#are shoved into the background is just grating on me

[daggryet]

not really connecting with aya makes bsd hard to enjoy these days

[theemporium]

[1.7k] they want to believe jack when he says he has a girlfriend. they really do. it's just kind of hard to do so when they never see her. or, in which everyone is worried jack has found himself in a parasocial relationship.

.

“Fuck.” 

Jack raised his head, finding his attention drawn to his captain sitting on the aisle across from him on the bus. He watched as the man began patting himself down before he let out a sigh, standing up to reach for his bag on the overhead shelf. Yet, whatever he was trying to find was a fruitless endeavour as he settled back in his seat with a frown on his face.

“You good?” 

“Hm,” Nico hummed, letting out another long breath as he leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, I just forgot my headphones.”

“Nico Hischier not being organised?” Jack teased, a smile growing on his face. “Someone alert the authorities.”

Nico huffed out a laugh. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” 

“Just messin’ with you, cap,” Jack mused, deciding to be the better person and not point out the fact he could see Nico’s dimple even if the boy tried to act like he wasn’t laughing. “Here, I’ll share my music with you. Because I’m nice like that.”

The older boy raised his brows. “Your music for the full five hour drive?”

Jack raised his brows in return. “Do you have anything else better to do?”

“Fair enough,” Nico murmured before he reached over, taking the airpod and slipping it into his ear. “But I get to add some songs too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack waved him off before handing over his phone. “Maybe try more English rap songs so I can understand them too, yeah?” 

“Sure, because I’m nice like that,” Nico said with a grin before he turned to shift his attention to Jack’s phone. He clicked on the queue, his brows furrowing slightly when he saw the songs lined up. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Nico murmured. “I just thought you were a country music kind of guy. Never thought you’d be into the rock scene.”

Jack’s cheeks burned as he let out a slightly strained laugh. “I was, uh, broadening my horizons.”

Nico turned to look at him. “So you chose one band? You know, I know a couple of bands if you want them—”

“I’m fine with that band,” Jack said, flashing his captain a smile. 

“You’ve liked every one of their songs.”

“Mhm.”

“So, you know you like the genre, at least. Maybe you should try—”

“I’m good.”

“Jack—”

“Start queuing songs before I take my phone back, Hisch.”

Nico stared at him for a few moments, noting the way he fidgeted in his seat with his cheeks flushed far brighter than they should be with the bus AC blasting. But, Nico decided he would be nice this time around and not bring it up.

Not yet, at least.

Plus the band Jack had chosen was pretty good, if he did say so himself.

...

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yourusername ready to rock north america❤️🖤

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user i am going to the nashville show!!!

user she is THE moment

user omg i can't believe the tour has already started

user BKEWBFJBWEKFBKWEJBF

jackhughes congrats on the tour!! ur gonna kill it!!❤️‍🔥

user JACK HUGHES????

user who the fuck is jack hughes?

...

“What are you giggling at?”

“I’m not giggling at anything.” 

Luke narrowed his eyes. “You literally giggled as you said that.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Unfortunately for Luke, this had been a recurring conversation over the last few weeks because, despite what he said, Jack spent the better part of his free time giggling at his phone. It was sickening and annoying and Luke was so done with trying to scroll through TikTok with his brother snickering like some teenage girl in the background. 

It was starting to grate on his last nerve.

“You’re so full of shit,” Luke grumbled as he shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, narrowing his eyes on his big brother from over the kitchen counter. 

“Maybe you should find someone to text and stop bothering me,” Jack retorted, the words slipping past his lips so casually, almost like he hadn’t realised what he said. 

But Luke heard loud and clear.

He straightened up in his seat, his annoyance now replaced with curiosity and he flashed his brother an inquisitive look. “Who are you messaging that has you giggling?” 

“I am not giggling,” Jack huffed out before he lifted his head, finally looking away from his phone screen to catch his brother’s gaze. “And, for your information, I am texting my girlfriend.” 

A few moments of silence passed as both boys stared at each other.

Luke blinked. “When the fuck did you get a girlfriend?” 

“It’s new,” Jack said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. 

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “How new?” 

“Just a couple of months or so,” Jack murmured, at least having the guts to look a little sheepish as a light blush spread across his cheeks. 

“Months?!” Luke repeated with a scoff, the bowl of cereal he was snacking on now long forgotten. “How come this is the first time I’m hearing of it?” 

“We are keeping things private!” Jack defended. 

“I’m your brother!” Luke retorted. “You’re meant to tell me shit. I’d tell you if I had a girlfriend! Quinn would tell me if he had a girlfriend!” 

“But neither of you do,” he snapped back with a shit-eating grin. 

“And you supposedly do,” Luke muttered, shaking his head. “What’s her name?” 

“That’s not important.”

Luke blinked. “Uh, yeah, dude, I think it is.” 

Jack shrugged again. “Maybe I don’t want you to know.” 

“Why not?” Luke questioned, watching his brother just shrug again—not that he was getting fucking sick of that or anything—before he glared. “Is it someone I know?” 

“Maybe.” 

“You’re being ridiculously vague right now and it’s annoying as fuck,” Luke told him. 

Jack’s grin widened. “I know!” 

“Fine, keep your stupid secrets,” Luke grumbled as he reached for his spoon again, rolling his eyes when he heard Jack laughing. “Like I fucking care anyways.” 

But he did. 

He really fucking did and he would find out who this secret girlfriend was if it’s the last thing he did. 

...

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yourusername las vegas, you ALWAYS make me feel at home❤️🖤

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user MOTHER!!!

user hot AND talented. your fav could never

user new music when!!!

user THE SHIRT-

jackhughes ur so pretty😍😍😍

user not this guy again

user not a man

notzegrasipromise JACK???

...

...

“Yeah, I mean, I love my parents but I wish my girlfriend could’ve made it out. It would have been nice to have her here for the family skate too.” 

That was all it took for the hustling and bustling of the locker room to come to a screeching halt. 

Jack frowned, his hands holding his jersey in his hand that he had just taken off as he glanced around the room. All of the boys were giving him different looks: some concerned, some amused, some confused. It was throwing him off. 

“Uh, what?” 

“You have a girlfriend?” It was Dawson who eventually asked, his brows furrowed together in questioning.

“Yeah,” Jack nodded, feeling an odd sense of deja vu from the conversation he had with Luke a few weeks ago. “Geez, I didn’t realise we had to announce stuff like this now.”

“I mean,” Jesper spoke up, shrugging his shoulders. “We’re close, yeah? We usually just tell each other these things. You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“Don’t bother asking for her name,” Luke grumbled from the other side of the locker room.

“She’s not coming to the family skate?” Nico questioned, focusing the attention back to Jack who simply shrugged.

“She travels a bunch for work,” Jack explained. “Or, at least, for right now. She’s out in Nashville right now so she couldn’t make it.”

“But I thought you were all over that rockstar girl,” Simon spoke up from his stall, leaning back against the cubby, half dressed and legs spread. “Every time I open Twitter, I see it.”

Jack’s cheeks burned. 

Jesper gave him a disapproving look. “Don’t tell me you’ve been commenting on another girl’s instagram when you have a girlfriend. What does she think about it?”

“She likes them!” Jack defended. 

Jesper frowned. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah, you’re kind of desperate on instagram,” Simon continued with a snort.

“Well, she hasn’t told me to stop,” Jack huffed.

“Yes, because a rockstar with a couple of million followers would personally reach out to stop you,” Luke drawled, a heavy layer of sarcasm dripping from his words.

“She would, considering she is my girlfriend.”

Once again, the locker room fell silent.

“You’re fucking shitting me,” Luke eventually spoke up, shaking his head. “You really think we believe that you pulled her?” 

Jack frowned. “What’s so hard to believe about that?”

“She’s an international rockstar and you’re just a dude who plays hockey,” Luke retorted. 

“So are you!” 

“Yeah, and I’m not sitting here trying to tell people I’m dating Taylor Swift, am I?”

“This is different,” Jack huffed before looking around the room. “I’m dating her! I really am! We met at that rock bar in Jersey City a couple of months ago and we’ve been chatting ever since.”

The boys all gave each other various looks.

“Fine, don’t believe,” Jack grumbled as he leaned down to start untying his skates. “I know I’m telling the truth. It’s not my fault you don’t believe me.”

For the record, only Jim and Ellen Hughes showed up to the New Jersey Devils’ family skate. 

...

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yourusername east coast, we are coming for you!!❤️🖤

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user i cannot believe the tour is almost over

user NEW MUSIC WHEN

user i'm seeing you in eight days!!!!

user oh my god she is so hot

jackhughes coming back to the better coast❤️🖤

user omg he is copying the hearts too

user he is delusional

user it is the devils colours

user you sound just as delusional as him

...

“So, I’ve been talking to Luke.” 

“Oh great,” Jack grumbled as he sunk further into the pillows of the living room couch.

“And I went on Twitter.”

“You must have been pretty bored to redownload it,” Jack commented, suddenly finding interest in the strings of his hoodie, instead of his brother’s face on the phone screen. He should have known it was odd when Quinn messaged to check he was home alone before he called.

“Jack.” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jack whined as he tried to hide himself deeper into his hoodie. “Whatever Luke told you is bullshit.”

“So you’re not telling people you’re dating an international rock sensation?” 

“Well, I’m not telling everyone,” Jack corrected. “But I am dating her!”

“Uh huh.”

“Not you too,” Jack groaned, throwing his head back and finding his gaze locked on some random part of the ceiling. “Quinn, why would I lie about this?” 

“Because you took a rough hit to the head.”

His head quickly snapped down to glare at his older brother who had the audacity to smirk in response. 

“We’re just worried, Jack. You don’t mention a single thing about talking to her. Then you’re showing up in her comments. And then you’re claiming to date her. All whilst playing and training like normal.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

“It’s fine if you have a little crush or something but—”

“She isn’t just a crush, she’s my girlfriend,” Jack repeated for the umpteenth time. “You’ll see soon.”

Quinn didn’t look awfully convinced  but he knew better than to push Jack on the matter any further. He instead shifted the conversation to a power play from the game before and, thankfully, Jack took the bait. In fact, he was far too busy rambling to even notice Quinn typing out a message straight to Luke. 

quinnifer: ur right 

quinnifer: he’s a fucking lost cause

...

