#and they are going to argue. and if they do i’m just getting up and leaving i’m 20 year old im notgonna spend my first saturday off in weeks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cowgirlvi · 2 days ago

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mdni, sub bottom ellie, top fem reader, strap-on usage, vaginal sex, sorta loss of virginity, squirting

wc 1,491

thinking about fucking ellie with a strap for the first time. she’d be so shy and embarrassed, attempting to quiet her huffs and whimpers while you kiss along her neck. you’d tangle your fingers in her short, auburn hair, trying to get as much access to her sensitive skin as possible.

”hurry up,” she grumbles, nervous anticipation settling in her stomach.

it all started the other day when the two of you entered an adult toy store on a whim, giggling immaturely at the creative names of different phallic-shaped objects. until your eyes landed on one in specific.

it appeared to be a black leather harness accompanied by a translucent dildo; a light, jelly pink with a glittery interior. it spoke to you immediately— and not just because it was on sale.

you stood on your toes, plucking the product from its shelf. reading over the instructions, you started smiling, looking up at ellie from beneath your eyelashes.

when ellie realized what you were planning, her cheeks immediately flushed, her freckles stood out against her redness like constellations.

she stumbled backwards on her feet like you were holding a deadly weapon and not a strap-on set.

“huh? no way! absolutely not!”

now, here you are; running your hands softly down her sides to soothe her. you’re settled between her spread legs and she’s completely nude. when your eyes settle on her naked cunt she lets out a huff, attempting to close her legs.

”you were the one that wanted to do this, so get on with it,” ellie says, but her tough facade is slipping.

”what’s with the attitude? i’m treating you nicely, aren’t i? all you’ve done is complain,” you argue, rubbing the skin of her thigh subconsciously. you always felt the need to be touching ellie in some sort of way. “you know what i think? i think you just need your pussy filled right, baby? yeahhh, you just want me to stuff your hole with my cock, maybe that’ll shut you up.”

”don’t say things like that! god, you’re so weird—“

but you interrupt her, rubbing the head of your strap against her hole. it catches against her opening once, twice, three times. ellie shivers and involuntarily spreads her legs wider. yeah, she needs her pussy filled alright.

you hear the squelching sound her juices make against the silicone. it’s music to your ears. “your pussy’s so loud, ellie. wetter than i’ve ever seen before, too.”

ellie shoots you a sharp glare and you heed her warning this time, deciding to stop teasing. “you sure you don’t want me to finger you some more?” you ask seriously this time.

”i’m not made of glass,” ellie’s quick to reply. “just— put it inside me already, okay? please.”

and who are you to deny a girl with such good manners? so, you press the head against her opening, watching ellie’s face for any signs of pain. finding none, you keep going until the head of your strap fully pops inside.

ellie gasps, clenching the sheets between her fingers until it wrinkles. her big eyes follow your own between her legs, admiring what she can see of the pink silicone stretching her pussy. but her head falls back against your pillows when you ease another inch inside her.

“holy shit, baby,” you say breathlessly. “you’re so tight. i don’t know how i’m gonna fit the whole thing.”

”you’re s-seriously so embarrassing,” ellie replies but her voice comes out in a distracted whisper.

after a couple more minutes of easing the toy inside her, you’re buried to the hilt. you can see her cunt pulse around the strap, trying to get used to being so full. you settle your hands on her waist and rub soothing circles with your thumbs.

it’s hard for you to hold back from describing the vulgar scene before you, from telling ellie how cute her pussy looks stuffed to the brim, from telling her how hard you want to fuck her. but you keep your mouth shut for ellie’s sake while she adjusts.

instead, you wait for her go-ahead while you admire her body; her angular shoulders covered in freckles, her small breasts and her sensitive, rosy nipples, her flat stomach that you love to press kisses against, and her cute, little cunt— a hidden gem between her long legs.

”okay, you— you can move now,” ellie says. her green eyes are hazy as if she’s already cockdrunk.

you pull your hips back, watching intently as her pussy clings onto your cock, leaving a glimmering trail of her slick behind. her little clit peaks out, twitching like it’s in need of attention as well. but based on how sensitive ellie’s clit always is, you know to save that for last.

you thrust the remaining inches back inside her cunt, and ellie sucks in her stomach as she gasps deeply. pulling out once more, you thrust back inside her, and repeat the same motions over and over again, angling your hips upwards to try to hit her g-spot.

”mmh! oh, that’s g-good, babe— ahh!” found it.

“you like that, els? you look— fuck— so cute like this, ‘can’t get enough of you.”

your hands slide from her waist to the back of her thighs, pressing down to spread her legs wider. your fingers digging into the soft flesh, no doubt leaving marks behind. the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with ellie’s moans that are escalating in volume. her small tits bounce as your thrusts grow faster.

you lean over her, your hot breath ghosting against the curve of her ear, grunting against her with the force behind your thrusts. ellie is completely at your mercy, all she can do is lay there and take it as your hips piston forward, the thick length of your strap plunging deep inside her warm pussy.

one of your hands moves to paw at ellie’s breast, squeezing the small mound like a stress ball, making her hips jump. you let out a moan of pure, unadulterated pleasure when she grinds back against your thrusts, pressing the strap roughly into your clit.

”you’re, ah, seriously so fucking tight,” you say right against her ear. “i swear i can feel you gripping me.”

”you’re fucking— ngh!” ellie’s trembling now, clenching harder around your cock as if she, too, believes you can feel her tight heat. “you’re obnoxious.”

you simply giggle at her, “oh, i am?” slamming your hips harder against hers, you tease, “i’m just giving you— mmf, fuck— what you asked for.” you brace one hand on the mattress beside ellie’s head, the other one gripping the headboard tightly as you loom over her.

you roll your hips in a deep, filthy grind that alights goosebumps all across ellie’s skin. “holy sh— oh, fuck, right there! i’m sorry, j-just please don’t stop!” ellie cries while her back arches off the mattress.

”you close, sweetheart?” you coo and ellie nods her head quickly, so feverishly that you laugh at her again, “you love this, don’t you? who knew all you needed was my cock inside your cunt? fuck, you’re shaking so much.”

just as you’re about to bring your thumb down to her clit, to rub her to completion, ellie tenses and her cunt flutters wildly. a wild gush of liquid escapes her pussy, pushing your strap out of her hole with surprisingly strong force. her mouth is open on a silent scream, her eyes rolled back and her tongue hanging out dumbly.

for a second, you're just in awe, frozen in place at the intensity of ellie’s orgasm, basking in the wetness that drenched your torso and surely your bedsheets too. then you bring your fingers to her clit, massaging it in hard, slow circles to help her ride out her orgasm.

it feels like her orgasm lasts minutes, hours, until ellie chokes on a sob and pushes your hand away, then she lays on your bed, spread out like a starfish, while panting all the oxygen back into her lungs.

”holy shit, ellie,” you say, but it appears ellie didn’t hear you, and you can only imagine the white noise filling her ears as she comes back down to earth.

rubbing your hands along her waist, you lean over her and pepper kisses along her chest, then gently squeeze her breasts.

“guess what?” you say against her throat.

”hmm?” she hums. it seems like that’s all she’s capable of doing right now. her post-orgasmic haze is unbearably cute.

“i didn’t come yet,” you answer, already flipping ellie over onto her stomach and teasing your strap against her hole again. ellie looks over her shoulder at you in disbelief.

you pay ellie’s exhaustion no mind, too focused on stroking the embers of her desire back into a raging inferno.

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jiminomenon · 1 day ago

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assistant! reader going viral and capturing the attention of model! karina’s fans

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 843

summary: when karina posts a mirror selfie, y/n unintentionally steals the spotlight, sparking a viral reaction. as fans focus on her assistant, karina struggles with unexpected feelings of possessiveness and jealousy.

from my series: the devil wears prada

it all started with a selfie.

jimin had been in one of her moods, insisting on taking the perfect photo for her instagram. “y/n, set up my phone,” she said, handing over the device. “i want a mirror selfie, and make sure you get my good side.”

y/n, who had long since mastered the art of dealing with jimin’s diva moments, sighed but obediently propped the phone up on a nearby shelf, angling it toward the full-length mirror in jimin’s dressing room. “your good side is literally every side, jimin. just smile already.”

jimin pouted but struck a pose, her perfectly styled hair catching the sunlight. as the timer counted down, y/n stepped into the frame to adjust the angle, her unimpressed expression clearly visible in the mirror behind jimin.

“let me see,” jimin said, grabbing the phone. she frowned at the photo. “ugh, you ruined it! delete it and take another one.”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. she assumed that was the end of it—until the next morning, when she woke up to a flood of notifications on her phone.

“what the…?” y/n muttered, scrolling through her social media. her inbox was full of messages, and her follower count had skyrocketed overnight.

“good morning, sleeping beauty,” jimin said, sauntering into the kitchen with princess in her arms. “why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“did you… post that photo?” y/n asked, holding up her phone.

jimin blinked innocently. “which photo?”

“the one where i’m in the background!” y/n said, turning the screen to show her. the photo had gone viral, with thousands of comments and likes. most of them were about y/n.

who’s the assistant?? she’s so pretty!

karina’s assistant is stealing the show 😍

someone get this girl a modeling contract!

jimin’s smile faltered for a split second before she shrugged. “oh, that one. i didn’t think anyone would notice you.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “really? because it looks like everyone noticed me.”

as the day went on, the comments kept pouring in. fans were obsessed with y/n, dubbing her “karina’s pretty assistant” and even creating fan accounts dedicated to her.

jimin, meanwhile, was not handling it well.

“why are they so obsessed with you?” she grumbled, scrolling through the comments during a break in her photoshoot. “you’re not even doing anything in the photo.”

y/n smirked. “maybe they just have good taste.”

jimin glared at her. “this is my instagram. they’re supposed to be talking about me.”

“well, maybe next time you should make sure i’m not in the photo,” y/n said, clearly enjoying jimin’s frustration.

by the time they got home, jimin was in full denial mode. “it’s not that i care,” she said, flopping onto the couch. “i just don’t understand why they’re so interested in you.”

“maybe they think i’m cute,” y/n said, shrugging.

jimin’s eyes narrowed. “you’re not that cute.”

y/n laughed. “says the person who’s been sulking all day because i’m getting more attention than you.”

“i’m not sulking!” jimin protested, crossing her arms. “i just don’t like sharing the spotlight.”

“uh-huh,” y/n said, clearly not convinced.

later that night, jimin found herself scrolling through the comments again. she told herself it was just curiosity, but deep down, she knew it was more than that.

the truth was, jimin didn’t like the idea of y/n being in the spotlight—not because she was jealous of the attention, but because she didn’t want to share her with the world. y/n was hers. her assistant, her confidant, her… well, she wasn’t sure what else, but she knew she didn’t want anyone else to have her.

“stupid comments,” she muttered, tossing her phone aside.

“still obsessing over that photo?” y/n asked, walking into the room with a cup of tea.

“no,” jimin said quickly. “i just… don’t like people assuming things about you.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “like what?”

“like… that you’re available,” jimin said, her cheeks turning pink. “or that they can just… have you.”

y/n blinked, surprised by the intensity in jimin’s voice. “jimin, are you… jealous?”

“no!” jimin said, too quickly. “i just… you’re my assistant. that’s all.”

y/n smiled, setting down her tea. “you know, for someone who’s not jealous, you’re acting pretty possessive.”

jimin opened her mouth to argue but stopped when y/n sat down next to her. “look,” y/n said softly. “you don’t have to worry. i’m not going anywhere.”

jimin looked at her, her expression softening. “promise?”

“promise,” y/n said, smiling.

the next day, jimin posted another photo—this time, a selfie with y/n clearly in the frame, smiling this time. the caption read: “my assistant. hands off.”

the comments exploded all over again, but this time, jimin didn’t mind. after all, she’d made her point.

y/n rolled her eyes when she saw the post but couldn’t help smiling. “you’re such a drama queen, jimin.”

“maybe,” jimin said, smirking. “but you’re still mine.”

#aespa karina #karina x reader #yoo jimin #yu jimin #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #karina #yoo jimin x reader #yu jimin x reader #kpop gg #karina fluff #bratty! karina #model! karina #jealous! karina

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joemama-2 · 1 day ago

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"are you the fairy?"

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: You meet Gojo Satoru in a place untouched by time, where his laughter rings through empty streets and his hands chase yours like a promise he fully intends to keep. He is younger, reckless with his love, blind to the weight of the years that separate you—years that have taught you that love is not always meant to be kept. You let yourself have him anyway, knowing all the while that his future is stretching toward a horizon you cannot follow. When the time comes, you do what must be done—let him free.

wc: 7.3k

tags/warnings: angst, eventual comfort, suggestive content, older! reader, dividers by @/cafekitsune, HOPEFULLY PROOFREAD ENOUGH :(

Aging. A fear most people have. The fear of growing old, growing weaker, needing others to rely on for simple tasks, no longer being in your ‘prime’, and of course—the grey hairs. While it can be argued that aging is a natural, human process; it can also be argued that no one ever really wants to grow old. No one wants to see everything they knew and loved vanish before their own two deteriorating eyes, no one wants to become just a distant memory. But no one wants to be immortal either. It’s a weird push and pull, leaving humans with only one choice: enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of your life.

