#all the world disappears when I look in those eyes

[lavenderprose]

Imagine you're Johanna Hezenkoss and your one goal in life is to Be Right All The Time and you've got this sidekick named Emmrich. He can do the whole corpse whispering thing and he's an objectively pretty skilled necromancer but, of course, YOU are Johanna Hezenkoss. And you decide that you like Emmrich enough to drag him along with you to glory. So you spend a few decades doing that. Only Emmrich is six and a half feet of saccharine poetry and fanatical devotion to the core tenants of the Mourn Watch and YOU, Johanna Hezenkoss, are just counting the moments until you can go Beast Mode in this bitch and show everyone what TRUE NECROMANTIC POWER means. So Emmrich weighs you down a bit but you're a little obsessed with him only because he's like. Real? That's a real dude? Saying that shit? Wild. Totally insane. He's like an annoying chattering dog who keeps all your secrets and makes the biggest saddest eyes at you when you say stuff like, "The world could be exactly what we want it to be. Aren't you MAD. Aren't you ANGRY at what they've taken from you. Don't you want to MAKE THEM SUFFER LIKE YOU'VE SUFFERED--"

Yeah. Whatever.

And then Emmrich betrays you because you're scaring him. SCARING him? After everything you've done for him? You were going to reinvent the world--you were going to put him at the top of it all so NOBODY could step on either of you ever again and now he's all, Oh Johanna, you're scaring me, this isn't what we believe in, you're letting your fear control you, blah blah BLAH he never shuts UP

Fear? FEAR, Volkarin? How fucking rich.

Then some stuff happens. Half lich 125 foot skeleton someone named Elgar'nan, maybe a God, who cares. You get so close--SO CLOSE--and then fucking Emmrich rolls in and this time he takes it ALL. Your power and your mortal life and your last remaining shreds of fucking credibility in this fucking world. And then he doesn't even have the basic fucking decency to say I Told You So. He keeps you on his desk like a tchochke and listens to you scream and spit and even THEN he doesn't do anything.

All the while he has his own sidekick now. Some vapid little thing always batting their eyelashes and paying Volkarin the kind of lip service that always distracted him, made his eyes go soft and his chin quiver. He's still such a weak man. You tell him so. You tell him and tell him and tell him until--

The sidekick disappears. Emmrich's eyes go empty and haunted in a way that makes you wonder what he's done to himself in his heartache and grief.

"Whoever did this to you," you tell him on the worst day, "You can make them pay. You're powerful enough. You defeated me." You being, of course, Johanna Balls of Steel fucking Hezenkoss.

"I just want them back," Emmrich admits. Because he's weak WEAK he's a weak man mewling pitifully in a dark room for his piece of ass while the moon rises red in the fucking sky and a God walks the earth.

"You have the power," you tell him. "When the world takes from you, you take those things back. This is what I've been telling you all these years, Volkarin. For once in your miserable life, LISTEN TO ME."

Finally, finally, Emmrich reacts. He screams. He throws a few books. He kicks his desk. Punches something, probably, because his knuckles start bleeding at some point. You watch it all with barely-contained glee. Anger, yes, fucking finally. You've been waiting your whole goddamn life for this man to realize how fucking ANGRY he is.

"How do I break into the fucking Fade?" He screams. He's not even looking at you. His hair is seven different kinds of fucked. His shirt is unbuttoned to the navel, and he's missing a boot.

"You could start by asking someone who's done it," you say. Emmrich turns, startled for some reason to hear you. Again you say, "Listen to me."

"Oh, Johanna," he sighs. "I've rarely done anything else."

It's not the words 'Thank you' or 'You're right'. It's certainly not lichdom or godhood or a 125 foot tall skeleton. But it's one point for Johanna Hezenkoss.

You'll make up the deficit eventually. Volkarin has a kid, after all.

[the-family-business-83]

Unexpected Calling – Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3 | Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel

Prompt: A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in short change and a letter handwritten by a 9-year old girl.

Type: Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader's daughter (platonic obviously), Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: fluff, action, slight angst, might get smutty but idk yet

Warnings: None for this chapter, it's really all fluff. Maybe a slight disclaimer about a lil kid interacting with a total stranger and some mom panic, but nothing bad happens!

Word count: 2.4k

Send me an ask to let me know if you wanna be added to/removed from the taglist!!

A/N: Trying to let myself just enjoy wirting and not overthink it all too much, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a little bit of filler but I thought it was cute and it was fun to write. And yes, I know, it took forever to get posted. I had a lot going on, and I still may not be posting super frequently but to those of you who love this series so far, rest assured: I will still post, even if it's slow.

Any and all mistakes are my own as this chapter is unbeta'd, I did all my own editing/proofreading for this.

Text dividers made by @firefly-graphics <3

Transportation had really come a long way from what he'd been so used to when he was younger. There were planes that's the air of the skies with their quiet rumblings, helicopters that you could hear coming long before they appeared, and cars. Cars were so different these days, he'd gotten used to them but it just wasn't the same. Some part of him still couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of phones being able to connect to the car. And that was just one of many new upgrades.

But Bucky didn't take his trip by air, customs were a bitch to get through on a normal day let alone when he needed to bring weapons with him. He didn't take a train either, because–well. He'd had an uneasy feeling with them ever since 1944 when he fell down the mountainside. So, instead he went by cross-country bus, and kept to himself in his seat once he got on and found one near the back where it was mostly empty. Being perfectly on time, if not a little early, there were a fewhandfuls people that he watched enter in the time that he waited for the bus to start moving. His watchful eye kept them in sight here and there but for the most part, he simply pulled his dark red baseball cap down a little lower and looked out the window to help hide his face. He could only hope that when one passenger entered with not one, not two; but three small children, that they wouldn't be very loud.

Oh how very wrong he had been. Not even 20 minutes into the trip and two of the rugrats were already whining and fighting with each other. Bucky could only stare at them in distaste as he blinked at the sight, wondering how in the world such tiny things could make so much noise. Granted, he'd never really had to deal with children, not like this anyway. And they couldn't have been any older than 3 or 5, each of them. The oldest of the three seemed to be perfectly fine and well-occupied, thank heavens but that didn't make it any more desirable

Sucking a deep breath in, Bucky suppressed the urge to ask the clearly struggling mother to turn off the screeching, and pulled out a book from his day-pack, beginning to flip through it to find his spot. Maybe if he just pretended they weren't there, they would disappear from his mind.

Not likely, but the effort was still made as he focused on the pages of the small paperback copy of The Hobbit he'd brought with him. Glancing up when it once again wasn't working well, he was caught by surprise when suddenly the older child was standing right there by his seat row, and admittedly he tensed in reaction as a sort of mini-flinch. She hadn't said a word, he hadn't even heard her walking over. But there she was, standing with her stuffed bunny in her arms, simply staring at him while he did the same. Both were quiet for a long moment before Bucky glanced up the way towards where her mother sat with her brothers, clearing his throat. "Can I…help you?" He asked a bit awkwardly as he brought his furrowed-brow gaze back to the little girl. Once more, she didn't really say anything, instead just looking him over quietly. Then, she climbed herself up into the seat next to his since it was open, and Bucky was starting to wish he'd put one of his bags there. "Hey, look, kid- your mom- ….what are you doing?"

She shrugged as he stumbled his words out, and glanced down at her bunny fiddling with it a little as she got settled in the seat. "Too loud." Her answer came simply, and while it didn't answer his question completely, he definitely understood the feeling.

Sighing slightly, he glanced towards her troubled mother once more, and then back to bunny-girl. "...Alright, what's your name kid?"

"Mandy." She replied quietly, glancing up at him a moment later with big green eyes. "What's yours mister?"

"Bucky. My name's Bucky." The man paused for a moment then, almost as if debating whether he should send her back to her family yet or not, but she was calm and quiet, and wasn't harming anything. And it wasn't like he was going to let anything happen to a little kid, so he dismissed the idea for now and instead went back to his book.

It was a minute or so later that he felt the little girl–Mandy, he reminded himself silently–leaning over the arm rest between them slightly to see what he was reading. Brows knitting once again, Bucky glanced from the pages to the young girl, whose curly pigtails somewhat bounced in the way of his view of the words. His mouth parted a fraction, ready to let something slip off his tongue to tell her to sit back and let him read. But nothing came. He didn't know how to tell the girl to get out of his space without, well… being a dick. This was a *child* it would have been different had it been an adult. So instead he simply blinked at her in silence as he debated how to handle it.

Mandy seemed to sense he was looking at her though, because then she met his gaze and inched back into place in her seat, curling around her stuffed, yellow bunny, the apology clear in her demeanor. "I just wanted to see your story." She muttered out, albeit the words likely came out a tad muffled because her bunny's head was pressed against her mouth slightly.

Kids. There was something about them that just- got to him. Admittedly, maybe some part of him had a soft spot. One that he'd probably always had, an instinct he'd never been able to shake. And maybe there was something about that moment that reminded him of the slightly younger girl that he'd been on his way to help, that made him realize he was already traveling across the states to investigate the disappearance of some kid's mother. A small gesture really couldn't hurt him. He may not have said anything, but he did nod, and as he brought his crisp blue hues back to the book in his hands, he started reading the words out to her, quietly but still loud enough to be heard against her brothers' tantrums.

Whatever she'd been expecting, Mandy seemed delightfully surprised when he began reading to her, and her eyes lit up as she looked from him to the book, leaning over once again but this time while staying back more in her seat meaning her head rested against his arm lightly, so that he could still see but she couldn't help wanting to peek. There was something about how trusting she was, about how trusting kids often seemed to be, that just genuinely baffled him. Maybe it was because he'd been so jaded for so long that it was just a mind boggling concept to see such innocence. Or maybe it simply was a brilliant anomaly that children lacked the cynicism of their parents and the adults around them, that they saw things grown-ups didn't and thought of things that were unique to them.

Bucky didn't know when the crying and whining had stopped, but eventually the sun went down around them and it was dark in the bus, nothing but the glow-in-the-dark caution stickers and the light of the full moon to let him read the words on the pages. And just as he'd glanced over towards the little girl next to him, seeing that she was well on her way to passing out completely, he heard her mother patter over looking both exhausted and annoyed. "Mandy- for God's sake, you cannot-" only then did the woman seem to register that her daughter was half asleep, not really hearing her mother much and so all that Mandy gave in response was a tired hum as she nuzzled against Bucky's arm a little more.

Well, shit. He may not be experienced with children but he knew enough to know that if he moved she might wake up. And frankly he didn't even know if she'd let him move. Glancing up towards the mother, he offered an apologetic smile. "Didn't mean to scare you…she just kind of walked on over and climbed up. Seemed like you had your hands full so I hope it's okay I kept her busy for you?" He whispered to her, stopping her before she could rage at him–if that was what she'd been about to do, that is. She looked tired, and scared, understandably so. And most of all she looked ashamed that she hadn't even noticed her daughter leave.

"O-oh…thank you, I- I mean, I'm sorry if she caused you any trouble, I just- yeah…those boys…sorry they were so loud, they're in that phase…" she apologized sheepishly in hushed tones of her own, rubbing her palms against the fronts of her jeans as her gaze flicked between her daughter and the quiet stranger of a man. "I passed out and then I…I woke up and she was gone, I'm so sorry sir."

"Not a problem, honestly. She's pretty decent company, let me read in peace with her." Reading that nervousness on the woman’s features, he paused for a moment before shrugging his free shoulder up. "Don't sweat it, I shoulda sent her back…I was going to, believe me but uh. Well, at least now you get a break, right?" He tried to ease her nerves, but then glanced down towards Mandy. "I can carry her back to your seat if you'd like."

He was just so damned kind, she thought. A complete stranger and yet her daughter was clearly safe and well, asleep even and yes, now everything was quiet and she had some time to relax. It didn't stop her mom-dar from going off, but at the very least she'd be a fool to not appreciate his kindness. "No, no it's… it's okay, I don't want to wake her, she's a bit of a light sleeper…just uh, if she wakes up let me know. I'm Erin, by the way…in case that helps." This time it was her turn to offer a kind smile.

"Bucky. Nice to meet you…I'll keep it in mind, hopefully she lets you have a break though." He chuffed an amused breath out his nose.

Doing the same, she shook her head. "Yeah, if only. Thanks, again…I'll let you uh. Read in peace." She teased lightly, taking a hand back through her hair as she went back to her seat before the driver could reprimand her for standing up so long.

Smiling in amusement at that, he watched Erin go back to her sons, and in turn went back to his book after a moment. It was the small things, that made life easier. The small things were what really made things worth it. Sure, saving the world and saving people was big, and it was good. And it was worth it. But sometimes it was moments where he managed to do something more mundane, and helped someone else, that made all the other shit worth it. Because it meant he was still capable of being human.

———

By the time the sun was back up, Bucky rose with it, his eyes slowly opening to the light streaming through the window and he groaned quietly at the crick in his neck from how he'd slept. Running his flesh hand over his face groggily, as he glanced around he noticed that the warmth that had been leaned up against his arm the night day before was no longer there. He would have been concerned, thinking he'd now somehow lost some stranger's child, but he saw the pigtail-bearing girl peeking up over her seat at him a moment later, watching her smile appear once more as she gave him a little wave. Crisis averted. Not like there was anywhere she could really go on a bus, but still.