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yourusername tour was a dream but happy to finally come home to you jackhughes ❤️🖤

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jackhughes glad to have my girl home❤️🖤

user WHAT

user a hard launch post tour??? oh she is sick

user i can't believe we lost her to a man

user IS THIS NOT THE HOCKEY DUDE

user omg he actually stood a chance

trevorzegras WHAT THE FUCK

trevorzegras WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

user omg one sings rock and the other plays at the rock

user IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE STARS

lhughes_06 holy shit

_quinnhughes didn't see that one coming

trevorzegras HOW WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY

user i think hockey dude broke his hockey friend

jackhughes he will be fine

trevorzegras NO HE WILL NOT BE FINE

trevorzegras ANSWER YOUR PHONE ROWDY

jackhughes leave me alone, i'm trying to spend time with my girlfriend

yourusername it's true :) very little clothes included

trevorzegras i'm going to go throw myself off a cliff

user what the fuck did i just wake up to

.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Very Hopper Holidays

Hopper POV || wc: 3.7k || tags: smoking, recreational drugs, grouchy old men dealing with their feelings, smart-ass Eddie Munson, meet-cute Steddie, Steve and Max siblings, El thinks Steve is cute (so does Eddie), emotionally available Wayne Munson gives the best advice, holiday fluff, found family

This is a companion piece to my fic The Babysitter Chronicles, but can be read separately!

Brief background: Wayne patched Steve up after his fight with Billy in s2

Hopper’s freezing his goddamn balls off out here, waiting on the front stoop in the dark, banging his fist on the door. There’s no answer, but the lights are all on and it’s dinnertime on Christmas Eve. So someone’s fucking home, and the sooner they answer the sooner he can leave.

“Dammit, Wayne. Open the door so I can give you a damn present, or next time I pick up your nephew maybe I throw him in jail for the night instead of bringing him home.”

Sure enough, the door flies open, but it’s not Wayne on the other side. The kid’s standing there, layered in enough flannel shirts and sweatpants to dress all of El’s shithead friends with some left over. Hopper watches as he drags the sleeve of an oversized black flannel across his red and dripping nose, shifting uncomfortably and eyes darting side to side.

“Munson,” Hopper crosses his arms, “where the hell’s your uncle?”

Even bundled up like a little kid, he still tries to make himself bigger, taller, meaner, like he always does when Hopper picks him up. “Not here.” The tone is flat, devoid of Munson’s usual snark as a particularly intense gust of wind slams the screen door open against the side of the trailer.

“It’s Christmas eve, what do you mean he’s not here?”

“He’s working.”

Hopper scoffs. “You’re telling me your uncle works Christmas eve?”

Munson scoffs back at him, a dramatic mockery of Hopper’s own tone. “We’re Jewish, asshole.”

Well, shit.

He doesn’t have time for the kid’s hardass act. All he wanted to do was drop off a simple thank you and also merry christmas but now probably happy hanukkah gift and be on his way to his own family. He can only hope El spares him a bit of holiday mercy for making her wait. 

“Kid, can I just come in?” He takes another step up, only for Munson to block his path.

His eyes grate across Hopper’s jacket, noting the star on the chest. “No cops in the trailer.” 

A low grumble forces its way up Hopper’s throat which breaks into a frustrated groan when another gust of wind scrapes the exposed skin on his cheeks. He stamps his feet on the stairs hoping it’ll keep the blood flow going to his toes as they start to tingle. Munson’s wrapped his hands up inside the sleeves of what’s most likely one of Wayne’s old jackets.

“Look,” Eddie starts, sniffling another drip back inside his nose, “if you could just–”

But Hopper cuts him off with a deranged laugh, head thrown back in dismay at this entire situation. “No, you look here. You’re going to listen to exactly what I have to say.”

Eddie’s taken a step back, and yeah, Hopper supposes he’s never seen the Chief of Police actually freak out before. But it’s been a long day of wellness checks and stove fires, and Eddie’s the only thing standing between him and a night of kid’s Christmas movies and spiked eggnog.

So he pushes forward, spurred on by the kid’s once-in-a-lifetime stunned silence. “Now it’s clear that Wayne’s working nights, probably earning holiday hours to pay for the radiator which is pretty obviously busted, given the ten to twenty shirts you’re wearing. Meaning you’re alone, in a tin box with a tiny space heater that’s so old it’s a fire hazard shoved into the corner of your room.” The Chief walks up the stairs, standing on the step just before the door so he’s towering over Eddie, who shrinks in on himself just a bit. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Munson.” Hopper ticks off each gloved finger as his list of demands grows, Eddie’s growing wider in time. “You’re going to let me inside so I can piss and blow my nose, since I’ve been standing out here for too fucking long. You’re going to pack a bag, you’re going to call your uncle, and you’re going to tell him you’re staying with me for the night.”

Eddie stammers, mouth flapping around words he can’t find fast enough. It doesn’t matter, because Hopper’s on a roll now.

“Then,” he steamrolls Eddie again, pushing his way into the trailer, closing the door as Eddie stumbles backwards down onto the couch, “you’re going to eat my food, you’re going to watch our movies, you’re going to smile when we smile and laugh when we laugh because even if you’re Jewish you can still have a damn good fucking Christmas eve!”

He’s sick and tired of stupid teenage boys trying to be something they aren’t, like they’re manly or tough or strong for barely surviving on their own, practically raising themselves. And the best way Hopper can drill that into their thick skulls is to get them to shut the fuck up and feed them.

The silence lingers on the frost coating the inside of the windows and the crust of dried snot on Eddie’s sleeve. The kid’s avoiding eye contact, like Hopper will just leave if he’s ignored. But if Hopper can outlast guards in the POW camp, and a little girl who hates green beans, then he can sure as hell outlast Eddie goddamn Munson. So Hopper waits. And waits. 

It pays off, like he knew it would. The kid gets up, storms towards one end of the trailer. Hopper slowly follows down the narrow hallway and sees Eddie viciously shoving rumpled clothes into a backpack, mumbling about pigs and asshole cops. 

After all’s said and done, they’re pulling up to the cabin about twenty minutes later. The front door opens with a bang in greeting, causing Eddie to jump out of his skin. But when they step through the now open door into the warmth of the living room, there’s no one there to greet them.

Ah, so she’s a little upset.

El’s door is closed, like it’s not supposed to be. Light shines out from underneath, and he can hear soft voices inside. The whispers are abruptly hushed when he knocks on her door. “El, honey, I need you to open the door. Six inches, remember?” Hopper tries turning the handle but it doesn’t budge. Honestly he can’t help but wonder why he bothered to install a door with no lock when she’s got superpowers– that’s on him, he supposes. 

He turns around to find Munson standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. “Take your jacket off, put your shit down, and stay a while, will ya?” Hopper laughs at Eddie’s incredulous expression, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pursed tight. 

“Ok,” Eddie drags the sound out in question as he sets his pack next to the couch, “who opened the fucking door?”

“Hey, language!" Hopper calls, Max’s voice echoing his own.

Eddie startles, head whipping between Hopper’s no-doubt exasperated expression and El’s still-closed bedroom door. He drags his hands down his face and sighs as her mimicry sends the girls into a fit of giggles. He hasn’t decided yet if Max is a good influence on El, even if Hopper knows it’s not himself she’s mocking.

He hears the creak of the bathroom door opening as Steve walks back into the living room. Hopper can’t help but turn to watch the show, the two boys coming face to face. 

Munson’s oversized black and red flannel covers the ripped sleeves of whatever tattered, black band t-shirt he’s wearing. Which would be on par with what he normally looks like, except it’s contrasted against bright blue, wool pajama pants with little white snowflakes on them. When Hopper first spotted them at the trailer, a teasing smirk on his face, Munson only rolled his eyes and argued they were the warmest clean pair he had.

Harrington, on the other hand, has lived his entire life in locker rooms and an empty house. Which means that he once again forgot to bring a shirt to change into after his shower. It's not normally a problem-- except when El catches him, a blush lighting up her face like a goddamn Christmas tree, accompanied by incessant giggles that make Hopper want to drown himself.

What is a problem is Munson’s shameless gawking, mouth wide enough to catch a whole swarm of flies. His blush puts El's to shame, red blotches burst across his neck like hives. Hopper can practically see the steam rolling out of the guy’s ears, hearts popping out of his eyes as he just stares and stares his fill, completely unaware that Hopper’s still standing less than five feet from him.

Thankfully, so far Steve is none the wiser. He’s got a cotton swab in his ear, head tipped down as he double-knots his Tigersharks swim team sweatpants. Hopper notices they hang baggy and loose around his hips. Another shitty reminder of how much weight the kid’s lost since getting kicked off the team because of his ‘incident’ with Hargrove. He wonders about the last time the kid ate a decent meal, and pushes down the rising anger at the most realistic answer, which is not recent enough for his liking. Hopper has the same gnawing concern when he looks back at Munson, dark circles under his eyes, skinny as a bean-pole. 

He’s got to stop taking in strays.

“Harrington, we’ve talked about this.” Hop tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, but if he has to watch El swoon over the kid’s wet hair and bare chest again he’s gonna blow a gasket. “Put a damn shirt on.”

“Oh, yeah sorry, Hop.” Which is the exact moment Steve decides to turn his head. They both catch Munson giving Steve a once over, who then chokes on his own spit when he notices Steve looking back at him. Hopper knows Harrington’s trying to turn over a new leaf, but he also knows the kind of people Richard and Helen Harrington are. So he’s a little surprised when, instead of having to stop a potential hate crime, he notices a similar blush bloom across Steve’s chest– or maybe it’s the heat from the shower. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Muson’s screech is so high it could set dogs howling. Steve flinches at the outburst, and Hopper hopes this little interaction doesn’t trigger another migraine for the kid. He was barely pushing through when Hop picked him up yesterday, but seems to be feeling better today.

“Munson, I need you to tone it down,” Hopper argues. It goes unnoticed.

Steve’s sputtering. He runs a nervous hand through his hair and of-fucking-course Munson gasps, swoons just like El. Harrington’s free hand fumbles for a shirt hem that isn’t there. He realizes he’s half naked and turns into a deer in headlights, hands frantically moving over his chest like he doesn’t know how to hide himself. Unfortunately the unintentional groping sends Munson into a coughing fit. 