And so, that’s what you have been doing.

Graduating, getting a nice paying job, having a good place, traveling the world, making a name for yourself, being…happy. Sure, you’ve made friends and connections, but none of those amount to being in the peaceful solitude of your lonesome. You’ve faced adversaries in your life, and you’ve overcome them—that’s what making the most out of your life means. But you know what doesn’t fall under that category?

Allowing yourself to fall in love with a man almost two decades younger than you.

But with life comes spontaneous events, debating the pros and cons and wondering the ‘what ifs’.

And what if—against all logic, against every carefully laid plan—you let yourself have him? What if you ignore the whispers in your mind that warn of fleeting youth, of inevitable goodbyes, of the cruel march of time that will leave you grasping at something you were never meant to keep? Gojo Satoru is reckless in his affection, undeterred by the years between you, pressing himself into your life with an audacity that makes it impossible to push him away. He tells you that love doesn’t care for numbers, that age is nothing more than an arbitrary construct, and when he looks at you with that unwavering gaze, you almost believe him.

Almost.

You’re forty-five when you meet him, he’s nothing but a young and adventurous thirty-year-old. You remember being thirty.

“Are you from here?” you asked, resting your palm against your cheek. The coldness of the bar’s countertop sits underneath your elbow—you regard him with a curious gaze. The first thing you noticed was the pretty eyes he had. The next was his smile—that handsome smile that was doing weird things to your heart. You remember your late husband smiling at you like that every day, every chance he got. Your lip quirks up.

“No, I’m from Japan,” he replies smoothly, jutting his chin in your direction. “And you?”

You tell him.

“Oh, that’s nice. So, what are you doing all the way here?”

“Vacation.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Pretty well. Italy is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

A cheesy pick-up line you’re more than accustomed to. You save his awkwardness with a small laugh, eyebrow raising. “Thank you,” you glance down at the dark liquid in your cup, swirling its contents. “Though you aren’t the first to tell me that.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick with the weight of history you’ve long since buried. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? To be flattered but not fooled, to hear compliments that once would have made your heart race but now only bring a faint ache, like a ghost brushing past your skin. You didn��t expect to be here, sitting in this foreign bar, in this foreign city, drinking away the remnants of a life you thought you’d left behind—no more waiting for a man to come home, no more running on borrowed time. And yet, here he is, his smile still holding the weight of something undeniably fresh, something he hasn’t yet had time to tarnish with the passing years.

He chuckles, and it’s sincere. Like he knows how to handle this situation and like he’s done it a hundred times before—charming the older woman, never realizing the danger he’s flirting with. You can’t help but notice how easily he fits into this moment, how the energy between you feels almost too comfortable for something so unexpected. His youth, his vitality—it’s intoxicating, and yet, you know it’s only a matter of time before you have to draw the line, to remind yourself that he’s playing with something far more fragile than he understands.

You meet his eyes again, and for a second, you let yourself indulge. He’s not just handsome; he’s magnetic. And though you’ve seen his type before—young, reckless, full of life—there’s something different about him. It’s that smile, that easy confidence as if the world is nothing but a playground for him to conquer. Your heart stirs involuntarily, the edges of something you thought was long gone starting to flutter back to life.

"So, do you always travel alone?" you ask, your voice a little softer now, more curious than before.

His grin widens, pleased by the shift in your tone. “Not usually, but this time I decided to take some time for myself. I needed a change of scenery.” He leans in a little, dropping his voice to something almost conspiratorial. "It's nice to get away from it all, you know? To meet people who don't know your story."

The irony of his words doesn’t escape you. Here you are, a stranger in a new city, with a lifetime of stories you no longer tell, and yet, his openness makes you feel like you’re both speaking the same unspoken language. You could tell him everything, share the years of love and loss, of heartache and healing, but you don’t. You keep it hidden, tucked away where only time and memory can touch it.

“That sounds familiar,” you say quietly, glancing down at your glass again. Your fingers trace the rim absently. “Sometimes it's the only way to find peace." You don’t know why you’re telling him this. It’s not as though you’ve shared your soul with a stranger in a bar before. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something open and unafraid, that makes you think—just for a moment—that maybe this conversation, this meeting, isn’t entirely by chance. Something you haven’t felt in…a long time.

“Do you usually travel alone?”

You hum. “I do now.”

“Why now?”

“Because my husband doesn’t come along with me anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” He sips from his own cup, but when he puts it back down, its fizziness tells you it’s just coke.

You take a moment to reply, unsure if you should trauma dump on a stranger. But he did ask. “Because he’s dead,” you simply comment, leaning back in your stool and gauging his reaction.

But he doesn’t show a face of surprise or a face of regret. He doesn’t offer his unwanted apology. He nods, humming softly in thought. But his eyes change—and you think for a second that it looks like a silent sense of understanding—like he’s lost someone too before. “And what was his name?”

Your cheeks pinch up, smile widening in fondness. Looking down at your left hand that once housed a beautiful, golden ring. “Masamichi.”

There’s a stillness in the air for a second, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy but rather reverent, as if time itself paused to acknowledge the weight of your words. You look at him through the corner of your eye, seeing how his gaze softens—not with pity, but with something deeper, something far more intimate. It’s the kind of understanding that doesn’t come from words, but from shared experiences, and you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, in some quiet corner of his heart, he knows what it’s like to lose the love of your life.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but there’s something in the way he leans forward that tells you he’s listening in a way that feels different than the usual casual conversations you’ve had with strangers. His eyes are fixed on you, almost as though he’s waiting for you to continue, to say something more, but he doesn’t push. He waits—patiently, and respectfully. "Masamichi," he repeats the name softly, as if he’s testing it on his tongue as if it’s a secret he’s now been entrusted with. “That’s a really cool name, sounds like he was a hardass.”

You chuckle lightly and nod, not trusting yourself to speak again for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat. “He was, but he had his moments.”

“When were those?”

“When he’d call me pretty names.”

“Like?”

You bite your lip, smile wavering a bit as you recount ever beautiful name he used to call you. One always stuck out. “Well, he used to call me a fairy.”

He chuffs. “Why a fairy?”

"He told me I was delicate, elusive, like something too beautiful to be real. He used to say I’d flown in from some distant place, where the sky was always clear and the air was always fresh." The words feel like they’ve drifted in from a different lifetime, a time when love was a constant companion, not a faint, distant echo. You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth turning up. "I think he liked that idea, that I wasn’t tied down to anything—just... floating through life, free. He said I made him believe in things he never thought possible."

His gaze softens as he watches you, leaning a little closer now as if drawn into the quiet weight of your story. "That’s beautiful," he says, his voice low, almost reverent. "It sounds like he saw you in a way no one else could."

You nod, the memory of his warm words filling the space between you. "He did. And sometimes... sometimes I felt like I was a fairy, too. Like I didn’t really belong to this world. But when he called me that, it made me feel like I was meant to be somewhere, meant to be his." A quiet moment hangs between you, the air heavy with the soft intimacy of shared vulnerability. You meet his eyes, feeling an unexpected connection—the kind of unspoken understanding that can only exist between people who have known the depths of love and loss.

Then, just as you’re about to pull back, he asks, with a gentle curiosity, “Do you still believe in fairies?”

You blink at him, a little taken aback. The question seems simple enough. You shrug, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "I don't know if I believe in them, but... I like to think that maybe they’re real, in some way. In the things we can’t see, in the moments that take our breath away."

His eyes seem to light up, almost as if he’s surprised by your answer. There’s a long beat of silence before his lips curl into a smile that reaches his eyes. "Maybe you’re still a fairy, then," he says, voice warm with something like wonder.

You shake your head. "Yeah, maybe."

The words hang between you, filled with something gentle, something fleeting but real. You feel the stirrings of a connection, fragile and unexpected, like the wingbeats of a fairy. There’s a hollow space in your chest where his memory used to sit, and it takes everything in you not to let it show, not to let the quiet ache spill over. The ring on your finger is long gone, but the phantom of it lingers—an unspoken promise that can never be fulfilled, a history you no longer share with anyone. “What about you?” You shift the conversation, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of vulnerability you’re teetering on. “Do you have someone, someone you’ve loved the way you were loved?”

His smile falters a tad, a flash of something—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia—passing through his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the easy grin you’ve already grown accustomed to—the one that doesn’t let anyone get too close. But the silence that follows speaks volumes, and you almost feel like you’ve crossed some invisible line. Fearing that you’ve peeked into a part of him he didn’t mean nor want to reveal. "I did," he says quietly, almost to himself, the words hanging between you both like a secret. “But sometimes, we love people in ways they can’t love us back.”

The weight of his words sits heavily in the space between you. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that contradicts his earlier bravado, and you find yourself wondering how much more of him there is behind that smile, behind the charming facade. In that moment, you see something that mirrors your own grief, your own loneliness, and it’s unsettling. “Is she still around?”

“He’s not,” he shakes his head.

You take a sip from your glass, the sharp bitterness of the alcohol grounding you, and give him a small, knowing smile. “Well, I suppose we all have our stories.”

His eyes lock onto yours for a long, unspoken moment. You wonder if this is one of those rare moments in life where people truly see each other—not just for the faces they wear, but for what’s buried beneath. What they carry in the silence. “I think you’re right,” he finally says, his voice soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet tenderness that wasn’t there before. "But not everyone’s story is meant to be told in one night."

Your heart flutters for a reason you can’t quite place, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as cruel as it’s always seemed. Maybe, in this strange twist of events, you weren’t meant to run away from the past after all—but to face it, alongside someone who understands what it’s like to love and lose.

“I’m too old for you,” you laugh off his subtle suggestion, looking over to the opposite corner of the small, dim-lit bar. There are two girls sitting at the booth with obviously wandering eyes toward your new, unexpected companion. “Maybe them.”

He follows your gaze, his eyes flickering briefly to the two girls in the corner, before turning back to you with that signature, easy grin—unchanged, unaffected. The playfulness in his smile doesn’t reach the depths of his eyes, though. You wonder if he’s seeing something entirely different than the charming stranger you’ve made him out to be. You can feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, as if he’s testing the waters of your words, gauging how much of this is just casual banter and how much of it has an undercurrent you aren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Maybe," he replies, leaning back slightly, but there’s a glint of something else in his expression now, something that makes the air between you feel heavier. "But you know, I’m kind of having some fun with you right now." His voice drops, a playful edge softening into something more serious, and it makes you wonder if he’s teasing or if there’s something deeper in his intentions that hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

“I don’t think we’re having fun.”

“Then what are we having.”

“A simple conversation, nothing more, nothing less.”

He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting his head towards you. “Just how old do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, noticing a small twinkle. Your eyes move down, analyzing his features. He lets you do so in an untimely manner and when he sees that you’re looking lower at his arms, he playfully flexes. An amused snort that almost sounds like a scoff leaves your lips. “Young enough to be my son.”

“Do you have children?”

“And if I do?”

“Then that’s even better because I love MILFS.”

You scoff for real this time, eyes narrowing at him. “I don’t, but what you just said further proves my point.”

The air between you both shifts, like a quiet storm brewing, though neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge it. His words hang there, an almost careless suggestion laced with mischief, but they are impossible to ignore. You try to brush it off, laugh it off, but something about the way he leans in—his proximity, the way his gaze never wavers from yours—makes it harder than it should be. There’s something in his demeanor that says he’s not just playing, not just following the familiar rhythm of flirty banter. It feels like he’s pushing against the boundaries you’ve set, testing them in a way that catches you off guard.

He watches your every reaction carefully, his smile just a little too knowing, a little too calculated for someone so young. You can feel the heat of his gaze as it lingers, catching you off guard in a way that leaves your words hanging in your throat. His comment about MILFs—joking or not—makes your skin prickle uncomfortably, and for a second, you wonder if he’s being more sincere than you care to admit. But you can’t show it, not when you’ve already drawn the line, already told yourself this was just a fleeting moment in an unfamiliar place.

You clear your throat, trying to bring the conversation back to familiar ground, but the awkwardness lingers. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sit here with a woman who could be your mother.”

“Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he says, the playful edge in his voice softened by something deeper. There’s a sudden, subtle weight to his words, as though he’s no longer speaking just to entertain or to flirt, but to convey something more. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it catches you off guard. His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. The playful front cracks, revealing a hint of something you can’t quite name.

You shift uncomfortably, your thoughts creeping in again. "Well, you’ll find plenty of people who can keep you entertained around here." You gesture vaguely to the bar, the people milling about, the noise, the chatter. "I’m not the one you’re looking for."

His expression dampens. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe I’m just looking for someone who sees me, you know?”

The words hit you harder than they should, a soft pressure in your chest that you quickly try to dismiss. What is he saying? He doesn’t know you, yet he’s almost acting like he does. "I see you," you respond, your voice quieter than before, the weight of the statement hanging between you both like a truth neither of you is willing to face.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his eyes darken, the smile fading into something more thoughtful, more introspective. You begin to think he might say something that cuts through all the barriers you’ve put up, something that challenges the notion that this is just a casual encounter between strangers. But instead, he shifts in his seat, taking another long sip of his drink. “I don’t know if you do,” he finally says, his voice lower now, the playful lilt gone.

