, taking Minjun’s hand in his, providing a comforting touch. "Y/nnie has been here for him. What Minjun is trying to say is that family isn’t just about blood; it’s about who cares for you, who’s there for you."

Yejun’s anger flares, and she stands abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "He is my son, and you’ve turned him into this...this weak, dependent child clinging to a man who has no business raising him!"

Minjun’s tears spill over, and he buries his face in Minho’s side, sobbing. Minho wraps his arms around his son protectively. "He is not weak. He’s a child, Yejun. And you’re upsetting him."

“I can’t believe you’re letting his babysitter take my role!” she protests loudly.

“That babysitter is my boyfriend,” Minho says firmly. Technically, the two of you aren't there yet but he couldn't care less right now. “So you better watch your mouth now.”

“Really? Dating a man?” she scoffs. “Did I break your heart so much you’re too scared to face another woman?” she spits out.

“What?” Minho almost chokes on his breath.

“You’re stupid,” Minjun states, pouting at her through tears. He doesn’t like how she’s talking about the two most important people in his life. “Daddy loves Y/nnie. Not you.”

“You’re coming with me now, if you like it or not!” she says firmly, reaching out for him.

"Don’t touch him," you snap, your voice icy as you move to block her path. "You need to leave, Yejun. You’re only causing him distress." You can’t believe what you got back to here.

Yejun stares at you, her anger boiling over. "He’s my son, not yours! You have no right—"

"He's not your son!" Minho interrupts firmly, standing up to face her, his voice echoing in the small space. "Not if you can’t see the damage you’re doing right now. Minjun has made his choice!"

“Not my mummy,” Minjun agrees. Still clinging to Minho, he peeks out and yells in his small, fierce voice, "Go away! I don’t want you! I want Daddy and Y/nnie!"

The raw honesty in Minjun’s voice seems to hit Yejun hard. For a moment, her resolve wavers, her features softening as she looks at her son. But the bitterness and resentment are too deep, her expression hardening once again.

“You’re disgusting,” she says toward Minho who stares at her quietly. “One day, he’ll leave you just like he left me,” she tells Minjun, who whimpers, clinging to him. 

“You’re such a bitch,” you tell her and stare her down until she storms off. “You forgot your stuff!” you call out for her and she spins around, stomping back to get it. 

“Fuck you.” With that, she turns sharply and storms out of the café, leaving behind a heavy silence. 

Minho kneels down, wiping the tears from Minjun’s cheeks. "It’s okay, buddy. She’s gone now. You’re safe," he murmurs, his voice soothing.

Minjun sniffles, nodding as he leans into Minho’s embrace. "Stay with me, Daddy. Stay with Y/nnie."

"We will, Minjun. We’re not going anywhere," Minho reassures him. “Always back to you, remember my sweet boy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he nods bravely.

-

Back at the company Minho walks straight to Chan's studio, telling you to go and get some snacks with Minjun first. He closes the door behind himself and starts cursing as soon as it clicks shut. “I swear that woman is insane! I don't know what the fuck I saw in her but it's gone!”

Chan slowly pulls off his headphones and Jisung clicks his pen, blinking at Minho worriedly. “Mate, what happened?” Chan asks gently. 

“Yejun happened!” Minho snaps. “She just tried to pull Minjun away from me so he'd go with her! She called him a weak, clingy child for wanting to stay with me!” 

“Okay, take a deep breath,” Chan says soothingly. 

“I don't feel like taking a deep breath right now,” he says fuming with anger. 

Changbin picks up a pillow and throws it at him. “Scream into that for a moment. Let it all out. You haven't told us much but I suspect Minjun needs his father to be calm now.” Minho blinks at them stunned before doing as they say, his scream getting muffled by the pillow. “Better?”

“A little,” he nods, making them all laugh. Minho flops down onto the sofa between Changbin and Jisung, huffing softly. Then he tells them about everything that happened, all of them growing quiet, exchanging shocked glances. 

“Not to be that type of person but..I never liked her,” Jisung snorts and Minho hums agreeingly. 

“I know…but I wouldn't want to miss the time I had with her. I'd miss my little boy,” he sighs and rubs his face. 

“If she starts causing trouble you let me know, alright?” Chan asks. “Everyone of us can tell whoever needs to know that you've always been there for him and raised him well so far.”

“Thanks, hyung,” he smiles gently, looking up as the door opens and you and Minjun enter the room. Minjun runs up to everyone handing them their favorite snack and smiles proudly at the many encouragement he gets. Minho scoots over and pats the space next to himself, gently tapping your hand to make you sit. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” you ask and Minho nods, getting up quickly. 

As soon as you leave the room Minjun climbs into Chan's lap and nibbles on his chocolate. “Exciting day?” Chan asks gently. 

“No. Yejun’s a bitch,” he announces dryly. Chan bites back a laugh and Jisung nods proudly. 

“Woah, that's a strong word,” Changbin laughs. “Did your daddy teach you that?”

“No, Y/nnie,” he tells them. 

“You like staying with your daddy more, right?” Chan asks amused. 

“And Y/nnie,” he nods happily. “Y/nnie and Daddy.”

“Yeah? Y/nnie stays with you a lot,” Jisung agrees. 

“Daddy loves Y/nnie.”

“Loves?” he asks curiously. 

Minjun nods and leans up to Chan, kissing his cheek. “They did that.”

Chan giggles, exchanging a glance with his friends. “They kissed?” he asks curiously. 

“Mhm,” he nods and continues munching his chocolate. “But not there,” he says, pointing at Chan's cheek. 

“No?” Chan asks stunned. 

“No. Like uncle Lix and you,” he announces making the whole room go silent. 

“You mean here?” Chan asks, pointing at his lips. 

“Yes,” Minjun nods. “Y/nnie is my new mum.”

“That's so cute,” Jisung whispers, smiling at him adoringly. 

The door opens and you two are back from your short talk about everything that happened. You sense something's off, judging by the way the three are glancing from Minho to you and back again. “Minjunnie, are you ready to go home?” you ask him. “Daddy has to work but he'll come later.”

“Work?” Minjun asks heartbreakingly timid. 

“I'm sorry, baby,” Minho tries, swallowing hard as Minjun climbs off Chan's lap and walks over to him, his small face scrunching up. Minho scoops him up, hugging him tightly. "I'll be back before you know it, okay? And Y/nnie will be with you," he reassures, glancing over at you with a grateful smile.

Minjun seems somewhat calmed by this, nestling his head against Minho's shoulder. "Promise?" he mumbles, his voice muffled.

"I promise, buddy," Minho affirms, pressing a kiss to his son's hair.

You can't help but feel a pang of warmth at the scene, your heart swelling at the depth of their bond. As you prepare to leave with Minjun, Minho sets him down, adjusting his little backpack and smoothing down his hair.

"Be good for Y/nnie, okay?" Minho instructs, kneeling to be eye level with Minjun.

"I will," Minjun nods solemnly, then looks up at you with those big, trusting eyes. "Let's go, Y/nnie."

As you lead Minjun out of the studio, his hand in yours, you glance back to see Minho watching you both, a mix of love and a tinge of sorrow in his eyes. It's clear how torn he feels, the duties of his work pulling him away from moments he cherishes with his son.

Back at Minho’s house, the evening unfolds with a quiet kind of normalcy. Minjun plays with his toys in the living room, occasionally chatting about things he remembers from the day or asking questions about what tomorrow might bring. You keep your answers light and reassuring, mindful of the emotional turmoil he’s endured.

Later, while Minjun is absorbed in a cartoon, you step into the kitchen to prepare a simple dinner, your thoughts wandering back to Minho. The way he had leaned into your kiss, the vulnerability he showed—it all painted a picture of a man deeply in love but equally scared of the implications. Your heart aches for him, wishing there was more you could do to ease his fears.

As you set the table, Minjun comes running into the kitchen, his earlier worries seemingly forgotten in the wake of his current excitement about the cartoon.

"Y/nnie, did you see? The superhero saved everyone!" he exclaims, his eyes sparkling.

"I saw that, buddy. It was pretty cool, wasn’t it?" you smile, lifting him onto a chair.

"Yeah! I wanna be like that," Minjun declares, his chest puffing out proudly.

"I think you're already a hero, Minjun. You know that?" you say, ruffling his hair.

He giggles, beaming up at you. "Really?"

"Really," you affirm, serving him his dinner.

Dinner passes with playful chatter, and soon it's time for Minjun's bedtime. As you tuck him into bed, he hugs his beloved bunny. 

"Daddy comes home soon?" Minjun’s voice is small, tinged with the weight of his earlier tears.

"He promised, didn’t he? And your daddy always keeps his promises," you reassure him, smoothing down the blanket. “Did you know your daddy's animal of the group is a bunny?”

Minjun nods proudly. “Yes.”

“There are plushies of his bunny, just like yours here. Would you like one?” you ask gently and Minjun nods with wide eyes. “Then you can cuddle it if he's not here.”

Minjun nods contently, curling up with the plushie. "Night, Y/nnie."

"Goodnight, Minjun. Sweet dreams," you whisper, turning off the light and leaving the door slightly ajar.

Once Minjun is asleep, you sink onto the couch, the quiet of the house settling around you. You're startled by the sound of the front door opening—Minho is home.

He looks exhausted, the lines of his face deeper, his eyes shadowed. But when he sees you, a smile, tired yet genuine, crosses his lips.

"Hey," he greets softly, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door.

"Hey," you reply, standing to meet him. "Rough day?"

"You could say that," Minho sighs, pulling you into a hug. It's a long, tight embrace, one that speaks volumes.

As you pull back, you hold his gaze. "Talk to me," you encourage.3

Minho shakes his head slightly, a weary chuckle escaping him. "Just the usual chaos. But coming back to this—coming back to you—it helps more than you might think."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the simplicity of his statement underscoring the depth of your growing bond. "I'm glad," you murmur, your hands resting on his arms.

"We didn't get much time earlier... to talk about... us," Minho hesitates, searching your face for signs of what you might be feeling.

"No, we didn’t," you agree, feeling the momentous weight of the conversation that looms between you. "But we’re here now. We can talk."

Minho nods, taking a deep breath. "I meant what I said earlier, before everything with Yejun. I love you, Y/nnie. I know it’s complicated, and I know my life is... a lot. But I want you in it, in every way."

The earnestness in his voice, the open vulnerability—he’s offering you his heart, and it’s yours to take. You smile, your decision clear. "I love you too, Minho. And I’m in this. All of it, with you," you say.

The relief that washes over Minho's face is evident. He pulls you close again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that seals the promise of a future together, come what may. In that moment, wrapped up in each other, the challenges that lie ahead seem manageable. With love as your anchor, you both feel ready to face whatever comes next, together.