“Me? What the hell are you doing here, Munson?”

Munson scoffs, crossing his arms as he backs himself into the wall behind him. “The high and mighty Chief of Police here basically kidnapped me. Forced me to pack a bag and tossed me into his truck.” Ah, there’s the Munson he expected. Except if it wasn’t for how many times Hopper’s hauled the kid in, he might not have noticed the nervous energy in Eddie’s twitchy fingers and shifty eyes. “He failed to mention–” he waves around at everything until Munson’s wild gesturing lands on a half-naked, sweats hung low, hair slicked back, barefoot Steve Harrington.

The squeal of El’s door opening behind him propels Hopper full-speed into the living room towards Steve’s duffle. He pulls out the first shirt he manages to find. It hits Steve in the face, and they both breathe a sigh of relief when he pulls it on.

“Aww,” El complains, before her eyes grow ten sizes too big when she catches Hopper glaring back at her. 

“Who the hell is this guy?” Max asks. She makes her way toward the kitchen, dragging El with her to help pull out dishes and cups. 

“Apparently another kidnapping victim.” Steve huffs, annoyed, before making his way over to the girls. “Munson, get over here and help me set the food out.”

Steve doesn’t even look up from where he’s pulling a large cast iron out of the oven, so he misses the absolutely priceless distress scrawled into Eddie’s bulging eyes and flapping hands. Looking back and forth between Harrington and Hopper, Eddie points to himself in confusion as if Steve hadn’t asked him by name. Hopper can only chuckle at the kid’s antics. He rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward the kitchen so Munson finally gets the jist, moving across the cabin in double-time. 

It’s a more intense Christmas dinner than Hopper was hoping for, but after introductions and a full stomach, everyone’s relaxed a bit. El and Max curl up on the couch next to him, snuggled under the same blanket surrounded by bowls of popcorn and half eaten bags of candy. The boys, finally over whatever awkward tension laced between them earlier, are sitting rather comfortably next to each other, poking fun at the cliche holiday movies that Hopper secretly enjoys.

Well after the girls are tucked in and the boys have set up a mess of sleeping bags and blankets on the living room floor, Hopper moves quiet as a mouse across the trailer to Eddie’s duffle. After a quick search, he pulls a joint from a hidden zipper pocket hand-sewn inside the lining.

Kid must think he’s so smart, like he’s the first guy to ever sell drugs.

Hopper deserves a little treat after all the shit he’s been through this year. It’s been ages since he’s smoked, and with the boys here to help watch over the kids, he thinks he can allow himself time to relax for just a little bit. He’s earned it. Plus, it’s not his fault the damned kid decided to try to sneak his stash here. Hop’s not an idiot, even though the boys clearly thought so when they went out for some ‘fresh air’ earlier and came back looking a little less fresh than when they left.

So he brushes the snow off of his favorite lawn chair, wraps himself up in a tattered old blanket, and lights up in the cold, winter air. 

Hop loved smoking in high school, so he takes a long inhale, reveling in the burn heating his chest. Unfortunately, Hopper hasn’t been a teenager in a long, long time. His coughing fit is loud enough to wake his non-existent neighbors. But when he can finally breathe fresh air again, there’s no noise to be heard from inside.

He goes slower this time, tugging on little puffs as he watches the snow fall between the pine trees. It’s quiet, a good quiet, filled with the rustling of rabbits in the brush and bugs singing in the night. Even the joint is absolute shit, like most of Munson’s wares. It’s still enough for him to relax, to appreciate what unfortunate circumstances have gifted him, and keep him from dwelling on what he’s lost. 

Less than an hour’s passed when a pair of headlights shine down the drive. Wayne steps out of his beat-up truck, in only slightly better condition than Eddie’s van, and makes his way over. Without a word, Hopper gets up and grabs another folding chair propped against the end-railing and sets it next to his own.

The joint’s gone by now, but Hopper pulls out a pack of smokes and offers one to Wayne, who silently takes it with just a slight nod of his head in thanks. Out of the corner of his eye, Hopper notices Wayne’s worn-down work boots have a gash at the front, exposing the hard steel underneath the suede. He’s wearing a large, thick flannel that looks exactly like the one Eddie was wearing when Hopper found him, and it’s just as oversized on the old man. 

There’s almost nothing similar between Wayne and his nephew. Wayne’s always been a quiet one. A guy who’d make his way to the back of a crowded room, who kept his head down when he knew what was good for him. And Eddie is– is really just something else. Loud, obnoxious, brash, a kid with a well-crafted personality faker than government coverup. Almost one of a kind, if Hopper didn’t happen to know another boy just like him.

Wayne clears his throat, stubs out the bud with his boot in a little pile of snow. “Got a note from my foreman saying you kidnapped my boy.” His tone is gruff, but Hopper catches the small uptick to the man’s chapped lips.

He doesn’t say anything when Hopper heads inside. It takes him a minute to find the wrapped bottle and two glasses. While he meanders around, he checks that the boys are still both snoring away and the girls are sound asleep amidst a pile of stuffed animals.

When he closes the front door behind him, Jim hands the bottle to Wayne and sets the two glasses into the snow between them. Wayne hums in thought, turning the bottle over in his hand. “Macallen single?”

Jim actually croaks, chest light and filled with laughter when he clocks the mirth in Wayne’s teasing eyes. Maybe him and Eddie aren’t so different after all, both having a shithead sense of humor.

“Just Johnny.” Jim wipes a hand down his face like that’ll hide the sincerity in his smile. “You helped patch up my kid, Wayne. You didn’t save the goddamn world.”

The light in Wayne’s eyes dims only slightly. Instead of unwrapping the bottle, he unscrews the lid off the top, ripping the paper off with it, and pours them both half a glass. They silently cheers, even though the air between them has shifted slightly. 

“Thought that boy was a Harrington, not a Hopper.” It should sting, but it doesn’t, because Wayne’s not that type of man. It’s a genuine question, one that Jim’s not sure how to answer. So he keeps silent, hoping Wayne will cave and move on like his kid does when things stay too quiet. But Wayne sits, and sits, and his own gut finally starts to roil. Ah, so that's what it feels like.

“Apparently I’m good at picking up strays.” Jim’s attempt at a joke falls flat between them. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Although, I think I got to Harrington a little too late.”

Wayne takes a decent sip from his glass, smacking his lips together. He peers out into the dark, just beyond the porch railing. But Jim can tell he’s not looking at the woods in front of them or the starry sky overhead. Wayne’s looking at something that’s long behind him.

“Ya know, Harrington didn’t look much different than my boy did when he showed up lookin’ like a dropped sack of peaches. Just a little thing he was; no hair, clothes that didn’t fit. Hell, I’d almost been able to see his ribs if it weren't for the bruises.” Wayne’s looking down at his feet now, scuffing the snow off the bottom of his boots. He downs his glass in one go before pouring himself another. 

“I beat myself up for too long for not doing something sooner. My own nephew, my own brother, livin’ only two towns over, and I had no idea it was that bad. Told m’self over and over that I should’ve known, should’ve helped sooner.” Wayne heaves a heavy sigh before looking up at Jim again. There’s guilt in the crinkles around his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with resolve. “You might not’ve always been there for the Harrington kid, but that don’t mean he don’t need you now. Maybe more than ever, by the look of him. And if he’s got you watchin’ out for him, maybe he’ll turn out more Hopper than Harrington afterall.”

Jim can’t take the intense eye contact anymore and firmly looks away, finishing his glass and extending it out to Wayne for a refill. It’s quiet, Wayne’s patience sitting on his shoulders like the world’s most uncomfortable blanket. But even blankets that are scratchy as hell can still be warm.

After a while, the silence releases enough tension that he can sit back again, and the two men slowly sip their whiskey and watch dawn break through the trees. Wayne grabs the bottle as he moves to stand and pats Jim’s shoulder a little too hard. The man’s stronger than he looks.

“Why don’t you bring Eddie back yourself a little bit later, give me a chance to fix that radiator. Plus, being around Harrington might be good for him,” he chuckles to himself, hopping into his truck. “Maybe show the boy not every kid who don’t wear all black ain’t a damn conformist suburban yuppie.” Jim laughs, Wayne’s mockery a spot on impression.

All’s still quiet in the cabin, each kid right where he left them. He’s not sure if it’s the joint, the two whiskeys, Wayne’s advice, or just a combination of everything, but there’s a heat behind his eyes he hasn’t had to deal with in a long time. He’s not typically a crier– happy or sad. The only time he’s cried since Sarah was in the elevator shaft, El collapsed in his arms just after closing the gate. And even then, it was only a few stray tears.

Now he’s unspooling wads of toilet paper to blow his damn nose in, crying like a kid who got coal in their stocking. Except this isn’t like when he thought he’d lost El, or when he’d held Sarah’s hand when she took her last breath. Jim Hopper’s happier than he’s been in a long, long time. And after the shit awful year he’s had– that they’ve all had– he lets himself revel in the joy of having a family again.

Gorgeous graphics provided by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

And as always, thank you to @carolperkinsexgirlfriend for telling me "I think your calling might be writing well-meaning, grumpy old men" and also, "you just understand the spirit of The Old Man", but mostly just thank you for being an amazing beta reader <3

[astrcmoni]

⁖✦ ˖ flicker of light ˖ ✦⁖

pairing: billie eilish x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

genre: angst

synopsis: Two years after a devastating breakup, you unexpectedly cross paths with Billie, the ex who shattered your heart, at a crowded party. As the night unravels, unresolved emotions, lingering tension, and unspoken truths collide, forcing you to confront the love and pain that still bind you.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: angst, smoking, slight cussing

authors note: hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it, let me know what you think.

You never thought you’d see her again, not after the way she left. she had always been a storm—unpredictable, consuming, leaving wreckage in her wake. You tried to hold on, but there’s only so much a person can give before they break. When she walked out, it felt like she took the last of your light with her.

You remember the way it felt to watch her walk away—her oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, her head low like she couldn’t bear to face you. She didn’t even slam the door; it just clicked shut, soft and final. You told yourself you were done with her, but that was easier said than lived.

It’s been two years since that night. Two years since her voice, soft but certain, said, “I can’t stay.” Two years since you swore you’d never let her back in. But tonight, under the illumination of the glowing party lights you see her again.