Despite still being a bit plagued by morning sleepiness, he smiled back and gave the girl a small wave of his own before watching her sink back into her seat properly. Probably at the urging of her mother. His sleepiness didn't last long, though, because soon those boys were back to making noise, but at least it wasn't as much of a headache as yesterday because it was merely them playing and babbling about random things. That was tolerable. And so he relaxed a bit more, rolling out his neck some before he picked up his book again and went on reading.

Somewhere along the way, the lone mother with her trio of children had reached their stop and were gathering their things to leave. It was Mandy who escaped her mother's sight once again to go see the kind man at the back of the bus who had read to her, bunny still in her arms but this time with a warm smile in place. "Hi Mr. Bucky! Mommy said I shouldn't bother you again… but I just wanted to say I liked your story and you're very nice." She didn't give him time to process all of that before she climbed up in the same seat as before, and kissed his cheek for a moment before hearing her mother call her name.

"You're welcome, Mandy. I think your mom needs you though, better get going." He encouraged even as he seemed surprised by her display of affectionate gratitude. The little girl wiggled back down from the seat then, but not without turning to wave at him, walking backwards to do so. "Bye Mr. Bucky!" She rushed the words out before running along to catch up to her mother. Watching her run along, he smiled at her little goodbye, and waved back at her as she went on her way. He wished that woman luck with her undoubtedly trouble-filled journey, honestly. Because he had his own coming up and somehow he felt like she was going to have it harder.

The rest of his ride went on rather uneventful, and when he arrived at his stop it was almost nighttime. But he was all the more closer to getting this job done, so saddling himself up with all his bags, he made his way into town and started heading for the address he'd gotten on the envelope.

Tags: @baw1066 @fluffydanger @vicmc624 @sjsmith56 @capswife @dispatchvampire @sofi1sstuff @sarbear94 @impeterporker @hhiggs @safiraish @kayden666 @saltedcoffeescotch @mcubuckyandsteve @thebuckybarnesvault @himikotoga

[joeyalohadream]

Find the word

How it works: I search for the words prev assigned me in my latest WIP and then choose four words for you to search for in your WIP.

Thank you @rambleonwaywardson (truly so excited to see new words from you! 💕)

My words: earth, sky, slow, luck

All from Chapter Four of Let your heart be light

Earth

It’s John’s turn to laugh at the message and he does so, trying to picture a grouchy Gale, maybe with a pout on his pillowy lips. It’d be a sight and it’s added to the list of things to look forward to. [11:04pm] John: Well, we can’t have that. [11:04pm] John: Are you in bed? [11:05pm] Buck🎄: I am. He hasn’t seen the upstairs of Gale’s little cottage yet and wonders what his bedroom is like. Filled with wooden furniture and creature comforts? Earth toned walls and soft bedding? A book on the night stand and a blanket on the foot of the bed? Is Bailey curled up on him? Have the dogs moved from their beds to his? He knows that he’ll learn all of these things with time and it sends his heart thudding along to put himself there, even just in his mind. [11:05pm] John: Snug as a bug? [11:06pm] Buck🎄: Yes, John. [11:06pm] John: Sleep tight, baby. Only good dreams allowed Dots appear and disappear for a full minute and John lets his thumb smooth over Gale’s name again.

Sky and Slow

The air is crisp and cold but the biting chill that had been in the wind since the snow blew in two days ago is not present this morning. The sun is out, shining in a cloudless sky and Gale’s having a good day. He’s sold eight trees, had two cups of coffee, one that he’d mixed with the peppermint hot chocolate Brady had greeted him with. He’d woken up to a text that John had sent just after midnight telling him he was home safe and sent a good morning message in return. Gotten back a simple ‘good morning, sunshine’ text back two hours later that had him smiling into the collar of his coat as he salted the sidewalks. And now John’s on his way again. For the fourth day in a row, John’s on his way to see him. To spend time with him and buy him a hot chocolate and maybe put one of those strong arms around him as they walk the farm and look for a tree for him to take to work. He wonders if John will notice if Gale goes intentionally slow on their search to stretch out the time. Will he kiss him hello when he gets out of his truck? Is that a thing Gale gets to have now? He hopes so.

Luck [10:59pm] Buck🎄: Think I might like dancing if it’s with you John pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes crinkling, stomach fluttering again. [11:00pm] John: I’ll start brainstorming for a good song. Gotta find the perfect one to hold you close to. [11:01pm] Buck🎄: Just google, ‘longest song in the world’. He barks out a laugh, head shaking, feeling warm inside and out because of this sweet man. He’s never been a lucky guy so how did he find him? How can he make sure he gets to keep him? [11:01pm] John: You gotta stop being so damn adorable when I’m not there to see it in person. It’s not fair [11:02pm] Buck🎄: As you wish. I’m falling asleep anyway, better let it happen. John frowns down at the message. [11:02pm] John: 😞

NO PRESSURE tagging @swifty-fox , @heretoobsessstuff , @stars-remain2 and @pinenutpbj

Your words are: heat, step, heavy, light

[cs-fox]

https://www.tumblr.com/cs-fox/770969455991930880/hybrid-au-tf141-a-request-from-a-poll-i-did-a

Reader being unsure of why the hell there’s a random cat on base but doesn’t know it’s ghost, gives cat a name(almost definitely a tomcat so he’s got puffy jowls/cheeks) and gives the cat a collar and spoils the shit out of the cat and when the cat disappears for hours at a time(ghost training rookies or whatever) reader worries and then at night the cat comes back and immediately acts like everything is all okay and fine

Cat name ideas: Sapling, Shelley, something with maybe an S or a G(for Simon or Ghost)

You hadn’t expected the tortoiseshell cat you’d met the day before to stick around - so you assumed it had bailed through your open bathroom window when you found out your quarters were free of any animal.

It had been a sweet creature, curling up on your pillow as you slept, and bounding around your quarters as you washed your hair. It’s honey gold eyes - God, they were beautiful.

You tried to ignore the fact you couldn’t shake the feeling those same eyes were watching you as you did your reps in the gym.

That was quite easy, of course, your Lieutenant’s training sessions were brutal; so when you collapsed onto the squishy couch in the middle of your room the last thing on your mind was cats.

A sigh left your lips as your sweat-soaked skin cooled under the subzero A/C. It quickly turned into a squeak, though, when something soft and warm tried to jump into your lap.

The cat.

It looked like a bundle of darkness, mottled fur rippling as it settled between your legs, paws kneading your aching thigh.

‘Fuck -‘ you groaned. ‘Watch it, puss. That’s sore…’

‘Mrrrow,’ the cat stared up at you with those adorable eyes.

Slowly, you leaned back, head lolling back (because you were much too large for this couch’s short backrest, compliments of a military diet and three hours of training a day) and closed your eyes.

You woke up from your nap about forty-six minutes later by your watch, and stood up to stretch.

‘RROW!’

‘Shit!’

Two doleful amber eyes stared up at you reproachfully, and the cat stalked off, tail in the air huffily.

‘No… I’m so sorry,’ you groaned, running a hand through your mussed hair.

You ambled into the kitchenette, flicking on the kettle and reaching up to grab a mug from one of the tiny floating cabinets above your microwave.

It only took a minute to rummage for the teabags this time; your fingers scrabbling at a beaten-up box inscribed “Earl Grey” for a second before you managed to untangle a pouch.

You were just about to pour water over your teabag when you heard a soft noise. The cat had vaulted up onto the countertop, and was now watching you with great interest. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he was asking for a cuppa.

‘If you say so,’ you shrugged, pouring a little of the deep amber liquid onto a saucer and pushing it across to the animal. It began to lap at the tea, purring loudly.

‘Fuck me dead,’ you chuckled, taking a sip. ‘Even the cats here like tea.’

After a second of silence, you hummed out a thought. ‘You need a name, don’t’cha?’

The cat didn’t respond. Duh.

‘What about… my mum’s cat used to be named Sammy. What about Sammy?’

Again, no protest from the cat.

‘Sounds good, then.’

You pretended to toast the animal, lifting your mug and raising your eyebrows with a grin.

/\

You didn’t seriously expect the cat to stick around that night, but lo and behold, there it was, curled up on your covers when you rose at 5:37 AM.

It shifted, and made a noise as though for all the world it was yawning, before its eyes locked on you.

For a moment, you simply stared at each-other, the cat looking absolutely terrified, before it scrambled to its feet and fucked off out the open bathroom window.

‘Hey-!’ you tried, but smacked a hand to your forehead. Cats were cats. You’d eat your holster if it came when you called it.

‘Bloody animal,’ you swore, already starting to pull on your shorts, attempting to psych yourself up for another early-morning gym visit.

AAAACK I LOVE THIS IDEAAA

ok I’m relating to reader sm. I talk to animals like that too girlie 😂😂🥲 I’m insane ❤���❤️❤️

[er9tic]

barty crouch jr — headcanons ( for @loonsloon ily )

i headcanon him as any eastern asian ethnicity because i can .

barty being born an only son so all the pressure falls onto him and him only .

he was a hatstall between ravenclaw and slytherin — though for my personal indulgence i do adore ravenclaw bcj .

deriving from canon descriptions , barty always did excel in academics , but particularly in subjects barty sr never cared much for . he enjoyed literature and philosophy ( do they even teach those in hogwarts ? def not lol ) , questioning the world as it is , subjects that can’t make up a soldier out of a boy . but the fact that he was quite the dorky bookworm was always hidden, cast under his need to present as careless for knowledge and schoolings because his father stressed it was meaningless compared to the tough grit a soldier should embody .

barty was initially dyslexic & was born into the world deaf . i kind of … ick at the idea of magic correcting disabilities , it’s just erasure ? so yes ! he is deaf ! and when he acquires the right auditory tools to help him hear again ( because i’m sure hearing aids exist ) , barty relies on listening to read and study for the time that he’s unable to accomodate his dyslexia . i imagine it was probably why barty sr sought him hopeless in the academia department , and why barty never confided in his father about the struggle either . ( a little bartylus headcanon — he would get regulus to read out for him until they learnt a spell that accommodated his dyslexia ) .

barty was difficult to get along with at first with the rest of the skittles group . he has a sharp tongue and keeps to himself in underlying fear of not meeting people’s expectations , so he avoids it instead . regulus however caught his eye first , because he was the image of perfection and somehow barty envied that in a sense . it’s an academic rivals to close friends to lovers sort of thing for them .

barty warmed up to pandora next , before anyone else . somehow her peculiar nature reminded him of his mother’s witchiness ( in canon lore it’s said she was a wispy looking witch , wtvr that means ) . he grows protective over her in a way a brother would , and is probably the softest with her than anyone else .

barty copped more emotional / verbal abuse than physical but when it was physical he usually grew more reserved and pushy against those who care for him — again in avoidance because what if he isn’t good enough ?

barty sr had a habit of grabbing barty’s hair at times during physical fits , so one day barty begged regulus to shave it off to a buzz so nobody could ever tug on his hair again.

barty always is known to have an ‘ugly’ resonating nature — and is naturally attractive for the way he’s quite disturbing and confronting to look at . he isn’t completely good looking but he isn’t horrible to look at either . his buzzed hair and intentionally pierced ears , his split tongue ( because he can and will ) , all those bold elements of his making up contrast the perfection appearances of his lovers ( aka regulus being the image of perfection, evan being a beautiful looking boy i’ll speak more on it in another post ).

barty develops a phobia of magic when he breaks out of the imperious curse . in a canon divergence au where sad sad voldy dies or temporarily disappears until he reappears later in golden era , he probably disappears to the muggle world to live out his days and cope with an environment free of magic that can control him. he despises being around the essence of magic, feeling it bend the laws of existence , just as his father did him.

however barty coming back as moody and taking control of his body probably is his way of coping with the trauma his father inflicted on him by using the imperius curse ( yeah it probably takes place after he’s caught being a DE but i’m sure it wasn’t sr’s first time using it on him ) . if he can control someone else’s body freely , he doesn’t have to feel like he can’t control his own at times .

the imperius curse probably had dissociative impacts on him where barty , after his father dies , struggles with discerning between past and present . he’ll look at his hands and question if he’s the one in control or not , or feel outside - of - body experiences where his own body is a mere vessel or carcass .

he struggles to understand regulus at first because he learns of his silence in conditions he clearly is unhappy about . it reminds him of his mother in a sense who watched her husband do wrong , inflict harm to her and her son and yet never did anything about it . possibly why he holds an ounce of resentment or a grudge to regulus before he softens up and opens his mind .

i’m sleepy and i can’t think of anything else so enjoy xx

[abarbaricyalp]

Hi! How about 19 or 23 for the hand-holding prompts?

Well, I was going to put those together, but then the mood got a little too serious for 19 23: Holding hands under the table

There was not just Sarah and the boys.

There wasn't another immediate Wilson sibling, despite Sam continuously trying to trick Bucky (and convincing Sarah to play along every now and then) into thinking there was a lost brother. But both Paul and Darlene Wilson had siblings, so Sam and Sarah had a ton of cousins and whatever the next generation would be to them. Darlene's family, the Blakes, mostly lived on the other side of New Orleans. The other Wilsons lived down the coastline, towards Texas. Paul and Darlene had settled on Delacroix as a kind-of mid-point between their families.

Sam talked about long summer trips that always had to be a Thing as far as planning went, because wrangling two young kids for hours in the car was not a two-way-one-day kind of affair. He talked about weekends spent in New Orleans, or showing his cousins around all the bayous of Delacroix. He talked about threatening to run away to the pine forests of the Louisiana-Texas border when he was a teenager, because he'd spent so many summer weeks exploring them as a kid.