PART THREE | PART FIVE

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @lost-in-avoidance @moonchild9350 @spicxbnny @queer-possum @james-is-here @roriiror @minholover1 @cb97s-laptop @iknowyouknowminho @iatethem @constrellar

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Imagines: Nonsense*

————————————————————————-

Summary: A coupon book you give Joe for Christmas as a joke turns into you doing something completely out of your comfort zone.

Warnings: Smut

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine universe: Everlasting Love

————————————————————————-

December 29, 2023

(y/n’s pov)

Sitting in bed, bored.

Seems like all I've been doing since I got back to Athens.

I missed Joe with every fiber of my being. I would give so much just to be able to reach out and touch his soft skin, his blonde locks, and feel the warmth his body emitted.

It was later in the night, ten o'clock.

Joe was probably asleep already, but he hadn't texted me yet saying goodnight.

Maybe he just got busy, I thought.

My thoughts started wandering. I was getting nervous about why Joe hadn't texted me all evening.

Almost as if he could read my mind before I got too worried, Joe texted me.

Hey, baby. You're prob asleep but I'm sorry I'm just getting to you now. I was over at Sam’s and my phone died. He was being a dick and wouldn't let me use his charger for some reason.

Anyways, goodnight, I love you.

I laughed slightly at his text, able to picture Sam arguing with Joe because he didn't want him using his charger.

I'm awake actually. Sam’s stupid btw, and I love you too.

Watching the bubbles pop up quickly, it was just a few seconds later when Joe texted back.

Since you're awake, wanna ft?

Sure!

Seconds later Joe’s name showed up on my screen and I immediately accepted the call.

I was met with Joe’s smiling face when the call connected. He was lying in bed shirtless, curls slightly wet while leaning against the headboard.

“Hi, baby.” - Joe grinned

Immediately, I recognized how deep his voice was. His voice generally dropped an octave when he was tired or aroused, and right now, I had a feeling it could be both.

“Hi, Joey. What are you up to?” - you

“Lying here in bed, thinking about you and how much I want you in this bed.” - Joe

After giggling at his admission, Joe continued.

“I was just thinking about your week here, and then I started thinking about sex… and that coupon book you gave me.” - Joe groaned

“You are insatiable, Joe.” - you giggled

“Fuck… I want you so bad right now.” - Joe

“Well, you're two hours away.” - you

“I swear, I'm always the horniest when you're away. It's like my dick’s betraying me.” - Joe

I absolutely snorted, laughing at his confession.

“I’m sorry it's like that and that I can't do anything to help you, baby.” - you

“Not your fault. I just can't stop thinking about you… and being inside of you.” - Joe

“If it makes you feel any better… I think about you all the time. Wish I could suck you off through Facetime.” - you giggled

“Shit, don't say that.” - Joe

“Why not?” - you grinned

“I’m getting super fucking hard right now. I'm just trynna wait for my hard-on to go away, but that's not possible if you keep saying things that make my dick twitch.” - Joe

“Boy, you're feeling very blunt tonight.” - you laughed

“Sorry… I know I get whiney when I'm horny. If I get too annoying just hang up.” - Joe

“You’re not being annoying. Not wrong about the whiney part, though. Like I said, if I could help you I would.” - you

Joe sat for a second, looking like he was deep in thought.

Out of nowhere, he got that ‘lightbulb!’ Look on his face and sat up on the bed with a grin.

“What if there was a way you could?” - Joe

“What are you saying?” - you

“Can I cash in a coupon virtually?” - Joe

I thought for a second. I mean, I didn't want to make him wait to use them just when I was in Cincinnati.

“Yeah, I guess.” - you

“Fuck yeah!” - Joe

Giggling at Joe as he fist-punched the air and did a little dance, I waited to see which one he wanted to use.

“Remember you can only use one a day.” - you

“Oh, I know. I only need one.” - Joe

“Which one do you want to cash in, baby?” - you

Joe flicked through the little booklet, trying to find the one he wanted.

“Ooo! I quote… extra sexy lap dance.” - Joe

I gave him a “what?” look but he only grinned devilishly. His tongue poked out as he bit down on it.

“Joe, how am I gonna give you a lap dance when you're two hours away?” - you laughed

“Just do it right here, on call.” - Joe

A few seconds of silence passed, his cheeky smile oddly convincing.

“Okay.” - you

“Yes!” - Joe yelled

“I’ll be right back, I have to change and grab my speaker.” - you

——

I turned my camera back on once everything was set up. I already had a routine planned for a song and everything, but doing this over the phone would be so different.

Having to essentially dance and grind on my bed, pretending it was Joe.

“You ready?” - you

“So fucking ready.” - Joe

Pressing play on Nonsense by Sabrina Carpenter, I immediately started moving my hips in the most sensual way possible.

Just pretend you're in a club, performing for Joe.

Hearing Joe make a strangled noise gave me more confidence, he's enjoying this.

A few seconds later, I straddled the bed and started paying attention to the phone.

“Can I touch myself? Please?” - Joe

“Go ahead.” - you purred

Joe slid his hand down his pants and immediately wrapped it around his hard length.

“Fuck.” - Joe grunted

He was trying to match the movement of my hips with the slow pumps of his hand.

I could tell he was conflicted between closing his eyes or not. With his eyes closed, he could easily pretend it was my hand jerking him off, but he wanted to watch me.

A minute in, a third of the way through the song, Joe was moaning loudly.

“You… are so… goddam pretty.” - Joe groaned

Just a few seconds later, Joe abruptly pulled his hand out of his pants, and I heard the waistband snap against his stomach.

“I have to stop, I can’t cum yet…” - Joe breathed heavily

I stopped moving around, but Joe didn't like that one bit.

“Not you! Keep going, baby!” - Joe

Moments passed as I watched Joe bite on his lower lip, slowly rubbing over his bulge with his palm.

“Joe, there's a minute left of the song. You might wanna start back up.” - you

So he did. Joe immediately moved his hand back down his pants and pumped his cock faster than before.

“Good Girl, baby.” - Joe moaned

Joe’s head fell back as his chest started heaving, sweat dancing over his bare torso.

“Fuck! I'm gonna cum!” - Joe

“Joe, please take your shorts off. I wanna watch you.” - you

He immediately did my bidding.

I watched Joe lift his hips and pull his shorts down with one hand, never once letting go of his erection.

Joe grabbed his phone and brought it closer to his cock to give me a better view of one of my favorite parts of him.

“See what… you fucking- do to me?” - Joe

He was right. The entire shaft was beet red as his tip was wet from the precum constantly leaking out.

I watched his cock throb one last time before a loud moan left Joe’s lips, and he shot his load onto his hand and stomach.

“Shit…” - Joe hissed

Joe dropped his phone face down onto the bed, his screen was pitch black but I could still hear soft whimpers in his breath.

Pausing my music and getting under the covers of my bed, I got comfortable before checking on Joe.

“You okay, Joey?” - you

“Mhm. I'm just cleanin’ up.” - Joe

“Okay.” - you hummed

A minute later, Joe crawled into bed and picked up his phone.

One thing I loved about Joe was his post-orgasm expression. He always had this delirious smile with tired, hooded eyes.

“You want me to dance while you get off?” - Joe

“Babe, I love you, but I don't think head bobbing and the airplane is gonna help me out much in that department.” - you laughed

“What about my get the gat dance?” - Joe

I snorted when Joe formed a gun with his hand and did a little move with it.

“If you have the cigar, then yes.” - you giggled

Joe went to say something but when he opened his mouth the only thing that came out was a yawn.

“Noted.” - Joe finally said when his yawn was over

We just sat there for a moment, staring at each other with smiles on our faces.

“You seem pretty tired, baby.” - you

“After that orgasm? Yes. I don't think I've ever come that hard from jerking off.” - Joe

“It’s my effect on you, huh?” - you joked

“For real.” - Joe yawned again

“Goodnig-” - you

“Wait… can we just stay on FaceTime? I wanna fall asleep with you.” - Joe

“Of course.” - you

Butterflies erupted in my stomach as Joe placed his phone on the pillow next to his, the one I was sleeping on last week.

“Goodnight, y/n. I love you.” - Joe

“Goodnight, Joe. I love you too.” - you

A few minutes passed by and I heard his light snores through my phone speaker, causing me to smile.

I thought about hanging up, but instead plugged my phone in on my nightstand.

Though I wouldn't physically be falling asleep next to Joe, I knew he was with me.

And with him is where I wanted to always be.

————————————————————————-

Authors note: I was super hyped to write this idk why 💀

Request for this fic; I kinda tweaked it but it's still generally the same idea!

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

[archangeldyke-all]

Hi! Can you write butch sevika w a sensitive butch reader like reader is real muscular n shit n jus super intimidating but cries when they see a stray kitten or something thank you! Have a great day 😊

omg 😭 this is adorable

men and minors dni

you and sevika are similar in a lot of ways.

sevika loves your similarities.

she loves that you guys can go to the gym together, can work out next to one another, spot each other when you're lifting, ogle one another as you do your reps.

she loves that your separate wardrobes have slowly melded into one big closet, that a majority of the time she can't remember who's shirt was who's when she's folding laundry, the rush she gets each time you wander out of the closet wearing her shirts.

she loves that you're both quiet in public, preferring to keep your circles small and your faces scowled when you're forced to leave the house.

sevika loves how similar you guys are.

but she also loves your differences.

the biggest of which is how you both deal with your emotions.

sevika's knee-jerk reaction to strong emotions is always anger. she doesn't always act on it, and she's mature enough to know when she needs to breathe through it and figure out what's really bothering her once her head's clear.

but you tend to react a little differently to sudden waves of unexpected emotions.

like, for example, one night as the two of you are walking home, passing a cigarette back and forth and laughing at silco's awkward attempts to flirt with a client that day: you both stumble upon a stray kitten.

sevika frowns, wondering who would leave a kitten to fend for itself in the cold, harsh streets of the undercity. she huffs, gently nudging the thing with its boot to see if it's even breathing. when it shivers in fear and lets out a pathetic mewl, sevika's heart breaks, and a bit of anger starts to bubble up at the pathetic sight of the kitten. don't people know the importance of spaying and neutering strays? she can't get herself too worked up though, because beside her, you burst into tears.

sevika's shocked for a second, gawking at you as you sob.

then, she bursts into laughter.

"stop!" you whine, trying desperately to wipe your tears away. they just keep coming. sevika's cackling.

"wh-- why are you crying?!" she laughs.

"it's so cute!" you cry, scooping the kitten into your arms and scratching under it's chin. sevika cringes, thinking of fleas and lice and rabies-- but she bites her tongue. she's never seen you look so sweet before.

and you do look sweet, cooing and crying down at the kitten in your arms. sevika's thought you're a lot of things: beautiful, handsome, sexy, strong-- but she never thought she'd call you sweet.

but there you are, her big bad butch girlfriend, kissing a stray kitten on the head as you cry into its fur.