Standing across the room like a ghost made flesh. drowning in her own sea of bodies as people danced around you both causing a claustrophobic separation. Her hair’s a different color now, and her face looks a little older—sharper in some ways, softer in others—but it’s her. There’s no mistaking those eyes.

You caught sight of her first, squinting at the back of her frame, not fully realizing who it was until she turned towards you. then, those blue eyes locked with yours. and it feels like the ground drops out from beneath you, leaving you weightless and frozen, suspended in a moment you can’t escape.

Your chest tightens—not just in surprise, but in something deeper. It’s like all the feelings you thought you’d buried are clawing their way back to the surface, making your heart ache in a way that feels almost physical.

Your breath catches, the kind of catch that’s barely noticeable but feels like everything inside you is short-circuiting. Time slows down, or maybe it speeds up—you can’t tell because everything is a blur, a haze of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. You don’t even register the people around you anymore; they’re just noise, fading into the background as your vision tunnels on them.

And then there’s the sting, sharp and raw, a rush of memories slamming into you all at once. The sound of her laugh, the way she used to look at you, all of the things that were left unsaid. It’s like your mind is running a reel of every mistake, every moment, and you can’t stop it no matter how much you want to. You feel too much and nothing at the same time—numb and overwhelmed, like your body and your emotions are completely out of sync.

Party forgotten all about and it feels as if the world narrows to just the two of you, that was the last thing you wanted right now. The more you two stare at each other the more the air around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Every sound around you—voices, music, laughter, clinking glasses—starts to blur together, growing louder and louder until it’s just noise, grating and overwhelming. Your skin prickles with heat, the bodies around you seemingly too close for your comfort and it feels like the walls are closing in, each inch tighter than the last. There’s nowhere to focus, no solid ground to stand on, and your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You feel an urgent need to move, to get away, to escape the suffocating weight of it all. Your eyes dart around, searching for an exit, anywhere you can break free from the crushing space around you. Shoving past the partygoers without even registering as so much of a face. Mind fixated on finding some fresh air, something open, and quiet.

Your mind raced, thoughts and questions zipping pass one another. What in the actual fuck was she doing here? This was supposed to be a small event but you should’ve known better. It was a album release party for a mutual friend, but with sightings of her becoming less and less your worry began to dissipate. But that all went out of the window tonight, just your luck.

Finally you found a door, pushing through it and being greeted by the cool air of the LA night sky. you inhale the air, gulping it as if you were abandoned at sea and it was your lifeline. Finding a small curb, you take a seat on it as your hands found their way to your knees, clutching yourself as you tried to steady your breathing, allowing you to be present once more. It’s not instant relief as your mind was still racing, chest still tight— but at least you’re out.

The crack of the earth beneath feet reaches your ears—a faint shuffle of footsteps against the pavement, growing louder with each step. Pace steady but hesitant, like they’re not trying to startle you but can’t decide if they should keep going. The click of shoes echoes quietly in the still night, a contrast to the muffled hum of music emerging from the party behind you.

You don’t turn around at first, every instinct inside telling you to stay still, like moving would somehow make it real. But the sound gets closer, the steps slowing as they near. There’s a pause—long enough for your breath to hitch—and then the faint crunch of gravel as they shift their weight. You can almost feel them standing there, their presence heavier than the silence between you. Your eyes flicked over to the shoes of the person that stood beside you and they confirmed your already strong suspicions.

“Can I sit?” Her voice is low, almost timid, and it throws you. Billie was never timid. She was loud, unpredictable, and bold. Always the one who burned brightest in any room you were in together.

Could she sit? tuh. The question lingered in the air between you, heavy and unwanted. After all the pain and bullshit she caused you, after the nights spent choking on tears you’d promised yourself were the last, the instinct was to scream a hard, unshakable hell no. How does she get to just show up, and ask something of you? You wanted to tell her to leave, to walk away as easily as she had all those years ago. It would’ve been so simple—just a few words, and she’d be gone again.

But your heart—that damned, stubborn heart of yours—betrayed you. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, beneath the memories of slammed doors and empty spaces she used to fill, there was still a soft, desperate ache. A quiet part of you, buried under years of resolve, that wanted to hear her voice again, to feel her presence even if it hurt.

So you hesitated. The silence stretched, sharp as glass, and for a moment, she almost looked ready to walk away without an answer. But then you tilted your head ever so slightly, a gesture so small it almost felt insignificant, and her eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place—relief? Guilt? Hope? She moved quickly, like she thought you might change your mind, lowering herself into the spot on your left.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. She sat with her hands clasped tightly together, her shoulders hunched, as though she could make herself smaller, less imposing. And you just stared ahead, watching the glow of the streetlights dance against the asphalt, trying not to think about how close she was, how her scent—something faintly familiar, like lavender and rain—drifted toward you in the cool night air.

You wanted to ask her why she came back. You wanted to tell her to leave again. But most of all, you just wanted to feel something other than the confusing swirl of anger and longing twisting in your chest. And so, for the first time in years, you sat together in the quiet, the unspoken words between you louder than anything either of you could say.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says quietly, her voice cracking just enough to remind you why it mattered so much in the first place.

“yea…didn’t think I’d see you,” you reply. And you hadn’t. You’d spent months—years—working to get over her, scrubbing her out of your mind like a stubborn stain. Some days you thought you’d succeeded. But now that she’s here, all it takes is one look at her for the memories to pour back in.

The way she used to smile at you in the dark, like you were her entire world. The way her hand used to linger on yours, warm and grounding. The way she kissed you, like she was terrified you’d disappear if she didn’t hold you close enough.

And then the way she left.

The way you watched as her back disappeared the more steps she took, the way your heart shattered into what felt like millions of pieces and how you were left to pick up every single shard.

“So… how are you?”

Her voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and unwelcome. It lingered in the air, raw and exposed, forcing you to confront a question you hadn’t asked yourself in a long time.

How were you?

The truth was, you didn’t know. You’d spent the years since her absence piecing yourself back together, brick by brick, like a fragile tower of Lego blocks. Some days, the pieces fit; other days, they crumbled under the weight of the memories she left behind. You tried new things—picked up hobbies, traveled to places you thought might cleanse you of her ghost. You even let yourself fall into the arms of others on occasion, hoping someone else might finally feel right. But none of it stuck. None of it filled the void she carved into your chest.

Still, you couldn’t tell her that. She didn’t deserve the truth, didn’t deserve to know about the nights you stayed up convincing yourself you were better off, or the mornings when you woke to find her name lingering on your lips like a bitter aftertaste.

So instead, you told her the easiest lie. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice smooth, practiced. You didn’t dare look at her when you said it, afraid your eyes might betray the cracks still mending beneath the surface.

She nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible gesture, and for a moment, you thought she might believe you. But the way her gaze lingered—searching, gentle, and entirely too familiar—made you wonder if she could see through the facade, if she still knew you in ways no one else did.

You turned your eyes back to the streetlights, refusing to give her anything more. Fine was all she needed to know. Fine was all she was getting.

“I—” Billie stops herself, looks down. She does that thing where she chews her bottom lip when she’s anxious, and you hate that you remember it so clearly. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice breaking on the words. “For the way I left. For… all of it.”

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “That’s it? You’re sorry?”

She flinches, and for a split second, you feel guilty. But then you remember the nights you spent crying over her, the days you spent forcing yourself to get out of bed, to move on. She doesn’t get to come back and expect it to be easy.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” she says quietly. “I thought if I stayed, I’d just keep messing you up.”

Your eyes roll so hard they could fall into orbit, a scoff bubbling from your chest at her words. The sentiment is tired, hollow, the same recycled bullshit excuse you’ve heard from past ex’s—but Billie? No, this was a new wound entirely. Of course, two years apart, and she’s already sinking her claws in, pricking at your nerves.

You fish into the pocket of your jacket, fingers brushing the familiar papered edge of a joint you rolled earlier, your lifeline in case the night went sideways—which, apparently, it had. With a soft click of your tongue, you press it between your lips, muttering a dry “tuh.” Seriously? This? Now?

But when you reach back into your jacket for a lighter, your brows knit together. Your hands shift to your sides, patting pockets with increasing urgency, fingers fumbling over fabric.

“The fuck?” you mutter under your breath, shuffling and searching as your irritation simmers into something hotter, more desperate. Something in Billie’s gaze says she knows exactly where it is.

“Oh, here,” she says.

The sound is sharp and intimate, slicing through the quiet like a whispered secret. A metallic click, clean and deliberate, breaks the stillness, followed by the soft scrape of the flint wheel turning. Then comes the bloom of the flame—a faint whoosh that carries a warmth you can almost feel. It’s steady, alive, crackling faintly as it dances in the dark, casting flickering shadows against the night. The scent of singed butane drifts into the air, sharp and chemical, grounding you in the moment. It’s such a small sound, but next to you, it feels impossibly loud, like a heartbeat outside your own.

She never indulged in your smoking habits, never shared in the way you leaned into the soft haze to escape reality. But she always carried a lighter. Always. For you. Because somehow, no matter how many times you bought one, you had a way of losing them, and she had a way of knowing.

Your heart ached at the thought. Even after everything, she still carried that lighter—still kept this tiny piece of you with her, like muscle memory she couldn’t unlearn.

She held the flame steady, her hand shielding it from the wind with practiced ease. You didn’t move, your hand hovering near her but never quite closing the gap. Instead, you watched as the fire danced, the golden glow illuminating her face in the dim light. The wind teased the flame, threatening to snuff it out, but she guarded it instinctively, her other hand cupping the lighter as if it were precious, fragile.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, trapped in the flicker of light and shadow, as if the fire itself held some kind of spell over you. Or maybe it wasn’t the flame at all. Maybe it was her—the quiet familiarity of her gestures, the way she still did this for you, even now, even after the years and the pain.

To anyone else, it might seem like nothing. An ex lighting her ex-girlfriend’s blunt, an act so casual it hardly deserved a second thought. But to you, it was so much more. It was a thread connecting the past and the present, a bridge over the chasm of two long, lonely years.

It was intimacy. A kind you hadn’t felt in so long it almost scared you. The kind that knew your rhythms and your faults, that carried lighters for your bad habits and lit them without judgment.

Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to extinguish the fire before it burned you again. But your heart—foolish, stubborn thing that it was—ached for this moment, for this tiny act of care. So you stayed still, watching the flame dance as your heart and mind waged their quiet war. She watched and waited to see what you would do, and without thinking your body leaned forward, towards that bright ember of a flame. And when she finally lit the blunt for you, her fingers brushed yours for just a second too long, it felt less like a habit and more like a confession.

You watched as the flame stretched toward the blunt’s tip, small but fierce, its edges flickering and alive. It kisses the paper, and for a moment, it clings there, glowing brighter as it bites into the wrap. The paper darkens and crinkles, curling inward as the flame consumes it, leaving a thin line of blackened ash in its wake.

Your eyes meet hers, still in your crouched position, and for a moment, everything stills. The laughter and music fade into the background, muffled by the weight of her gaze. It’s so quiet in this bubble that it feels like you could stay here forever, wrapped in the soft, strange serenity between you.

But you don’t. You blink, the spell breaking as reality creeps back in. This moment isn’t yours to keep, no matter how much you wish it was.

A wisp of smoke rises, twisting lazily into the air, carrying with it the faint scent of burning paper and the earthy undertone of the tobacco or herb inside. The ember glows softly, pulsing like a heartbeat as it takes hold, the flame retreating once its job is done. What’s left behind is a smoldering edge, fragile and jagged, the beginnings of something that burns slow and steady.

Leaning back, you withdraw the joint from your lips, letting the smoke roll slowly from your mouth. You blow it to your right, away from her, the exhalation curling into the night air like a phantom. You’ve always been careful, always mindful, because you know how much she hated it.

You remember the first time you sparked up around her, the way the cloud drifted lazily in her direction and enveloped her. She coughed, sharp and sudden, her face twisting in discomfort as her hand shot up to wave it away. Later, she told you how it made her feel—the way the smoke clung to her throat, thick and choking, leaving a sour taste at the back of her tongue that wouldn’t go away. How it wove itself into her hair and clothes, lingering like an unwelcome ghost she couldn’t shake.

“I don’t mind you smoking,” she’d said back then, her voice soft, almost apologetic, “but just… not near me. It feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her words had stuck with you, burrowed deep into your memory, because they weren’t an attack—just honesty, delivered with that quiet gentleness she used to wield so well. Since then, you’ve been careful. Always turning your head, always blowing the smoke away, no matter where you were or how distracted you might be.

Even now, with her sitting beside you after years apart, it’s instinctive. The smoke twists and curls into the night, a hazy ribbon that never touches her. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, watching as she sits unaffected, her gaze somewhere far off, and feel the smallest tug of relief.

It’s such a small thing—redirecting the smoke, sparing her the discomfort—but it feels like an unspoken promise. A habit born out of care, out of knowing her in ways no one else did. And even after everything, you can’t seem to stop yourself from caring.

You laugh bitterly, picking back up on your conversation . “And leaving didn’t?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks at you with those ocean-deep eyes that always seemed to pull you under. “I didn’t stop thinking about you,” she says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

And there it is. The part of you that still aches for her, that still wants to believe in her despite everything, starts to flicker back to life. But it’s just a flicker, nothing more.

“Why now, Billie?” you ask, your voice sharper than you mean it to be. You leaned your head on your right hand as its elbow rested on your knee. Spliff burning in between your middle and your index fingers as you slightly began swaying in thought. “Why come back?”

She hesitates, and for a moment, you see the storm inside her—the guilt, the hope, the fear. “Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t need you,” she says.

“So, you’re apologizing because you need something. Not because you’re genuinely sorry.”

The words leave your mouth, calm and measured, though they sting with the weight of years. You don’t look at her, not yet, but you can feel her gaze, warm and searching, on your face. You take a breath, letting the silence between you stretch. It’s the first time in a long while that you’ve allowed yourself to speak with this much clarity, this much honesty. And it feels both liberating and painful at once.

She’s silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, quieter. “That’s not true. I am sorry. For everything.”

You nod slowly, processing her words. She’s sincere, you can hear it in the tremor of her voice, but that doesn’t make the past go away. The years of waiting, the nights spent wondering why she left, wondering if you were ever enough for her.

She hasn’t moved since she sat down, but the space between you feels vast now, like an ocean that neither of you can quite cross.

“But you hurt me,” you say, your voice quieter now, tinged with something raw that you haven’t let surface in so long. “I loved you, Billie. I loved you so much, and you just left me. No explanation. No call. Hell, you didn’t even leave me a damn text.”

You finally look at her. Her eyes are wide, full of regret, and for a split second, you almost forget all the reasons you’ve been angry with her. Almost. But the hurt is still there, simmering beneath the surface, and you can’t let it go. Not yet.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the words thick with remorse. “And I am truly sorry. I’ll never stop apologizing for what I did.” Her gaze drops to her lap, and she takes a deep breath before she looks at you again, her eyes pleading. “But I love you. I do.��

I love you.

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s holding its breath. You want to respond, want to say something sharp and dismissive, to keep the walls between you up and firm. But instead you take another drag of the joint in your hand, as your heart—damned thing that it is—pounds in your chest, betraying you in the quiet of the night.

You swallow, the lump in your throat too tight to speak, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if the distance between you could ever truly disappear.

You know what letting her back in could mean. You know the pain she’s capable of causing. But you also know the way she made you feel when things were good—the way she made you feel alive.

And as you sit there, staring at her in the glow of the streetlights, you realize you have a choice. You can let her back in and risk it all, or you can walk away and finally put her behind you.

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the silence stretching unbearably between you. And for the first time in years, you’re not sure what to do.

[mncxbe]

Heyyy! I hope you are taking care of yourself and touching grass once per day! Don't want you to get isolated that much😔

I request a NSFW prompt 3! With our fav suicidal maniac! DAZAIIIII!!!😊😊😊😊😊😊

Take care girly! Pwease take care of yourself🥺🥺🥺

you're so sweet🥺🩷I did not only touch plenty of grass today, but also drank water and spent time with my besties (health queen fr). hope you're taking good care of yourself too♡

3– fingering you under the blanket during movie night with friends

The film Ranpo chose for the Ada's monthly movie night rolled in the background, but you had a hard time paying attention. I mean, how could you, when your boyfriend's hand was shoved down your panties, his skillful fingers toying with your clit.

You were snuggling Dazai on one side of the couch. The cushy blanket wrapped around your bodies at least provided the tiniest amount of privacy but despite how risky the whole situation was, Dazai wasn't planning to stop his ministrations too soon. Fuck, he was such a tease...

You were a blushing mess, rubbing your thighs together to release the tension between them. You were pretty sure you've never been wetter in your entire life– the heat provided by your bodies paired up with his incessant touches made your cunt a sopping mess, sticky slick coating his digits. Your fingers dug in Dazai's forearm as he gave your puffy clit a harsher flick, making you tremble in pleasure.

"What's wrong, bella, are you cold? Do you want me to bring an extra blanket?" asked your boyfriend in a casual tone but you could see the taunting smile etched on his lips from the corner of your eye.

The man really had some nerve– mocking your sorry state when he was the one who caused all of it. As you squeezed your thighs together Dazai slowly pried them back open with his thumb, using the side of his hand as leverage to keep your legs apart. He dragged his middle finger along your slit, slowly working his way up to your clit and drawing loose circles on it again.

You shifted your body closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder "Please, 'samu I can't–"

"I know you like it, sweetie, you're drenched. Plus, I know how much you love it when I touch you like this in public, you're such a dirty girl" he whispered against the shell of your ear, masking the brief interaction with a chaste kiss to your temple. His words made your pussy flutter and of course he didn't miss it.

"I want you to cum for me. Can you do that, pretty girl?" he cooed, pressing his ring and middle finger on your needy clit as you nodded eagerly, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

The moment you gave him the go he resumed circling your clit, occasionally rubbing it between his fingers. Each little touch pushed you closer to your high, but what did it for you were the downright obscene things he was whispering in your ear.

"There you go, baby. Can't wait to get home and eat this messy pussy out. I don't think you're gonna get much sleep tonight."

You were so damn grateful that Ranpo turned up the volume of the TV a while ago so no one could hear the choked moan that slipped past your lips when you came. Your hips jolted up and Dazai cupped your pussy, slowly rubbing your clit with his hand, helping you ride out your high and preventing you from squirming too much.

"Shh keep it down, bella. Don't want everyone else to find out what we just did, do you?"

You would've slapped the obnoxious grin off his face if you hadn't been so weak and fucked out– though you were ashamed to admit, this was probably one of the best orgasms of your life.

Your boyfriend carefully removed his hand from your panties and wiped the excess of slick on your inner thigh before wrapping his arm around your waist and snuggling closer to you. The innocent smile on his face was enough to calm your nerves. Yea, Dazai was an obnoxious bastard sometimes and his teasing never ended, but he was still the love of your life so you couldn't bring yourself to be mad at him.

[ma1dita]

I need a pt 2 to the Luke and long distance!gf PLEASEEEEE

mdni

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

pt 1 here

a/n: man... getting out of my writing rut so here's this filth. sexting. kinda public. luke cums in his pants. what a loser

wc: 780

*bzzz*

Luke’s phone buzzes for the third time in a row in his Financial Marketing lecture today. The notification shakes his phone against the wood of the table to the point that it’s bugging the hell out of Chris who’s locked into whatever the professor’s saying—but as soon as Luke sees your name flash across the slightly cracked screen of his iPhone, he drops his pen in favor of you. His brother rolls his eyes, slumping further into his seat head lolling against his arm. There’s a smile that immediately settles upon Luke’s cheeks at the thought of you.

“baby 🤭 you busy?”

“why are you not answering you don’t even like this class anyway”

“fine ig i’ll ask someone else for their opinion 🤷🏻‍♀️” 

He chuckles lowly as he types out a reply, “opinion on what babe 👀” and Chris nudges his arm with a nod to ask if everything’s good. The professor drones on in the background about the stock market and for once, Luke is glad that Hermes gave him the ability to skate through his Econ degree (the only think he’ll be grateful to his absent father for), because it gives him more time to focus on more important things, like the slew of images of you trying on bikinis that infiltrate his phone.

[5 Image attachments]

“oops sorry! guess i sent them to the wrong person”

He gulps almost comically, shifting in his seat as he saves them for later. Shifty eyes and quick fingers can only do so much in a crowded lecture hall. But you see that his read receipts are on, and frankly the lack of a response is irritating when you’re pulling your best poses in the comfort of your living room. Boys never get how much effort it takes to be sexy.