When he puts his drink down, you blame it on the alcohol from the way your skin flushes in a girlish way as he leans in—his breath fanning your ear. You also blame it on the alcohol when you’re reciprocating his advances, meeting his stare with an equally heated one of your own. And finally, you blame it on the alcohol when you tilt your head to whisper something in his ear.

“Do you want me to look harder?”

That was the first night you went home with him—the first night you indulged in the warmth and pleasure a man—Satoru—can bring you. And even after sharing your ages, that never stopped. It somehow…never stopped you either. You found yourself giving in—almost craving the way his hands grip your hips, the way his slim and long fingers dance along your ribs in a soft manner.

You didn’t expect yourself to be falling over the edge, finishing on just the tongue of a man younger than you. You always prided yourself on wanting—needing—an older man. And god, you were really missing out, weren’t you?

But it wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way his mouth knew exactly how to undo you piece by piece—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were something untouchable, yet here he was, holding you, ruining you, worshipping you in ways you hadn’t let anyone do in years.

It was intoxicating.

You told yourself it was just a fling, something fleeting, something fun. A vacation romance, a secret indulgence that you’d tuck away once you boarded your plane back home. But Satoru wasn’t the kind of man you could forget easily. His touch lingered, his voice echoed, and before you even realized it, you were answering his calls. Responding to his texts. Finding yourself in his arms again, even when you swore it would be the last time. You found yourself smiling at him when you believed he wasn’t looking, stifling a peal of laughter at his stupid jokes that he only said so he could see the way your eyes crinkle at the edges—you were finding comfort in him.

A warm, tentative comfort that only one other man had brought you before.

There were times you felt guilty, believing you were still bound to your late husband even in death, and at times—you almost compared the two. However, you know Masamichi would’ve wanted you to move on and care for yourself in ways he couldn’t do anymore. He would’ve smiled and encouraged you to find pleasure in your life.

And you did.

Because somewhere between those nights tangled in silk sheets and the hushed laughter over shared meals, you forgot to remind yourself of the one thing that mattered most: this was never meant to last.

But at the same time, you almost didn’t want it to end. You enjoyed the way he kissed your knuckles, moved strands of hair out your face, and complimented you when you felt at your lowest. He was seeing every part of you—the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. You were letting him.

One night, after a particularly passionate session, he’s running his fingers along the curve of your spine. Naked bodies huddled next to one another, and the sheets offer a nice little coverup. The moonlight peeks through his blinds, the plush mattress sinking further underneath your weights. He kisses the top of your head softly before moving to your temple. Once again, you’re smiling. Tracing mindless circles on his bare chest, your foot rubbing up and down his calf. No words are spoken, there usually aren’t. But the silence doesn’t feel deafening; it feels comfortable. You found yourself snuggling closer to him. “Satoru?”

“Mhm?” he hummed back, sighing lightly, his smile never wavering.

“Where do you…see yourself in ten years?”

He hums again, this time in thought, his fingers never ceasing their lazy tracing along your spine. You feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palm, steady and unhurried. You wonder if he’s really thinking about your question, or if he’s simply enjoying the feel of you against him. “In ten years?” he finally repeats, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment. “I don’t know…Happy, I guess. Settled down; I’d like to have kids by then.”

Your fingers pause against his chest. You don’t know why, but his answer catches you off guard. Not because it’s shocking—he’s young, full of life, full of potential—but because it’s something you’ve stopped thinking about for yourself. “Kids?” you echo, tilting your head up to look at him. His pale lashes flutter slightly as he meets your gaze, and there’s something soft in his expression, something almost wistful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a small chuckle escaping him. “A couple of ‘em, maybe. A little girl who’s just as stubborn as me, a boy who’s just as curious. Someone to pass everything down to, y’know?” His hand moves from your back, up to your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he exhales. “I think I’d be a good dad.”

You don’t doubt that. Satoru is many things—annoying, arrogant, childish at times—but he’s also deeply caring. He loves with his whole heart, even when he pretends he doesn’t. You can see him being the kind of father who carries his child on his shoulders, who spoils them with sweets, who makes bad dad jokes just to hear their laughter.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to say that out loud. Instead, you settle for a noncommittal hum, lowering your head back onto his chest, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Ten years from now, he’ll have a family. He’ll have everything he wants. And you won’t be part of it.

That’s when reality hit for you. You’re holding him back. You can’t give him what he wants, what he longs for. It’s a bittersweet, brutal reminder that this little world you’ve built was only meant to be temporary. That the laughs, touches, kisses, the sex, it’s fickle. You’ve blinded yourself and let yourself sink too far deep to understand that what Satoru wants…he can’t experience with you.

And so, it started small. Days spent out with him, your eyes would flicker around, moving from one woman to the next. Pointing them out to him in an encouraging way.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” “Maybe you should go ask for her number.”

“You’re both tall, you would go well together.”

It honestly hurt to push him away—to open his eyes to the other fish in the sea while a small part of you wished he could only be yours. But you’d never ask him to stop following his dreams of becoming a family man for your own selfish desires.

At the start, he humors you. Rolls his eyes, scoffs, plays along like it’s just another one of your little jokes. “She’s alright, I guess,” he shrugs when you point out a woman at the café, her long legs crossed elegantly as she sips on a cappuccino. “But I prefer my women a little more…experienced.” He flashes you that cocky grin, the one that always makes your stomach flutter.

You laugh, but it’s forced. You ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. But then you do it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t take him long to catch on.

One evening, when you offhandedly comment on the cute waitress who just served your drinks, something shifts in his expression. His smile dims, his fingers drum idly against the table. “Y’know,” he says, tone too casual, too light. “You’ve been doing this a lot lately.”

You feign ignorance, sipping your wine. “Doing what?”

“Trying to set me up like some kind of matchmaking service.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “You got tired of me already?”

You force back a sigh. The way he says it—half-joking, half-serious—makes your stomach twist. “Satoru—”

“No, really,” he cuts in smoothly, tilting his head. “Is that what this is? You pushing me away? Guilt-tripping me into realizing you’re too old for me or whatever bullshit you’ve been telling yourself?”

Your fingers clench around the stem of your glass. He sees right through you. You swallow, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Looking out for me?” He leans back, stretching his arms along the booth. “Or making decisions for me?”

You hate how much that stings. You hate how right he is.

“I just…” You exhale, setting your glass down. “I just don’t want to hold you back, Satoru.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. You think he’s going to tell you you’re being ridiculous, that he wants you, that he doesn’t care about the future you keep running from.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really that convinced this can’t work, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

His lips press into a thin line. He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his drink. “Message received.”

And just like that, the air between you shifts.

Colder.

More distant.

Like the beginning of the end.

Your heart drops, looking back down at your wine. For a second, you felt like you ruined things. But it’s better to nip things in the bud than let them bloom, is it not?

Even after that, he was still adamant about seeing you. You let him, deciding to relish in these last few tender moments you may have with him. The sun was shining and beaming down on you two as you ate your brunch. It was a pleasant day. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made you wonder how someone like her could even exist in this world. The type of beautiful that turned heads and left impressions. The type that had Satoru slowly following her with his eyes. You tell yourself this is a good thing. That this is what you wanted. That you should feel relieved that, finally, he’s looking at someone else the way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

But it doesn’t feel like a relief. It feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

You lift your mimosa to your lips, taking a slow sip, pretending you don’t notice the way his gaze lingers on her. She’s stunning—long legs, flawless skin, a radiant smile that could stop anyone in their tracks, and long black hair. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, not in a small café, laughing at something her friend just said.

You force yourself to smile. “She’s exactly your type.”

Satoru’s attention snaps back to you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. He blinks, then exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “I’m just saying, you should talk to her.”

He scoffs, pushing his fork around his plate. “Yeah? And then what?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Satoru sets his silverware down with a quiet clink, resting his arms on the table. “Let’s say I go up to her. Get her number. Take her on a date.” He shrugs, giving you a half-smile. “Then what? I sleep with her? Take her on more dates? Marry her?”

You stare at him, not sure where this is going.

“And then we have kids,” he continues, his tone light, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp, cutting right through you. ��That’s what you want, right? For me to find someone younger, someone who can give me the future I want.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So, tell me something.” His voice drops, softer now, almost vulnerable. “If I wanted all of that with someone else, don’t you think I’d already be doing it?”

Your breath catches.

He waits.

But you don’t have an answer.

All you can do is encourage him to go up to her.

And he did.

He was reluctant, of course. Only doing it to shut you up.

But you saw the way his expression softened, the way his dimples poked out when he’d talk about her. You were there on the side, watching what he once thought would be a simple meeting, to finding a woman he’d started to fall for.

It was like watching a slow-moving car crash—one you orchestrated with your own hands. You had done this. You had led him to her, pushed him in her direction, knowing full well what it would mean. And yet, knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The texts started. Little mentions of her here and there. You caught the way his face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen before, the way he spoke about her with that quiet sort of wonder like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he never expected to solve. You were still a part of his life, still, someone he made time for, but something between you had shifted irreversibly. The stolen moments, the lingering touches, the whispered confessions under moonlit sheets—they grew fewer and further between, replaced by something… distant.

She was such a kind and lovely woman, her voice made of butter when she spoke to you about him. And when you caught him smiling at his phone one evening, thumb idly tapping out a message to her, you knew.

He had found what you wanted for him. What he deserved. What you couldn’t give him.

So why did it feel like you were the one being left behind?

“Are you happy?” you had whispered, holding him tight in a hug, eyes beginning to water.

He held you back, arms secure around your waist. His icy hair tickled your skin, and he planted a soft, reverent kiss on your cheek. Pulling back to look at you, he didn’t have that fiery, teasing sparkle in his eyes like usual. No, this time, all that was there was just…him. Just Satoru.

“I am,” he had said with a genuine finality.

The trickle of warm tears slid down your cheeks, his thumbs swiping softly at the skin. “Good, I’m…I’m happy too.”

Truthfully, you were. Because if you had to let Satoru go, if you had to let him be the man he should be, you knew he was doing it beside a woman that was worth it. She was worth it. And you were beginning to be okay with the fact of being a memory to him, as long as it meant his wishes came true.

You left him, never once looking back, answering his texts or his calls.

You don’t know how you had the strength to do it, how you managed to pull yourself away from the man you’d poured so much of yourself into. There was a time when you thought you’d never be able to let go—when you believed you’d somehow convince him that the life he envisioned with someone else wasn’t worth pursuing. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep holding onto him, not when the weight of your love was slowly suffocating him, not when you knew that he needed to step into a future that wasn’t tied to a past that could never fully be his. You didn’t want to be the one who held him back, no matter how much it hurt.

The hardest part was the silence that came after. You told yourself it was for the best, that you were doing him a favor, letting him breathe, letting him live without your shadow hanging over him. But the quiet was unbearable. Slowly, the hole he left inside you grew wider, the void left by his absence swallowing you whole. It felt like a slow, silent death—a death that had to happen for him to thrive, even if you weren’t ready for it.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

But somehow, that was for the best. He was with her now—his beautiful, young, hopeful future. And you? You were learning to accept the peace that came with being the past. The bittersweet relief of knowing that you had let him go, even when it felt like a piece of you was missing forever. You were learning to find happiness and acceptance with that. But you knew deep down, a part of you would always love him. And that part would remain tucked away, hidden, safe in the quiet recesses of your heart where no one could touch it. Because, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life moved on, Satoru would always be the one who made you believe in the fleeting beauty of something that could never truly last.

Seven years had passed, and time had etched its marks on both of you. You were different now—wiser, perhaps. Life had moved on, as it always did, carrying you forward in unexpected ways. You found a home in Japan, a little place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, a perfect reflection of the peace you had slowly cultivated within yourself. It was the kind of home you never thought you'd need after him, but somehow, it filled the emptiness that had lingered for so long.

When you saw him again, it felt like a thousand memories rushed back to you in a single moment. His shock was palpable—eyes wide with disbelief, brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of the woman standing before him. The same Satoru, yet different in small, subtle ways. His features had softened, a few lines around his eyes that spoke of time passing, of laughter shared, of a life fully lived. He was healthy, vibrant, the man you’d once known and the one who had continued his journey without you. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet at first, unsure if this was real or just a figment of his mind. His gaze swept over you as if trying to understand how you could still exist in his life after everything.

And then, he smiled. It wasn’t the same playful grin that had always been there, the one that had once made your heart race. This one was softer, warmer—gentler. It carried the weight of the years apart, but also the familiarity of someone who had once been an integral part of your soul.

And you smiled back again.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, the embrace as natural as it was unexpected. It wasn’t just a hug; it was a reunion, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had passed between you both. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting strength of his hold, the warmth of his body that you once thought you'd never feel again. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the undeniable connection that had never truly disappeared. It was as though time had been kind to you both, erasing the pain and replacing it with something softer, something more peaceful.

“Satoru,” you muttered softly, almost in relief.

"You look good," he said softly, pulling away just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms as if testing the reality of this moment.

You feel something cold pressed against your arm, looking down…there’s a golden ring on his left ring finger. Your lips parted with mild surprise before looking up at him with a sense of blitheness. You couldn’t help but chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way he loved—loves. “...is it her?”

He nods, glancing down at your own hand. And look at that; he’s not the only one with a gold ring. “And what about you?’ he asked, a softness in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, bringing your hand up and admiring the band around your finger, the diamond saying hello once more. Memories of your husband’s gruff voice, his frown that he tried so hard to keep etched on his face, the spiky black hair you loved to comb your fingers through, the scar on the corner of his mouth that you loved to kiss. “His name is Toji.”