(obviously, sevika begrudgingly lets you take the kitty home.)

sevika adores when you get weepy. she loves that she's the only one you let yourself get like this in front of. she loves that she gets to wipe your tears up-- and that she gets to laugh with you about how ridiculous some of the things you cry about are.

like, at the park when you and sevika watch two swans swim in the pond.

sevika turns to you to make a dumb joke ('you think those birds are about to fuck in front of us?') but she doesn't get the chance: you're already crying. "babe!" she gasps. "what's wrong?!"

"th-they're so in love." you cry, burying your face against sevika's chest. "they mate for life, sev, fuck." you cry.

sevika cackles before wrapping her arm around your shoulders and kissing your head.

or, in the grocery store, when the two of you watch a six year old push her baby sister's stroller around. sevika's cringing: already anticipating the kid driving the stroller into a display of fruit or something; but her worries evaporate when she hears your sniffles.

"babe, you cannot be crying right now." sevika laughs, scooping you into her arms. you huff.

"it's not like i want to! it's just so fucking sweet, sev!"

or, on your anniversary, when sevika surprises you with flowers.

she anticipates the tears this time, and just three seconds after thrusting the bouquet of all your favorite flowers in your and sevika's favorite colors in your chest-- she thrusts a tissue box into your hands.

you know sevika loves you because when you start ugly-laugh-crying at the sight of the tissue box, she just giggles, kisses your slobbery, crying lips, and hugs you until you get your breathing under control.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob

[blitzor0de0]

That Saint Peter fic was so cute! Like really, REALLY cute! Maybe you should consider continuing it? With Reader being redeemed and going to heaven? Maybe they die like Sir Pentious when fighting against Adam and spawn in heaven?

this one kinda flopped in my mind, but I hope it's bearable to read !! enjoy!

cw: gn reader, spoilers of episode 8, a little gore to the reader (reader death),,, uhhh lmk if there's something I missed, not proof-read at ALLL!!

word count: 1.8k

part 1 part 3 part 4

Daylight (Saint Peter x Redeemed!Reader)

The final battle was upon you, flurries of executioners surrounded the hotel. But thankfully due to Alastor’s shield, you alongside your fellow residents were able to kill them, one after one after one.

Your heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through your veins, the stench of the angel’s golden ichor singed your nostrils.

But before you knew it, Sir Pentious had sacrificed himself, immediately being blown to smithereens by Adam’s power. You couldn't stand to watch it, your weaknesses bubbling up as you choked back a sob.. The remaining Egg Boiz, would they be okay? Were they okay? You snuck off to see if any reminder of Sir Pentious was still around, allowing a few stray tears to fall.

Unbeknownst to you, alongside everyone else at the battle site, there was one stray angel, grasping onto their last moments of life, as you called out for the Egg Boiz, you found none of them, cracked eggshells seemed to be everywhere you looked. It grew harder to swallow, there had to be at least one..Right?

Dashing through some rubble your search was about to continue but you felt a sharp pain. You froze in place, looking down, breathing stuttering. Piercing your chest was one of the angel's tridents…Straight through the heart.

“What…?” You weakly spoke, turning with whatever energy you had left to face the angel, a dark smile on their face before they succumbed to their injuries.

It didn't take long for you to fall to your knees, gasping for whatever breath you could find. Your mind was in a panic. This couldn't be it. You can't die alone, you never even got to tell Charlie or the others goodbye.

Silent tears streamed down your cheeks. At least you tried your best. Right?

People in life always lied when they said death was painless, your first one sure as Hell wasn't, and neither was this one. You guess it's just their way of dwelling the fear of inevitable death, if only they knew.

A warm heat overtook your senses as brightness enveloped your vision.

What?

Looking around you saw the two Serafim you met a few months back and…Sir Pentious?

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit it worked!

Redemption worked! Charlie's a fucking genius.

Sir Pentious called your name in surprise, “You're here too? Oh no, that must mean.. Did Adam get you too?”

“I.. Pentious..” You were utterly speechless, but so were Sera and Emily. Not one but two sinners redeemed in such a small period of time. Perhaps they really did underestimate Charlie’s ability to fulfil her dream.

After relaying what happened to you after Pentious died, the Serafim discussed how to assimilate to your new lives, Emily in particular helped the two of you get situated.

And within enough time, you were ready to start your second afterlife.

It took you a few days to get yourself situated, too busy dwelling and moping about, lost in thought about your old life. You wondered how long it took everyone down in Hell to notice you had died, if they even felt sad, or even remorse. But you couldn't live in this rut for the rest of your afterlife, you were in Heaven now, everything screamed optimism and positivity. You had to get out there and mingle, make new friends. With a huff, you made yourself presentable before leaving your new home.

Wandering the streets, you heard whispers,

“Has anyone seen Adam recently?”

“No seriously, it's been a little too quiet around here.”

“Forget him, did you see how battered up Lute was? Missing an arm and everything!”

Well that was certainly interesting information, it filled you with a sense of pride. Charlie must've won! Adam had to be dead, but Lute survived? Probably at the hands of Vaggie, you thought.

Before you knew it, you were somewhere familiar, the plaza. Not only that, the ice cream parlour you went to with Saint Peter was just across the street.

Your eyes widened. Wait.. Saint Peter! You hadn't seen him yet since your arrival, a fault on your behalf but still, you had to find him. Would he be pissed that you were here, or happy?

Approaching some friendly looking angels you asked, “Excuse me! Have you seen Saint Peter around?” Voice wavering in anxiousness.

“Hmm? Oh Peter? Oh about this time he should still be at his post but should be taking a break in liiiike five mins or something so if you wanna wait for him by the gates, go ahead!” One angel replied, grinning.

“Thank you so much!” You quickly turned on your heel, heading in the direction of the gates, hearing a small comment from the other angel,

“I woulda thought they would've been looking for a loved one, not Peter of all people. Weird. OW! Hey, I'm just saying!!”

That angel was correct, by the time you made it to the gates -a little out of breath from the speed you were walking- Peter was heading inside for his break.

He was humming to himself but halted as he set eyes upon your new form.

He called out your name, “What.. What are you doing here? If you were visiting you should've come through the gates like you did last time. Besides what's with this new outfit? Looks gorgeous on you, but it looks as though you're cosplaying an angel!....Ooohhh” The realisation of the situation just slapped him in the face. Hard.

Approaching you and holding your face in his hands, he took a real good look at you, causing a blush to spread across your cheeks from the sudden contact.

“Haha.. Hi Peter. Um, guess it happened I got redeemed..? All it took was me dying..again.”

He releases his grasp on your face, eyebrow quirked. You pouted from the loss of contact before meeting his concerned gaze. “But!! It's nothing to worry about! Haha.. Just.. A surprise attack from an exterminator. I guess all that hard work in the hotel came in handy, huh?”

Peter's look of concern refused to falter throughout your explanation, his eyebrows furrowed, almost as if he was lost in thought.

“Y’know, once you left last time there were all sorts of rumours about exterminations and Adam being heavily involved. I refused to believe they were true, why would my fellow angels do such a thing but… I suppose it was true all along. Oh, dear I'm so sorry..” His peppy attitude seemed to completely fade as he spoke, you felt guilty for even unloading it at him, seeing the angel upset made your heart pang.

“But,” He continued, a hand coming up to caress your cheek, “at least that redemption worked, I knew I could believe in you. I'm so proud!” You leaned into his touch, who knows how long it had been since you were treated as if you were a porcelain doll, so fragile, so tender.

“Thank you.. Really. I think your belief in me when we first met really helped.. In fact, the thought of you brought me great guidance in rough times, but that's embarrassing to admit..” You nervously laughed. The stars in Peter's eyes as you spoke didn't go unnoticed.

You had gathered from your initial meeting that Peter wasn't typically the one to be on the receiving end of attention, let alone compliments. After all, you were the first being to have asked his name at the gates.

“Also,” You continued, “It probably looks pretty strange to others just seeing us chat just outside your post, c’mon, let's go get some ice cream like last time, my treat this time okay?” With that you took his hand and started heading back towards the plaza.

Peter stared at where your hands connected, uncharacteristically quiet.

Truth was, ever since your meeting, he had hoped and wished for you to show up at the gate again, for another meeting, being redeemed or even just to see him. Logistically, he knew it was impossible for that last option, you didn't have the ability to open the portals between the two worlds, but a part of him hoped that you would just appear before him one day.

And you finally did, despite his earlier ramblings, Peter felt almost shell shocked, he dreamt of the two of you meeting again, but now it was finally happening, all rational thinking had left his mind.

After you had left the ice cream parlour to go to the Serafim meeting, some angels approached Peter with demeaning questions.

'Why were you being so friendly to a sinner? You know they're down in Hell for a reason.'

'They were probably feeding you lies and sob stories weren't they?'

'Don't let them get to you, Saint Peter, we can't have you falling.'

But falling he did, not in the sense of turning to a life of sin, how could he ever? Without your knowledge, you had the Keeper of the Key wrapped around your finger.

Before he even realised, the two of you had made it to the parlour, feeling a small sense of déjà vu.

The two of you ordered and took your seats, everything seemed to be identical to your first meeting, and your conversations were as fluid as thought, almost as if the two had known one another for your entire existence(s).

What you found was that Saint Peter’s life seemed rather monotonous, yet he still managed to keep such a peppy attitude, guess that's how he became an angel in the first place, a lust for life.

Saint Peter’s break came and went in the blink of an eye. It almost disappointed you when he spoke about heading back to work. Did this moment ever have to end? You wondered to yourself.

Being the kindred spirit you were, you walked him back to the gates, fingertips occasionally brushing one another, but it didn't feel awkward. No, in fact it felt natural, as if there was some sort of invisible string pulling the two of you together.

“Do you have to go?” You spoke softly once the two of you reached the gates.

“You know I have to, besides, it's not like it's our presumed last meeting like last time, right?” He chuckled.

“Yeah.. I suppose so, we could see each other every day if we so wanted.” You smiled, not noticing the gap between the two of you closing.

Tentatively, he pressed his lips to yours. You could feel your heart flutter, it felt like one of those romantic kisses in a fairytale despite only lasting a few seconds. The kiss was filled with the warmth of a thousand suns embracing you in a tender hug.

"Peter.." You gasped out, face growing red as he pulled away.

"That wasn't too much was it? Ahhh sorry!" He panicked, but before he could sputter any more apologies, you pressed your lips to his, a chaste one, just to quiet him down.

“I'll see you once your shift is finished, okay?”

Peter’s mind was spinning, he could only nod pathetically, causing you to giggle. If his pupils could turn to hearts they would.

You turned on your heel, waving a little goodbye to him. “See you soon, Peter!”