Bucky hadn't met any of them, except for the odd cousin who drifted through town and came to say hi to Sam and Sarah. Time went on and families grew and big gatherings were less likely to come to fruition. Besides, Sam was busy and it's not like Bucky could just go to the smaller functions with Sarah. (Well, he could, but he wasn't going to. That would just be...imposing, probably)

But there was Paul and Darlene's Celebration of Life 25th Anniversary and almost everyone had said they'd be there. And despite the fact that Bucky got such bad cold feet the night before he slept on the boat to avoid being even more overwhelmed, Sam still told him to come. Please. It was always the please that got him. He'd deny Sam very little in the world, truth be told, but once that please was out there, he was a fish on a hook.

Sarah kept saying not everyone was there but Bucky couldn't believe that. There were so, so, so, so many people. The same creeping dread that had plagued him the night before was back, curling at his stomach and keeping a flush high on his face.

He wanted to make a good impression, but that was difficult even for the best life partners. The fact that many of these people probably already had an opinion of him was making it much worse. The fact that it was Sam and Sam deserved the sun, the moon, and all the stars was the real nail in the coffin. Everyone here should know that and instead, there was Bucky on his arm instead.

It was interesting to keep catching Sam's features in other people's faces. He knew Sam took more heavily after his mom. Many of the Blakes had the same gap in their teeth and his high cheekbones. But someone had come up to him almost immediately when he arrived--an older woman that Sam didn't seem to recognize, but hid well--and grabbed his face as she said in a watery but proud breath, "Oh, you look just like him. I can't believe it."

And then she'd disappeared and left Sam blinking at nothing.

It was interesting too to see how many of the younger generations of Wilsons did look like Sam and Sarah as well. All tall and regal in a way Bucky didn't think should be genetic but apparently was. It was the hidden features where Paul came out on Sam's face. Their eyes, namely. Apparently they glinted the same way. And the crooked set of their mouths. "Oh, trouble," one of Sam's aunts had said halfway through a scheme of his and a cousin's. "No, no, no. Paulie used to make the same face. You go sit down. Have some cake." And she shooed him off, away from some strange beer bottle bowling pin game construction.

Sam talked like Paul too, Bucky learned from other people at the event, the handful who talked to him when Sam wasn't beside him. Sure, on the TV, for sure. But also just as he meandered around the party and cajoled stories from people or pitched into his own epic tales. (No, he had not actually caught a three foot long fish recently, nor had he battled a horde of aliens in Oregon the other day. There were, like, six max)

Bucky picked up stories about Paul and Darlene too. People telling him about silly things Sam had done in high school that his parents had as well. The way Sam was carrying on their memory in everything he did now. One man from the church swore him to secrecy and gave him Paul Wilson's old sermon's book, which was filled with lectures he'd given, but dozens and dozens of stories he hadn't shared. Lots of them pertaining to Sam.

"I just knew," the man said, patting Bucky's hand on the journal, "One day I'd be able to give this away to someone else to take care of. You can't give it to him." This was imperative in the deal. "But you must remind him of what's in it, always. And you can't die," he added seriously, teeth clicking together with the force of his words. "I was gonna give it to his friend from the military, but he died before he came back. I wouldn't have ever gotten it back. Sam would've had it. You can't let him have it."

This was more responsibility than Bucky was expecting. Sarah had told him to distract the kids and make sure people didn't take half the strawberry pretzel cake in one go. (Three different people were culprits for this and Bucky had to stop a whole different, younger, person from taking a quarter of it at a time.) And it was a responsibility he didn't fully understand. Still, Bucky nodded, just as seriously, and put the notebook in his backpocket. He'd have to stash it in the truck later because his backpocket was for Sam's hand, but Sam was helping set up the slideshow inside, so he was safe for now.

(When he'd asked about the man, Sam had said he was his godfather. He and Paul had been closer than twins growing up, but had drifted apart as Sam and Sarah grew up. Still called now and then, but not regularly. Sent the same birthday present every year, but it was never late)

Thankfully, the meal was inside. Not thankfully, Sam, Sarah, and the boys were, of course, at the front of the hall and Bucky could only hide behind Sam's shoulder for so long.

The slideshow full of images of Paul and Darlene as kids, as young people, and their life as a couple and a family played on the stage. There were so many pictures, Bucky didn't think it would have to loop over. Sam explained why there were some gaps, where albums or cameras had been ruined in storms or other catastrophes. It only took a few moments for Sam to grab Bucky's hand beneath the table.

His fingers were shaking and, when Bucky looked up at him, his throat kept bobbing as he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed.

"Sweetheart," Bucky whispered, leaning forward to be close enough for only Sam to hear. "Are you alright?"

"Don't sweetheart me right now," Sam breathed back, eyes squeezing shut for a few seconds before he opened them again. His waterlines were wet, eyes shining. "I'm fine. Just...don't let go of my hand. Please."

Bucky nodded, took the opportunity to kiss Sam's shoulder, and sat back in his seat. He put both hands around Sam's, one to tangle their fingers together and one to trace nothing designs into Sam's skin. Sam squeezed his hand in acknowledgement and then loosened his hold again.

Many different people spoke. People from the church, people from the foodbank, which Darlene had helped run apparently, their friends, their family. Someone talked about sleeping on the Wilson's couch for two weeks while she figured a safe way out of town, how the Wilsons didn't know her from anyone but opened their door to her anyway, that she named her daughter Darlene.

Sam squeezed his hand and Bucky squeezed it back, moving his thumb along the length of Sam's fingers, back to his knuckles, and up the next one, slow and constant and firm.

The last person to speak was a woman Sam knew, but who Bucky hadn't gotten to talk to. She had just been finishing her conversation with Sam when Bucky had found him again earlier, stuck around long enough for Sam to make his introductions before she was pulled away. She knew Paul and Darlene from around town. Wouldn't say she was a best friend, more a busy body, but she kept an eye on them, so lovely and young as they were, perfect little children too.

"And that's where I'd like to end the speeches for tonight," she said. "With their children. Sam, Sarah, your mama and papa wouldn't have asked for a better legacy in life. Watching you grow up, in the face of joy and adversity, with grace and poise and dignity and elegance. The world was better to have your parents in it, but the world is just as good since you are both here too. We all know of our hometown superhero, but you both, and your parents, were super long before there were any aliens and wings and suits involved. At celebrations of life, I do love to look at the future of these memories. Paul and Darlene are in the best, kindest, strongest hands. This entire room is their future, but you were everything to them and now you are all that they are too."

Sam's throat moved again, but before Bucky could understand what he was doing, Sam had turned and collapsed against Bucky's side, face against Bucky's shoulder. His hand was shaking so badly, it was making Bucky's arm twitch. Bucky kept holding onto him, having to stop smoothing over his hand so he could wrap that arm around Sam's shoulders, hand against his head.

Sam cried silently against his shoulder, warm tears soaking through Bucky's shirt quickly. Bucky adjusted his hand so he could hold Sam's more firmly.

"I've got you," he murmured softly. "It's alright. You're alright."

"I miss them so much. I just want them to know I love them."

Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head and stayed there. "They know, Sammy. Of course they do."

"They made me. Of course everything I do is them. I'm who I am 'cause of them. And no one else knows their name."

"Baby, look at how many people came out to celebrate them. They know. They all know."

"It's not enough. I'm not doing--" Sam voice stuttered off and he clung onto Bucky's hand even harder.

"They love you, Sam," Bucky said softly, kissed his head again. "And they're proud of you. Everything about you. You are a miracle."

Sam swiped at his eyes quickly, took in another stuttering breath. "How many people are looking at me?"

Pointedly, no one was looking at him, but that was a terrible answer. "The cornbread just refreshed, so everyone's fighting over the biggest pieces," Bucky said instead. "No one's looking at you."

"Mrs. Miriam can't cut an even slice, even if angel wings were waitin' for her afterwards," Sam said. Bucky let the posturing go without comment. He wiped his eyes again, sniffled, and then cleared his throat.

No sooner had he sat up than one of the cousins' little ones came tripping over and climbed into Sam's lap while her mom shouted at her to leave him alone. "Mr. Sam," she said seriously. "I want to fly. How do I do that?" She waved a bat plushie for emphasis.

Sam laughed, watery but stronger. "Well, you have to eat your vegetables," he said seriously.

Instantly her nose scrunched. "Even the okra?" she asked.

"Especially the okra!" Sam cried out in affront.

"Okra is gross," Bucky agreed with her conspiratorially.

The girl thrilled with vindication and launched into a story about how she broke her arm leaping off of a tree (another thing that must be genetic because Sam and Sarah had done that too) and Sam caught his breath while listening to her. He squeezed Bucky's hand again.

Bucky squeezed it back and did not let go.

[ilykol]

“may i have this dance?”

pairing . neutral!reader x kol mikaelson. summary . you and kol share a fun, playful moment in the rain, enjoying each other’s company, before a surprising twist brings you closer. genre . fluff. word count . 846

a/n: i've been a little out of ideas lately, i'm sorry for the inactivity. requests are open.

the first drops of rain fell as you stood by the fountain in the garden, looking up at the sky. kol had been teasing you all evening, as usual, but now his sharp wit was momentarily silenced as he watched you tilt your face to the clouds.

kol stood a few steps away, his arms crossed as he watched you with amusement. “you realize it’s going to pour any second now.” he said, his eyebrow arching as if to challenge you.

“good.” you replied simply, stepping into the middle of the garden path where the rain began to fall more steadily. you turned to face him, your arms outstretched. “what’s the point of staying dry when we can have a little fun?”

kol’s smirk widened. “and what exactly do you propose, love? should we twirl around like characters from one of those dreadful romantic films?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your grin. “why not? unless, of course, you’re scared you'll make a fool of yourself.”

“scared?” kol scoffed, taking a step closer. “hardly. but if i'm going to humor you, i expect a proper invitation.”

you held out your hand, giving him a dramatic, sweeping bow as if you were dressed in an elaborate ballgown. “kol mikaelson,” you said with mock formality, “may i have the honor of this dance?”

his eyes sparkled with mischief as he mirrored your gesture, bowing with an exaggerated flourish. “the honor is mine, darling.”

he took your hand, pulling you closer, and placed his other hand lightly on your waist. the moment his touch settled there, a shiver ran down your spine—not from the rain, but from the sudden realization of how close he was.

“try to keep up.” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk as he spun you clumsily, your feet slipping slightly on the wet stone.

you both laughed, the sound echoing through the rain-soaked garden. he twirled you again, this time pulling you closer so your chest brushed his. his gaze lingered on you for a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something warmer.

the playful banter slowed as the dance turned less chaotic. his steps steadied, his movements gentler, and you couldn’t help but notice how his hand lingered just a bit longer at your waist with each turn.

the rain poured harder now, plastering your hair to your face, but neither of you seemed to care. it was just the two of you, moving together as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

kol’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you said a word. the laughter had faded, replaced by a quiet anticipation that hung between you like the rain itself.

your heart raced as his hand slid just slightly, his thumb brushing your side. you glanced at his lips, then back to his eyes, and you swore you saw his smirk falter ever so slightly.

“kol..” you murmured, unsure of what you wanted to say but knowing you couldn’t look away.

he tilted his head, his voice dropping to a soft, teasing whisper. “what is it, love? lost for words?”

you hesitated, caught in the intensity of his gaze. the rain dripped down his face, tracing along his cheekbones, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from flickering back to his lips.

“go on, love. do it.” kol’s smirk softened into something more serious, his voice low.

your breath caught, and for a second, you froze. then, before you could overthink it, you leaned in. the kiss was tentative at first, soft and shy, as if neither of you wanted to break the fragile moment. but when kol’s hand tightened ever so slightly at your waist, pulling you closer, you melted into him, the rain forgotten entirely.

when you finally pulled back, your cheeks were warm despite the chill. kol grinned at you, his smirk equal parts smug and affectionate.

“see? wasn’t so hard, was it?” he teased softly, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

before you could reply, a sharp throat-clearing broke the spell.

both of you turned to see elijah standing under the doorway of the house, his expression composed but unmistakably amused.

“while your theatrics are most entertaining,” elijah said, his tone cool, “i would suggest you dry off before ruining the floors.”

kol rolled his eyes dramatically. “thank you, mother.” he called back, earning a raised eyebrow from elijah.

you couldn’t hold back your laughter, leaning into kol slightly as he grinned down at you.

“well, darling.” he said, leaning closer so only you could hear. “shall we obey the all-knowing elijah or have one last kiss before we retreat?”

you didn’t answer with words. instead, you pulled him down for another kiss, slower this time, savoring the moment as the rain poured down around you. it wasn’t until your fingers tangled in his wet hair that you realized you didn’t care how soaked you were.

eventually, you both broke apart, laughing softly as you headed back to the house, hand in hand, leaving a trail of water behind you.

DO NOT COPY / TRANSLATE / STEAL ANY OF MY WORK .