He nodded with a wave of approval. “How long?”

“Three years. And you?”

“Four.”

You guys laughed simultaneously. The sound of your shared laughter fills the quiet space between you two, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. There’s an ease to it, an old familiarity that you never quite lost, even with the years between you. The weight of everything that had happened—your separation, his journey, your own—seems to melt away, leaving only the lightness of the present moment. It feels almost surreal, standing there with him, both of you changed yet still the same in many ways.

You glance down at your left hand again, the ring catching the sunlight that spills through the window. The cool metal seems to hum with its own kind of quiet significance. Toji.

But now, standing here with Satoru, there’s a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with contentment. You never imagined this—standing side by side with him, sharing your worlds as they are now. When you look up at Satoru, you see the same softness in his eyes that’s always been there, but now it carries with it the weight of time. He has a family, a future that doesn’t include you, and that’s okay. There’s peace in that. He’s found what he was always meant to have, the thing that once felt like an impossibility between you two.

“Four years,” you repeat, your voice soft, taking in the new ring on his finger. “That’s beautiful, Satoru. I’m…I’m so happy for you.”

He grins, that same playful glint in his eyes, but this time it feels like it’s tempered by something deeper, something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “She’s incredible. I’m really lucky.”

The warmth that spreads through you isn’t jealousy, or bitterness, or anything like that. It’s something else entirely—pride, maybe. Or relief. You always knew that Satoru was meant for something bigger than what you two could have together, but seeing him happy now, seeing him settled with someone who makes his eyes light up the way they used to with you, it’s the closure you never thought you needed.

“You?” he asks again, as though sensing the unspoken question between you two. His gaze shifts to your hand again, then back up to your face.

The words come out easily now. “He’s my rock,” you say simply, the affection in your voice unguarded. “He makes me better, makes me whole.”

Satoru’s expression softens, and you see the flicker of that old tenderness—the way he used to look at you before everything got complicated. But it’s not painful, this time. It’s not heavy. It’s just… understanding. Like he’s happy that you’ve found that kind of peace. The kind of peace he’s found with her. “You both deserve it,” he says with a nod, as though sealing the quiet approval between you two. “You deserve everything good that comes your way.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. The unspoken acknowledgment that the two of you, after all this time, have moved on, and have created lives for yourselves that reflect who you’ve become. And for all that has happened, all the loss and the love that came and went, there’s something beautiful in knowing that this chapter—this shared history—is now something you both cherish without needing to hold on to.

He invited you over that day and you accepted.

His wife runs up to you, hugging you like you’re an old friend. “Oh my god!” she exclaims in a gasp, her red-tinted lips curved up into a wide smile. You hugged her back, mirroring his reactions. “It’s so great to see you again, Miss. Satoru and I have never forgotten you.”

“Utahime…” he mutters with slight embarrassment.

You chortled and patted her back. “I haven’t forgotten about you too either.”

She pulls back, removing her arms from you. Satoru places a warm arm around her waist and brings her to his side. The display of affection has you melting on the inside, head tilting in fondness. Satoru looks at you. “So, there’s someone we want you to—”

The sound of little pitter-patter against the hardwood cuts him off, all of your attention being dragged to the little girl with white hair and auburn eyes like her moth bounding up to you in excited familiarity. Her tiny gasp as she looks up at you with wide, innocent, twinkling eyes. She looked up at you as if she had known you her whole life, bubbling with a sense of jitteriness, cheeks glowing with a youthful flush. You couldn’t help but crouch down to her height, head tilting. Your eyes glazed over with tears, holding a hand to your mouth to hold back the broken laugh you almost let out at the question she asked you.

“Are you the fairy?”

a/n: this story is inspired by "a love not made for me" by aryana rose. please go hear her speak it, she tells it so beautifully :(((. anywho, thank u guys for 2k really. i love u all and I'm incredibly grateful for all the support and love and patience :))

i couldn't do it without yall. <3

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natalievoncatte · 16 hours ago

Text

Content Warning: It is very lightly implied but there’s part of this that may be upsetting.

Kara bolted awake to the sound of a scream, and when she bolted awake, she bolted. Her forehead thumped the ceiling and someone in the loft above hers yelled for her to stop that fucking racket, but it didn’t matter. The blood curdling, gurgling shriek of terror was still ringing in her ear and she had but a single thought: Lena.

She threw up the sash of her window so hard the wood chipped and leaped into space, alien power folding the air behind her so hard that the entire building shuddered, and she had to stop herself from going hypersonic and breaking every window on the block.

It was Lena. Her voice cut through the constant barrage of human and mechanical and animal noises around her. It sliced through a wall of arguing spouses and sighing lovers and wailing sirens, through the secret language of cats and the grinding of the tectonic plates beneath all their feet. It was not a mere scream but a shriek, a wail of agony and terror that made her blood freeze even as she rocketed through the city in a blur, dozens of pedestrians looking up as she blasted overhead.

Lena’s place was across town, an hour on foot- for a human. Kara made it at the speed of thought, arriving so fast that Lena was still screaming as she landed and wrenched open the balcony door and stormed through the penthouse.

When she brushed open the bedroom door she found a cowering Lena curled in the corner in a pile of bedsheets, staring at nothing, shaking violently and shrieking.

Kara jabbed the comm bead in her ear.

“Alex!”

“What?” Alex said, groggily. “Kara? What time is it? Why… who’s that screaming?”

“It’s Lena. I need help. It’s like she’s still asleep but she’s screaming and her eyes are open. She’s not reacting to me.”

“What the hell is she doing at your apartment at three in the morning?”

“I’m at her place. I heard her screaming and flew.”

Alex let out a pained sigh. “Please tell me you remembered the suit.”

Kara looked down at her threadbare pajamas and frowned.

“Yep, sure did. What do I do?”

“Get off me!” Lena choked out, “get off me!”

Her eyes wide wide with horror, but worse, her heart was beating incredibly fast, her pupils tiny points. She began swiping at nothing with hooked fingers, tangling herself in the sheets, which only drove her into a deeper frenzy. L

“Alex! What do I do?”

“Try to get her back into bed. Gently. Speak slowly and calmly.”

Kara nodded. “Lena?”

She was met with another round of screams.

“Lena, it’s me, it’s Kara. I’m hear to help you.”

“Kara?” Lena choked out. “No, you have to go, you can’t, they’ll hurt you too.”

“No, they wont,” Kara said, soft but firm, kneeling in front of her. “No one can hurt you when you’re with me. I’ll protect you.”

Kara gently placed her hands on Lena’s shoulders. Her skin was fever hot and a vein stood out on her forehead, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

Very slowly, Kara began to shift her towards the bed, finally giving up and lifting her entirely. Lena clung to her in a full body arms-and-legs hug.

Alex crackled in her ear.

“Stay there. I’ll have J’onn do a sweep of the area just to be sure.”

“Don’t go,” Lena murmured, “Kara please, don’t go please.”

“I’m right here and I’m not leaving,” Kara said, lowering her to the bed.

It was… awkward. Kara had no choice but to climb in with her. She grabbed an armful of silk sheets and down comforter and sheltered them both within it, packing herself up into a tight roll with Lena, arms locked around her.

Lena’s screaming had stopped but she still seemed unaware, her focus entirely on Kara as she sobbed lightly into her chest.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” Kara repeated, like a mantra, lightly running her fingers over Lena’s scalp.

“You’re safe, I promise.”

Lena buried her face in Kara’s throat and sobbed. Kara continued to stroke her hair, and almost without realizing it, started singing.

“Kara,” Alex said in her ear, “the channel is still open. Kara, you’re singing a Kryptonian lullaby!”

She didn’t care. She jabbed her ear to silence the little voice and continued to sing, the same song her father used when she had nightmares in the groundquakes when their world was shaking itself apart.

Lena’s breathing finally slowed. The tension slid out of her and her breathing and pulse eased. She fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Kara could leave now, if she wanted. Skip away and let Lena think it was all a dream, though she might wonder what happened to the lock on her balcony door.

She could, but a promise was a promise.

Eventually, her own lullaby lulled her to sleep, and she drifted off into a dreamless rest of her own.

When the sun draped a warm touch across her skin and Kara opened her eyes, she found herself oddly well rested for someone who’d woken up at three in the morning and flown across town. Lena dozed lightly in her arms, tucked against and under Kara so naturally it was as if they were made to slot together this way. Kara lay turned and curled around Lena, a fortress of living walls around her smaller frame, even as she clung to Kara’s waist.

She still had time to leave, to let the night be a mystery… but something stopped her. She wasn’t sure if it was the soft, sweet scent of Lena’s hair or the way Lena’s breath tickled her throat or the soft weight of her or the delightful sensation of her breasts pressed against Kara’s own but she needed this, she wanted this.

Lena was looking at her.

“Are you real?” she whispered.

“It’s me, Lee.”

“Why are you here?”

Kara licked her lips and sorted through fifty lame excuses. What would it be this time? Lena butt dialed her in the middle of a night terror? She forgot her hairbrush?

No.

“I heard you screaming and I flew here to protect you.”

Lena blinked, clearly groggy, her brows pinched in consternation as she worked it out. Kara waited.

“Oh,” Lena said, finally.

“Yeah,” said Kara. “I can go if you’re upset, or you need time,” her voice grew thick, “or if you’d rather not see me anymore.”

“No,” Lena snapped, almost angrily, then more softly, “please stay. I’d like you to stay, I… I need you to help me feel safe for a while.”

Kara nodded.

“I had a terrible dream. It was so real. I dreamed Lex sent people after me in my office, but they weren’t there to throw me off the balcony this time. I tried the gun I keep in my desk but it had no effect on them, and Jess didn’t hear me screaming and no one would help me.”

“It wasn’t real,” Kara murmured. “That will never happen. I will always be there when you need me.”

“What if you’re too far or you’re too busy?”

“I’m never too busy and I’ll never be too far. I’ll give you a signal watch.”

“A signal watch?”

Kara nodded. “Like my cousin gave James. If you use it I’ll be able to find you anywhere.”

“God, Kara in can still feel the hands on my throat. It was so real.”

“It wasn’t, I promise. I’m real. Can you feel me?”

Lena suddenly seemed a touch embarrassed, but didn’t pull away.

“I can definitely feel you.”

“Good. You’re safe. We don’t have to get up yet. Just lay here with me in the sun and you’ll be safe.”

There was a knock at Lena’s door and they both jumped.

Alex’s voice crackled in her ear.

“I’m at the door, Kara. Let me in.”

“Kara? What’s going on?” said Lena.

“Alex is at the door.”

Kara started to slip out of bed and Lena almost frantically followed her, pressing close behind. Kara looked through the door -a little relieved that Lena hadn’t lined it with lead- and saw Alex standing there in full agent gear. She opened the door.

Alex raised a brow. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” said Kara. “We were going back to sleep.”

Alex swept into the apartment.

“J’onn caught a guy. Two-bit mercenary hack, calls himself Doctor Destiny. Uses a drug to enhance latent psychic abilities- he’s a dreamer, messes with people’s heads while they sleep. J’onn gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

Lena tensed beside her, and Kara felt it.

“Alex, where is he now?”

“Back at headquarters in a holding cell. I made arrangements for him to be transported to Belle Reve, with a cape escort.”

Kara paused for a long moment.

“Alex, can you stay with Lena for a few minutes?”

Lena paled even further, the blood draining from her face.

“Kara?”

“I won’t be gone long, baby. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Baby?” said Alex.

“Shut up,” Kara snapped.

Lena gave her a slight nod of assent.

Kara decided to make this quick. She flew home first, changed, and landed on the DEO balcony all in less than five minutes. When she reached the holding cells, she told the guard on duty to get a coffee and let herself in.

He was an unassuming man, average height and build with scruffy hair and a five o’clock shadow. He looked more like a petty crook that got caught robbing a corner store, less like a supervillain.

“You’re ��Doctor Destiny’?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you do this on your own or were you hired?”

“Fuck off,” he said, with a shrug. “I’m going to the hole until Waller comes in to cut me a deal. You’re a Supe, you don’t scare me. Maybe send the Bat if you want to-“

Kara took two steps across the cell, seized his throat in a crushing grip that almost crushed his windpipe, and pinned him to the wall like a struggling insect beneath a sadistic child’s thumb.

“What the fuck?” he croaked out.

Kara turned her head slightly and hit the wall with a pop of heat vision that scorched the concrete and left a warm red spot.

“What the fuck?” he said again.

“I can see it,” Kara said, her voice as cold as ice. “I can see the little quirk in the back of your brain that gives you powers. One little blink and it’s gone.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“It’s too bad that there’s some important structures in the way, but you probably don’t need those language and motor skills.”

“You can’t!” he screamed.

Kara leaned in close, eyes smoldering so that he could feel the heat begin to sting his flesh.

“Wrong. I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! It was Edge! Morgan Edge! He paid me fifty grand!”

“Fifty g-“ Kara snarled, gritting her teeth. “Listen to me. They’re taking you to Belle Reve. I want you to tell everyone there. Everyone, do you hear me?”

“Tell them what?”