“damn. guess i’ll go find a new boyfriend who can appreciate all of this”

Luke sighs, half stifled by is need to see you bare and his spit going down the wrong pipe that he clears his throat loudly, trying to ignore his jeans tightening by the second. Licking his lips, he clicks on the presentation slides, trying to catch up to where the professor is after your very welcome distractions. 

[Image attachment]

He presses the ‘next’ button just as another iMessage notification pops up on his screen, trigger finger clicking open an image of your tits pressed between your fingers, nipples taut against the fabric and lips between your teeth—all shiny soft skin almost bursting through the flimsy top that’s loosening and almost vivid through the still image. If there’s more, he thinks he’s seeing stars.

Luke slams his laptop shut and it echoes.

He takes a deep breath trying to remember what year it is.

“You good bro?”

Chris mumbles with a furrowed brow, watching sweat glisten against Luke’s flushed cheeks.

“Not feeling well. Think I’m gonna head out. Send me notes later?”

It’s almost an inside joke between the two of them, but Luke laughs a little too hard trying to play it off. He shoves his laptop into his backpack, before slowly weaving through the row and hoping no one noticed his girlfriend’s tits on the blown up screen of his Macbook. But then again, something’s obviously off as he walks stiffly towards the exit, feet swift with no predetermined destination. Luke contemplates the probability of someone interrupting him in the hall bathroom if he goes there to rub one out. His dick is hard and weepy, frustration brimming at the seams of his resolve when he walks out of the lecture hall. Readjusting himself into his waistband and groaning at the pressure, Luke wonders if he can walk home fast enough.

[Video attachment]

He stops in his tracks as he opens your message, the sound of your moans and slick movements of your fingers buried under the damp bottoms of your bikini almost too loud in his Airpods. His dark brown eyes trace the movements of your swiveling hips on his screen and he leans against the wall to groan lowly, a pathetic noise clawing up his throat, until his mouth dries at the sight of you parting the fabric aside just in time for him to watch you cum hard, soaking the rest of your hand and the leather of the couch beneath your ass. Luke doesn’t realize his body’s unprompted decision to join your release until he feels a sticky, uncomfortable warmth pool against the bottom of his shirt, soiled beyond belief.

His head of curls bangs against the wall behind him as he moans.

*bzzz*

A lopsided grin forms on his face when his phone buzzes again in his hand.

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 2

note: thank you all again for the support on this series im seriously so grateful <3 not sure how to feel abt this part but pls enjoy anyway <3

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 3.0k

no use of y/n readers callsign is 'stingray'

summary: the gang goes out to the pub, and against your better judgement you decide to tag along. you end up having far too much to drink and ghost has no choice but to look after you.

warnings: ghost is less mean (but it's still ghost), the usual angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, some ambiguous drunken confessions, mentions of throwing up but i kinda skipped over it

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

the relentless buzzing of your phone next to your head wakes you from your slumber. you groan, squinting at the screen to see soap's name on the caller id. you answer and lift the phone up to your ear, rubbing your eyes with the other hand as you pull yourself up to sit.

"hey! where are you?" soap's voice is almost deafening in your ear as soon as you pick up, you have to hold the phone away from you to save your hearing. "y'are still comin', right?" the faint noise of a crowd can be heard in the background, reminding you of what soap's question means.

you check the clock on your phone and wince at the time; it was almost nine, and you were supposed to meet them at the pub at eight.

"ugh," you clear your throat, your voice croaking from having just woken up, "yeah– yeah, i'm coming. just gimme, like, fifteen minutes."

"awright, l.t. said you was still asleep," soap chuckles, clearly amused by your sleep-addled state. you sit up and throw the blankets off your legs, swinging them over the side of the thin mattress and beginning the search for some clean clothes.

you hadn't gotten out of bed all day, opting to stay in your comfy pyjamas and barely leaving the living room except to briefly eat and use the bathroom. after the the disaster that was yesterday, you felt you deserved to have a lazy day for once.

"oh, so he already left without me? why am i not surprised?" you grumble, balancing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder as you pull on some trousers.

"he said he didn't wanna wake you!" soap is half laughing as he replies. you have to hold back your scoff as you put him on speaker and drop the phone onto the coffee table as you quickly put your shirt on.

"yeah, okay." your voice is dripping with sarcasm, and you can't help but roll your eyes, even though he can't see it, "i'll be there, hanging up now, buh-bye."

you just about hear his muffled 'bye!' before you press the red button and shove your phone into your pocket. 

you really didn't feel like being social right now, but maybe being around your friends and letting go is what you need right now. you could just ignore ghost – it's not like it'd be hard, you were fully expecting him to completely avoid you all night. knowing him, he'd probably make you walk home by yourself again.

the walk to the pub is uneventful, thankfully dry, and it takes you twenty minutes instead of fifteen. you feel a little bad for making them wait, but they've been there over an hour already, an extra five wouldn't hurt.

the noise of the crowd hits you as soon as you walk into the old building, and you hope it isn't noticeable the way you frown at the sight of how packed it was. you were feeling even less like socialising now that you were actually here, but it was too late to turn back now. your eyes scan the room, searching for your teammates in the sea of people. you spot a familiar mohawk fairly quickly, and begin pushing your way through the crowd to the booth he and gaz are occupying.

you glance towards the bar and price and ghost both there, too locked in conversation to notice your arrival. you'd have to find price later to say hello.

"sting, you made it!" soap's cheery voice brings you back to the present. he pats your shoulder as you slump into the seat next to him, and gaz slides your usual order across the table to you.

"ordered for you a minute ago." gaz smiles, leaning forward on his elbows, "figured you could use it."

"you're legend, gaz, honestly." you chuckle in response, taking a drawn out sip and relaxing in your seat. as much as you would rather still be in bed right now, you couldn't deny you needed it.

"you okay? you look a bit worse for wear." gaz asks, his gaze turning serious as he takes in your exhaustion.

did you? you hadn't actually looked at your reflection before you left the house, you simply hoped that you didn't look too dishevelled and didn't think twice about it. you suppose the bags under your eyes must be quite heavy after the nosedive your life seems to have taken lately.

"charming, thanks for that." you mutter, teasingly raising your brows at him as you take another sip of your drink.

"sorry, sorry," he and soap both laugh, before he regards you with a more concerned look, "but seriously, you doin' alright?"

"i'm fine, just tired, you know how it is." you dismiss his question with a wave of your hand, hoping he'll drop the subject and you can get started on forgetting about the events of this week. "sorry for being late, by the way."

"make it up to us with another round?" soap wiggles an eyebrow at you, tilting his empty glass at you and nudging your arm. 

"since you asked so nicely," you say with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. they both give you a triumphant 'thanks!' as you slide out of the booth and begin making your way through the crowds of people to the bar.

as you approach, you see ghost standing by himself at the bar, a black surgical mask cover the lower half of his face, and before you can stop yourself your legs are already leading you to the empty spot next to him. as usual he doesn't acknowledge you, but you can't find it in yourself to care through the buzz of the alcohol in your system.

you flag down the bartender and order the drinks for the three of you while adamantly trying to ignore the large presence next to you; you'd barely started on your first drink, but you were going to need more than that to get through this, especially if you and ghost were going to be dancing around each other all night.

the next couple of hours are filled with you downing drink after drink, steadily becoming less and less intelligible as the night progresses. at some point gaz excused himself to go chat with price at the bar, leaving just you and soap at the table. though you couldn't see ghost when you looked over, you had no doubt he was lurking in some shadowy corner somewhere, just watching.

"he's just so…" you wave your hands around, willing johnny to somehow understand your point as the words escape you, "...y'know?"

"do i know?" he laughs, obviously very amused by your drunken state.

"mean! he's rude and uncooperative, and it pisses me off." you groan, pressing your fingers into your temples. venting to someone about ghost was somewhat cathartic for you, even if that someone was his closest friend.

"aye, that's not how you really feel though, is it?" soap raises his brow, that insufferably teasing smirk on his lips as he gives you a light nudge.

"wha–" you gawk, freezing in the motion of downing your drink – you'd lost count of how many you'd had at this point. you narrow your eyes and glare at him, "garrick… he grassed didn't he?"

"you think i needed him to tell me?" soap laughs again, and you feel your cheeks heat up at the thought that you were really that obvious. "but seriously, you should talk to him."

"i should, right? i mean… we live together, it's not unreasonable to ask him to be civil."

"exactly!" he exclaims, making encouraging gestures at you with his hands. "maybe you two can get a bit more than civil," he grins mischievously and wiggles his eyebrows at you, earning an embarrassed groan from you.

"oh, shut up soap." you hiss, gulping down the rest of your drink in one go. "i'm not drunk enough for this…"

after that conversation, your concept of time truly left the building, along with any reservations you had about moderation. eventually you do find time to say hi to price, though you think he was probably laughing at how out of your mind you were rather than the hilarious joke you told him.

you're not sure what time it is when gaz, soap, and the captain track you down to say goodnight, leaving the pub with much more coherency than you when ghost drags you out with him.

the freezing temperature hits you as soon as you step over the threshold, but thankfully there's more than enough alcohol in you to keep you warm.

you started the night fully intending to give ghost the cold shoulder, but that was hours and however many drinks ago; now you were long past the fun part of being wasted and the depressive nature of it all was hitting you hard.

"i wish you– you didn't hate me…" you mutter, dragging your feet as you follow behind ghost. he's not walking as quickly as he did yesterday, but even in your inebriated state you can tell he's making sure to stay ahead of you.

"i don't." he replies dismissively, evoking an exasperated, albeit rather dramatic sigh from you. of course he was going to argue about it, owning up and apologising would be far too mature.

"y–" you hiccup, "yeah you do," frustration lacing your voice. you slow your pace until you completely stop walking, staring at the back of his head with narrowed eyes.

"i don't hate you, sting." he sighs, half turning his body to look at you. "come on, keep walkin'." he gestures with his head.

"ugh…" you groan, but comply and stumble forward catch up to him again "then why're you such a fuckin' prick all the time?" you glare at the side of his masked face now that you're walking next to him.

he says nothing, doesn't even look at you. if you didn't know any better, you would doubt he even heard your question.