[sheddr]

We can't escape each other

No matter how hard we try

I touch your hand — careful and in no way sudden

And drown in your green warming eyes

[slumbergoblin]

Copying and pasting a thing I wrote in notepad: Ages: Shortly before Betrayus's disappearance/Present day in story (year born in our years) (heights)

*= OC

Kids Pac: was 3, is currently 14 (2008) (160cm, 5'3") Cylindria: was 4, is currently 15 (2007) (165cm, 5'5") Spiral: was 6, is currently 17 (2005) (180cm, 5'11") Skeebo: was 5, is currently 16 (2006) (173cm, 5'8") Elliptica: was 5, is currently 16 (2006) (175cm, 5'9")

Adults Betrayus: was 39, is currently 50 (1972) (187cm, 6'1") Stratos: was 43, is currently 54 (1968) (218cm, 7'2") *Oscar: was 41, is currently 52 (1970) (167cm, 5'6") *Mei: was 41, is currently 52 (1970) (154cm, 5'1") Zac: was 33, is currently 44 (1978) (175cm, 5'7") Sunny: was 33, is currently 44 (1978) (165cm, 5'4") Spheria: was 48, is currently 59 (1963) (184cm, 6'0") Sir C.: was 59, is currently 70 (1952) (162cm, 5'3")

(adults years apart) Betrayus and Stratos are 4 years apart Oscar and Mei are a couple of months apart Betrayus, Mei, and Oscar are 2 years apart Stratos, Mei, and Oscar are 2 years apart Zac and Sunny are a couple of months apart Betrayus, Zac, and Sunny are 6 years apart Stratos, Zac, and Sunny are 10 years apart Oscar, Mei, Zac, and Sunny are 8 years apart Zac, Sunny, and Spheria are 15 years apart Spheria and Sir C. are 11 years apart Spheria and Stratos are 5 years apart Spheria and Betrayus are 9 years apart Stratos and Sir C. are 16 years apart

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage

The thing is, Tim didn't mean to put it on. He was just kind of playing with it to keep his hands busy while he was thinking about the recent murder case. GCPD had their hands full with the serial robbers that didn't rank high enough to catch Batman's attention, and Tim never had a problem with helping the police if he had time.

And the ring was a perfect fidget toy, if he is being honest. Small and plain enough not to distract him, but the round stone in the middle was loosely attached, making it able to spin inside the frame. Which is what he did, again and again, like those fidget spinners.

Of course, he was just destined to drop it sooner or later. And then, when he reached under the table to pick it up, his finger caught inside the ring, and, well.

The ring was now firmly on his finger.

The problem was that he couldn't take it off.

It wasn't stuck, at least not in the general sense of it - Tim could easily spin it around, and it wasn't tight. But it wasn't loose either, and as soon as he tried to move it past the knuckle, the ring heavily disagreed, almost like shrinking down and absolutely refusing to be detached.

Barbara suggested soap, which didn't work. Dick tried for a more mechanical approach, first with pliers and then with a laser, which the ring resisted with no effort. Cass, who was actually the one who brought the damned thing into the Cave after one of her adventures in Hong Kong, just smiled and shrugged, which was of no help either. Damian offered to cut the finger off, which probably would have helped, but Tim rather liked all his limbs attached.

Bruce called Constantine. The magician took one look at the ring, barked a humorless laugh, and pat Tim on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Congrats, mate," he said, a wry smile on his lips, "I hope you file for divorce."

Although, while all the rest of the Bats and Birds devolved into fits of hysterical laughter (Steph), indignant sputtering (Damian), and cries of outrage (everyone else sans Alfred, who was pointedly unimpressed), Tim couldn't even bring himself to be surprised. Really, his life had been a shitshow since he was around ten. It's not like he didn't expect himself to be accidentally married to some otherworldly magical creature by this point.

The worst part - worse than the actual engagement, that is - was that Constantine couldn't exactly tell them who the spouse was.

What he did say was that the Ring belonged to the King of Infinite Realms, Keeper of Unseen Worlds, and Eyes of Universe. But those were only titles, and, as John Constantine begrudgingly admitted, there has been a change in the management recently, so no one really knew what the new almighty monarch looked like or what they were, much less their whereabouts.

"You can't blame me for not being keen to find out, though," John said, wincing, "The last one was a bloody tyrant, and the Realms operate under the right of conquest rule."

At least, the mage assured them that since the being had not yet come to collect their shiny new spouse, they might never show up at all. The Ring has been lost for ages after all, so maybe the King didn't even remember having one. Or, the previous King didn't, and the new one didn't know about or didn't care.

The first week after the incident, they spent anxiously researching and worrying. Bruce even went as far as making Tim wear a tracker at all times, which was not great, but he did appreciate the gesture. Kind of.

After the first month with no sign of any changes, the worry started to abate. In half a year, most of the family stopped trying to keep an eye on Tim at all times lest he suddenly disappeared. Two years later, even Tim himself treated the Ring as a natural part of his daily life. The stone inside was still a great fidget toy, engagement or not.

Three years, one month, and five days after Tim first put the Ring on his finger, when the world was falling apart and breaking in front of him and there was not a single thing he could do to stop it anymore, Tim pressed his lips to the cold, dark strip of unknown metal on his finger.

"Whoever you are, I don't even care, please," he whispered in a useless prayer, his voice hoarse and his throat dry, "please, help."

And the world came to a stop with a short, amused chuckle.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

[part 2 ->]

[beloveds-embrace]

part 2 of baker!reader + do not ever ask me to write accents lmao i suck at those 💀😭 and a huge thank you to all the sweet and dessert suggestions! i couldn't add all of them, but oh my god did i love all of them and choosing between them was sooo hard (that's what she said). if your dessert didn't make it here im soo sorry 😭

It was a quiet morning when you finally decided to reopen the bakery. The town had been whispering, speculating about the sudden disappearance of your husband—tragic, they said, to be found mauled by a bear in the woods. You hadn’t shed a tear, hadn’t flinched at the news. Maybe that was cruel of you, but after what you had endured, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything for him anymore. Not fear, not sadness—just relief.

And now, with the bakery open once again, you felt lighter. Freer.

The 141 boys were there first thing, as you had hoped. Each one walking into the cozy space like they belonged there. Their heavy, winter boots made the wooden floors creak, their towering frames somehow making the space feel intimate rather than intimidating. You smiled as the familiar smell of fresh bread and sugar lingered in the air, the warmth of the ovens cocooning you and the rest of the bakery in comfort. Free from that terrible man you’d called a husband, it was as if the world itself was taking on a more vibrant color.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John greeted you, his eyes crinkling beneath his hat, though there was something watchful in his gaze.

“Bonnie,” Johnny chirped, leaning on the counter, his eyes sparkling as they usually did when he spoke to you. “Place smells heavenly as always.”

“You’re open today, huh?” Kyle said, grinning as he eyed the display of pastries lined up neatly behind the glass. “Missed our favorite baker, honestly.”

Simon didn’t say anything at first, just gave you a long, steady look from behind his mask. You knew he had seen the signs. He was the only one who had seen the bruises, had taken your hands so gently that day and whispered that promise. You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t said anything in return, but you had trusted him all the same. You are glad you did. You are so glad it’d been him to see.

Now, as you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter, your heart was lighter than it had been in months. “Everything’s on the house today,” you said, your smile wider than it had been in ages. “For you guys, at least. After all… I’ve got a few new things for you to try.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that so? Then we’re in for a treat, eh boys?”

You went back to the counter, pulling out a few trays and plates, your hands moving quickly as you started setting them down in front of the men, watching their eyes light up at the spread. “I’ve been experimenting,” you said, your voice light, almost teasing. “For John, I’ve got pecan pie. Thought you might like it—something a bit rich, a bit warm.” Like you, goes unsaid but you hoped he still heard it.

John’s eyes gleamed as he accepted the slice you placed in front of him. “Always knew you were a mind reader,” he murmured with a chuckle, cutting into the pie and taking a bite. The smile that spread across his face was slow, but appreciative.

“For you, Kyle, lemon meringue tarts. Something sharp, refreshing. A little tangy,” you said, setting the plate in front of him. “And a bit sweet, too. Had a feeling you’d like it!”

Kyle laughed, picking up the tart and admiring it at first. “You know me too well.” He took a bite, his eyes widening at the burst of lemon on his tongue and then groaning in delight. “Perfect, as always.”

Simon watched you closely, and when you placed a plate of apple fritters in front of him, his gaze softened just slightly. “Made these with you in mind,” you said, your voice gentle. “Thought you’d appreciate something classic, Si. Simple, but comforting.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just nodded in that way of his, taking the fritter in his gloved hand. When he took a bite, his eyes closed briefly, and you could see the silent approval in the way his shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly.

“And for you, Johnny,” you giggled, setting down a small bowl of Cranachan in front of him. “Thought you might like something traditional- whisky, raspberries, oats, and cream. Feels like a bit of home, doesn’t it? At least I hope so. It was my first time making it.”

Johnny beamed all the same, eagerly reaching for a spoon. “Ah, bonnie, you’re spoiling us.”

But it wasn’t just them you were thinking of. You had made a fresh batch of focaccia bread for yourself, but this wasn’t just any bread- it was bold, spiced with rosemary and topped with chilli flakes and garlic. It was a reflection of your own newfound boldness. You’d been quiet, subdued for so long. Now, you wanted to feel alive again.Perhaps it might seem corny, but this focaccia bread meant to signify that for you.

You set a slice of the focaccia on a plate for yourself, taking a bite as you sat with them, your smile not faltering for a second. It was savoury- settling warmth in your stomach. “I think this might be my new favorite, actually.” you said with a soft laugh. In your mind, you were already thinking of making and selling more of it.

They didn’t say much in response, still tasting their own desserts, but you could feel their appreciation, their understanding, in the quiet way they accepted it.

The rest of the bakery was alive with the smell of freshly baked treats: rich brownies, soft sugar cookies, fluffy cronuts, and delicate eclairs. Tres leches cakes sat next to pumpkin pies, while apple and custard empanadas filled the air with their sweet, warm scent. Cheesecakes, cardamom rolls, strawberry lamingtons—the selection was almost overwhelming, but everything sold well. Especially the bear claw pastries. You smiled softly to yourself at the irony. The bearclaw pastries might also be your new favorite, right alongside the focaccia.

Johnny noticed it immediately, the little twitch of your lips, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny, bonnie?”

You waved him off, shaking your head. “Oh, nothing. Just… the bear claws. They’ve been selling really well lately. Thought it was… fitting.”

Simon’s eyes flicked to you, then to the bear claw pastries sitting neatly in a display case. A slow understanding crossed his gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Just a slight nod, the corner of his mouth twitching, the silent acknowledgment of the truth that you all shared. You had no doubt the others knew about it as well- maybe even had a hand in it. Such incredible men.

And for the first time, standing in your bakery, surrounded by warmth and the quiet camaraderie of the men you had come to trust, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. The past was behind you. Now, you had a future to look forward to—one filled with new beginnings, layers to unfold like a mille-feuille crepe cake, and the quiet reassurance that you were no longer alone.

“Here’s to new beginnings,” you said, raising your cup of coffee, your smile bright and genuine.

The boys raised their cups in return, their expressions soft but full of unspoken promises. “To new beginnings,” they echoed, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it. Especially because you could see the way they were looking at you.

masterpost

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: yandere behavior, power imbalance, implied baby trapping

Yandere!Ceo that’s a professional business man at work but once he’s behind closed doors he’s your pathetic, needy lover boy.

Kisses your feet and legs, peppering soft kisses all the way up to your thighs.

“My beautiful girl, did you enjoy the roses I sent you?”

He purrs as you play with his hair, looking up at you with those warm golden eyes.

“They were lovely… though the note was a bit… alarming.”

Your lover paused, his fingers on the waistband of the expensive lingerie he bought you.

“… how so, my love? It was the best stationary I could f-“

“I mean the words you wrote… about getting rid of anyone that got in the way of our love.”

He pulled your panties off, placing a wet kiss on your fat, wet cunt. “Oh, that? Don’t take it so seriously, darling. You know I love you, it’s just… a badly worded joke.”

And you quiet down, unable to protest or continue arguing as he’s eating you out. His tongue was on your clit, fingers stretching out your pretty pussy to prep you for his cock.

“M-Mmph…”

He’s quite good at distracting you from his alarming behavior, kissing along your neck while bouncing you on his thick cock. Keeping you on his lap as watching your ass jiggle while he moves you up and down has to be one of his favorite things in the entire world.

“That’s my girl, my baby… just take it, sweet thing…”

And slowly, as your previous friends and past lovers start ghosting you or straight up disappearing, he keeps you occupied with gifts, lavish vacations, and eventually a pregnancy.