“If anything happens to Lena Luthor, I have no rules.”

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell everyone I promise! I swear!”

Kara let go and turned, ignoring his cries as his knees hit the concrete floor, and slammed the cell shut behind her.

When she landed on Lena’s balcony, Alex was sitting with her on the couch. The color had come back to Lena’s cheeks and she no longer looked small and frightened, her eyes no longer darting to corners and thresholds as if she expected something to pop out from behind them.

“Lena is going to pack a few bags and come stay with you for a few days,” said Alex. “I convinced her that crashing on Supergirl’s couch is a better security system than what she’s got, and while she’s out I’m going to have our tech team integrate her security into the DEO so we’ll know instantly if she’s in trouble.”

Lena nodded at all of this.

Kara knelt before Lena and gently took her chin by a curled finger and raised her gaze.

“You’re under my protection,” she said. “I swear it.”

Lena’s eyes sparkled and she gave Kara a soft smile, cupping Kara’s hand in her own.

“Okay, Brave Sir Kara, let’s take milady Luthor back to yonder castle.”

“Shut up,” Kara muttered.

The trip home seemed to calm Lena even more, as she laughed at the two sisters bantering with each other after Kara changed and climbed into Alex’s car, leaning forward from the back seat to poke her head between Lena and Alex and tease her sibling.

Lena ended up staying a full two weeks.

The “sleeping on the couch” concept didn’t even last the first night.

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dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes · 2 hours ago

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A/N: I was asked for more, so I am attempting. I’ve never written anything like this. I just love the idea of dad bod Logan…or muscular, fit body of Logan’s with a tummy or a decent gut. It’d be cute. Don’t judge me.

One evening when the guys returned from a merc job, Logan goes to the bedroom to get a change of clothes while still in his suit. He can wear an outfit under it rather comfortably but this time, he noticed his suit was tight in the middle. He went into the bathroom and looked at his profile where he got his confirmation that he had a tummy. He began to strip out of his suit and kept checking himself out in the mirror, not liking what he finds. Once he pulls off his tank top, he sees that it isn’t really a gut, just pudge. Just a layer of fat on his otherwise muscular form from eating three meals a day. He wonders if he should go back to alcohol and one meal a day. He shook his head since he feels better, feels healthier, and can tell what he is doing is good for him. He has more energy and much better alertness but he doesn’t like the pooch at all. He decides to go back to one meal a day while keeping the alcohol down and just making sure to drink water instead. He can do this.

What Logan doesn’t expect when he makes this decision is how Wade acts.

Three days later after Logan has returned to eating one meal a day, Wade immediately notices the change and doesn’t like it. By the second day, he decides to eat out at places he knows Logan likes but the man refuses saying he isn’t hungry. Wade knows he is lying. The man eats like him due to maintaining his healing factor.

At day three, Wade decides to pull out the stops, he wakes early to go to that bakery Logan loves their pastry to get him a dozen with half of it solely for Logan. The man glares at Wade over his black coffee and again claims he isn’t hungry.

Now, it is the morning of day four and Logan is having his black coffee and reading the newspaper.

“So, grandpa, how’s the crossword going?” Wade asks.

Logan sips his coffee and grunts. He sets the cup down and turns the page.

“Got the funnies? I’d love to see what that stupid orange cat is doing to Jon today. “ Wade sips his khaki color coffee full of sugar and creamer.

“No, this doesn’t have funnies,” Logan explains.

“Damn. I was hoping to see what that Valiant knight was up to too. Any sudoku?” Wade pokes again.

Logan quietly rumbles as he flips through the pages and removes the pages the sudoku is on before nearly slamming it down in front of Wade. “Is there anything else you need, princess, before I go back to quietly reading the paper?”

“Actually, yes,” confirms Wade.

Logan sets the paper down and gives Wade his undivided attention.

“Why aren’t you eat? You barely have one meal a day. What changed, peanut?” Wade’s eyes are lidded and he’s frowning. Logan can smell his genuine concern. Not wanting to admit the worry, as superficial as it may sound, he shrugs. “Just haven’t been hungry for some reason.”

“I smell bullshit, Wolvie, and you know it,” argues Wade. “I don’t understand why you’d limit yourself when you’re looking great.” Logan snorts at that but Wade continues, “You seem to have more energy, are seemingly happier, and haven’t even wanted to drink more than a few beers daily. I mean, you’ve been going on jobs with me which is always a blast when you come. What could be so important that you cut back on food of all things?”

Logan mumbles an answer that Wade doesn’t hear.

“I’m sorry, honey badger, could you say that for the whole class to hear?” Wade pushes.

“My suit’s tight,” Logan barely whispers as his ears pinken.

“Your suit’s tight?” Wade’s eyes incredulously asks. Logan refuses to make eye contact and stares at the table.

“Yeah, ok?! I need to lose some weight,” Logan rumbles angrily.

Wade leans back and relaxes his body, trying to seem as non-threatening to the upset beastly of the man who has his heart. “I do sew, Logan. Why don’t you let me help you out with this?”

Logan snorts and shakes his head. “Even I know letting clothes out, let alone this suit, is challenging without matching…everything,” he acknowledges. Wade is surprised Logan understands the complexities of sewing.

“True, but I know how to get matching material and where ,” Wade grins, haughtily.

Tag: @asgardiansofthegalaxyvol3

Logan moving in with Wade and gaining weight because not only is he eating three square meals a day, but he also picked up baking because both Al and Wade have a sweet tooth, and of course the sweets are there, he’s going to eat them too. But now he’s getting kind of chubby. Which isn’t a problem really. He looks healthier than he has in decades. Except…

Wade stopped flirting with him. Straight up just stopped. And yeah Logan’s been ignoring it right along because he knows Wade isn’t actually serious about it, but it was still kind of nice to be wanted. Especially since he came from a reality where he was literally the most hated man alive. And of course now he has actual feelings for Wade, he wants the option to be there.

So he decides to not only start going to the gym but also to stop eating. And of course Wade notices and has to sit him down and ask what’s up, he’s been super healthy lately why is he changing that

And Logan can’t admit why he’s doing it so he deflects. “So going to the gym isn’t healthy?”

“You practically live there now. You’re a certified gym rat. You’re overworked and underfed. THAT isn’t healthy.”

And they go back and forth until Logan finally admits it’s because he gained weight and doesn’t feel attractive anymore. “Hell, you don’t even flirt with me anymore and I’ve seen you hit on inanimate objects before.”

And Wade stares at him for like 10 full seconds before he busts out laughing, like genuinely knee slapping chuckle fest because, “You think I stopped flirting with you because I’m shallow??? You honestly think I look like a burn victims even uglier ball sack and I’m being picky with how someone else looks?”

Logan tries to shrug it off with a “Everyone has preferences.”

“Trust me, Peanut, it isn’t that.”

“So then what is it?”

And now it’s Wade’s turn to be defensive until he realizes their conversation is just going in circles and Logan won’t stop destroying his body until he comes clean. So he has to stare at the wall as he tells Logan that it isn’t that he’s not attracted to Logan’s body anymore, it’s that he’s hyper attracted to it now, that he looks so healthy, so well fed, so inadvertently loved, and that it’s a reminder of all the domesticity of their situation that he’s actually fallen in love and can’t trust himself to casually flirt with Logan anymore because he’s genuinely afraid he’s going to do something and ruin their friendship now.

And they make out sloppy style and confess their love to each other of course

#dad bod logan #pudgy logan #chubby Logan #wade loves his wolverine healthy and happy #in my head they moved out either to another floor or down the block from althea because wade basically views her as family #thicc muscular Wade #muscular fit Logan with a tum tum #fanfic #Deadpool and Wolverine #deadclaws #poolverine #peanutbub #unedited

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fangdokja · 4 hours ago

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How do you escape a yandere harem? Asking for a very distressed friend (me).

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Word Count. 1,128

♡ A/N. Basically me before I got married. lol. Yes. I hated anything romance both fiction and reality. So I like this concept haha. Also, I'm seriously debating on making this an actual novella. Maybe. I still have to finish my requests, but maybe.

You fucking hate romance.

Not in a casual, indifferent way. No, your hatred for romance is the kind that borders on seething disgust. The kind that makes you want to puke when two characters start making heart eyes at each other. The kind that makes you physically cringe when someone dares utter the words ‘soulmate’ or ‘true love’ in your general direction. Romance is a shit genre. A putrid, festering landfill of emotional drivel. You’d rather watch a slow-burn psychological horror where the protagonist’s sanity unravels, or a thriller where the final girl barely survives a slasher massacre, than sit through a single damn love confession.

So naturally, because fate fucking hates you, you get isekai’d into an otome game.

Not just any otome game. A reverse harem, noble court intrigue, “will you find true love?” kind of otome game. You wake up inside the body of some unfortunate, aristocratic protagonist, and your first instinct is to smash your head against the nearest marble pillar in the desperate hope that blunt force trauma will eject you from this nightmare. It doesn’t work.

Worse, you are surrounded by them.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince who is everything you loathe—tall, broad-shouldered, charismatic. A born leader, they say. His bloodline has ruled for centuries. A tyrant in the making. His voice is deep, his smile a calculated weapon. A future emperor whose touch alone makes noblewomen swoon and fall at his feet like wilting flowers. He looks at you like you’re already his consort. You look at him like you’re about to stab him in the eye.

“Dearest,” he says, rolling the word across his tongue with insufferable arrogance, “what an honor it must be for you, to be chosen by the future ruler of this land.”

You stare at him. “I’d rather be executed for treason.”

His smile doesn’t waver. It only deepens. “How rebellious.”

You realize, with mounting horror, that he finds this amusing. Worse, attractive.

♡ Yandere! Archduke is the kind of man who has never once heard the word ‘no’ and taken it seriously. A bastard-born noble who climbed his way into power with sheer audacity and an overwhelming lack of self-preservation. The type to talk you in circles until you don’t even remember what you were arguing about in the first place. He’s always smirking, always one step ahead, and always so damn annoying.

“You wound me, darling,” he drawls, lounging against the silk cushions of your carriage like he owns it (because he does own it; he bought it specifically for your ‘dates’). “I’m a man of reason. I can be persuaded to let you go.”

You narrow your eyes. “Really?”

His smirk widens. “Of course. All you have to do is admit that you want me.”

Your expression darkens like storm clouds rolling in before a disaster. You exhale slowly. “I hope you contract the plague.”

He laughs. The bastard laughs. “Oh, sweetheart. That sharp tongue of yours only makes me want you more.”

You contemplate drowning yourself in the nearest fountain.

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage doesn’t need to chase you. You’re already trapped. A cold-blooded intellectual, a prodigy whose intelligence surpasses entire generations of scholars. He is the advisor to the throne, the master of arcane arts, the genius whose apathy is only rivaled by his obsession. And for some unholy reason, he has chosen to dedicate that obsession to you.

“There is no logic in your resistance,” he states, his sharp calculated eyes watching your every move like a scientist dissecting a particularly fascinating specimen. “The probability of you escaping me is exactly zero.”

You glare at him from inside the magic barrier he’s sealed you in. “Fuck you.”

His lips twitch. “Inevitable.”

You scream internally.

♡ Yandere! Demon King is the worst of them all. The nightmare incarnate. The shadow that stretches across the battlefield, that turns the bravest warriors into weeping corpses. Seemingly peaceful, but whatever shred of righteousness he once had is buried beneath millennia of bloodshed. He watches you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. You feel like prey. You are prey.

“I do not comprehend your reluctance,” he murmurs, tilting his head as though studying a curious, fragile thing. His fingers brush your cheek, and you physically recoil, like his touch might dissolve you from the inside out.

He does not retract his hand.

“You are mine,” he says simply.

“No, I am not,” you snap back, the venom in your voice laced with pure, unfiltered rage.

A pause. He exhales softly. Then he smiles.

“Ah,” he whispers. “A challenge.”

Your entire body locks up with dread. You suddenly understand, with absolute clarity, that you are fucked.

────────────

Your days are spent avoiding unwanted confessions, sidestepping ambushes disguised as ‘chance encounters,’ and resisting the overwhelming urge to commit arson. Your nights are spent planning elaborate escape routes that never come to fruition because one of the four nightmares always finds you first.

You try everything.

Poisoning the Crown Prince’s wine? He drinks it, licks his lips, and says, “Sweet. Did you make this yourself?”

Framing the Archduke for treason? He fakes his own death and then shows up in your chambers that same night, grinning like a lunatic. “Miss me?”

Teleporting away from the Supreme Mage? He rewinds time. You wake up in the same bed, with his arms around your waist.

Selling your soul to escape the Demon King? He is the one who answers.

You are doomed.

And worst of all?

It’s still a romance game.

You watch, helpless, as the ‘Affection Points’ rise every time you breathe in their general direction.

You don’t want a ‘Happy Ending.’

You want a cease and desist order.

And yet, the game continues.

Your suffering is eternal.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

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elysianightsss · 1 day ago

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AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

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emsdevs · 15 hours ago

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Luke Hughes requests reader is doing the TikTok trend where she ask Luke and Jack questions about her to see who knows her better but pretends that Jack get all the answers right and Luke gets them wrong and his reaction Jack also knows what the reader is up to please

Know Me Better

a/n: i had way way wayyy too much fun with this one! nonnie you're a genius!! sorry for the wait but i hope it was worth it!! fair warning this is mostly dialogue!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Luke Hughes Masterlist

It took you days to talk both boys into doing a TikTok with you. Jack was completely against it until you told him you planned to prank Luke, and then he was game. Luke was much easier to convince after you had Jack’s help.