“See you…”

Needless to say, Saint Peter’s mind was quite occupied for the rest of the day, causing many frustrations amongst the newcomers.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

can i just say that i am OBSESSED with your Alfie series. literally cannot get enough of it. Also!! Was wondering if you could write a fluff piece were reader gets injured and alfie comes to her rescuee? Your writing is so good <3

Hi my love! This ask was so so sweet! I am so glad you like the series, it was so much fun to share it with you guys, I know I tell y'all all the time but it's true! My heart is just so full I can't help it! And of course I can write some fluff! You know I love it hehe. I'm sorry this took a while but I hope you like it! This was actually inspired by my Thanksgiving fiasco this past year lmao. I was in charge of the turkey, mac and cheese, dessert, and potatoes. My little brother was my sous chef and I completely cut my thumb open and my brother almost passed out lmao. Anyway, sending all my love to you! - Mo

Ouch

Alfie Solomons x F!Reader, fluff, Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

There is something so soothing about the kitchen. When the world is so chaotic and cold and uncertain, the kitchen is a haven. Here it’s safe and warm and systematic. The chops and bubbling of the stove are so rhythmic, any harshness of the day just falling off your shoulders in waves. Because here you could understand and set the temperature. Here you could control the outcome and be free. Even if you were trying something new, you could be confident in the knowledge that it would always have a good outcome. It was your favorite part of the day, just cooking with Alfie. You on one side with Alfie on the opposite, working separately to jointly create beautiful.

The only problem that came with cooking, was that it was a little too peaceful. You became too relaxed. And as Alfie was apt to remind you, it wasn’t good to be too relaxed around knives and hot stoves. But it was too easy. The steady hum of the fire and boiling. The pattern you’ve gone through many a time. Your body would take over like a dance from your childhood. Your hands knew what they were doing. Your mind could take a break. And she would wander. Things to be completed in the office tomorrow. That new quilt you were making for your mother. Alfie needing a haircut.

Stir.

I need to make time for that book this weekend

Pour.

Alfie looked so handsome today if it weren’t for that awful stain on his shirt

Stir

Mama and Papa asked us to come for Shabbat this week. I need to tell Alfie.

Chop

We should go to the park this week

Chop

I wonder if we can visit Rabbi Reuben as well

Chop

Alfie’s birthday is also coming up

Chop

I’m so excited for his birthday surprise

Slice

“AH!!! Oh God ah!!”

A long and deep line blossoms on your palm. Far too entrenched in your mind, you were completely missing how the knife was getting closer and closer to your hand. You quickly grab a nearby dish towel, tightly wrapping your hand to catch the trickle dripping to the wood on the floor. Alfie is quick to you though, loudly dropping the cutlery and bowl he was holding. "Shit! Sweet heart you alright? What d'ya do to yourself?"

"Nothing nothing Alfie darling! Just a little scrape I'm sorry!"

Alfie peered at the slowly soaking dishtowel and raised his thick blonde brows at you. Mustache quirking, indicating that once again, you are a terrible liar. Gently but without holding room for argument he unraveled your makeshift bandage as you winced. His mouth furrowed and grumbled, "Ah shit treacle. This is why I always tell you right? You can't be all day dreaming when you're working in here! You insist on not letting me help ya, and then there you go fucking filleting yourself!"

Cool tears start trickling down. It burned with the introduction of the air and the embarrasment of getting a nasty cut. Alfie sighed, wiping your tears with one hand has he cradled your injury in the other. If there was one thing he hated most in the world, it was seeing you cry. "Aw my dove, no tears yeah? Not too bad ain't it? Why I don't even think it'll need a stitch I wager. Just a little alcohol on it and a bandage and you'll be right as rain. C'mon my angel, let's get you better aye? Dinner can wait a few minutes."

Despite having a terrible temper and being completely and utterly impatient... Alfie Solomons was an incredibly gentle and tender nurse. Stern. Always stern. And teasing. And scolding. But gentle above all else. You winced and shed a small tear when Alfie poured the clear and horrendous smelling alcohol on your wound. He tutted and kissed your temple all the while telling you, "Maybe this'll teach you eh? Nothing like a war would to make you more smart about your surroundings."

You thanked your lucky stars you didn't need a stitch at all. Despite the blood it was really a shallow cut. Alfie wrapped your hand skillfully. Pressing a kiss right over the bandage as the final salve. As you whispered a chaste thank you, Alfie pulled you into his chest saying, "Now listen my dove. I don't like to baby you. You are a grown woman and I'm not one to tell woman how to conduct herself or her affairs. But I get worried about you. Always drifting off somewhere in that pretty head. Not watching yourself. Not wanting help. You have got to let me help you my darling. Yeah?"

You nod, kissing him to assure him that you are ok. He chuckles kissing you back. Pushing you to the dining room chair he teases you further, "Now my dear patient, it is imperative that you sit there and keep that hand elevated. Lots of rest of relaxation yeah?"

"Alfie! I have to finish dinner!"

"No I'm sorry treacle but it is the doctor's orders! Can't have you losing a finger next can we?"

You laugh and argue with him, eventually get him to compromise to allowing you to fill a pitcher with water and set the kettle on. No matter what the others of Camden said, they could never say that he wasn't a good man.

[blooming-violets]

Nicest Thing Peter x Reader for 11. In joy? I really like that fic. I reblogged it on my old account. I feel like thats an underrated fic of yours (maybe bc it came out in 2022? Idk). Would love to see what happened to them!

It's still one my favs because it is just so...me?? Like if I had to chose anything that represented my personality perfectly, it would be Nicest Thing. Just a depressed, sad bitch who loves angst and Peter Parker and enjoys Kate Nash. I feel like I need another Kate Nash song for this "sequel" fic. I'll base it off her song Trash because these two are trash for each other.

You can read this as a separate, on its own Peter x Reader thing if you'd like or you can read it as a future piece to Nicest Thing.

Warnings: Smoking a joint and getting stoned

If porn bots can over take all the tags then I better not get flagged for these gifs.

Peter looked at her through blazed out, squinting eyes. A haze of smoke filled their bathroom as they passed the joint back and forth between them. They were seated in the unfilled tub, fully clothed, and facing each other. She had made him take the spot next to the faucet under the claims that sitting over the drain made her feel “icky” like she might get sucked in. He didn’t mind. Even if their leaky faucet kept dripping cold water over his shoulder. 

“Do you remember the Rugrats episode when Tommy and Chuckie are afraid of getting sucked down the bathtub drain because Angelica tells them a story of some other baby who died that way?” He asked, handing her off the joint. 

She placed it between her lips and he watched with a slow blinking, admiration for her. He loved her. She had been with him through everything. He owed his entire life to her. Without her in his life, he would no longer be here. She was everything important in the world. 

She smiled, remembering, and let out the most beautiful laugh. She always got extra giggly when they smoked. It was one of his favorite sounds. 

“Don’t they fill the drain with play-doh and shit? It’s a weird reddish, pink color. Why do I remember that specific color so much?” She replied, mystified. 

Peter chuckled, “Because old school Rugrats was filled with some crazy ass imagery. It sticks in your mind.” 

“Yeah but I remember thinking that I specifically wanted to eat that color...like maybe it would taste nice…like the imaginary food from Hook.” She passed it back to him, letting the smoke exhale in a little, circular puffs from between her lips. 

“Do you want to get into a pretend food fight with me and see if anything appears?” He grinned. 

Her red rimmed eyes squinted back at him as she laughed, “With the way these munchies have been hitting me the past few minutes, I think it might actually happen. I could imagine food hard enough to make it show up.” 

His mind started to wander as a hungry smile spread across his face, imagining all the food he could eat, and he spoke with a dreamy whisper, “Pizza bagels.”

“What?”

“Let’s make pizza bagels. ‘M hungry. Starvin’. Gonna die if I don’t get some food in me.” 

Her eyes glowed with excitement at the idea, “Pizza bagels. Yes, you’re a genius!” 

“I know,” he giggled, it bubbled out of him without any self control. It wasn’t the weed that did it. It was her. He felt free when he was with her. He flicked out the joint against the ashtray balancing on the edge of the tub. “I really am. Smartest man alive, probably.” 

She snorted, “Okay, I wouldn’t go that far. Get your ego in check, Parker, before I have to slap some sense back into you.” 

He beamed at her, his love consumed him, feeling it outshine every other emotion rattling around inside of him. She was beautiful. Stunning. Picture perfect. He wanted to hang her up on his wall like an expensive piece of art so he could admire every day of his life. 

Her shoulders shrunk up to her ears under the intensity of his gaze.

“Stop that,” she whispered. “Don’t look at me with those eyes or I’ll kick you. I’ve got a perfect aim for your crotch in this position.”

Peter shook his head, “Nope, sorry, I refuse. I can’t help it. You look…perfect. The nicest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“You’re stoned.” 

“Yes. Doesn’t change the fact that your lips look very enticing.” He winked at her and tried to scoot forward to get a taste. 

Her socked foot landed against his chest, pushing him back in place, “I thought we were making pizza bagels, not kissing. Weren’t you just starving a minute ago?” 

“Starving for you, maybe.” 

“Peter!” She let out a loud laugh, keeping him at bay with her outstretched leg. 

He was so in love. Completely enamored. Whipped. Head over heels. Trash for her. Whatever he wanted to call it. He belonged to her so wholly. His bleeding heart was in her hand for the rest of his life. He would follow her to the ends of the earth and back again. 

“If you don’t let me kiss you right this very second, I am going to turn this shower on.” His hand reached over his shoulder to grip onto the shower knob with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

She gave a sharp inhale, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

His eyebrows raised, taking on that challenge, “Oh really?”

She knew she fucked up the second before the shower burst to life. From his position in the tub, it shot over his head to spray directly into her face. She shrieked and fell back, sliding down the sloped edge of the tub until she was nearly on her back.

It was all the opportunity he needed to pounce. He leapt on top of her to the sound of her laughter and blocked the shower stream from her face with his back. His arms wrapped protectively around her head as he laid over her. Water pooled around them, warming their bodies, and soaking through their clothes. 

They didn’t feel it. 

All he could feel was the devoted love burning a hole in his chest where his heart used to be. 

She giggled up at him, blinking water droplets from her eyes, and whispered, “You’re an ass.”

He laughed in response and crashed his lips over hers, mumbling against them, “You love me.” 

She sighed in content. Her arms snaked around his neck to draw him closer, melting happily into his kiss. 

“I do.”

[lewkwoodnco]

but daddy, I love him! - lockwood x reader

George tipped Lockwood out of his chair with surprising ease while Lucy started yelling at him. The two boys twisted around in their scuffle until George finally pinned Lockwood down and raised a fist above his head.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't punch your pretty face right now."

Lockwood's scratched and mildly bruised face split into one of his winning smiles, his whimpering temporarily ceased.

"You think my face is pretty?"