Even if you wanted to leave, you couldn’t. Everything you owned was paid for by him, he had all of your information and knowledge of your friends and family…

But who would want to leave when they were treated like royalty? All you had to do was be his sweet housewife and give him all of you attention~

——————

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[bi-writes]

Could we get some Simon POV on mail order bride reader? Perhaps his thoughts on how timid she is?? Pls and thanks!

mail-order bride

it is something that he knows as soon as you step over the threshold for the very first time. he's observant to a fault; he can't be surprised by anything because he pays too much attention to the small details, to the things no one gives a second glance.

the way your head whips around when a loud noise carries across the room. the way you jump when you weren't expecting him behind you, crowding your space. the soft way you talk, the way you constantly try to make yourself disappear when there are others in your vicinity.

it speaks volumes, this kind of behavior. this intense need to appease others, to not disturb them, tiptoeing to gauge reaction to make sure you haven't done anything wrong, that you haven't upset anyone.

simon knows this kind of timidness all too well. he sees the veil that you wear, the kind that flutters when a hand is raised; he recognizes it, and you are a reflection of a woman that he used to know.

a woman he used to look up to. one that he loved, and one that loved him back.

the more time he spends with you, the more unlike himself he feels, the more aware he is of the other half of himself that is so far away from him, a stranger. never in simon's life has he felt that same burning anger. he's never felt the need to make those around him afraid. he's never relished in being the bigger man, the stronger one--and when the voices get loud enough, he still remembers being the boy who hid under his bed until he was too big to fit underneath it.

so he makes his steps louder. he shuffles his feet on the carpet. he makes them heavier, soft thuds that can be heard in the hardwood of the kitchen.

he makes noise. in whatever room he's in, he makes it known. the clatter of his toothbrush into its holder. the metal scratch of hangers as he gets a jacket. the clatter of a mug in the sink. the thunk of his boots by the door.

you stop flinching. you stop looking over your shoulder. the sounds of his boots coming off, it brings you into the living room to greet him. when you hear his toothbrush in the bathroom, you shuffle inside so you can stand beside him and do the same. when you hear him in the kitchen, you always pad into the room, giving him those big, soft eyes and asking him for the millionth time if he needs help (no, go fuckin' sit down, too pretty to be workin').

there is a woman in simon's life who used to do the same. who used to be too scared of the world to ever live in it. who never got the chance to unlearn all of the ugly that the wrong man had taught her.

simon grabs the canvas bags in the closet, tossing them over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door.

"we're goin' t'be late," simon calls out. "won't 'ave the bread y'like 'f we don't leave now."

"coming! coming!"

you hurry into the living room, shrugging on your cardigan as you go for your purse hanging by the front door. you slip into your shoes, following simon as he walks out the door.

when simon makes his way down the steps, he expects to have to tell you to stop, to let him walk down the steps first so he can give you his hand; but when he turns, you're waiting there at the top of the steps, fiddling with your purse. he holds out his hand, and you take it on instinct, without even looking, letting him guide you until you've made it to the pavement and can walk to the car.

and when you make it to the passenger side, you're standing at an angle, putting your earrings on as you wait for simon to open your door.

as you wait.

after simon pulls the seatbelt around you and clicks it closed, he lingers, staring at you as you try and fix your hair in the rearview mirror. you pause, looking down at him, giggling.

"what is it, simon? i-is there something on my face?"

he sighs deeply, shaking his head. he lifts a hand, cupping your cheek, swiping a thumb under your eye before stepping back to close your door.

"no," simon mutters. "look bloody perfect."

there's no past with you. only present.

[cumironi]

ALWAYS : GOJO SATORU

gojo is an actor, a famous one, but he’s also been your boyfriend for a few years. you have an argument with him when he agrees to have a fake relationship with his costar without even telling you.

warning. established relationship! gojo, non-sorcerer! gojo, angst to comfort, reader thinking about leaving him.

gojo satoru, the name on everyone's lips, the face lighting up screens and hearts alike. after his series, jujutsu kaisen, hit the airwaves, his fame exploded. people couldn’t get enough of him—the magnetic charm, that boyish yet strikingly handsome face, his tall frame that seemed to demand attention, and that playful personality that left fans swooning. soon, he was everywhere, his every move followed, every glance analyzed. the media loved him, and so did the world. and it wasn’t long before rumors began to stir, fans shipping him with his co-star, utahime, the chemistry they shared on screen now fueling wild speculations.

but you— you loved him before all of that. before the fame, before the cameras, before the world started calling his name. you'd been his since high school, standing by his side through the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, when the world was smaller, and it felt like nothing could touch what you had. in all those years together, not once did you doubt him. not once did you question his love or his loyalty. satoru was yours, and you were his, in a way that felt unshakable, unbreakable.

until tonight.

you’re sitting on the couch, in the living room of your shared apartment, the place that always felt like home when he was around. the soft glow of the television flickers across your face, but the news it brings feels like a punch to the gut. there, on the screen, are headlines you never thought you'd see—rumors swirling about satoru dating utahime. the photos, the whispers, they feel like shards of glass cutting into you. your heart sinks, heavy and cold, and the world around you seems to crumble, falling to pieces at your feet. the trust you once held so tightly begins to tremble, slipping through your fingers like sand.

your chest tightens, breath shallow, as tears threaten to spill. it’s a slow ache, this feeling of betrayal—an unraveling of everything you thought you knew. but even with the panic swirling inside, even as the overthinking begins its cruel work, you hold onto a fragile hope. this has to be a misunderstanding, a twisted story spun by the media. you tell yourself to wait, to breathe, to stay strong until he comes home, until he can explain it all away.

hours tick by, and the apartment feels too quiet, too still. the silence presses in, and every minute that passes drags you deeper into doubt. finally, the door clicks open. it’s late—almost one in the morning. you watch as satoru steps through the threshold, his movements slow, his eyes glazed, the unmistakable scent of alcohol hanging heavy in the air between you.

satoru’s familiar smile lights up his face the moment his eyes land on you, that same warm, loving expression you’ve seen countless times. even through the haze of alcohol, there’s a softness in his gaze, a look of pure adoration as he leans against the doorframe for a moment, taking you in. despite the lateness of the hour, despite the swirling rumors, his eyes still hold that undeniable love, as if nothing in the world could change what he feels for you.

he steps closer, his movements slow but deliberate, and before you can say a word, his long arms wrap around your smaller frame. the embrace is warm, familiar, his body pressing against yours with a kind of gentle urgency. satoru buries his head in the crook of your neck, nuzzling into your skin like he always does when he needs comfort or closeness. his hold tightens around you, as if anchoring himself to you, as if the weight of the world outside disappears when he’s in your arms.

“i missed you,” he mumbles against your neck, voice low and slightly slurred from the alcohol. his breath is warm, his touch soothing, and for a moment, despite everything, everything seems like it’s as it should be between the two of you.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, the smile on his face wider, his gaze a bit more unfocused. he cups your face, his thumb gently tracing the line of your cheekbone. “you’ve been waiting up for me, dollface?”

you meet his blue eyes, those familiar pools of endless blue now a bit dull, clouded by the alcohol and the late hour. they still carry warmth, but beneath it all, you can see the exhaustion and the weight of something unspoken. his thumb traces your cheek with such tenderness, and for a brief second, it almost feels like everything is normal, like the rumors you’d seen and the doubts gnawing at your chest were just figments of your imagination. but as you nod silently, unable to bring yourself to speak, the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you watch his face, his smile a little too wide, his gaze unfocused, and your heart tightens. you want to ask him, demand the truth, but the words stay trapped inside, tangled with fear and uncertainty. instead, you just nod again, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you fight the urge to cry. the silence between you feels thick, and the world seems to hang in the balance, teetering between the love you’ve always known and the fear of what might come next.

satoru’s smile falters for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he can sense the tension in the air. he can see the way you cling to his shirt, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, and there’s a brief flicker of guilt in his expression. but he masks it quickly with another, more forced, smile.

“hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs gently wiping away the tear that escapes down your cheek. “why the tears, dollface?”

he can senses your inner turmoil when you don’t answer, the tension in your body, the way you cling to the fabric of his shirt tighten like a lifeline. the haze of alcohol makes everything hazy, his thoughts muddled and his reactions slower, but he can feel the storm brewing inside you. he leans his forehead against yours, his warm breath ghosting against your skin.

“dollface,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a mix of gentleness and intoxication, “i can see that pretty little head of yours overthinking. talk to me.”

your breath catches in your throat as he leans his forehead against yours, his closeness making it harder to suppress the storm raging inside you. his warmth, the familiar scent of him mixed with alcohol, wraps around you like a blanket, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. his words, so gentle yet muddled by intoxication, only deepen the conflict inside you. his voice pulls you in, but it’s the nagging thought in the back of your mind, the one you’ve been trying to ignore, that finally breaks through.

with trembling hands, you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your grip on his shirt tightening even further, knuckles white from the strain. the words hang in the air between you, unspoken but heavy. your heart pounds in your chest as you force yourself to ask the question you’ve been dreading.

“did you... did you cheat on me with utahime, ‘toru?”

your voice is barely above a whisper, shaking with fear and vulnerability. you can feel the weight of the question settle into the space between you, and for a moment, it feels like time stops. the tears that had been threatening to fall finally spill over, your chest tight with the possibility that everything you had believed in, everything you had built together, could shatter with his next words.

satoru's reaction is immediate, his eyes widening as the weight of your words sinks in. without hesitation, he quickly shakes his head, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly but gently, grounding you both. there's a slight frown on his face, the alcohol clouding his thoughts, making it harder for him to process what you're feeling, but his urgency to reassure you is clear.

“no, no, no,” he mutters, his voice firm despite the slur, “of course not. i’d never do that to you, never.” his words come out rushed, almost desperate, as if the mere idea of it hurts him. he leans in closer, his blue eyes more focused now, searching yours for understanding.

“i love you too much, dollface. you have to know that,” he continues, his voice softer but filled with sincerity. “there’s no one else, not utahime, not anyone. it’s just you.”

his thumbs brush against your shoulders, his frown deepening as he tries to break through the haze of alcohol. he pulls you into him again, hugging you tightly, as if holding you close would somehow prove his words, his body trembling slightly against yours with the weight of his emotion.

you swallow hard, forcing a tight smile as you look up at him, your voice barely steady. “then why did i see the news, satoru? about you dating utahime?”

the question slips from your lips, though the lump in your throat makes it harder to speak. you’re trying to keep yourself from breaking, to hold back the tears threatening to fall, but the ache in your chest won’t ease. every part of you feels fragile, like you’re on the edge of crumbling.

you watch his expression carefully, searching for something—an explanation, a sign that what you saw wasn’t real. but even as you hold onto the hope in his words, the hurt gnaws at you, and you wonder if your heart can handle the truth, whatever it may be. your grip on his shirt loosens slightly, but you can’t stop the tremble in your fingers as you push through the overwhelming emotion rising within you.

satoru's expression falters again, his grip on you tightening, the alcohol making it harder for him to control his feelings. there's a mix of guilt and frustration in his eyes, a conflict warring within him. “it’s not what you think…” he starts, his words slightly slurred, “it’s all just... it’s all for the press, you have to understand…”

he’s trying to make you understand, to make you see past the headlines and rumors, but the complexity of the situation and the amount of alcohol in his system makes it difficult. he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a desperate kind of possessiveness. “it’s all for publicity, doll,” he repeats, his voice a bit more pleading now. “they’re pushing a narrative, but you know me. you know what we have. i would never betray you… never.”

he leans his forehead against yours again, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you believe him. the scent of alcohol is strong, but beneath it, you can still smell the familiar scent of his cologne, the one that’s always so comfortingly ‘him’.

his words swirl around in your mind, a mix of desperation and pleading, but they don’t quite settle. the weight of his arms around you feels heavier now, almost suffocating, and as his forehead presses against yours again, you find yourself pulling away, pushing him back gently but firmly. your eyes narrow, the confusion and hurt bubbling up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, the question bursts out.

“what? so you and utahime are just pretending to date? for the media?”

your voice trembles with disbelief, the words sharp and cutting. the idea feels like a betrayal all on its own, the thought of him allowing the world to believe in something so intimate with someone else. you’re struggling to keep your emotions in check, trying to hold on to the last thread of composure you have left, but the pain in your chest only grows stronger.

your tears threaten to spill again, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. the ache in your throat tightens as you wait for his response, your heart pounding with a mixture of anger and desperation for the truth.

satoru’s eyes widen further, the flicker of surprise obvious in his expression. he almost looks taken aback by your bluntness, the alcohol impairing his ability to react in a more composed manner. he stares at you, the weight of your words and the look in your eyes making it clear that you’re not buying into his explanation.

he tries to step closer to you again, his hands reaching out to touch you, but you step back, maintaining the distance between you two. he’s not used to you being this confrontational, this insistent, and for a moment, he looks almost lost, the situation overwhelming him in his current state. he swallows hard, the guilt and confusion clear in his eyes, as he runs a hand through his hair.

“i... it’s not like that,” he finally manages to stutter out, the words coming out shaky. “it’s just for appearances, for the sake of our careers... it’s not real. i swear, dollface. you have to believe me...” his voice is pleading, desperate even, as he tries to make you understand. the sight of you pulling away is like a punch to his gut, the fear of losing you obvious in his expression.

your frown deepens as his shaky explanation sinks in, but it doesn’t soothe the ache in your chest. instead, his words make the hurt sharper, and your heart feels heavier with each passing second. you take a step back, creating more distance between you, and the pain you’ve been holding inside finally spills over into your voice.

“you didn’t even bother to talk to me about this, satoru,” you say, your voice low but thick with emotion. “i had to find out like everyone else… through the news.”

the weight of your words hangs between you, and the hurt is unmistakable in your tone. your fingers tremble at your sides as you fight back the tears you’ve been holding in. “do you know how that felt? seeing you… like that, with her, and not even having a clue?” you swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it harder to speak. you want to believe him, to hold onto the love you’ve always shared, but the betrayal of being left in the dark cuts deep.

satoru swallows hard, the impact of your words hitting him like a ton of bricks. the guilt on his face is almost tangible as he watches you step away, the hurt and disbelief in your eyes more apparent than ever before. his hands fall to his sides, the helplessness of the situation evident in his expression.