About a week ago, you were doing your nightly TikTok scroll when you came across a video of a girl pranking her boyfriend. She had gotten him and his best friend to answer questions she was asking about herself. However, she was pretending that whatever the best friend said was right and her boyfriend was wrong. The best friend was obviously in on it, and it took the boyfriend way too long to catch on. As soon as the video ended, you knew you needed to try the video with Luke and Jack.

Now, the two brothers sat at their kitchen table, you standing behind them with your list of questions at the ready. You prop your phone up and press record.

“Okay, guys, so I have this list of questions about myself, and I’m gonna make my boyfriend and his brother,” you point at Luke and Jack respectively, “and by the end, we’ll see who knows me better. You guys ready?”

“So ready, babe.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” “Okay! First question is easy. What is my favorite color?”

“Oh! Easy it’s purple!” Luke is the first to answer.

“No bro it’s green,” Jack says smoothly.

“Jack got it right! Good job!”

“Babe, no. Your favorite color is purple. It’s always been purple,” Luke is confused, his brows furrowed.

“No, hun, I changed it a few weeks ago remember? We talked about it with Jack.”

“Whatever,” he gives up, not wanting to argue while doing something you were so excited for.

“Okay, next question! What is my favorite flower?” “Oh! Marigolds!” Jack jumps in first this time.

“Um, no. It’s lilies.”

“Actually, Lukey, Jack is right! How did you even know that?” “Heard you guys talking about it last week,” Jack shrugs, knowing that’s not what he heard you say your favorite flower was.

“You mean when I got her lilies, and she was so happy because lilies are her favorites? So she told me that lilies were her favorites ten times?” Luke was beginning to get frustrated, narrowing his eyes at his brother. He knows for a fact that lilies are your favorite flowers, so he doesn’t know where Jack is pulling his information from or why you’re agreeing with everything Jack says. Then again, what if Jack is right? Is Luke a bad boyfriend?

“Anyway! Next! What color were my nails two weeks ago?”

“Light blue!” Jack speaks up again. He had no idea what color your nails were. He was guessing random stuff at this point.

“They were dark red, kinda a maroon color, and your ring fingers had a tiny white heart on them,” Luke knows there’s no way he was getting this one wrong. He had gone to your nail appointment with you, content to sit and mess around on his phone while you got your nails done.

“Wow, Luke, that’s impressive detail, but Jack was right.”

“What?” he was borderline shouting, not really angry, just offended. He knew he was right, but what if he wasn’t? Either way, how was Jack getting every question right? “Babe, I know for a fact that’s what you got. I bought them. At the salon. I was there. I paid. Right in front of you.”

“No, baby, that was the set before the blue ones,” you force yourself to ignore the pout that now sits on your boyfriend’s face, “Okay, next up! What’s my go-to karaoke song?”

“Oh! It’s ‘Black’ by Dierks Bentley!”

“No, dude. It’s ‘Dancing Queen’ from that one Meryl Streep movie,” Jack had seen you sing that song once at karaoke, and it was after you sang “Black.”

“Oh, my god! Jack got it right, again!”

“No, babe. We sing ‘Black’ together,” Luke was giving you puppy dog eyes now, and you’re not sure how long you can keep this up.

Jack steps in to save you from answering again, “Yeah, bro, but she said her go-to karaoke song. That one is for both of you.”

“Whatever. How many more questions are there?” His pout is intensifying, and you can tell if you keep this up much longer, he’ll walk out. You decide to make the next question a little more obvious, something only Luke would know.

“Okay, Lukey, you should get this one. What did I eat on our first date?”

“Chicken alfredo,” Luke answers without even having to think about it. He remembers every detail of that night.

“Nah, she had a plate of shrimp.” You don’t eat shrimp. Jack knows this. Luke knows this. That’s when it all sets in for Luke.

“Are you two kidding me?” he shrieks standing up, giggles coming out of his open mouth. “You’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

“Yes, Lukey,” you’re cracking up. You can’t help it, “You got every question right.”

“I knew it! You two had me freaking out thinking I was a bad boyfriend or something!”

“Sorry, man. She put me up to it,” Jack could barely talk through his laughter, but he still managed to throw you under the bus.

“Jerk!” Jack continued laughing as he walked away. You stopped the video, laughter still taking over you and Luke, “I’m sorry. I saw a video like that and thought it would be funny,” you smile at your boyfriend sheepishly.

“Yeah, real funny,” he rolls his eyes before grabbing your waist and throwing you over his shoulder.

You’re overcome with giggles yet again, “Where are you taking me?”

“To bed! We’re watching Secretariat, so you can make this up to me! And your hand better be in my hair the whole time!”

taglist: @heartsforjh @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @madebyhappymeals @beenucks @

join the taglist

#em's writing #em's inbox #em's nonnies #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #lh43 #new jersey devils #njd #nj devils #nhl #nhl x reader

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melosliving · 2 days ago

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hi! I was wondering if you could write a story about aaron and reader are arguing because reader is jealous about him having to kiss a girl in a movie he was doing and he had to prove to them that he loves them and only them. please and thank you

Let me cook !! I hope you’ll like ! (I felt free to add smut to it because why notttt)

aaron pierre x actress!reader

Warnings : +18 (MDNI), nasty smutty, established relationship, jealousy, cranky reader

It’s been a long day for both of you. The set was chaotic, the director demanding, and the long hours had made you cranky. But what truly sent your heart spiraling was the news you’d just heard.

Your man had to kiss another woman for a scene in his movie. You hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation, but as you stood in the doorway of his trailer, the words hit you like a ton of bricks. Your stomach twisted, your chest tightened. You knew it was part of his job, but that didn’t stop the jealousy that clawed at you, irrational but raw.

Now, sitting in his car, you can barely look at him. The tension between you two is palpable, and the silence is thick, uncomfortable.

Aaron looks over at you, his jaw clenched, but his eyes soft. “Baby, talk to me. I don’t like when you’re like this.”

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, staring out the window. “Like what?”

He takes a breath, turning fully towards you now. “You’re upset. I can tell. I don’t know why, but I can feel it.” You huff, shaking your head, but you can’t hide the hurt in your voice. “I just… I don’t get why you had to kiss her. I know it’s your job, but—”

His hands fly up in frustration, but not in anger. It’s more like he’s frustrated at himself for making you feel this way. “No, listen to me, okay? That kiss meant nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I know it was just acting,” you say, voice small. “But still… You kissed her. I don’t know if my weak ass can handle that."

He reaches over and gently places his hand on your knee, his touch warm and grounding. “Baby, I’ve been kissing you for years. There’s only one person who has my heart, and that’s you. No matter what’s in the script, no matter what I have to do on set, you’re the one I’m coming home to.”

You glance at him, searching his face, looking for any sign of insincerity. But all you see is love. His eyes are soft, pleading, and filled with everything you need to hear.

“And I’m sorry I made you feel this way,” he continues, his voice low. “You mean everything to me. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t want anyone else.”

Tears start to sting your eyes as his words hit you. Slowly, you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’m sorry, too papa,” you whisper, gently playing with his fingers. “I didn’t mean to be jealous like this. I just… I love you so much. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you like I do.”

Aaron leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “And you never will. Because no matter what, it’s you and me. Always.”

Now, as the rest of the trip was quiet, the only audible sound being the radio, you thought things had calmed down between you. How wrong you were. You didn’t even the time to step out of your shoes that aaron took you to y’all’s bedroom.

"Aaron- what are you doing ?" You asked, following him as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

The tension between y’all thickened, and even if the only source of light in the room was the sunset’s, you could still see aaron slightly tightening his jaw as he looked down at you.

It was like he was actually realizing just how deeply all of this was affecting you. He pulled you closer to his, brushing his lips against your ear. " I’m sorry you felt that way. I need to show you you’re the only one who can have me.”

He never actually felt like this, never been the object of one’s jealousy. But this was nice —apart from the part where it makes you upset– it made him feel even more connected to you.

That’s how he now had you wrapped in his body, almost in his skin. His dick was buried in you so deep, but his fingers were so delicate on your skin, his kisses so gentle. "Papa is so sorry for making you jealous baby, will you forgive him ?" He asks as he fucked himself into your sweet pussy. You felt so good around him, your hips grinding to try to meet his.

"haa– fuck !"

"C’mon tell me bub. You forgive me ?" He asks again, lips against your shoulder. You whine softly, trying to push back against him.

"Yeah baby, you’re forgiven- mh !" You whine. Aaron chuckles a bit before his hands grasp your hips to hold you steady. With one firm thrust, he is breaching your folds and sliding deep inside you. your head dropping to the pillow below you as you whimper through the burn. The stretch burns more then you anticipated, and you hear him groaning softly, which sends another wave of liquid heat rushing through you.

"God you feel so good baby, you take my cock so fucking well." He praises you, gently pulling out to slowly thrust back in. His eyes are locked on the place where you two connect, watching with hooded eyes as his cock disappears inside you.

"Oh my— why are you fucking me like this ?..feels so good.."

"I wish you could see this baby." He praises again through a soft moan, and you drink up every sound he makes. "I’m yours baby, take your dick."

You needed this so bad and you actually loved the fact that you were the only one who could give him this type of relief.

Yours yours yours yours yours. he was yours.

Your forehead presses against the bed, muffled and strangled cries escaping your lips every time aaron hits deep inside you. His cock stretches you perfectly, and always hits places deep inside you. Places you didn't know existed. Soon you feel your orgasm creeping up on you, almost making you feel lightheaded.

"Please make your pussy cum papa, im so close." You beg, muffling your moans with your palm as he drives his cock into you. You feel sweat covering your entire body and aaron holds your hips with a bruising force. You feel that coil winding tighter and tighter, and you release a high pitched whine when his hand actually snakes around your body to thumb your clit.

"Papa this dick feels so good, soo good baby. Always feels so good, fuck baby I love you," You're not sure what you're saying at this point, an incoherent mess of praises for the man above you. "Nah, this is your dick baby, say it."

"My dick—It’s mine, mine, mine." You repeat mindlessly, pleasure taking over you. "shit, I love you too baby." He answers.

Aaron loved when he could reduce you to incoherent words and disconnected statements because of him. slamming his cock inside you and rolling your clit before you're squeezing around him tightly, your mouth falls open in a silent scream. You cum in hot gushes around him and he can only offer a few more sloppy thrusts before he's cumming with a loud growl, coating your walls in his hot cum.

chest heaving from the exertion, aaron feels more relaxed than he has all day. There's a small smile on your face and your eyes are closed as your legs finally give out and you collapse against the sheets.

"Are you okay bub ?" You hear, and you can't help but smile when you hear that he's panting slightly. You hum with a smile on your face. "I’m sorry i got cranky over this, I love you."

"That’s okay mama. I understand you, but I want you to know I’m yours, only yours."

@ melosliving 2025

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x reader #actress!reader #aaron pierre smut

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angelfic · 2 days ago

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Heyy if u write for him could I get a Tim and reader just going out for a date night

tim drake x reader

warnings — fluff, kinda suggestive at the end, nothing elseee a/n; i absolutely write for tim and i rlly wanna write more for him in the future. he’s slowly getting up there with my favourite batboys im so serious abt that. why’s he abt to dethrone dick

“Five minutes.”

“Two,” you argue, arms crossed as you face your boyfriend in the fiction section of the bookstore. “We each have two minutes to pick out a book for each other and it has to be something we haven’t read yet.”

Tim frowns at you. “Why not five minutes?”

“I don’t trust you,” you scoff, brushing past him in search of the mystery section. “It has to be spontaneous, so don’t think too hard. Shouldn't be too difficult for you.”

Tim gapes at you and you dodge his grabby hands with a cheeky grin, stepping away hastily. He narrows his eyes, pretending to be deep in thought. “Do normal couples insult each other on dates?”

You shrug, pulling out your phone. “Not sure. All I know is that we absolutely do,” you say, setting a timer for two minutes and waving it in his face. Tim smirks, rolling his sleeves up like he’s about to engage in strenuous physical activity. “Ready? Set… go!”

The two of you dart through the aisles like you’re tracking one of Gotham’s most wanted instead of paperbacks. A few customers give you funny looks when you scour through the shelves with such intensity, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Especially when you spot Tim flipping through titles in the fiction section at an alarming speed.

“Are you skimming through whole pages right now?” you accuse him with a gasp.

He barely looks up. “Maybe.”

“Wh- That’s cheating!”

Tim scrunches up his nose like he doesn’t understand you. “I’m optimising my search process.”

You groan, dropping your face into your free hand. “I’m dating a psycho nerd. Wait, no, I’m dating a Sherlock Holmes wannabe.”

He finally looks up, corners of his lips lifting up into a mischievous grin. You lift up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Not the sexy version.”

“Says you,” he shoots back, slotting the books back into the shelves, all but one, as the timer goes off.

You whip out your phone to stop the offending alarm noise and keep your chosen book tucked behind your back as you begin walking backwards. “Times up, pretty boy,” you taunt him, a sweet smile gracing your face when you see the faint blush creeping up his neck at the nickname. “Meet you outside with the books?”