George reared back for the punch and Lockwood started shrieking incomprehensibly while Lucy started telling them both off.

a/n - vfvhkefrhu woooo this took a little more time than I anticipated heheh but here it is! <3

warnings/tropes - lockwood x socialite!reader, lil bit of angst, mostly fluff/humour!

word count - 3.8k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Right here, on this plush velvet couch, was where they were going to find her body. They were going to have to scrape her off bit by bit.

It was a dim Saturday morning, and Y/N was rotting in her courtyard living room with two of her friends. Sarah was preening in the full-length mirror, trying to decide if her nose was too small. Hannah was sipping a mimosa on the sofa opposite her, going on about this boy from two towns over who took her to the movies - not that she would ever be seeing him again, given that he was below her station. Y/N thought it was a shame; she couldn't remember Hannah ever showing this much of an interest in someone other than herself.

So there she sat, some unknown frustration distantly bubbling away as she was bored out of her skull. Maybe it was an ungrateful thing to say, but her fashionable lifestyle could feel glamorous for only so long. It was starting to grow stale - as stale as Sarah's obsession with her nose. She stifled a yawn, her eyes wandering to the higher floors, when something made her sit up. There it was again, a little flicker of light reflecting off of something. She mumbled something about a powder room and clumsily got to her feet, excusing herself from her inattentive guests.

It took her a while to figure out exactly where the flash was coming from, but she eventually located the corridor down where she could hear some noises. She heard a set of footsteps approaching her and turned, nearly running straight into a lanky clothes-hanger of a boy laden with all sorts of gizmos, wearing the most horribly ridiculous pair of goggles she had ever seen.

He let out a short scream and clung onto his goggles, and she reflexively caught the supplies that slipped from his arms.

"Who the hell are you?"

He owlishly blinked through his shiny, reflective goggles a few times, before reluctantly slipping them off. All thoughts about his strange attire flew from her head, replaced by one annoyingly nagging thought - he had kind eyes. Soft, trusting, kind eyes, the kind that momentarily knocked the breath out of you.

"I am so sorry..."

Don't be, she wanted to breathe out, transfixed on his eyes. He paused a little and awkwardly gestured to her arms. She glanced down and remembered where she was, hurriedly returning his supplies.

"That's some, um, interesting equipment you have."

He gave a brief smile. "Thank you. Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood & Co."

She frowned. "Lock-wood & Co. That sounds familiar."

"Well, we are a very up-and-coming psychical inv-"

"Oh! The agency that burned down Sheen Road!"

The boy's face took a faint tinge of red, and she immediately regretted putting her foot in her mouth.

"I mean - uh - you have some very interesting equipment."

He opened his mouth to respond when two more figures emerged from the shadows behind them, a girl guiding another flailing and mildly bruised boy, both of whom had donned matching goggles.

"Lockwood, I can't see shit without my glasses. How much longer do I have to make an arse out of myself? 

The girl looked at Lockwood with an injured expression. "And you said these came free from Satchell's."

Lockwood huffed irritatedly at the other boy. "Snitch."

"Boo-fucking-hoo. I told you these wouldn't work." He sucked in a breath to continue but stopped short as he finally registered Y/N. "Hang on-"

"She's alive."

"Damn."

Lockwood gestured carelessly towards the other two. "My associates, Lucy Carlyle and George Karim."

"So you're here about the third-floor Visitor?"

"Yes. We received a report about some footprints..?"

"Oh, right. Those are just below my room. Here." She led the trio to the landing at the foot of the flight of stairs leading up to her room, which was stained with a quickly disappearing smattering of bloody footprints. The other boy knelt and considered the substance.

"Ectoplasm."

Lockwood turned back to her. "How often does the Visitor make an appearance?"

"No clue; I'm blind as a bat to anything supernatural. But the footprints only show up every couple of days, so it might be a while before they show up again."

His associates started examining the scene, and he bid her farewell with a grateful smile. By the time she had returned to the courtyard, she had been gone a bit too long to have her absence go unnoticed by her friends.

"And where did you run off to?"

"Told you, the powder room." She picked up a stray magazine, keeping her tone light. "I ran into some agents on the way back."

"Ooh. From Rotwell's?"

"Lockwood & Co."

Sarah peeled herself away from the mirror, mystified. "Who?"

Her giddy glow faltered. "An agency. Mr. Lockwood was there too. I was just...having a small chat with them."

"What for? They're working class."

"Don't be rude, Sarah." Hannah turned back to Y/N, a pinched expression still lingering on her face. "But...she's not wrong."

Y/N bristled defensively. "I'll have you know they're perfectly respectable company." Better than you lot, she wanted to add.

"Why? They're...poor."

"Y/N, we only want what's best for you," Hannah added in a nauseatingly simpering voice. "And that's...not...with people like them."

She tossed her magazine aside flippantly.

"You know, I wonder how the two of you bear it."

"Bear what?"

"Walking around with your noses stuck in the air all the time."

With that, she exited the living room, fuming. Yes, she was being childish, and yes, it wasn't news that her friends were prone to arrogance, but for some reason, their attitudes were particularly grating today. They hadn't met Lockwood like she had, of course they wouldn't understand. She replayed the feeling of watching him remove his goggles for the first time - unexpectedly climactic, and somehow...familiar.

She was sure of it. They would never understand.

For the next few nights, there would be a Lockwood & Co. employee stationed at the landing, complete with iron chains, flares, and salt. They'd bring along something to occupy themselves, like a book or a 3D puzzle, but it still felt nice to have a short chat with them before she went up to her room. 

With Lockwood, the chats always lasted a little longer, and maybe she stayed up a little later than she ought to on those nights, but really, it wasn't anything special. Little by little, they pieced each other together. She's restoring her father's old radio. He likes his orange juice with pulp. She has an older brother she hasn't talked to in months. He visits his family's graves on the first Tuesday of every month.

The more time she spent with Lockwood, the more she realised how uninteresting she found everyone else. Somewhere between their stilted whispers and muffled laughter, she started to desire something...more. 

"Hey."

Lockwood looked up from his magazine from where he was sitting cross-legged, encircled by his iron chains. He glanced at his watch, startled.

"You're back early."

She wrinkled her nose. "Wasn't enjoying the fundraiser."

"What about your friends?"

"They wanted to stay."

"So they let you leave? All by yourself?"

She bit her tongue. "Nothing wrong in that."

"No, of course not." As he was on the first day they met, Lockwood was quick to be an agreeable companion. But this trait added weight to the few times he chose to disagree. "But...nothing right either."

"It's alright. I'd hate to spoil their night." She sank onto the carpeted steps. "How's the investigation going?"

Lockwood glanced at the temperature sensor placed slightly outside the iron circle. "Temperature's dropping more than usual. Could just be because it's chillier today, but you never know." He looked up, and the moonlight illuminated his starkly pale face. "Do you not have any Talent?"

She hesitated. "A little. Not much, mind, certainly not enough to be an agent. But it was never something I needed to consider. I know people have it bad out there, but I'm just..."

"...too rich."

She gave a wry smile. "What gave it away? Besides the skyscraper ceilings, of course." They laughed briefly, before quickly sinking into a jagged silence.

"What's your home like?"

"It's...it's hard to describe. I don't think I could do it justice. You should come see Portland Row sometime. Have dinner with m-us. Us. Once we're done with the job. If you'd like."

"You should come see Portland Row sometime. Have dinner with m-us. Us. Once we're done with the job. If you'd like."

Lockwood was staring very hard at his sneakers. She found the whole thing highly amusing.

"Lockwood, I'd leave with you right now if I could. Really. It's just...my father..."

Her father would sooner have an aneurysm than let her 'play hooky,' as he would put it, especially with this less-than-glamorous ragtag team of misfits. While it had occasionally been a source of mild annoyance before, she never resented him as much as she did right then. And all that was without considering all the eyebrows that a guy like Lockwood would raise.

The faint moonlight was enough to make out the glimmer of his teeth, the curve of his face, the shadows settling around his deep-set eyes. She ached to know the look on his face, to know how he was feeling. The sprigs of lavender she had weaved into the hem of her dress were heavily perfuming the air, heady enough to make the evocative pull of his gaze strangely irresistible.

She peered at him through the railings, whose shadows marred his face, painfully reminiscent of a prison cell. She slid her hand along the bannister, gripping it firmly. It was moments like these when the rest of the house was quiet, too quiet, that she felt something flutter in her chest. Some compulsion flickering through her tendons to reach out through the railings, brush her fingers across his cheekbone, to have and to hold-

"It's getting late." Lockwood put his coat back on and started gathering some of his equipment. "I think I'll call it a night."

She hurriedly got to her feet too, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. "Yeah. No, me too. I should...I should get some rest."

Still, she lingered at the foot of the stairs long enough for Lockwood to pack away the chains. As he straightened, he turned to her as if he could feel that she was brimming with...something. She wanted to tell him how much she had enjoyed this night, and every night before. She wanted to tell him how happy he made her.

But she couldn't find the words.

"Good night," she said softly.

That was the last of their secret late-night rendezvous, as the Shade finally reappeared the following night and was safely put to rest by Lucy, along with any hopes of a budding romance. 

Five days after what Y/N had thought was the last time she'd lay eyes on Anthony Lockwood (not that she was keeping count), she was quite happily proven wrong. Lockwood and George had paid a visit to collect their payment from her father. 

She was not-so-casually lounging at the opposite end of the living room with her friends. The magazine she was holding upside down wouldn't have fooled anyone if they were paying attention, especially coupled with her relentlessly staring at Lockwood. She had been a little on edge when he had first walked in, hating how their last conversation had ended. But all it took was one of his easy, soothing smiles as he discreetly glanced at her to calm her down. She buried her nose deeper into the magazine as if she hadn't seen it, failing to hold her smile back.

When she had sufficiently composed herself, she peeked over the edge of the magazine to see the boys having some sort of disagreement as her father was writing out a cheque. Lockwood seemed to want to do something and George seemed to be holding him back until the cheque had been written.

As soon as her father had handed the cheque to them, George accepted it with a hurried thanks and a funny bow before practically running out. Lockwood took a deep breath before launching into some kind of monologue while occasionally glancing at her. Openly. Her father's face remained impassive. 

She put away her magazine, mystified as she tried to make out what he was saying, trying to keep the dread creeping into her at bay. Even her friends had picked up on something being amiss as they followed her line of sight.

Her stomach sank as she caught a glimpse of the hard look on her father's face. By now, it couldn't have been more obvious that Lockwood was asking him...about her. She wanted to shake him, yell at him to run away, but some kind of morbid fascination, or perhaps a deep-seated fear, had locked her limbs, forcing her to helplessly watch as the events cruelly unfolded. She knew her father, and she knew Lockwood would never be able to change his mind. At least, she was quite certain.

She snapped out of her haze and leapt to her feet, but it was too late. By the time she had reached the pair, her father was already bidding him a stern farewell.