“i...” he starts, his voice trembling a bit, “i wanted to tell you... but i couldn’t...” the excuse sounds hollow even to his own ears, a weak attempt to justify something that shouldn’t have happened. he wants to reach out, to close the distance between you, but he knows that the hurt he’s caused won’t disappear with just a touch. his shoulders slump, his eyes dropping to the ground as he tries to find the right words, but nothing seems right.

“i swear, dollface...” he tries again, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s not real. she means nothing. you mean everything. you have to believe me... you have to...”

the vulnerability in his gaze is raw and desperate, the pain in his voice mirroring your own. despite the alcohol clouding his thoughts, the fear of losing you is clearer than ever. “i just didn’t want you to be upset.”

a bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stop it, the sound cutting through the tension in the room like a knife. you cross your arms, the sarcasm lacing your words as you look at him with an almost mocking smile, your emotions spilling out in a rush.

“oh, well now that i know the truth, i’m just sooo happy, baby,” you say, your voice dripping with false enthusiasm. “euphoria, really. thank you for this… for such happiness.”

you let out a sharp laugh, rolling your eyes as your hand moves dramatically to your chest, as if to emphasize how ‘grateful’ you are. your expression is anything but happy, the hurt still etched into your features as you step closer to him, your fingers barely brushing his arm in a gesture that feels more like a mockery than comfort.

“thank you for letting me find out this way,” you continue, your voice faltering slightly beneath the sarcasm, the real pain slipping through your facade. “it’s exactly what i needed.” even as you stand so close, your words create a distance between you both that feels impossible to bridge.

your sarcasm hits him like a slap across the face, your words cutting deep. he flinches, the mixture of hurt and guilt in his eyes almost palpable. your expression is harsh, your smile laced with bitterness, and the false enthusiasm in your tone is a stark contrast to the pain evident in your gaze.

as your fingers brush against his arm, a slight shudder runs through him. he can sense your hurt, the anger behind your mocking expression, and the way you step closer, almost mockingly, only makes him feel worse. “stop…” he murmurs, his voice low and choked with emotion.

“stop it, dollface,” he tries again, his hands reaching out to grab your arms in a desperate attempt to keep you from further pulling away. “please, listen to me... it’s not what you think... i never meant to hurt you…” his voice trembles, the alcohol-fueled emotions leaving him more vulnerable than usual. he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him—with pain and disappointment in your gaze. he wants to fix this, to take it back, but the damage has already been done.

a breathy chuckle escapes you, but there's no warmth in it, only bitterness. you pull away slightly from his grip, your eyes hardening as you meet his pleading gaze. “of course you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say, your voice low and sharp, “ou’re just a coward, satoru. a coward who only thought about himself.”

your words are harsh, but they flow out before you can stop them, your frustration and heartbreak spilling over. “you didn’t even consider how i’d feel, did you? seeing it in the news, instead of hearing it from you.”

you shake your head, taking a step back as the weight of it all crashes down on you. “you thought you could protect me by keeping me in the dark? you thought it would be easier for me to find out that way?” your voice cracks at the end, the anger you’ve been holding onto breaking under the pressure of your hurt.

you look at him, eyes burning with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. “you always said i was the most important person in your life, but you couldn’t even give me the respect of telling me the truth.”

every word you throw at him feels like a dagger to the heart, each one sharper and more painful than the last. the alcohol has made him weaker, less in control, and your words cut through him, exposing all of his flaws and mistakes.

“i... i just wanted to protect you,” he stammers out, his grip on you loosening, his fingers trembling. “i didn’t want you to worry... i didn’t want to hurt you...” he knows his excuses sound hollow and weak, the guilt weighing heavily on him.

you take another step back, your eyes narrowing as his words hit you, hollow and weak. your heart aches, but anger swells inside you, pushing the sadness deeper. “protect me?” you repeat, your voice low and filled with disbelief. “protect me from what exactly, satoru?”

your gaze hardens as you stare at him, your lips trembling, trying to hold back the rising emotion. “from seeing you pretend to date someone else? from the truth? from feeling anything at all?”

your words cut through the air, and as you stand there, a mixture of hurt and frustration twisting inside you, you realize the weight of what he’s done. “how could you possibly think hiding this from me would make anything better?” your voice cracks slightly, but you swallow down the lump in your throat, refusing to break in front of him.

he winces at the sharpness of your tone, the pain in your voice making him ache. he knows how wrong he was, how stupid his reasoning sounds when confronted with the truth. he tries to find the right words to explain, to make you understand, but everything he thinks of sounds empty and weak.

“i… i thought if i didn’t tell you, you wouldn’t worry…” he answers, his voice low, almost a whisper. “i thought i could handle it… i thought i could keep you out of it…”

“i… i’m so sorry,” he falters, his eyes pleading with you, begging for your forgiveness. “i didn’t want to hurt you… i never wanted to hurt you. i just didn’t want you to worry. i wanted to keep you safe from the bullshit the media loves pushing, and i thought i could handle it on my own… but i was wrong, dollface. i was wrong about everything. please… please don’t hate me…”

your breath hitches, and despite trying to hold it back, the tears finally spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless. you stare at him, your voice trembling as you ask, “did you even think about me when you made that decision, satoru?”

each word carries the weight of your heartbreak, the betrayal sinking deep. your chest feels tight, your mind spinning as you search his face, his eyes—desperately looking for the love that was always there, the love that once felt so undeniable.

but now, standing before him, everything feels fragile, uncertain. “do you even love me?” you whisper, the question breaking you as it leaves your lips. the vulnerability in your voice is raw, and the silence that follows feels deafening.

you search his eyes for the truth, for something—anything—that can make this pain go away. but all you see is a man who hurt you, and you're not sure if he even knows how much.

the moment your question leaves your lips, you see the change in satoru's expression. it's as if the words struck him harder than any blow ever could. the haze of alcohol vanishes from his eyes, replaced by a raw, searing pain. for a split second, he looks shattered, but then, in an instant, his jaw tightens, and you can see anger flicker across his face.

“you are joking, right?” his voice is low, almost incredulous as he stares at you, his blue eyes sharper than before. “don’t you dare question my love for you.” his tone grows more intense, almost desperate, his hands reaching for you again. “i love you more than anything. more than anyone. everything i do, i do for you.”

his frustration simmers just below the surface, and you can feel it in his grip, his voice trembling not from the alcohol but from emotion. “how can you even ask me that after everything we’ve been through? i’ve given you everything i have—my heart, my life, my soul—and you think i don’t love you?”

he searches your eyes, his gaze pleading, desperate for you to understand, to believe him. but beneath that anger, you can still feel the weight of his guilt, the fear that you might not.

he takes another step towards you, closing the small gap between you. his hands tighten around your arms, his fingers digging into your skin as if he's afraid to let you go. “don’t you dare question my love for you,” he repeats, his voice low and intense. “i would never… i would never hurt you if i didn’t have to, dollface. you have to believe me.”

he looks at you, something between desperation and anger in his eyes, as if he’s begging you to see past the lie, to understand that he loves you more than anything in the world.

you've never seen him like this before—almost feral in his desperation to make you believe him. he's always been controlled, composed, but the thought of losing you has cracked that façade. he looks lost, raw, and desperate for you to see that he loves you, more than life itself.

your voice breaks as you softly ask, “then why are you doing this, satoru?” your words come out between the sobs, fragile and laced with the kind of pain that cuts deeper than any wound.

his grip tightens slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin, but you barely feel it, consumed by the flood of emotion. the tears continue streaming down your face, each one a reflection of the confusion, the heartbreak, the betrayal you feel.

“if you love me… why?” your voice is a whisper now, almost pleading, as if you're hoping for an answer that will make all of this hurt go away. you look up at him, searching for something, anything that will make sense of this, but all you see is the same mix of guilt and desperation in his eyes.

you want to believe him, to believe in the love you once thought was unshakable, but right now, all you can feel is the ache in your chest, the sharp sting of doubt that you never imagined you'd have to face.

“god damn it, dollface,” he mutters, his voice choked with emotion. “how can i make you believe me? how can i show you that i love you more than anything? i’d move mountains, i’d burn the world down…”

he leans forward, his forehead now touching yours, as he tries to get you to see the truth in his eyes. his voice is low and intense, his hands tighten around your arms, desperate to hold onto you, to make you understand how much he loves you.

the sight of your tears, the sound of your voice cracking with emotion, cuts through him like a knife. he reaches up to wipe away your tears, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. he can see the skepticism, the doubt in your eyes, and it only fuels his desperation.

“i would do anything for you, dollface,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “anything. i’d give up everything, i’d burn the world down if it would make you believe me. just tell me what to do. tell me, and i’ll do it.”

you meet his gaze, searching his eyes for something—anything—that could make the pain go away. his words echo in your mind, the promise of doing anything for you, but it all feels so distant, unreachable. the hurt inside you runs too deep, and no matter how much you want to push it away, it keeps creeping in, clouding your thoughts.

your chest feels tight, and the silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. after a moment, your head falls against his chest, the steady beat of his heart only making the ache in yours worse. you stay like that, in the quiet, trying to think of what you want—what you need—but it’s too much. the hurt, the betrayal, it’s all too overwhelming.

with a shaky breath, you push him away gently, your hands trembling as you do. “i need some time,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm. “i need to be alone for a while.”

his hands drop from your arms, his eyes widening slightly as you take a step back. you don’t meet his gaze again as you add, “i’ll sleep in the next room... for now.” and without waiting for a response, you turn and walk away, the weight of your decision pressing down on you with every step you take.

as the door closes behind you, the silence in the room is deafening, leaving only the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

satoru stares at the door, his hand still outstretched, his mind struggling to process what just happened. the room feels empty without you in it, the silence is deafening, and the weight of what he’s done crashes down on him. he sinks onto the couch, his head in his hands, the full impact of your request—your need to be alone—hitting him with a force he didn’t expect.

he’s never been without you before, not like this. the thought of you being alone in the next room, your hurt, your pain... it’s almost too much to bear.

he sits like that, motionless, for what feels like hours, his mind a maelstrom of emotions. regret, guilt, worry, desperation—it’s all there, swirling together in a toxic mix that feels like it’s tearing him apart.

he thinks about going to you, of trying to make you understand, to apologize, to do anything to make things right. but deep down, he knows that you need this, that he needs to give you this time, even if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

the front door creaks open, and you hear it close with a soft thud, followed by the sound of a car pulling away. you sit on the edge of the bed, your heart heavy as silence envelops the room. tears stream down your face, each drop a reminder of the pain from the night before. despite the exhaustion weighing down on you, sleep eludes you as the memories replay in your mind, the hurtful words echoing like a haunting refrain.

eventually, the weight of your emotions takes its toll, and you succumb to sleep, your body finally giving in to the fatigue that has consumed you.

when you awaken, the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the room. glancing at the clock, you realize it’s nearly noon. the realization hits you hard—satoru hasn’t returned. a pang of hurt slices through you as you consider that he left without even saying goodbye.

as you move to the kitchen, a swirl of worry settles in your chest. where did he go? did he sleep well? did he eat anything? the questions multiply, and the thought of him with someone else makes your stomach churn. you can’t shake the image of him with utahime, the fear gnawing at you like a relentless predator.

you pour yourself a cup of coffee, the familiar scent providing a momentary comfort amidst the chaos of your thoughts. as you sip slowly, your mind races through countless scenarios—what if he’s out drinking again? what if he’s hurting? the worry overwhelms you, threatening to pull you under.

just as you’re lost in your thoughts, you hear the unmistakable sound of keys clattering onto the kitchen counter. your heart races as you blink, trying to process the moment. slowly, you turn your head, and there he is—satoru.

he stands in the doorway, his disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the confident man you know. his blue eyes, usually so vibrant, are ringed with redness and framed by dark circles, a testament to a sleepless night. his silver hair is tousled, sticking up in all directions as if he’s just rolled out of bed.

“satoru…” your voice comes out as a whisper, the mix of relief and apprehension washing over you. he shifts on his feet, looking vulnerable and exposed, the weight of unspoken apologies hanging heavily in the air.

“i… i’m back,” he says, his voice hoarse and shaky. he takes a hesitant step towards you, the air thick with tension as he searches your face for any sign of how you’re feeling.

you stand there, coffee cup cradled in your hands, unsure of how to react. the memories of the previous night flash through your mind—his hurtful act, your tears. despite the urge to run to him, to wrap your arms around him and forget everything, a part of you holds back.

satoru stands there, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he watches the myriad of emotions play across your face. he looks weary, exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally. the distance between you feels like an ocean, the air heavy with tension and unsaid apologies. he can see the war raging in your eyes, the hesitation—the doubt. and it hurts, more than he thought possible.

he takes another step forward, his hand reaching out slightly, hovering in the air as if he’s afraid to touch you, to cross that invisible line that’s been drawn between you.

he opens his mouth to speak, his mind racing through everything he could say—everything he wants to say. he wants to apologize, to explain, to make things right. he wants to hold you, to be held by you, to be close to you again. but the words seem to evaporate before they even reach his lips.

finally, he simply says your name. just your name. and the way it falls off his tongue is like a plea, a silent plea for you to understand, to forgive.

your heart races as you look up at him, his tired eyes filled with guilt and longing. the way he says your name—soft, almost reverent—feels like a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that has formed between you. but despite the sincerity in his gaze, the memory of last night lingers, a painful reminder of betrayal.

when he takes your hand, the warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you. you want to feel comforted, to lean into him and forget the hurt, but the thought of him pretending to be with another girl cuts deep. the mere idea of it feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you.