“Hm, get ready to lose.”

“This wasn’t a competition,” you laugh, unsurprised at his combative nature, heading to the counter to get checked out. You quickly bag up your book and head outside to wait for Tim, patiently leaning against the wall outside the store.

A couple of minutes later, he steps out with his own bag and the look on his face has you narrowing your eyes. “What’s in the bag, Timothy?”

“Books,” he replies innocently. You reach past him to get to the bag and yank at it. It’s heavy.

“We said one,” you gasp, grabbing the bag and pulling out book by book. “How the hell did you sneak these up there? I didn’t even see the rest of these.”

He raises his eyebrows at you as if to ask, ‘do you know who you’re talking to right now?’

Your heart flutters and you look up at him, speechless. You don’t usually find money an attractive quality, but knowing he definitely didn’t think twice before spending his on the multiple hardcover copies and gilded edges has you feeling all tingly.

The more you look at him, the more sheepish he becomes, rubbing the back of his neck and looking almost… shy. “I couldn’t pick just one.”

“Alright, let’s go home,” you sigh, patting his chest. “I’m cutting this date short.”

“Are- are you mad at me?”

“Nope.” You place your hands on his shoulders and lean in to press a short, but very appreciative kiss to his lips. When you pull away, he’s even more noticeably flustered. “I’m not mad. I’m the other thing. Home?”

Tim sobers up quick, grasping your hand and practically dragging you down the street. “Home.”

a/n cont.; reader to tim:

#I LOOOOVED WRITING THIS!!!#tim drake x you #tim drake x reader #tim drake scenarios #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake x fem!reader #tim drake x y/n #tim drake imagine #tim drake imagines #tim drake #tim drake fluff #tim drake smut #batboys x reader #batboys x y/n

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revelboo · 2 days ago

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man dude u are an absolute GOD with how much writing you keep pumping out THANK YOU FOR FEEDING USSSSSSSSSSS

I’m just having fun

Everything Is Alright Pt 122

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Optics on the ceiling overhead, on anything but you and your two mates fussing over you, Megatron swallows a growl. That all too familiar feeling of alienation that he remembers from the mines lifting through him. Thought that he'd gotten past this. That it could no longer hurt him, but it's as bitter now as it was back then. Being right there and ignored. Not belonging. And he hates it with a passion. "You two realize this changes everything," he says to Soundwave and Starscream and the Seeker's optics immediately narrow.

• "What exactly does this change?" Starscream growls, hand cupping the back of your head when you finally lay your cheek on his chassis. “I can tend to my mate. I don’t need either of you.” And you stiffen against him. Because as much as he despises the pair of them, you’d chosen them. Wants so much to resent you for that. For forcing him into this mess. They’re not his trine. Not brothers. They’re enemies. Wings drooping slightly then flaring when Soundwave immediately tries to comfort you, he growls. “But my mate does. For some reason.”

• Fighting a smile because that’s probably as civil as Starscream can be given the circumstances, you reach back a hand and Soundwave laces his servos with your fingers. And you’re painfully aware of how messed up whatever this is between the four of you is. That none of them are exactly happy. “Can we just try to start over?” Know you’re asking a lot of them. That this is all your fault anyway. “But you’re so tired of the fighting and scheming.

• “I’m not going to suddenly forget how many times your traitorous little Seeker has stabbed me in the back,” Megatron growls, but he sounds more tired than truly angry. That alone helps Soundwave relax some. Wants to pull you away from Starscream, separate you from him so he can just focus on your emotions. Wanting to try and figure out why you’d fully bonded Megatron after shunning him. It’s what he’d been working towards, but it still hurts that you’d chosen the warlord over him. How many times had he put Megatron ahead of himself, though? Should be used to it. Doing the hard things for the greater good. Even if it hurts. Always loyal. Obedient. Not allowed to want anything for himself, but he does want you even if you don’t want him.

• “Because you’re running the cause into the ground,” Starscream snarls wings lifting and the warlord’s head turns to stare at him. And he’s never been free to speak his mind without fear of pain or retribution, but he can say whatever the pit he wants right now and he’s untouchable because they’re both fully bonded to you. It’s like a dam falling in his processor. All the frustration, hate, and anger pouring out. “Do you have any idea how many stupid decisions you make? How many actions are driven by your desire to kill Optimus, not actual strategy? But what the frag do you know about strategy anyway? A miner and a gladiator. You have so many advisors and you don’t listen to any of us, too busy acting out your little vendetta while the cause suffers. I believed in you.”

• “You only believe in power,” Megatron counters, rolling and propping himself up on an arm. And your skin prickles, not really liking being so small and between them while they argue. Feel Soundwave hook an arm around your middle and pull you to him and away from Starscream like he’s concerned too. “You lie and scheme and paint yourself as a worthy leader, but you’re a coward scrabbling for any power or control you can get your servos on.” Yeah, you don’t want to be anywhere near them if they’re about to brawl. Both tensed like they’re seconds from launching at each other and then slowly relaxing to make you realize you were holding your breath. And Megatron glances at you, vents noisily and resumes staring at the ceiling. “You’re brave with our little pet to protect you.”

Slowly remembering how to do this/accidentally stabbing myself with the needle so many times. I’m much rustier at this than I thought, though 🫠 looks more like Wheeljack’s illegitimate love child than Starscream at this point. Just a few more pins to finish my bag now

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #starscream #megatron #soundwave

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bennyboyfics · 3 days ago

Text

Won you back || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

Summary: after a heated argument on the way to a tournament, Ben apologies to you during his post match interview

Wc: 1,412

Wanrings: angst

MASTERLIST

The argument had started over something small. It always did. You and Ben had been in the car, heading to the tournament, the morning sun spilling golden light over the dashboard. He had his cap on, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other drumming absentmindedly against his thigh.

You’d been going over last-minute details—what time his warm-up started, where his physio would meet him—when you brought up something that had been on your mind. “You need to take recovery more seriously,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, non-confrontational. “You barely iced your shoulder yesterday.”

Ben scoffed, shaking his head. “Here we go.” That immediately set you off. You turned in your seat, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?” “Babe, I’m fine,” he said, glancing at you before focusing back on the road. “I’ve been doing this for years. I know what my body needs.” “That’s not the point, Ben,” you shot back.

“You’ve been pushing yourself harder than usual, and I see how sore you are. You’re not invincible.”He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “I know that.” “Do you?” you challenged, folding your arms. “Because you act like you don’t. You brush me off every time I bring it up, like I’m just nagging you for fun.” Ben let out a humorless laugh, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

“I don’t think it’s fun, but yeah, it is nagging. You say the same thing over and over like I don’t already know it.” You felt something sharp twist in your chest. “I say it over and over because you don’t listen.” “I listen,” he argued, his voice rising. “I just don’t need to be babied. I know how to handle my body. This is my job.”

His words stung more than they should have. He wasn’t outright saying it, but you heard what he meant. Stay out of it. Let me handle it. Your stomach churned with frustration, but more than that—hurt. “Right,” you muttered, staring out the window now. “God forbid I actually care about you.” Ben sighed, running a hand down his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure sounded like it.” “Jesus, babe,” he said, shaking his head. “You act like I’m out here being reckless. I know my limits.” You turned back to him, eyes flashing. “And what happens when you don’t? What happens when you push too far and get injured? Then what?” He didn’t answer right away. He just clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose, the silence in the car thick and suffocating.

Then, finally, he muttered, “I don’t need you to micromanage me.” You felt that one like a slap. Your lips parted slightly, your throat going tight. He wasn’t yelling, but the weight of those words settled heavily between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the engine and the distant noise of the city outside.

“Fine,” you finally said, voice quiet, clipped. “I won’t.” Ben glanced at you then, his brows furrowed, as if realising too late that he’d gone too far. But you didn’t give him a chance to take it back. You just turned your attention out the window, your reflection staring back at you in the glass. The rest of the ride was silent. Tense.

You were still fuming when you took your seat in Ben’s player box. Arms crossed, legs crossed, expression tight and unreadable. The energy in the stadium was buzzing��people were excited, eager to see him play—but all you could focus on was the lingering frustration in your chest.

Ben was already on the court, doing his warm-ups, but you knew him well enough to see it—the tension in his shoulders, the sharpness in his movements, the extra force in his serves. He was still pissed. He masked it well, all smiles and charm for the cameras, but you saw through it.

The match started, and if there was one thing about Ben, it was that he played with his emotions on full display. Every shot had an edge to it, every point won was punctuated with a clenched fist and a muttered, “Let’s go.” He was playing aggressively, moving with more purpose than usual, channelling every ounce of frustration into his game.

And damn it, he was playing well. You wanted to stay mad, you really did, but watching him dominate the court like this—focused, powerful, relentless—it was hard not to be impressed. He was always magnetic to watch, but today, there was something else fueling him, something raw.

Something personal. Every time he won a big point, his eyes flicked to his box, searching for your reaction, but you refused to give him one. No nods of encouragement, no silent approval. Just the same unreadable expression you’d walked in with. He clenched his jaw, lips pressing into a thin line before turning away. The fire in his eyes burned hotter.

By the time he secured the win, the crowd was on their feet, cheering, clapping, chanting his name. Ben threw his arms up, soaking it in, but even then—even then—his gaze found you again. You thought he’d just shake hands with his opponent, do his usual post-match routine, and keep it moving. But as the interviewer walked onto the court, microphone in hand, you noticed something shift in his expression.

The interviewer smiled. “Ben, incredible performance today. You seemed really fired up out there—what was driving you?” Ben exhaled sharply, running a hand through his sweat-damp curls. He glanced at the box again—at you—before bringing the mic closer. “Well,” he started, and already, you could tell this was going somewhere different.

His voice was steady, but there was something softer beneath it, something more vulnerable. “I, uh, had a bit of a rough morning.” A few chuckles from the crowd. The interviewer raised a brow, clearly intrigued. “Came in kinda frustrated,” Ben admitted, shifting on his feet. “Said some things I shouldn’t have. Was too stubborn to back down. And, uh…”

His eyes found yours again, and this time, the fire in them wasn’t competitive—it was pleading. “I’ve been thinking about that all match.” You swallowed hard, feeling the wall you’d built around yourself begin to crack. Ben cleared his throat. “So, yeah, I played hard today. But honestly? I just really wanted to win so I could have this moment to say—” He let out a small, almost nervous laugh. “I’m sorry.”

The crowd awwwed, and the interviewer grinned. “You’re apologising right now? On live TV?” “Yeah.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Figured it’d be harder for her to stay mad at me this way.” Laughter rippled through the stadium, but you just sat there, stunned, heart pounding against your ribs. He meant it.

You could see it in his face, in the way his jaw wasn’t clenched anymore, in the way his shoulders had lost their tension. He wasn’t trying to win an argument anymore—he was just trying to fix it. And damn it, it was working. You exhaled, finally letting yourself really look at him, and when his lips quirked up into the smallest, hopeful smile, you felt your own soften in response.

Ben saw it. He saw the shift, the thaw, and he nodded slightly, as if to say, I’ll make it up to you. And just like that, the game was over. He’d already won the match. Now, he’d won you back, too.

#ben shelton #ben shelton fanfic #ben shelton fanfiction #ben shelton imagine #ben shelton x reader #ben shelton au #ben shelton tennis #ben shelton x fem!reader #tennis fanfic #ben shelton x you #Ben Shelton angst

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neeeooon · 1 day ago

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when you’re sick ;

blue lock x gn!reader

isagi yoichi

-> the unlikely return of momsagi????

-> he doesn’t even really have to say anything. he just hangs out with you, subtly checking your temperature when he thinks you’re sleeping, and making sure you have enough blankets and water

-> you are suspicious. “how did you learn to be so… caring?” “?! i’m always caring!” “you laughed when i fell down the stairs.” “cause it was funny! who falls down the stairs anymore, y/n? be honest.” “😐”

-> despite that, he does take good care of you. if you ask him for something, he doesn’t argue or tease you. isagi will simply kiss your forehead and get whatever it is you need

itoshi rin

-> rin doesn’t miss practice. not even when he broke three fingers on his left hand. so for him to call off when you tell him you aren’t feeling well, you panic a bit

-> you had the flu, and while it was annoying, you’d live. rin’s sudden presence made you think otherwise

-> “i’m dying.” you’d announce as rin feeds you soup, and he’d raise a brow at you. “you’re not dying.” “you wanted to spend my last moments together. i’m dying.”

-> eventually he convinced you that you’re not dying and that practice was going to get canceled anyway due to half the players getting the flu as well

barou shouei

-> ocd clean freak maid barou is struggling

-> you have a common cold, nothing too bad, and are still able to be a functioning member of society (at least you think so)

-> when barou heard that first sniffle from you, you were placed on house arrest and locked in your room so he could disinfect them entire house

-> after a few hours, you got bored and went downstairs to get some water. when barou spots you by the fridge, he freaks

-> “y/n?! what are you doing out of the infectious zone!!” “i’m thirsty..?” “go back upstairs! i’ll leave water outside the door for you.” “…”

-> you know he means well, so you don’t argue as you trudge back into solitary confinement

mikage reo

-> he goes all out

-> you’re sick?? nope. reo is with you all the time, asking what you need, getting whatever that is, and even offers to call an in-house doctor for you when you don’t instantly get better

-> “reo, it’s just a cold. i’ll be better tomorrow.” “but that’s so far away :( what do you need? i’ll get it for you!“

-> he surrounds you with plushies and puts on your favorite tv shows and makes sure you never have to lift a finger until you’re all better

nagi seishiro

-> he becomes your shadow

-> when you tell him you’re sick and want to lay in bed all day, he simply nods and slips into bed with you

-> “you’re gonna get sick,” you tell him as he buries his face into the back of your neck. “hmm you can take care of me next, then.”