"...and if you ever talk to my daughter again, I will personally make sure that you never find work another day in London."

Lockwood turned sharply and briskly walked out, his facial features carefully schooled, seemingly oblivious to her hurrying over, or her gasp of despair. He took long strides that made it difficult for her to keep up with him, and he didn't stop until he joined George outside, closing the wrought iron gate between her and him. She clutched one of the bars and he almost immediately wrapped his hand around her.

"Lockwood - "

"You should go back inside before your father sees us."

"Please, listen - I'm really sorry."

"It's alright. I understand."

"My father's never been the understanding type, far from it - "

"I know - I knew that."

"This is all my fault. I should have warned you."

"No, don't...you didn't know I was going to do this."

"We could have kept it a secret."

"And have you sneak around? Lie to your father? Y/N, I'm not above taking the easy route when the situation calls for it, but not in this case. I wanted to do right by you."

Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Lockwood looked as outwardly poised and calm as ever, but with the two of them this close, she could see the frustration simmering in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry - so mad - that he threatened you like that."

"To hell with my agency." He sighed and pressed his forehead against the gate, lowering his eyes to where their hands were clasped together in some pathetic pseudo-embrace. "I know how much his approval means to you. I just wish I could have gotten that."

They were silent for a moment. There was only a gentle breeze but no rustling leaves, and even George seemed sorry for his best friend. It was quiet enough to feel like they could hear each other's heartbeat but from opposite sides of the gate. 

"I'm still sorry."

Lockwood bowed his head. "So am I."

He brushed his lips against her knuckles before pulling his fingers out of her palm and walking out of her life. She watched the two of them walk away, unable to leave the gate and come to terms with what had happened. For a moment there, before her father's expression had shifted, she had felt a glimmer of hope for her happy ending.

But reality had struck, and now all she could do was go up to her room, walk through the empty landing, and sob into her pillow as her heart screamed for the life she ached for so desperately.

She allowed herself the day to grieve, but by nightfall, she had already started plotting her next steps. The next day, she decided to broach the topic at the breakfast table, where her friends were already seated, whispering furiously until she walked in. She sat opposite her father as usual, who was reading the day's newspaper.

"Dad. I want to talk about yesterday. With - with Lockwood."

He gave no indication of having heard her. She could feel her friends' hawk-eye stares boring into her skin. Against her better judgment, she pressed on.

"I think...you should give him a second chance."

She could practically hear her friends salivating in excitement, flinching as her father set the paper down. He had a bit of a temper, no more than her, but it was never unwarranted.

"And why is that?"

"He may not have much, but he's capable, hard-working, resilient-"

"I know exactly the type of person he is, and before yesterday I thought you did too. Or have you forgotten Sheen Road?"

She nervously fidgeted with the buttons on her dress, suddenly feeling trapped and suffocated. This was going to be an uphill battle, she could see that, now that her blaze of self-righteousness was beginning to fade. "That was a one-off," she mumbled.

"Not quite. I rang up DEPRAC afterwards, and they said in no uncertain terms that his agency was one good accident away from being shut down. He's known to behave recklessly and rarely per the law - "

"Have you stopped to think why he might act this way? You've spoken to him yourself - doesn't seem the irrational type, does he?"

He sighed irritatedly.

"Is this really the type of person you want to throw your whole life away for? To tarnish your reputation?"

"It's my life and it's my name. If I wish to burn my life to the ground or throw my name in the mud, that's my choice. You don't get a say in that."

"To do all this over a washed-up, good-for-nothing-"

"But Daddy, I love him!"

"I don't - "

"And I'm having his child."

Sarah shrieked and dropped her compact. Even Hannah was rendered speechless, nervously pulling at her braid. Her father's eyes looked as though they were about to fall out of his head. An uncomfortable, prickling silence followed.

"Okay, I'm not, but you should see your faces."

Sarah gave a dramatic sigh of relief as Hannah released her braid. "Oh my, what a mess-"

"Don't you start." She turned back to her father, fresh out of all the hope and ammunition she had walked into the room with. "Please, Daddy. Never...never once have I complained about any of your rules. Can't I-" her voice broke off as she struggled to hold back a sob. "Can't I please just have this one thing?"

Her father looked unmoved.

"You listen to me, Y/N - stay away from him."

She glanced around the room desperately, trying to figure one last way out. One last way out. That was all she needed.

She found it.

"Fine. Maybe you're right. Maybe he is crazy. Maybe...maybe he is bad news."

She stood up, wrenching her anxious fingers away from her buttons, poised to run out of the room.

"But I love him anyway."

Lucy and Lockwood were at Portland Row going over the floor plans of the house of their next case. Lucy was trying her best to keep Lockwood on task, but she had never seen him this disinterested in their work. 

She was struggling to hold his attention while he was fidgeting with a pen not very skillfully when they heard an insistent tapping on their kitchen window. They looked up to see Y/N waving at them frantically, gesturing towards the front door. Lockwood leapt up from their kitchen table, nearly stabbing himself with the pen, and joined her outside. There was something very nervous about Y/N's body language, especially since she started talking a mile a minute as soon as Lockwood stepped out.

"God, your eyebags look horrendous in the light. Do you ever-?"

The door shut behind the two of them. Lucy waited at the table for a minute or so, but once it became apparent they weren't about to finish anytime soon, she fetched a book and started to read. About ten minutes later, the front door opened again, but this time it was George returning from the Archives.

"Oh, George, can you tell Lockwood to come back inside?"

"What?"

"Lockwood."

"Where?"

"Outside."

"...outside where?"

"Outside, George. Don't be daft."

George stared at her cluelessly.

"He is still outside...?"

The realisation hit them both at once as they tripped over each other on their way to the front door. They looked out into the half-empty street, and the empty parking space in front of their house.

"George," Lucy asked, feeling majorly peeved by now. "Where is the car we rented for the weekend?"

Over the next month, neither Lucy nor George heard a word from Lockwood. After a particularly intense discussion that day, they decided not to alarm anyone by filing a missing person's report. But he had been absent from public view for a suspiciously long time, and Barnes was starting to find the story they concocted about Lockwood's debilitating illness less and less convincing.

Lucy and George had just arrived home after their latest case, which they were lucky enough to finish early. Lucy flicked on the kitchen light and there, sitting at the kitchen table, as he was nearly a month back, was Lockwood. He looked a little taller and a little less gaunt than they remembered. The three of them stared at each other for a moment, speechless, until the two of them launched themselves at him.

George tipped Lockwood out of his chair with surprising ease while Lucy started yelling at him. The two boys twisted around in their scuffle until George finally pinned Lockwood down and raised a fist above his head.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't punch your pretty face right now."

Lockwood's scratched and mildly bruised face split into one of his winning smiles, his whimpering temporarily ceased.

"You think my face is pretty?"

George reared back for the punch and Lockwood started shrieking incomprehensibly while Lucy started telling them both off.

"Wait - WAIT - you'll crumple the invites!"

"What invites?"

"To a - uh - how do I put this..."

"Spit it OUT - "

"Wedding!"

"Whose?"

Lockwood brought his arms down from where he was shielding his face, smiling bashfully. The three of them exchanged looks ranging from congratulatory to homicidal.

"What about -"

"He came around. We had lunch with him earlier."

"Wow. That's...congratulations. I just can't believe..."

"I know, we can't either."

"...that you didn't come straight home?"

"Geo- look, George, I wanted to, believe me, I - not the face, NOT THE -"

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @ahead-fullofdreams @mitskiswift99 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @mohinithoughts @avdiobliss @snoopyluver20 @mischivana @dangelnleif

[youreirrelevant]

Skyglow

pairing: kendall roy/reader

summary: “I want you to take care of me.” That makes him ache. Fills him with that heavy, hot feeling- the one you get when something’s a little wrong.

words: 1787

tags: explicit, sickfic, daddy kink, praise kink, but also a little degradation kink, pwp, established relationship, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, playful sex, like the tiniest bit of fluff, implied age gap, there's really nothing that establishes when this is so

a/n: I started writing this when I was sick a few weeks ago and I thought I'd finish it. It's just for fun. It's a little silly. It doesn't all have to be serious or good.

It always felt like a waste, to stay in bed all day. Somehow scrolling through your phone in the living room seemed more productive than if you did it in bed. You barely even had the energy to do that. Left thinking. Wanting. Always find your mind wandering to him and what he can do for you. A warm, soft place to rest your hands. Press your lips against.

A deep voice to coax you through what his cock brings out of you— 

But the exhaustion was bone-deep. Bending a finger, lifting an eyelid- both felt nearly impossible. Even while lying down you felt weak, like you couldn’t get deep enough into the pillow, into the mattress. You needed to pool and bubble out; water spilled on the counter. 

The door opening wakes you from what must’ve been the fifth nap of the day. You were in a guest room- you didn’t want to get Kendall sick. He had shit to do, things that were “unmissable.” 

It’s dark. You can see out of the window from the bed; the sky is blue-black, a yellow edge on the horizon that fades up into it. Planes blink red and white across it. Only some of the windows in the other buildings are lit, and you wonder how late it really is. It's quiet; you can hear the AC running. The apartment is thrumming with a sleepy energy, like the way voices sound when you’re dozing off- blurred and smoothed at the edges.

“Can I, uh, can I sleep with you?”

You mumble that he can, voice croaky and gone. Scooting further in on the bed to make room for him- every joint aching so badly you almost whimper. He wraps his arm around you, kisses the back of your neck, and breathes. The heat on your skin makes you melt. 

“I couldn’t sleep without you in there with me.”

He brings you a little closer, for emphasis.

“I’d like to say the same, but I’m exhausted.”

A little huff of air from him, an affectionate smile you can’t see. Another kiss, right along your hairline. 

You both lay there for a while, but you don’t fall back asleep. The thoughts are much worse when he’s flush against you, firm thighs and a softer chest. His arms around you- you want him to use them to pull you down over him. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping? You said you’re tired.” He sounds groggy, as if maybe he’d fallen asleep, for just a second. 

“I know I was just- I was thinking of this,” you giggle a little, “of this tweet. Where this guy said that pussy, when someone has a fever, is crazy because it’s so hot.”

He grins so wide it hurts his face.

“Is this your way of, uh, telling me you want me to fuck you?”

“I mean- we gotta at least find out for ourselves.”

Kendall slips his hand beneath the waistband of your pajamas, uses the pads of his fingers to guide your leg up, to drape over his leg. He’s surprised to find you so wet, skin scorching against his. Wonders how long you were thinking about it. Rubs your clit slowly, and you’re practically boneless already. But then fingertips work down, towards your cunt, and you tense in anticipation. He knows you’re sick; he should be nice. But he can’t help but tease, doing it a few times until you whine his name. 

“You need it that bad?”

“Please- ” you sound kind of annoyed, as if his denial doesn’t warm you.