“i… i don’t think i can stand it,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. “seeing you with someone else in public... pretend to be all couple.”

satoru's heart clenches at your words, the pain in your voice slicing through him like a knife. he knew it was coming, knew you’d bring it up. it’s just one of the many things he’s been dreading this morning. but hearing it from you, seeing the look in your eyes, it makes everything so much more real, so much more painful.

he tightens his grip on your hand, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin, an attempt to soothe, to comfort. “i know,” he responds, his voice almost a whisper.

satoru's heart aches as he sees the hurt in your eyes, the pain mirrored in your expression. the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that has grown between you. he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to gather his thoughts.

“that’s why,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, “i spoke to the company earlier.” he pauses, searching your gaze for understanding. “they were furious.”

he cups your cheek gently with his free hand, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the cold reality of the situation. “i never wanted you to be caught in the crossfire of all this,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “the pressure… the expectations… i just thought it would be easier if we kept it private. but i see now how wrong that was.”

his thumb brushes softly against your skin, an attempt to convey the depth of his remorse. “i was so focused on protecting you that I forgot what you really needed—transparency, honesty. i wanted to shield you from the chaos, but instead, I just pushed you away.” satoru’s eyes search yours, filled with regret and determination. “i’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. i’ll fight for us, even if it means facing the wrath of the company. i want to be open about us, to show the world how much you mean to me.”

you blink in surprise, confusion flooding your mind as you process his words. “what do you mean you spoke to the company?” you ask, your voice wavering slightly. “wwhat did they say?”

but before he can respond, satoru turns on the tv, and your heart drops at the sight of him. he looks so different—disheveled, exhausted, eyes red-rimmed, as if he hasn’t slept in days. the conference is chaotic, the flashing lights of cameras blinding as reporters hurl questions at him, but he stands there, unwavering.

you stare at the screen, completely stunned. your eyes flicker from the television back to satoru, who stands quietly beside you. the image of him on the screen—a mess of disheveled hair, red eyes, and exhaustion—contrasts sharply with the composed, confident man you know. your heart pounds as you take in what’s unfolding before you: the rumors, the flashing cameras, his raw vulnerability on full display.

the conference is chaotic. journalists fire rapid questions at him, flashes of light bursting in quick succession, but satoru doesn’t waver. he remains steadfast, repeating only one thing—that the rumors aren’t true, that he’s had a girlfriend for years. you feel a lump in your throat, your chest tightening with emotion as the realization sets in. he did this… for you.

you turn to him, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper, “satoru… why you did all of this…?”

he doesn’t speak immediately, just watches you, his expression soft yet filled with a mixture of guilt and hope. slowly, he nods, his thumb still brushing gently over your hand. “i couldn’t let you think for one more second that i’d ever choose anyone else over you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse from everything he’s been through. “i had to do something… anything to show you.”

your eyes well up with tears again, but this time it’s not from pain or anger. you’re overwhelmed, touched by how far he’s gone to try and fix this. “but you didn’t have to—” you start, but he cuts you off, shaking his head.

“yes, i did,” he insists. “i needed to prove it. not just with words, but with action. i’m not letting you walk away thinking i’d ever betray you like that.”

satoru's gaze is intense, his eyes fixed on you as he continues, “i couldn’t let you think for a second that i'd even entertain the thought of being with someone else. you mean everything to me, and i had to make a statement, a public one, because i can’t bear the thought of you doubting that. not for a second.”

“i know i messed up,” he continues, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and determination, “but i swear to you, i’ll never do anything to hurt you on purpose ever again.”

your heart races as you absorb his words, a whirlwind of emotions flooding your mind. the intensity of his gaze makes you feel both cherished and guilty. the weight of the situation settles heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t shake the feeling that you might be the cause of turmoil in his life.

you swallow hard, your throat dry as you find your voice. “but what about your series?” you ask, anxiety creeping into your tone. “what happens now? you just… put everything on the line for me?” the guilt gnaws at you, and you can't help but worry that your struggles might ruin his career. “satoru, i didn’t want this to affect you. i thought you’d want to keep things private to avoid backlash.”

the thought of him facing consequences for his public declaration sends a shiver down your spine. you look at him, your eyes wide with concern. “what did they say? are they going to fire you? or change the series because of this?” his silence hangs in the air, and you brace yourself for his answer, anxiety wrapping around your heart like a vise.

satoru’s eyes soften even further as he looks down at you, his hand still holding yours, but his grip has tightened slightly. he’s clearly nervous—nervous about what he has to say next, nervous about how you’ll react.

he takes a deep breath before responding, his voice measured and controlled. “i’m not getting fired, dollface.” his words, though relieving, don’t seem to quell the anxiety in your eyes. it’s clear that there’s more to the story, and he can see that you’re bracing for the worst.

satoru watches your expression shift from worry to confusion, then a flicker of understanding as he continues. “they just decided to kill me off in the middle of the second season,” he says, forcing a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He chuckles lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “the writer never really liked me anyway.”

he sees the way your brows furrow, and his heart aches for you. he wants to ease your concerns, to show you that his world isn’t crumbling because of this. “it’s all part of the plan,” he adds, his tone playful, even if the situation isn’t exactly ideal. “maybe i’ll get a dramatic comeback. who doesn’t love a good resurrection arc, right?”

he cups your nape gently, his thumb brushing along your skin as he leans down to place a tender kiss on your forehead. “i’d do it a million times over for you, you know? i’d take the hit if it means you feel secure in my love. No one else matters more than you.”

as he pulls back slightly, he searches your gaze, hoping to see a hint of reassurance that you understand his intentions. he wants you to feel loved and protected, no matter the chaos that surrounds them.

your heart feels heavy as you gaze up at satoru, the weight of your worry settling deep in your chest. “are you sure about this?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t want to be the person who ruins your career.”

the concern in your eyes reflects the turmoil inside you, the fear that your feelings and insecurities could jeopardize everything he’s worked so hard for. you search his face for any sign of doubt, but all you find is unwavering determination.

satoru’s expression shifts, and he gently squeezes your hand, trying to convey his certainty. “dollface, you could never ruin my career,” he reassures you, his voice steady and calm. “if anything, you’re the reason i want to fight for it. i don’t care what they think or what the company says. my love for you is worth any backlash i might face.”

he leans closer, his forehead resting against yours, grounding you both in the moment. “i’d rather give it all up than let you feel like you’re the problem. you are my priority, and nothing will ever change that.” his blue eyes search yours, pleading for you to believe him, to trust that he’s all in.

your heart pounds in your chest as satoru’s words sink in, the rawness of his vulnerability hitting you like a tidal wave. his career, his reputation, his future—he’s willing to risk all of it for you, and the weight of that sacrifice leaves you reeling.

you look at him, the love and determination evident in his eyes, and you struggle to find the words to express the mixture of gratitude and guilt churning inside you. you don’t want to be the one causing ripples in his world, but his steadfast resolve makes it impossible to deny the intensity of his feelings.

satoru notices the turmoil in your expression, the way your brow furrows with guilt as you process his words. it cuts through him like a knife, the thought that you might still feel responsible for any turmoil in his life. he can’t stand to see you in pain, especially not when it’s tied to his choices.

he takes a deep breath, trying to ease your mind. “hey,” he says gently, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his, “i’ve got a few offers for new series and movies lined up. i’m not in danger of losing everything, i promise. they’re just waiting for me to finish this one.”

a small, reassuring smile crosses his face, one that he hopes will lift some of the weight off your shoulders. “this is just a bump in the road, and i’m more than capable of handling it. what matters is you. i need you to know that I’ll always choose you, no matter what.”

he leans in closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with sincerity. “we’ll figure this out together, okay? you’re not a burden; you’re my motivation.”

your heart squeezes at satoru's words, your chest tightening with a mix of emotions. the guilt, the worry, the love—it's all flooding through you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed. but in that vulnerability, you also see the depth of his devotion, his unwavering commitment to you.

“but… i don’t want you to choose,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don't want you to feel like you have to sacrifice your career... because of me.”

satoru hums softly at your words, the sound reverberating with warmth as he processes your concerns. with a gentle yet deliberate motion, he lifts you to sit on the counter, his hands steadying you as your thighs rest against the cool surface. he positions himself closer, his forehead resting against the counter beside your body, effectively caging you in.

“i can’t sacrifice you for my career either,” he says, his voice low and earnest, the intensity of his gaze locking onto yours. “you’re the one thing i won’t compromise on. i’d give up everything for you, even if it meant starting over. no job, no series, nothing could ever mean more to me than you.”

his expression is fierce, a combination of determination and vulnerability that makes your heart race. “so please, don’t worry about me. we’re in this together. we’ll figure it out side by side, and i’ll make sure you never feel like you’re standing in the way of my dreams.”

as you look into his eyes, the depth of his words washes over you, and a warmth spreads through your chest. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. the feel of his warmth against you brings a sense of comfort, a connection that calms the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“i just… i don’t want to be the reason for your struggles,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “i care about you so much, satoru. i want you to shine, to succeed, and to be happy.”

holding him tightly, you feel the tension in his body ease as he leans into you, his breath mingling with yours. “i know we’ll figure this out together,” you whisper, your heart swelling with love. “but promise me you won’t carry this weight alone. we’re a team, right?”

satoru’s eyes flutter shut as he absorbs your words, a mixture of gratitude and relief washing over him. your unwavering support and love are like a balm on his weary soul, and he melts into your embrace, his head resting on your shoulder.

“together,” he affirms, his voice a whisper against your skin. “you’re not just my partner; you’re my foundation. you give me the strength to face anything, good or bad. we’re in this together, and no one, not even the company, can come between us.”

he lifts his head, his eyes studying your face. “you’re not a burden or an inconvenience, dollface. you’re my priority, my everything. i may have an image to uphold, but nothing is worth more than your happiness, your comfort. i’d take on the world for you if i have to.”

a flicker of vulnerability passes across his face. “just promise me that you’ll keep communicating with me. if you ever feel like you’re in my way or like you’re causing me trouble, i need—no, i want you to tell me, okay?”

a warm smile spreads across your face at his words, the sincerity in his eyes soothing the lingering doubts in your mind. you nod, feeling a rush of affection for him. “okay,” you mumble softly, your voice filled with reassurance.

a wave of visible relief washes over satoru’s face as you agree to his request. the tension in his body eases visibly, and he reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“thank you,” he whispers, his hand resting on your cheek. “i just... i need to know that you’re okay, that we’re okay. that, even when things are messy, we’re still you and me. always.”

you nod, a soft smile still gracing your lips as you gently cup his cheeks in your hands. feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms, you lean in closer, your heart racing in anticipation.

satoru’s heart races at the touch of your hands against his cheeks, the warmth of your palms sending electric currents through his body. your lips meet his, a sense of peace washes over you, the world around you fading into the background. it’s a sweet, tender kiss, filled with unspoken promises and the depth of your feelings for him. as your lips meet his, he savors the taste of you, melting into the kiss like a man starved.

you pull back slightly, your foreheads resting against each other, and whisper, “always,” letting the word linger in the air between you, a vow that encapsulates everything you both cherish. it’s a simple word, but it carries the weight of your love, a reminder that no matter the chaos, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

satoru feels the weight of your promise like a gentle caress. a content smile spreads across his face as he brushes his nose against yours, a whisper of affectionate laughter escaping his lips.

“always,” he repeats quietly, his blue eyes sparkling with love. “me and you.”

[nemesyaaa]

rafe cameron x sleepy!reader

summary : you were just the sleepiest girl of the town. (kinda sweet smutty prompt / etablished relationship. soft! boyfriend!rafe.)

warnings : except smut, nothing much. bad sleeping shedule.

author's note : /.

“ I’m fucking tired.” you yawned as you entered the room. since the beginning of the evening, you had only been looking forward to getting back to the soft comfort of your bed.

you couldn't help but become sleepy, which meant letting your boyfriend take care of you because you were unable to stay awake. you never needed to be careful because rafe cameron always had his eyes on you. and as long as you were next to him, as long as he could feel you even if you were dead asleep and drooling over his chest, he allowed you to take a nap on his lap for hours. it was one of your few privileges.

something he didn't allow was people waking you up. if it he had to shut down every fucking noisy kook in a room to let you sleep, he would do it. it was his own version of let me burn the world for you but in a better way, more like let me quit this entire world for you.

you loved these moments of calm and peace when you slept wearing only one of his t-shirts acting like a dress around your naked body, and white high socks.

rafe was spooning you while you were already falling asleep, the reassuring and warm feeling of his cold fingers slipping under your t-shirt, his large hands covering the flesh of your waist , letting his strong arms gently slowly pulling you towards him. the shushing sound of his lips hovering your neck as you were dragged by his thick fingers. your barely covered body lazily comes closer, as soft breaths break the silence of your mouth, quickly followed by the sleepy whines of your tall boyfriend that holds his grip tighter in your hips, making sure you can't go anywhere, even if you were in a deep sleep.

you had a complicated relationship with your sleep schedule because you were sleeping both too much and not enough at the same. you could be fully awake at 5am but literally dead asleep at 12pm. for the simple reason that you were not sleeping at the right time, nor at the right hour, nor in the right place. you were one of those sleepiest girls who would disappear for hours not because you were going out on the town with friends or even stepping foot outside, but because you would sleep for hours on end.

you told rafe that you were just closing your eyes to take a nap but you ended up waking up in the evening.

when you woke up, you were completely lost and disorganized but above all so tired. it was almost ridiculous. your boyfriend was now used to your eyes half-closed, your hair completely messed up and across your exhausted face, drool on the corner of your lip with that oh-so-stupid expression.

he lay down on the bed, while you looked at him with wide opened eyes. at this point, you weren't even sure you recognized your own boyfriend. “ rafe ? ”

“still asleep, babe? "

his voice was usually low, while he brushed away the trail of drool that was leaking from your mouth with his thumb. you nodded, and he smiled. “ such a baby. ”

you were a terrible temptation. he could have fucked you while you were sleeping. and maybe that was even what you wanted sometimes when you slept so scantily dressed, leaving your tiny thong in full view while you lay on your back, legs unconsciously spread.