"i don't hate you, y'know…" you mumble,  crossing your arms over your chest. "even though you're so– so horrible to me all the time." the urge to cry overwhelms you, your eyes falling to your boots as you shuffle along.

"i'm n–"

"you are!" you interrupt, throwing your arms out to the side and stopping in your tracks again. "every day you say shit to me, i don't– i don't get it! i don't know what to do…" you sniffle, dragging a hand over your face and taking a wobbly step backwards, away from ghost. "why can't you just be nice? like everyone else?"

the night air is cold, and so tense you can almost feel it. ghost's hands curl into tight fists by his sides as he stares you down. 

"i'm your lieutenant, sting, not your mate." he states it like a common fact as he reaches an arm out to you, stepping towards you. "you're drunk, come here."

you don't let him get close, however, and take another few steps backwards. "but you're friends with soap, and gaz, and even the captain!" your eyes well up with tears, and despite your best efforts to stop them, you feel the hot sting of them rolling down your cheeks. "what did i do wrong? why can't you like me too?"

again, he does nothing but stare at you. he blinks once, then twice, in what you might call shock – if you could see his face through the way the world spins around you.

"i like you!" you cry. "i always have, and you– you don't have to like me back, but please," you close your eyes in an attempt to alleviate your sudden dizziness, "just stop being such a dickhead to me! you make my life so difficult, and– and miserable!"

"sting…" ghost mutters, watching as you crouch down on the pavement with your head in your hands. he steps closer again, reaching a hand out to awkwardly pat your shoulder. "is that why you got yourself hammered tonight?"

"yes!" you whine through your tears, your head still swimming and causing you to sway slightly. "like you care!"

"listen," he begins, but you quickly cut him off by lurching forward onto your hands and knees on the harsh pavement.

"i'm gonna throw up–"

✹✹✹

"i'm sorry," you blubber, feeling rather pathetic where you're slumped next to the toilet, "please don't kick me out," tears still fall into your lap, but you gave up wiping them away a while ago.

"what?" ghost mutters from next to you. his calloused hands were keeping you upright from where he's crouched beside you on the bathroom tile. "why the fuck would i kick you out?"

"be– because i'm annoying, a– and you hate me…"

he sighs, "do you really think that lowly of me? how many times have i gotta say it before it gets through your thick skull?" he gently raps his knuckles against your forehead, "i. don't. hate you."

when you only sniffle in response, he sighs again before shifting to sit with his back against the bath next to you.

"well you could've fooled me…" you mutter, letting yourself lean against his side when the effort of keeping yourself up gets too much. you feel him flinch slightly and tense underneath you, but he doesn't move.

"i'm not good with…" he pinches the bridge of his nose, his head tilted downwards and his eyes squeezed shut. "i'm not kickin' you out, alright? no matter how much you piss me off." he pauses, and all you can do is watch him with your mouth slightly agape; this is the most he's ever said to you in one go since you met all those months ago. "and i shouldn't have run off last night. i just… i didn't realise you actually wanted to be friends… with me."

"bu…" your voice trails off, train of thought completely abandoned when he looks over and meets your gaze with his rich brown eyes.

"you're… you– i, er…" his eyes dart away from yours, finding a spot on the wall behind you to stare intently at. a sudden wave of exhaustion floods your senses, dropping your head onto his shoulder and allowing your eyes to fall closed, interrupting whatever thought he was trying to articulate. "fuckin' hell, alright… you're drunk, let's just get you to bed, eh?" his voice is just about audible as he manoeuvres your arm over his shoulders and lifts you to stand with practically no input from you.

he all but drags you out of the bathroom, and if you had any shred of coherency left within you you'd be mortified that he had to take care of you like this, but that's something for you to deal with in the morning.

you're pulled into the the living room where ghost drops you rather unceremoniously onto the sofa-bed, tugging the blankets from underneath you and settling them on top of your already half asleep form.

"night ghosty…" your sigh is muffled with your face buried into the pillow, but he pauses in the doorway when he hears it.

"goodnight, sting." he mumbles, before quietly shutting the door and letting you drift to sleep.

you wake up the next morning – or rather afternoon, since it was already one o'clock – with an absolutely splitting headache. it was expected, obviously, but it didn't stop you whining in pain as you sat up and clutched your head. how much did you end up drinking last night?

last night. right. it was all coming back to you now. you'd cried at ghost again, for the second night running, and even though he said he wasn't kicking you out, you would seriously prefer living on the streets to facing him right now.

you reluctantly emerge from the living room and squint at the bright daylight, groaning pitifully when your head pulses. maybe you should save yourself the trouble and just go back to sleep.

"so, you survived the night." ghost's voice calls from the kitchen, sounding incredibly unimpressed. you cringe at his words, naively hoping that he'd pretend the night before didn't happen like you so desperately wanted to.

"did i?" you grumble, walking through the doorway to find him sitting at the kitchen table, clad in his usual balaclava. you lean against the counter and massage your temples, "feel like i've been shot…"

"maybe you'll keep your head on straight next time. i don't want a repeat of that."

you purse your lips. "right…" you mutter, no energy left in you to come up with a retort.

"i had to drag you home, cryin' your eyes out." he gets up as he speaks, grabbing his cup and skirting around you to place it in the sink. he keeps his distance, but you see him watching you from the corner of your eye. "anyone would'a thought i was kidnappin' you."

"oh god…" you bury your face in your hands, your face heating up with the humiliation of the memory, "i'm sorry,"

"s'alright." he mumbles, still opting to gaze out of the window rather than meet your eyes. you blink in surprise at his short dismissal, but before you can formulate a response, he speaks again. "have a shower, sting. you stink."

you open your mouth to argue, but quickly forget about that idea. he was right, of course. without another word, you scurry out of the kitchen and lock yourself in the bathroom. you drag your hand over your face, willing the floor to just swallow you whole already.

you might as well have just died in your sleep, because you can't see ghost letting you live any of this down for as long as you live; though, as you stand there contemplating fleeing the country, you notice that he hadn't been nearly as pissed as you'd expected him to be this morning. you'd anticipated him grilling you about how careless you'd been and how irresponsible it was to drink that much, but the light teasing you'd endured just now felt more like the kind of banter you witnessed between him and soap, or gaz.

you can't help the giddy smile that overtakes you, your killer hangover nearly forgotten in favour of the thought of him finally letting you get close to him.

taglist: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @ghostlythots , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @isseisslvt , @prodyng , @neteyamsb1tch , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @ghostslittlegf , @imonmykneessir , @dimitriene , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @dommmymommy , @carolelacroix , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev

if your name is crossed out, i can't tag you for whatever reason, sorry!

[lovezbrownies]

Divorce her. (Yandere!Military Chief x GN!Reader.)

Gen's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: Your wife left to provide for you and your small family in a distant country years ago. Yet as you try to meet and surprise her, an obstacle appears and blasts you far from your wife's reach. Also requested here

Word count: 5,723

Warnings: Gen. Gen is the warning. Drugging, Kidnapping, Gen making Darling uncomfortable, I forgot, oh noncon touching at the end and Reina being cockblocked! Enjoy <3

Gen wasn’t one to travel often, mostly limiting her trips to diplomatic reasons tied to her job. Even then, she preferred staying within her home country, ever the patriot. Today was one of those rare exceptions—returning from a necessary trip. She stood in the airport, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, waiting for her chauffeur. The bustling crowd around her was nothing but noise, background static that her sharp focus easily ignored. She had no intention of blending in or being approached by anyone.

Suddenly, she was jostled to the side, forced out of her quiet stance by an unexpected shove. A collision with some frantic, careless figure. Gen turned sharply, already preparing to unleash a torrent of irritation. But what she saw gave her pause. You, the cause of her disruption, were a flurry of disorganized motion—papers scattered on the floor as you scrambled to pick them up, your backpack slipping over your head, adding to your disarray. You were a mess, yes, but a mess full of an odd, hyperactive energy that had her narrowing her eyes in curiosity instead of outright fury.

As you fumbled on the ground, Gen’s mind flickered between irritation and something...else. The adorable stupidity of the situation—your frantic attempt to gather papers and the way your backpack tumbled around your head—drew her interest in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Despite her irritation, the sight was almost endearing. Bending down, Gen snatched up one of the fallen papers, her curiosity spiking. A letter. She held it for just a moment, eyes darting to the sender’s details, but before she could read more, you yanked it out of her hand, clutching it tightly against your chest.

“Sorry for bumping into you, but honestly, you were asking for it standing next to a corner… Bye then.” Your hurried words tumbled out as you straightened up, clearly eager to make a quick escape, eyes darting in the direction of your next destination. You were on a mission, even if it was unclear what exactly that mission entailed. But something about your flustered state made Gen want to prolong the interaction, her natural predatory instinct to draw out the hunt kicking in.

Just as you were about to dart off, Gen’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “May I ask what’s got you in such a hurry? I could help you, you know. I’m a well-known Chief within the Court of Xelera.” Her voice softened, a calculated move to make herself seem approachable, as though the sharp edge in her demeanor had been momentarily dulled. And, as expected, your eyes brightened at her offer, a smile of hope lighting up your face. The shift in your expression, from frantic to grateful, tugged at something inside her, a soft crack in her usual stoicism.

“R-Really? That would mean so much if you could help me!” you exclaimed, your excitement palpable. Gen watched you closely, her eyes narrowing slightly. So, you were someone worth helping, were you? “I’m here looking for my wife!” The words left your lips with a mixture of pride and desperation, but the mention of a wife? That struck a different chord in her, though she kept her outward expression kind and interested.

You continued eagerly, “My name’s Y/n L/n! My wife sends me letters, but she never puts a return address or tells me where she is exactly.” There was a hint of frustration in your voice as you spoke, your grip on the letter tightening. “But! She talks about her favorite places sometimes, so I thought I could narrow it down and knock on a few doors! I noticed most of the places are in districts name The Gates, Talis, and Suriso… Strange names…” There was such sincerity in your voice, such an earnest hope that Gen almost found it amusing. Almost.

The Gates, Talis, and Suriso, huh? How strangely ironic and fateful for the locations you want to surround where Gen herself lives… Maybe you’re a spy? An assassin? But with how you look… Definitely not. Sure looks might fool you but even assassins cosplaying as the average civilians look so obvious to Gen’s watchful eye. So Gen decides to put her guards down, but not yet reveal that those districts contain all of the noble houses of Xelera as well as a majority of the most important people in Xelera. However the important people are more safe and protected within The Gates compared to the average noble in Talis. And Suriso is just a shopping district for the rich, yet still overly guarded.