His clothes are moved just enough, but he grips the waistband of your pants to yank them down as far as he can from his position- he wants to get at you fully. They get stuck above your knees, and you huff and whine as you kick them free clumsily. Kendall’s undeterred, puts you back where you were. Presses in easily, and maybe they were right. Your groan is distant in his ears. When he’s seated fully, he rests his forehead against your shoulder.

“Well?”

“It- it is hotter. It could be, uh-,” he makes a muffled sound, like he’s steadying himself, “be in my head, though. Placebo effect, or something.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the noise scraping out of you so badly he almost couldn’t tell what it was.

“You’re ridiculous. You’ve been asleep all day, I come in to sleep with you and you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to take care of me.”

That makes him fucking ache. Fills him with that heavy, hot feeling- the one you get when something’s a little wrong. He places a big hand on the back of your thigh, slides it up to lift your ass cheek, spread you open. 

“Like, a daddy thing, or-?”

Oh… man.

“I don’t know if we- if we have to be so- if we need to go quite that far.”

As soon as you say it you’re prepared to recant. It makes your stomach fill with butterflies and warmth but it seems so much more taboo than other things that people would actually consider worse. So heavily stigmatized, something everyone knew about and mocked. His teeth press into your shoulder, like he’s squeezing it out of you. 

“Well- it does sound… kind of hot. Maybe we ease into it? Maybe ‘daddy’ doesn’t have to be said, but implied?”

His hand slips over your hip to rest on your lower stomach, a slow pull and push of his hips as his fingers find your clit again. Not wasting any time.

“You want me to ‘take care’ of you?”

Plush lips slide beneath your ear as he speaks, and every inflection and hard consonant fills you with heat. It’s your words, but from his mouth, it sounds good and perfect and right. His voice is soothing in this condescending way and it makes your lashes flutter.

“Yes, Kendall.”

He uses his palm against your pubic bone to pull you close, allow him to get deeper, fuck a little rougher. Insistent. You reach behind you to grab at his waist, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Your voice is fucked- every moan and whimper is broken and raspy and quiet. He kind of likes it, drags his lips over your neck, laughing affectionately when his finger presses harder, rubs at just the right angle, against just the right side and you cry out hoarsely. Barely able to keep your eyes open before but you want him so fucking bad. 

It’s like you’re next to a fire; you can practically see a red glow coming from your skin, penetrating your closed eyelids. You’re limp, melted into the smooth sheets, rolling weakly against him when you really need it. His brows pinch and his jaw falls open with a desperate noise before his lip is tucked beneath his teeth. Kendall props himself up on his elbow, fingers slipping into your hair, damp from sweat, turns your head enough to kiss you. So slack and pliant. You don't even think to stop him. 

“Does that feel better? Is this what you needed?” 

Jesus. It’s as if your brain is already fried- you’re already gone. Making some noise that’s probably the saddest attempt at an ‘mhmm,’ ever been done. Trembling, pulled tighter, breathing ragged and uneven and burning in your chest and throat. He brushes the tip of his nose over your temple- his own breath puffs rapid and hot against you.  Grunting when you grip even tighter. 

When you cum, it's so good it hurts. Like massaging a sore muscle, or fingers into your cheeks when your sinuses ache. It seeps into your hips and belly and back and you lean into it, into him. He shushes you and you can’t help but let out this startled ‘ god .’ You want to tell him he feels perfect, fucking perfect, but the words don’t come out. His pace doesn’t falter -no matter how snug and plush and slick you are around him- and it makes it seem like it’s lasting forever. 

Kendall thinks it’s lasting forever; you’re over a cliffside, on the other end of a rope, trying to pull him down when he has to keep you up. He makes sounds like he’s struggling; when you finally relax, he sounds relieved. 

Part of him wants to keep it up, and he can’t help, for a second, seeing the new ease with which his fingers slip over you, pressing three flat against your labia to make you squirm from the sensitivity. But that doesn’t last long, arm moving to wrap around your waist to hold you in place. Insistent. 

You’re awash with fatigue, fingers curling around the edge of your pillow, lids low over your eyes. Each time his hips meet your ass you make these pathetic little noises from the impact, sometimes barely even audible. He grabs your face again to turn you toward him- you feel hot, cheeks flushed to show it. Skin around your eyes, shiny, blueish, almost cartoonish. But you look up at him dutifully.

“You’re so pretty when you take it for me.”

That reignites something in you, makes you moan and grab at him.

“Such a pretty, perfect little girl deserves to feel good. Always desperate to cum on my cock- thinking about it when you can barely fucking think.”

You let out something between a gasp and a laugh, stunned. Thrown against the ledge but you can’t go over until you get that little bit more. 

“I- Ken, can you- would you-?”

This is how it always goes- just one more. Kendall gives it to you and goes to get his, but it always puts you right there, and he can’t help but oblige. He wants to tell you to do it yourself, because you’re tired, and maybe you won’t get off and you’ll get frustrated and whine. That makes him feel orange-hot and tingly, makes his hips stutter at the thought. But that’s not what this was tonight. The wide pad of his middle finger is tight against you -swollen, slick- and even with how fast you cum, he cums faster, hips so rough against yours that you whimper and wince.

He’s almost as light-headed as you are, almost as lax, weak. Every inch of you is unbearably heavy; it's like your skin could slough off your face. It’s so good.

“I might bring a whole new, literal level to sleeping like the dead.”

Your voice cracks and you slump forward onto your stomach, keeping your face turned from him.

“At least you’ll feel better.” Smiling softly, rubbing your back.

“You’ll join me shortly, since you fucking kissed me.”

[the-s1lly-corner]

i think it would be so cute if you wrote headcannons abt silly little things johnathan ohnn would do around alchemax when him and reader are coworkers. imagine their desks next to each other 🥲

Random hcs for Jonathan Ohnn and his coworker!

Didnt know if you wanted this romantic or platonic so I'm writing this as

Both?? If that makes sense?? Like majority is neutral with a more romantic segment at the end?? Help

Side note I love this gif

Anyways not proof read we die like uncle Aaron

Obligatory you guys leave things on each others desks; notes, snacks, a drink, ect ect ect

You both also have your own set of inside jokes, and probably gossip about y'alls other coworkers

Probably just a me thing because I love dynamics like this but yall are just. Constantly bubbly around each other, like

Yall can glance at each other and make a slightly goofy expression and the other is trying to hold it together

I just wanna see Jonathan happy, man :( his whole Jonathan to spot transition kinda actually makes me sad like bro was just doing his job

Anyway

I feel like Jonathan can get fairly wrapped up in his work; forgets to take breaks.. he really appreciates when you come over and leave a bottle of water on the edge of his desk, makes him feel cared for

Side tangent but I personally hc that even before becoming Spot he never really had many friends, much less ones that look out for his wellbeing like that. Doesn't help that he's kinda

Awkward and closed off but hes not

Evil or mean spirited (yet/hj)

"Jon you gotta start standing up straight" "UHHHGGHH *fine* dad/mom!!🙄/j" and similar interactions

Whenever you two are assigned hands on work/experiment shit yall are both just. Bouncing off each other the entire time if that makes sense

Like yall are a power duo; you guys get the work done in no time and actually?? Have fun?? Work goes by fast when you're doing it with someone you enjoy being around

Hopping back in the silly stuff he would NOT stand up for himself if someone was taking his lunch; and if he does he makes like. A piss poor attempt at standing up for himself sooo if you're on the fierce side (or just have a backbone) he would really appreciate it

"Excuse me he asked for NO pickles!"/j

Now onto the romance yahoo

Tbh I dont know if alchemax would be the type of company to outright ban coworkers from having relationships with one another, I can kinda see it swinging either way

But I've never been good at writing hcs for characters needing to slink around so let's say it allows that stuff

Anyways

Jonathan is an awkward sap, like

Imagine glancing over at his computer and seeing him looking up pickup lines (bad corny ones)

He uses them 5 minutes later on you

Stuff like that

Also while I dont normally like characters that dip into the clingy/jealous category Jonathan/spot is an exception simply because I legitimately cant see him not being at least a little insecure

But the good news about being a scientist is that hes good at problem solving; he communicates!!

You guys are both so

Obvious

At least he is; one good compliment and hes red in the face

Outright flirt with him and hes basically glowing red

Back to the bad pick up lines he will be over the moon if you say one back

Building off the "you guys leave things on each others desks" thing he leaves like. Flowers and candies he knows you like on the desk

A moment of silence for your desk when your birthday or valentines day happens 😔

Imagine someone hits on you and he just

Wanders over, puts a hand on your shoulder and just

"Theyre taken"

But like, in a cringey ☝️🤓 way

😭😭

[kabie-whump]

❆ Whumpcember Day 10: "Let me help you." ❆

Donner's gotten himself caught in a bear trap.

⋆❅*𖢔𐂂꙳

Donner can’t believe how stupid he is.

The forest is blanketed in snow, all sounds muffled save for the sharp gasps for air Donner drags through his teeth. His face is scrunched with pain as he stares down at the steel jaws clamped around his ankle, blood bubbling thickly around the metal. The pain radiates up his body, throbbing and hot. 

He didn’t even see it as he wandered through the woods, hoping to work off some excess energy before he had to sit through a long movie night with the team later. The trap was well hidden under the thick snow, ready and waiting.

“Shit,” Donner hisses, his fists clenching where they hold his own knee tightly. It’s taking all of his self control to not try to yank free of the trap, knowing that he’ll probably just end up losing his foot for good. No, any sane person would tell him to relax, take stock of his condition, and find help without causing any further harm. 

Slowly, carefully, with only a few muffled grunts of pain, Donner lowers himself to the ground. He sits with his unharmed leg outstretched and his other leg bent so he can examine the damage, brushing away red-stained snow with shaking hands.

The trap itself is attached to a chain, which disappears underground. He tests the dirt with his fingertips, finding it frozen solid. He’s stuck.

A crunch of snow nearby makes his head snap up, his eyes flitting around for the source of the noise. He’d screamed when the trap had snapped around his ankle, and he worries now that his screaming combined with the stench of blood have attracted predators. 

But it’s not a wolf or a bear that he finds slowly approaching him from behind a tree, but a man, dressed in thick furs with an axe hanging at his hip.

Donner flinches back, his instincts screaming for him to run, but the trap keeps him firmly in place. 

“Easy there,” the man says, his voice low and cautious. “You’re in a bad spot, huh?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, lowering himself to the ground next to Donner and reaching for the trap. 

Donner yanks his foot back, gasping at the new wave of pain that comes with it. “Stay back,” he growls.

The woodsman freezes for a second, glancing up at Donner’s face, then a little higher to his antlers. “You’re one of those deer-people,” he says, pulling his hands away and holding them up in a placating gesture. “You’re a hell of a lot bigger than your friend. Comet, was it?”