“let me help you…” he whispered as he flipped you onto the bed, pushing your thighs apart to make himself a place. he had pulled down his boxers without removing them completely, before forcing your legs open with one hand. "fucking wet. i bet you dreamed about that dick inside you."

the smirk on his face was pretty charming and sick, and he pushed the fat tip of his cock against your soaked slit, before making morning slaps on your little glistening cunt. his length was so hard, hitting your sensitive bud. the plushy mushroom getting glossy from your weeping hole. he looked at you, holding his dick in a hand with your wetness dripping from the shaft, as you had a hard times focusing on his movements but he squeezed your cheeks on his hands, pulling your face closer to him. “ get that mouth open, want to be able to spit on it whenever i want. ”

it was also a pretty excuse for him to force you to keep your eyes open. when he first pushed in with a hard thrust that literally arched all your body, you screamed out of pleasure and pain. he didn't wait before starting working his dick faster in your swollen cunt. you always take him so good, and he can't help but pound you even deeper every time he hears your sleepily voice moaning softly, the whining getting louder and bigger as he stretches you open. you were too good, a forbidden pleasure for sure, your sloppy pussy fully soaked him.

little by little, you begin to be fully awake, eyes filled with shining tears. you were a mess that was crying and panting from the roughness of your boyfriend, crybaby whines begging for rafe’s attention. your mouth getting muffled by his, he shushed you through the kiss, heavy breath and drool falling between your lips. “ s-s-slow down ! ” you cried out.

he mocked you gently, answering with a wicked smile. “ what about faster ? thought that's what you wanted ? ”he was still fucking you, but now a hand reached your throat, as the thickness of his length stuffed the inside of your walls, hitting all the spots. “ r-rafe. ” you exploded.

you were shaking, gasping for air and throbbing, eyes still locked in rafe's gaze while you lost your mind, thinking of how deep he was inside you. your cunt still twitching around his cock, making you unable to catch your breath and literally choking against the hand pressed on your throat. you were already tired, the inner of your thighs dripping with arousal and legs breaking with each thrusts. and those massive orgasms didn't help. his face was now sweaty from the heat and the sex, hot breaths escaping his lips and absolutely no sign of exhaustion. he could fuck you to death. and you wish you could reach this level but you were already too drained by the fast back and forth. “ this is how i should wake up my sleepy girl every morning. don't you think ? ”

he finally managed to cum, spilling thicks of loads inside you. your head failing in the bed as he slowly pulled his dick out, before pushing it into your mouth. the sight of your tongue licking every single drop of juice left him even horny, your pretty lips weeped with cum and wetness, that he smeared with the tip of his cock, before letting you clean everything.

“ it was not a fuck, it was an attempted murder. ” you told him.

“ don't inspire me for round 2, you will regret it. ”

“ don't complain me about why i sleep this much when you fucking me like that. ”

“ i'm fucking tired…” you said, a little yawn leaving your mouth as rafe and you entering the room after a living pool party, were you literally rested on your boyfriend’s lap during all the event, falling asleep on his shoulder as he was still talking with his friends.

he was now used to since he dated you from a long moment. he was now able to take care of you every time you fell asleep. as always, there was no warning. you could be smiling, living the party, it doesn't mean you were not sleepy. He sometimes complained about how much you slept, but at the same time, how much you didn't get enough sleep.

“ no shit. you were literally drooling over me. ” he said sarcastically. “ lift your arms. ” he commanded, before helping you remove your dress.

he almost passed out when your breasts literally bounced out of your bra as your arms leaned down, his dick slightly growing and forming a bulge inside his pants. but damn, it was not the moments because he knows for sure that you will now fall asleep. AGAIN.

“ do you think topper is mad at me for sleeping at his birthday’s party ? ”

“ do i look like the type of boyfriend that i care about what another man is feeling about my girlfriend ? because, i'm not. ”

“ it was rude…. it's his birthday ! ”

“ babe, i could even fuck you right in front of him that he wouldn't even care or remarks. don't you see how he was just drooling like a dog because of my sister ? ”

“ maybe, i should call…”

rafe had raised an eyebrow, his jaw twitching slightly as you pulled on one of his t-shirts. “ since when do you have topper’s number ? ”

“I mean with your phone. Why would I have his number. Anyways, i'm sorry for this…it's pretty embarrassing. ”

“ What about looking me in the eyes if you at least want me to believe you about your apologies?”

“ Don't fight me right now, i'm tired.”

“ And actually, when you're not ? ” he mocked, and you finally looked at him.

“ When i'm sleeping, it's obvious. ”

“ You forget when i fuck you’. It doesn't seems like you're very tired. ”

after showering and brushing your teeths, you moved to your favorite place in the world — your bed. you loved the clean of the sheets. you covered yourself with the blanket, dropping only your head out.

when rafe appareaded, you couldn't help but stare at his perfect body. you followed his moves, lurking to the good and big shape of his biceps, the well-sculpted ridges of his abs, the visible v-line curved on his hips. “ don't look at me like that. ” he warned.

“ then i will look at someone else. ”

“ funny. ” he said, chuckling without smiling. “ that you think i will let you do such a thing. but keep daydreaming. ”

“ no need to be jealous. there is no kooks better than you. ”

“ does it mean there are pogues better than me ? ”

you sighed, shaking your head and crossing your arms.

“ i don't even hang out with pogues ! don't take it in the wrong way. what about watching a good movie before sleeping ? ”

“ be serious. i know you well, you're gonna fall asleep before the movie even starts. ”

“ no ! i'm fully awake. ”

“ which movies do you want to watch ? and there is no way i'm gonna watch that fucking film with a black cat and a ladybug. ”

“ then what about five nights at Freddy's ? ”

“ sounds better. ” he simply said, while typing on the dashboard.

your gaze leaned down on his ringed fingers, fast and thick. your slowly opened your lips, imagining how much they can stretch your mouth, leaving her with a pool of drool from how wet they're from your saliva. but also, how much they will manage to keep your mouth open without effort.

a sparkle shone in your eyes, and you wrapped your arm around rafe's one, making him look without really giving you full attention. “ what you want ? ”

“ nothing. did you find the movie ? ”

“ you like horror movies ? ”

“ no, i like josh. ”

“ bet he died at the end of the movie. ”

“ rafe ! ”

“ yea, keep crying. ”

he started the movie but you were very sleepy. again. you forced yourself to keep your eyes open but it was really hard. you blinked so many times to fight the urge of sleeping, but you're finally falling asleep.

rafe didn't stopped the movie because he was now too invested in it, but let your head rest against his naked chest, stroking your hair gently.

at the beginning of your relationship, it was so new for him to be this close to a person, to reach this type of intimacy but now he was craving for it, finding peace and comfort.

you were his sleepy girlfriend that was now sleeping over him, but will probably wake up in five hours when he will be dead asleep while, you will be looking for a nocturnal activity, trying to not wake him up.

sometimes, and a lot of times, you have sleepless nights that make you even more tired, and fall asleep early or late in the morning. you could feel though the sleep, rafe's arm loosening around your body as he manages to leave the bed to start the day while you just catching your night.

“ good morning, rafe. ”

“ it's 7pm. ”

“ ... ”

[catchastarorten]

—Morning and breakfast.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x wife!fem!reader

Summary: a peaceful, comfortable morning in bed with Jun-ho led to the two of you making breakfast together, though breakfast was soon forgotten when he decided to focus on you instead.

Content: pure fluff, Jun-ho being needy and affectionate, cuddles, kisses/bits of making out, english isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.2k

The mornings with Jun-ho were always your favorite. The sunlight shining through the curtains, the soft rustle of bedsheets, and the weight of Jun-ho beside you made everything feel whole. Complete.

His breathing was slow and steady, his arms draped over your waist. Peace was a luxury he had only learned to embrace after he met you. After everything he had endured—the disappearance of his brother, the island, the betrayals—you cherished seeing him like this, unguarded and calm.

You stirred slightly, stretching a bit beneath the blanket. It was enough to rouse him.

Without opening his eyes, his grip on you tightened, and he let out a content hum. The sound was warm, and so was the feeling of his body close to yours.

“Morning,” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.

Jun-ho responded with a groggy noise. “Morning,” he mumbled.

Before you could roll away, he shifted downward until he was under the covers. He rested his head on your stomach, his lips brushing lazy kisses over your skin. His breath was warm, and you heard a soft groan from him, drawing a soft laugh out of you despite your drowsy state.

“Jun-ho,” you said, your voice still tinged with sleep. “What are you doing?”

His answer was muffled beneath the blanket, his lips ghosted over your stomach as he spoke. “Staying right here.”

“Come out,” your hand instinctively found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands.

“No,” he said simply, a smile in his voice as he nuzzled closer. His hands rested on your sides, holding you gently, as though you might slip away if he didn’t. “I like it here. Warm. Safe.”

You sighed, but there was no real frustration to it. How could there be? You’d seen him at his lowest, drowning in uncertainty and grief, haunted by questions that had no answers. You’d been there through the nights when the weight of his memories felt too heavy. Those moments when you were there for him had chipped away at his walls, slowly revealing the man underneath—vulnerable and loving.

“Alright, fine,” you relented. “But don’t blame me if you suffocate down there.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he let out a soft muffled laugh, shifted slightly underneath the blanket.

You couldn’t see his face, but you could picture it perfectly—the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners, the smile that made your heart flutter.

“You’re impossible,” you said, though you made no move to push him away.

“I’ve been told that before,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “But you married me anyway.”

Eventually, he surfaced, his head popping out from beneath the blanket. His hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and yet he’d never seemed more at peace when he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your fingers brushed a stray piece of his hair back and he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, slow and unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did.

Later, the two of you were in the kitchen, making breakfast together. You stood by the counter, absentmindedly slicing fruit, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the sight of him walking over to the fridge, then the cabinets, wearing that faded t-shirt you loved seeing him in.

As Jun-ho turned to bring the plates over to the counter, he caught your eyes and paused. His expression shifted, a smile spreading across his lips as he took you in.

He set the plates down and padded over to you, then you felt his arms wrap around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, the warmth that radiated from him, and the quiet hum of his happiness filling the space.

Just as you turned around to reach for a bowl, you felt his hands on your waist. With one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the counter. Your eyes widened in surprise, and before you could say a word, he stepped between your legs, fitting himself there like he belonged, his body against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Jun-ho," you started, your voice carrying both exasperation and fondness, your hands instinctively resting on his shoulders to steady yourself.

You fell silent when his eyes held yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch, his head tilting slightly, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away.

His hands rested gently on your thighs, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of your pajamas. You could feel his breath against your lips. He paused there, his smile deepening as his gaze lingered on your face.

“I was just thinking,” he murmured, his voice low with amusement. “Breakfast can wait.”

“Yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow,

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed.

Jun-ho tilted his head slightly, and he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before angling his lips to meet yours.

It started soft and slow, his lips brushing over yours with an almost reverent tenderness. His hands slid up to rest on your hips, pulling you closer.

When he pulled back just enough to break the kiss, he let his lips trail along the curve of your jaw, then down to your neck, leaving sweet kisses along your skin. The sensation sent shivers down your spine.

“What are you doing?” you asked, though your voice had softened.

He didn’t stop, his lips pressing against the curve of your neck before he murmured against your skin. “Having breakfast.”

You smacked his shoulder lightly. “Alright, enough. Get off of me now.” you said half-heartedly.

He buried his face deeper into your neck, nuzzling into you like an overgrown puppy, letting out a noise of complaint as if your half-hearted smack had actually hurt.

You slipped your fingers under his chin, gently tilting his head up so he had no choice but to look at you. There was a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache in the best way.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Then you should do it right.”

You didn’t give Jun-ho a chance to respond. Closing the small distance between the two of you, you brought your lips to his in a kiss that made him melt against you. It was slow and deliberate, your fingers threading through his hair as you deepened the kiss, his hands went to rest on your waist as if he was anchoring himself to the moment.

Your fingers buried in his hair, tangling in the soft strands. When you gently tugged, his reaction was immediate. A soft sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and you felt the shiver that ran through his body. It was such a raw, unguarded sound, and it made you smile. His lips faltered against yours for a fraction of a second, and then he responded with renewed fervor.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his disheveled hair, his slightly kiss-swollen lips, and the faint blush on his face. His eyes searched yours with a vulnerability that made your heart warm.

“I love you,” he murmured.