-> nagi just hangs out with you until you’re feeling better. he lets you watch as he plays games and will bring you delivered food since neither of you would survive his cooking

-> he does get sick, and you do end up taking care of him

michael kaiser

-> he gets worried whenever you aren’t being your normal self, and the flu sucked all the energy out of you

-> kaiser doesn’t want to bother you or risk annoying you while you’re sick, so he kind of sulks around and pokes his head into your room every now and again to ask if you need anything

-> you find his behavior cute and a little pathetic, so when he appears a third time, you ask him to mask up and join you in bed

-> he’ll hold you tight as you watch youtube together, and you assure him that you’re fine and will be better in no time

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loveharlow · 3 days ago

Text

SEVEN [POGUELANDIA] - MOON RIVER

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.4k] 2 weeks stuck on a deserted island and while the hope for rescue dwindles by the day, you continue to make the most of your situation while a new problem boils right under your nose...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, heavy touching/mild smut, allusions to sex, arguing, mentions of sexuality

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ idk where i got the motivation for this chapter but i love it

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“NO, KEEP YOUR LEFT FOOT STRAIGHT, GIRL.” Cleo reprimanded once more, you sighing and dropping your hands in response. “Don’t be lazy now. Push through it.” The sun had reached its peak, casting a steaming hot glow across the island, prompting a thin layer of sweat to reveal itself on your skin.

You stood with Cleo close to the shore, the girl sparring with you as promised a week ago. Kiara and JJ were surfing while John B and Sarah cuddled in the sand under the shade of the palm trees as Pope sat closeby, mindlessly watching you and Cleo. But mostly Cleo.

“Well, it was easier when only one of my legs hurt.” You exhausted, one hand on your hip as you breathed heavily. “But we’ve been at this for, what feels like, an hour straight and now they both hurt.”

“Do you think boxers give up when they get punched in the face?” Cleo sassed, squinting her eyes from the sunlight, Pope laughing from the sidelines.

“...What?”

“I’m not repeatin’ myself.” The girl shook her head, walking towards you and taking hold of your wrists. “Put your hands back up, spread your feet apart, and quit whinin’.” She ordered before walking back to her spot a few feet across from you. “You should be grateful to even have a leg, missy. So, wipe ya tears and c’mon.”

You rolled your eyes before beginning your “session” with the island girl — ducking hits, soft slaps, and ignoring the soreness in your leg with every twist and step. This went on for about ten minutes before, for the first time in a full week of sparring, you swept Cleo off her feet. Literally.

You watched with your jaw on the floor as the girl fell on her ass in the sand, closing her eyes briefly as a harsh puff of air left her lips while Pope ‘oooh’d from his place in the sand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You apologized. Rushing to lend the girl a hand, she took it, you using as much strength as you could to help her up.

“What’re you apologizin’ for?” She asked, dusting herself off before clapping you on the back while catching her breath. “I’ve been tryna get you to do that for seven days and six nights.” Cleo shot, a sly smile on her face.

You scoffed, lightly pushing the girl's shoulder back. “Screw you.”

“You should be thankin’ me.” Cleo joked, pointing a finger as she walked away and towards Pope. “You Americans are so ungrateful.”

“JJ!” Kiara’s voice sounded out before any of you could respond — causing the five of you to turn your attention to the girl as she chased after a seemingly furious JJ, makeshift surfboards tucked under their arms. “Are you serious, bro? I'm talking to you!” She asked, face twisting in annoyance. Water was dripping from both of their frames, leaving rushed wet footprints in the sand.

Your friends all watched with confused faces as you made a move to go towards the pair, putting a hand on JJ’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s the matter-”

“Move.” Was all the blonde boy offered in response, jerking his shoulder away from your touch and walking past you without so much as a glance.

“JJ.” You tried to call after him, but he didn’t even turn around before disappearing into the trees as you turned back around, coming face to face with Kiara. “What the hell happened?” You asked in disbelief.

Kiara seemed to lack a proper response, stuttering for words and trying to move wet strands of hair out of her face before finally making eye contact with you. “I don’t know, he just got mad-”

“He didn’t just get mad.” You stopped her from lying. “What happened?”

Kiara sighed, running a hand through her hair. “...I told him.”

You squinted your eyes in response. “Told him what?”

“...I told him the truth. About why I kissed him in Charleston… about how I feel about you.” She sighed, briefly glancing down at her feet as anger boiled in the pit of your stomach. “I was just trying to clear things up, get rid of the tension. Guess he didn’t take it too well-”

“You had no right.” You seethed, staring the girl down as your remaining four friends crowded around the two of you.

“What’s goin’ on?” Cleo asked.

“What’s wrong with JJ?” Pope followed, both of their questions going ignored.

“No right?” Kiara spat, an expression of offense on her features. “I had every right. They’re my feelings-”

“And it’s my relationship.” You bit back. “If someone was going to tell JJ, my boyfriend, about anything regarding me and you, it should’ve been me. Not you.”

“Okay, seriously,” Sarah started, putting her hands out in front of her. “What is happening?”

“Look, I get it’s yours and JJ’s relationship but didn’t you think to tell him earlier? You don’t think the guilt of lying to my friend was getting to me at all?”

“I was going to tell him!” You blurted. “You don’t think the guilt of lying to my boyfriend was getting to me? I was going to tell him when I thought the time was right. But of course, Kiara only ever thinks about Kiara-”

“Okay!” John B stopped the bickering, voice overpowering all others. “Someone needs to explain what the hell is happening right now. Why did JJ storm off? And what are you two arguing about?”

Kiara shrugged, sassily crossing her arms and eyeing you up and down. “Should I tell them? Or do I have 'no right'?” She bickered.

You couldn’t do anything but scoff, turning away from the girl. “By all means, take the floor. Tell them.” You dismissed, waving a hand in her direction. “It’s your secret to tell. Guess I’m just collateral." You shrugged. "But just so you know, this is one of the many reasons it will never be you.” You sneered before walking off, attempting to go in the direction you’d last seen JJ.

AFTER WHAT FELT LIKE AN HOUR OF WEAVING THROUGH COUNTLESS TREES AND BUSHES, you spotted a very familiar head of golden blonde hair, wading in a shallow pool of water under a nearby waterfall. His back was turned as he mindlessly waved his hands through the water. You spotted his clothes on a nearby rock, taking the opportunity to strip yourself down and put your clothes on top of his — climbing silently into the water.

You moved slowly so as to not make much noise, creeping up behind the boy until you were close enough to wrap your arms around his torso — making him jump and look side to side before realizing it was you. Your heart dropped a bit when he sighed at your presence, putting his hand on top of both of yours that were clasped in front of his stomach.

“What are you doing here?” He said, voice despondent.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know I would come looking for you.” You tried to lighten the mood, only to be met with another sigh. “...Why did you walk off?”

“What do you mean why did I walk off?” He said, indignation clear in his tone.

“I mean, I know but…you didn’t even talk to me. You didn’t let me explain.” You answered, voice dropping.

“Explain?” JJ said, scoffing. “Explain what? How you didn’t tell me how Kie told you she was in love with you? Weeks ago? C’mon…”

“I’m sorry,” You apologized. “Okay? I am.” You reassured. “I was trying to find the right time or…something. But every time I got close to telling you, the thought of your face dropping made me…not.”

“...When exactly would’ve been the right time to tell me?” He questioned, moving your hands off of his torso and turning to face you. He didn’t look happy. “We’ve been stranded here for two weeks. When were you gonna tell me? How did Kie make it to me before you did?”

“I didn’t think she was gonna tell you.” You tried to defend.

“She shouldn’t have had the opportunity to.” JJ reprimanded, lowering his head to be more eye-level with you. “I should be the first person you tell things to. Especially when those things have to do with both me and you. And when I say first person, that doesn’t mean wait almost three fucking weeks to tell me-”

“Okay-”

“No. No, not okay.” He continued his ranting, cheeks turning red. “None of this is okay.” He emphasized with his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was confused.” You snapped, brows furrowing for a brief second. JJ was raining down on you. Hard. You felt overwhelmed.

“...Confused?” JJ got out. “About what exactly? About who you wanna be with?” He asked incredulously.

“No!” You immediately shut down his questioning. “No. I want to be with you. I am in love with you, whatever Kiara feels for me… it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Then answer my question.” Your boyfriend damn near demanded. “What are you confused about?”

You just sighed, throwing your hands out to the side. “Everything?” You offered an answer. “I know how I feel about you, okay? Nothing has ever been more clear to me than that. But Kie has been my best friend longer than I can remember and I wanted to give her space and time before telling you. You know you have a tendency to be explosive, J. I wanted to give her time before you possibly went off on her for something she can’t control. I may not be in love with her, but I will always have love for her in the sister-ly way I always have.” You tried to clarify. “I’m trying to navigate our relationship and Kiara’s feelings in a way that doesn’t tear apart two of the most important connections in my life. Tell me you at least understand that.”

“I understand that.” He nodded, biting his bottom lip. “...But did Kiara think about you before she kissed me? Did she think about me before telling you how she felt?” He asked, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeking an answer. “No. So why did you consider her feelings before mine?”

“That’s not even fair.” You countered. “You never even told me about the kiss. I saw it for myself and confronted you. So, don’t even use that against me because it’s just gonna come full-circle right back around to you.”

“And why didn’t I tell you about the kiss?” He asked, straightening his posture and towering over you. “Tell me.” You remained silent, staring the boy in his eyes. “Fine. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt us. Me not telling you had nothing to do with Kiara and her feelings-”

“That doesn’t make it better-”

“I didn’t say it did.” He cut you off. “But you wanted me to understand, right? So, now I want you to understand.” He said simply. “I didn’t tell you to spare your feelings but I should have. I was wrong. You didn’t tell me to spare Kiara’s feelings. You were wrong.” He said. “Maybe I would’ve taken it better if I had heard it from you when it happened. But hearing it from Kiara weeks later? It feels like you had something to hide. Like you were trying to give yourself time.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.” JJ shrugged, shoulders tense. “Tell me you didn’t tell me because you were trying to consider Kiara and not because you have feelings for her too.” He requested, edging closer to you. “Tell me you’re in love with me. Just me.” You never expected this from JJ — someone so independent and closed off with any and almost all emotions. This was raw. This was real. This was him.

“...Kie was one of my best friends.” You started, staring into his eyes and never wavering. “So, yes I was trying to protect her. And yes, I made a mistake in considering her over you.” You admitted, sliding your hands over JJ’s shoulders and clasping them behind his neck. “But I don’t have any other feelings for her. I am in love with you. Just you. And only you. So, I’m sorry.”

JJ looked between your eyes for a few moments, not returning your touch — hands stuck at his sides under the water, the only sound being the rush of the waterfall behind you both.

“...You swear?” He asked, blue eyes slowly returning to their soft state.

You nodded, pulling yourself in closer and using buoyancy of the water to wrap your legs around his waist as his hands found the back of your thighs. “I promise.”

The blonde fought back a smile, hiking you up higher onto his frame before locking his lips with yours — one of your hands going up to thread into his soaking strands, tugging on them lightly. Your lips moved back and forth in a soft harmony until it gained tension, turning into a feverish exchange. His hands traveled upwards, squeezing the flesh of your ass between his fingers, pressing you even further against him.

It was only then did you realize the both of you were naked — fully naked. His length pressing harshly at your entrance. It was at this moment that you realized you were completely comfortable.

Ever since Rafe, every sexual movement beyond kissing sent you into a spiral. You remember the very first time you tried to do anything after that — it was mortifying.

But in this moment, with JJ. You felt completely safe. You felt ready.

JJ moved his kisses down to the length of your neck, walking you backwards in the crystal blue water until your back hit a stone wall, the coolness of the rock and the warmth of his fingers causing you to let out a small moan.

Without much thought, you found one of your hands reaching down in between the two of you to grab his dick, lightly stroking it in the water. The male above you let out a soft moan, the warmth of his breath fanning out across your neck.

You were two seconds away from putting it in yourself when one of his hands gripped the wrist of yours that was tugging on his cock.

“...I don’t wanna do this here.” He breathed out, pulling from your neck with swollen lips and lust-blow eyes. “I wanna make all of our best memories back home. Wherever that may be.”

You didn’t protest or push any further, simply accepting his wishes and releasing your grip, leaving a peck on his lips as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry for not letting you talk earlier.” He whispered.

You offered a small, light smile. “It’s okay. I know you.” You reassured, knowing his small dramatic exit was nothing compared to his usual emotional outburst. Even if he didn’t realize it, JJ was improving in small but amazing ways. Being on this island seemed good for him.

And now you weren’t sure you wanted to leave.

next chapter >

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow.

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