Oh, right. Comet got lost in the woods a few months ago, came back saying that they met a nice old woodsman. This must be him. He’s probably not going to kill Donner right now, considering how good he was to Comet. 

“Just,” the man continues, “Just let me help you, alright?”

Donner nods shortly.

“Alright. This is gonna hurt, but I’ll get you out. Just hold still.” The woodsman inspects the trap with practiced eyes. “Old one,” he mutters to himself. “Springs are stiff. No one’s checked this trap in years.” He glances up at Donner, his expression surprisingly gentle for such a weathered face. “Alright, big guy. I’m gonna wedge this open.”

Donner grits his teeth as the man starts to work, using a crowbar from his pack to pry the jaws open. He brings a hand to his mouth and bites down on his own glove, holding back a scream as the pressure eases for a moment, only to return as the springs resist. It’s excruciating but he does his best to be still despite the all-consuming urge to pull away. 

“Almost…” the woodsman mutters, his brow furrowed with concentration. With a final grunt of effort the trap’s jaws give way and his discards it, immediately whipping off his scarf to wrap it around Donner’s rapidly bleeding ankle. “There.”

“Thanks,” Donner gasps, his head light and fuzzy from shock and blood loss.

He wraps his arm around the woodsman, letting him lift him off the ground and start leading him back the way he came.

⋆❅*𖢔𐂂꙳

Tags: @whumpcember@sapphicccici

[wanderingxiao]

Thirst post~ What If you’re in class with Wanderer and he gets super needy? Mmm~ yes baby! Wanderer is addressed as “Scara” ;)

Suggestive Themes, 18+ only plz~ 💜

✨Wanderer’s Teasing Touches✨

“I swear if you get any closer, Scara. I’m really going to punch you.”

“Heh, you don’t have the courage to do such a thing in class. It’s rather pathetic seeing you so worked up over a few innocent touches. You’re just that needy for me aren’t you?”

God sometimes you really hated this prick. The shit-eating grin on his face was enough to make your blood boil and your fists shake with anger. How did you even begin dating the Wanderer in the first place? It was probably his undeniable attractive features. He was Ill-mannered the first day you met him and he still was, how did you find his personality bearable enough to continue seeing him? You knew that answer. You loved him. Even his stupid condescending words, annoyed and often times judgmental looks, all of it you had grown to love. That doesn’t mean he still didn’t annoy the hell out of you. Just like he is now. His cold hand is rested on your thigh, rubbing light circles. Seems romantic right? Wrong. Not when you’re in class at the Akademiya trying to focus on class when his hand keeps inching closer and closer to your heat.

“Let’s undo these, they’re in my way.” His slender fingers began to stealthily work your pants undone, pushing the silver button through the sewed hole and grasping the golden zipper. Your hand reaches under the table, swatting his hand away as best you can in order to be discreet, but his stealthy fingers get your pants unzipped and down before you can stop him. “Ah, ah, focus on the lecture. Or else you’ll make a failing grade on this next exam. Wouldn’t that be a shame for the straight A goody too shoes to get a bad grade?” His condescending words did nothing to sway your focus on the professor and the exam material. He was really testing the restraint you had not to strangle him at that moment. “I promise we can do it later, just please not here.”

“Tsk, but I want you now. And I take what I want, when I want it. Especially things that are mine.” His slender fingers padded a damp area building in your panties, rubbing slow and antagonizing circles against your core. His touch was cool yet burning all in the same instance. Your body stiffened, legs trying to close on his hand to stop his movements, but you should’ve known that wasn’t going to work. He was unrelenting. “Would you look at that? Already so wet from some simple touches. You might hold yourself on a pedal stool, but face it. We both know you’re just a dirty, perverted, slut.” God you loved it when he called you such degrading and dirty things. You knew he didn’t actual mean his words In the full context, but the fact was that you were a slut for him and him alone. “Your body is more honest than you are. It’s pathetic how weak you are to a man’s touch… you let other men touch you like this?”

“N-No… only you-“ a hand went to your mouth quickly, trying to stifle your own shuddering moan when he started to press harder against your core, moving tantalizingly slow towards a puffy bundle of nerves that rocked your world. A low and teasing chuckle bubbles from his chest, low enough not to draw attention to you both. Your eyes honed in on the professor, shaky to continue focusing on the lecture. “That’s right. You only submit to me like this. You submit only to me, your world, your god.” Your body betrayed you, slowly bucking your hips into his hand, desperate for more of his sensationally electric touch. His voice dropped with sedative seduction, pushing you closer and closer to succumbing to his demands for your body. “Scara… please…”

“You’re getting weak on me now? Before you wanted me not to touch you at all and now you’re sitting here, hot and flustered from this? I should punish you for being such a fucking whore.” His tongue was deathly sharp, pointed edges sticking to every little syllable that fell from his oh so soft lips. You could feel your legs shaking, utterly humiliated by how his lewd and degrading words turned you on. Your hand rested on his thigh under the table, making him stop his movements and come closer to your ear. His large hat covered your head, slightly covering your flushed face. “When did I give you permission to touch me with your filthy dirty hands?” His voice was dark yet so sexy. Suddenly, he plunged two finger deep inside you, letting out a husky and blissful breath against your ear. You quickly closed your mouth and clenched your jaw tightly not to make a sound, your hands leaving him to clench his wrists shakily as a means of support for yourself. “Don’t fucking touch me without my permission first. Is that understood?”

You couldn’t respond, your mouth pretty much sewn shut in order not to let out a loud moan in front of the entire class. His fingertips wiggled slightly before pulling out slightly to ram his fingers back inside, making a small lewdly wet sound. “I said… is that understood?” You nodded your head quickly, removing your death grip on him slowly, letting him have his way with you. He chuckled and gave a small hum into your ear, his tongue coming out to lick the shell of your ear, his large hat covering the sexual scenes from anyone that dared to look. “Good girl. Now spread your legs more for me.” You did as he said, now completely abandoned your earlier protests. He was just too good, it’s impossible to deny him anymore. You wanted to kiss him, you wanted to hug him, touch him, you wanted him to be inside of you. Your eyelashes fluttered as your kids covered your needy eyes, finally nearing your limit. “Scara-“

“I’ll stop there today, see you next class.” Your eyes opened quickly. Everyone was getting up and packing their things to leave the classroom. “Awe, too bad for you.” Wanderer pulled his fingers out and wiped them rudely on your clothes before he gathered his own things and stood. Your hands fumbled with the zipper and button of your pants before you stood with him, eyes narrowing with disappointment. “You better finish what you started… asshole.” A chuckle sounded from the indigo haired man, his dark lavender eyes turning back to stare at you with amusement. “Hah? Since when are you the one to order me around?” You pouted and grabbed your books, holding them tightly against your chest trying to rid yourself of the feeling of your ruined orgasm. He rolled his eyes at your pouting face before breathing out a sexy laugh. “Awe, don’t worry your pretty little head. Just wait till we get home…”

“…I’ll ravage you until you break.”

Got a thirst? Lemme know! I love imagining Scara/Wanderer in sexy situations~ hehe, fluff is always welcome too. Dis man is gonna be the death of me one day I swear 😍💜

-WX

[legacyshenanigans]

Marvolo and MC AU

Being at school together part4,

Other parts are linked in pinned post under the Marvolo series.

Marvolo had no idea why he was doing this. Why was he waiting for her? Why didn't he just walk off to get his own potion ingredients? The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he was getting with himself, she intrigued him, and he hated that..

MC merrily made her way over to him, a sweet smile on her face as he leaned against the wall near the gate in his own world.

MC: You're here!

Marvolo: *Taken back by her bubbly greeting* Yes..You said you wanted to meet here..So here I am.

MC: I didn't think you actually would.

Marvolo: *small smirk* And whys that?

MC: Well..Heh, let's see, you called me a stalker.. You don't like me much..You-

Marvolo: Wait..When did I say I didnt like you?

MC couldn't help a blush from crossing hed cheeks hearing him say that. Marvolo saw it and narrowed his eye's, a playful little smile on his face.

Marvolo: First of all, you DID kinda follow me that night..Second of all, I find you odd..That doesn't mean I hate you or anything...And yet, considering I've been, well, myself, towards you, you still had the strange confidence to ask me to go ingredient picking with you..I found that, intriguing.

MC: *smiles at his words*  Well, I'm glad you don't hate me..And yes *proud silly smile* I AM odd..Thank you.

Marvolo: *confused* That wasn't a compli- *sigh* never mind..Come on then..

He began to wander off, hands in pockets as always, MC watched him for a moment, before he turned back to look at her.

Marvolo: Come on? You little weirdo *chuckles*

MC giggled and caught up beside him, as they walked together she couldn't help but keep taking glances at him, her blush still obvious on her face, she really liked him, and even she didn't really know why. She was just drawn to him. There was something about him she wanted. They reached the entrance to the forest and went inside, finding an area where most of what they needed would be around. Marvolo knelt down next to a patch of Horklumps and began examining and picking them, MC knelt down next to him and went to grab some, when Marvolos hand reached out, grabbing hers to stop her.

Marvolo: Leave those ones. They're getting old.

MC: *looks at him* How do you know? They look fine to me.

Marvolo leaned in right next to her, their faces nearly touching as both of them looked closely at the Horklumps

Marvolo: You see that grey tinge, on the edge of the cap?

MC: Oh! Yes, it's very subtle.

Marvolo: Subtle as it may be, it makes a HUGE difference in your brew when they're old. And not a good one. So leave those. There's more around, go check them out.

Marvolo turned his head to look at MC, she looked back, he was so close to her, she looked into his eyes, and started crushing on him even harder, he narrowed his eye's, MC closed her own, and leaned towards him, like she was leaning in for a kiss, Marvolo smirked, leaning in himself, when they suddenly heard a couple of guys out of nowhere, Marvolo instinctively panicked, and before his lips could plant on hers, he pushed her back into a Bush, making her yelp in confused shock.

Marvolo: Shh. Stay hidden.

He stood, looking for the voices, when two thuggy looking blokes wandered past.

Bloke1: Well well, what we got 'ere? Heh...*whips out his wand*

Marvolo: *frowns and whips out his*

Bloke2: Wait..Thats Gaunts lad...

Bloke1: *squints* Oh shit..You're right.

Marvolo: *heavier frown*

Bloke2: Sorry lad..Go about ya business.

Marvolo: And YOU, go about yours..

Marvolo watched them as they walked away, before he turned towards the bush, seeing MCs face looking up at him, he couldn't help but chuckle.

Marvolo: You can get out of there now..

MC held out her hand for help, Marvolo took a moment to realise what she wanted, he took hold of it in his, and pulled her out, she giggled as she brushed herself off.

MC: Thank you, Marvolo. *sweet smile*

Marvolo: *small curious grin as he plucks a leaf out of her hair* Dont mention it..

~