Gen smiled, the expression widening as she listened to your story. She was intrigued, of course, but the mention of Dacos—the thought of helping someone from an enemy land—added another layer to her growing curiosity. Your innocence, your naiveté, was charming, if not utterly foolish. “I’m from Dacos, so I don’t know much about Xelera,” you admitted, your voice almost sheepish. “But if you’re willing to show me around, I’d be really grateful!”

Gen’s mind was already working, weighing the risks and rewards of getting involved with you. The Gates, Talis, Suriso—districts filled with wealthy officials, nobles, and diplomats. Did you really think it would be that simple? “Ah, yes, regular residency districts,” Gen replied smoothly, though internally she was already reevaluating her approach. “They’re quite far from here. I’ll book you a hotel and pick you up tomorrow afternoon. We can start our search then.” She smiled, but this time it was more controlled, less genuine.

Your face lit up again, completely trusting of the offer. Nodding eagerly, you agreed without hesitation, oblivious to any potential danger. Gen felt a small pang of something she couldn’t quite name as she led you to her car, instructing the driver to head toward a particular hotel. The conversation flowed easily as the car moved through the streets of Xelera, though Gen remained half-focused, her thoughts wandering between your naïve excitement and the way she felt drawn to you.

At the hotel, Gen flashed her military ID, securing you a room without issue. She handed you the keycard, her fingers brushing yours briefly, though she pretended not to notice. “Here you go. Don’t mess up the place—I use it often,” she teased, a sly wink accompanying her words. But, once again, her playful hint seemed to go over your head, as you simply beamed at her, offering another round of grateful thanks. She shook her head, watching as you disappeared into the hotel, her curiosity about you deepening with each passing moment.

After you disappeared into the hotel, Gen lingered for a moment outside, her fingers tracing the edge of the keycard she'd just handed you. There was something about the way you smiled at her, so innocent and full of trust, that stirred an unusual feeling in her chest. She wasn’t used to this—being genuinely intrigued by someone’s quirks, especially someone so... hopelessly clueless. Yet here she was, standing outside a hotel, thinking about a stranger from Dacos of all places. A potential enemy.

Shaking her head slightly, Gen turned and made her way back to her car, the faint sound of the hotel’s doors sliding shut behind her. As the driver pulled away from the curb, Gen leaned back in her seat, her sharp eyes watching the city lights flash by. Her mind was far from the bustling streets of Xelera, though—her thoughts drifted back to you. How easily you'd opened up to her, despite being in unfamiliar territory, was baffling. She couldn’t decide whether it was sheer naiveté or blind hope driving you. Either way, it intrigued her.

The next day came swiftly, and Gen found herself standing outside the hotel once more, dressed sharply in a tailored black coat, her military insignia glinting subtly in the daylight. Her patience wasn’t infinite, but she’d promised to help you—and, if she was honest with herself, part of her was curious to see how this search for your mysterious wife would unfold. You appeared from the hotel doors, a bit flustered but smiling as brightly as ever. You waved at her with that same innocent enthusiasm that made her wonder how someone so naïve had gotten this far in life.

“Gen! You’re early!” you greeted, your voice carrying that chipper tone she was starting to associate with you. You jogged over, stumbling slightly as you reached her, nearly tripping over your own feet. Gen caught you by the arm, her reflexes sharp as always, and she raised a brow.

“Careful,” she murmured, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Wouldn’t want you falling on your face before we’ve even started.”

You laughed sheepishly, pulling yourself upright. “Right, right, thanks. I’m just excited, I guess.”

Gen watched you carefully as you stood beside her, fidgeting slightly with the hem of your jacket. There was a nervous energy about you, but it wasn’t the kind born from fear—it was more like you were too eager to stay still. She couldn’t help but wonder if your excitement would fade once you realized how slim the chances of finding your wife were.

She gestured for you to follow her to the car. The ride was smoother this time, and as you both settled into the backseat, you started rambling about your wife again—how you’d met, the letters she sent, the little clues she’d left behind. Gen listened with half an ear, her attention divided between your words and the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Reina. That was the name you kept mentioning. Your wife’s name. Gen knew the name all too well, though she kept that particular piece of information to herself for now. The Reina you were searching for wasn’t just anyone—she was someone connected to Xelera’s underworld, someone who had connections that made even Gen tread carefully. But you, in your innocent excitement, had no idea what kind of person you were chasing.

As you spoke, your eyes lit up, and Gen found herself watching the way your face animated with every word. There was something almost infectious about your enthusiasm, and for a moment, she allowed herself to be swept up in it, letting you guide the conversation without interruption. But the moment was fleeting. Gen had too much experience, too much knowledge of how the world worked, to let herself fully indulge in your hopeful idealism.

Finally, the car came to a stop in the district of Suriso, one of the places you'd mentioned. Gen stepped out first, her eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced precision. The area was bustling with people, but none of them held the same energy you did. There was a heaviness to the place, an underlying tension that came from its proximity to the wealthier districts and the power that loomed just beyond its borders.

You, however, seemed oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, stepping out of the car with wide eyes as you took in your surroundings. “So... this is Suriso, huh? It looks... different from what I imagined,” you said, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. Gen watched you closely, her lips curling into a small smile.

“Welcome to Suriso,” she replied, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. “Not exactly the shining beacon of hope you were expecting, is it?”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “Yeah, not really. But it’s still got... potential, right?”

Gen shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes as she motioned for you to follow her down the street. "Potential, sure. But keep your eyes open. Not everyone here is as... friendly as I am." She smirked, watching your face fall slightly as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

You nodded, falling into step beside her, your gaze darting around as if you were trying to memorize every detail of the place. Gen could tell you were still clinging to hope, but she wondered how long that would last. You were too trusting, too quick to believe that people would always act in your best interest. It was both admirable and foolish, and Gen couldn't help but feel a strange sense of protectiveness over you because of it.

As you walked, the tension in the air thickened, but you seemed blissfully unaware. Gen, on the other hand, was fully attuned to the subtle shifts in the environment, her senses honed from years of experience. She kept a close eye on the people around you, making sure that no one was watching you too closely. Not yet, anyway.

You came to a stop in front of a small café, the sign hanging above the door slightly weathered but still welcoming. “How about we stop for coffee?” you suggested, glancing at her with that same hopeful smile. “We can figure out our next move after that.”

Gen considered the offer for a moment before nodding. “Sure, coffee sounds good,” she replied, though in truth, she was more interested in learning just how far you were willing to go for this search. This would be the perfect opportunity to probe deeper into your thoughts, to see what made you tick.

The first morning after your search for Reina, Gen arranged to meet you at a quaint café near your hotel. Despite her carefully crafted words and the subtle charm woven into her messages, you arrived feeling awkward and out of place rather than charmed. As you waited at the table, your eyes wandered nervously around the café. Gen's entrance caught your attention—calm, composed, and with an aura of control that made her impossible to ignore. But something about her made you uneasy.

She slid into the seat across from you, her smile polite yet calculating. You could tell there was something just beneath the surface, though you weren’t sure what. Her presence, while meant to be comforting, felt like a looming shadow, as if she was dissecting everything about you with every glance. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, her voice sweet but with a tone that implied she expected a particular answer. You hesitated, feeling the weight of her attention. “Yeah… I guess,” you muttered, focusing on your coffee, too nervous to meet her gaze for long.

Gen’s eyes flickered as she tilted her head slightly, her smile widening. She enjoyed the discomfort radiating from you—subtle, but there. The power she held over the situation was intoxicating, though she masked her true thoughts behind a facade of gentle concern. “You still seem tense. Maybe I could show you a quieter place next time, somewhere more… intimate,” she offered. Her suggestion felt less like an offer and more like an expectation. You nodded, unsure of how to decline without making things more awkward, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup absently.

The conversation flowed in a way that felt controlled by her every word, and though you participated, there was an underlying sense of being led rather than sharing. Gen’s eyes never left you, calculating your reactions, savoring each time you fumbled with your words or nervously shifted in your seat. By the end of the meeting, she felt a stirring inside her—a deeper curiosity about you. You were no ordinary distraction. You were something she could mold, something she could control.

The second day was filled with promises of sightseeing and exploration. Gen picked you up in a sleek car, her demeanor as poised as ever. You climbed into the passenger seat, feeling an odd sense of pressure. She’d been incredibly insistent on showing you around, and despite your initial hesitance, it felt easier to agree than to push back against her firm suggestions.

As she drove, Gen talked about the city in a way that seemed almost rehearsed—every detail carefully curated for your ears. You didn’t feel at ease with her, but it was hard to pinpoint why. Her words were pleasant enough, yet you felt like every compliment, every smile was a move in a larger game you weren’t fully aware of. Still, you let her guide you through the streets of Xelera, her voice filling the quiet moments in the car.

When she pulled up to a small park, she insisted you both take a walk. As you moved through the paths lined with autumn leaves, Gen's eyes were always on you—studying how you reacted to her, to the surroundings. She would occasionally touch your arm lightly, guiding you in a direction that she wanted, her hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. Each time you tensed up, a flicker of amusement sparked in her gaze.

“I think I’m starting to understand you a little more,” she said at one point, her tone deceptively soft. You blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. You didn’t feel like you’d revealed much about yourself at all, yet she spoke as if she knew you better than you knew yourself. Gen’s smile deepened when she saw your confusion—it was exactly the reaction she craved.

By the third day, you had started feeling the weight of her presence more heavily. Gen invited you to dinner at an exclusive restaurant, claiming it would be a “more private” opportunity to help you with your search for Reina. Something about the invitation felt off, but you reluctantly agreed, unsure how to decline her without coming off as ungrateful.

When you arrived, the restaurant was dimly lit, the ambiance heavy with formality. You felt out of place immediately. Gen, however, thrived in this environment. She led you to a private booth, her hand on your lower back, gently pushing you forward as though you needed direction. Once seated, she leaned back with a casual air, while you sat rigidly across from her, trying to mask your discomfort.

Over the course of the dinner, Gen continued her usual dance of veiled compliments and subtle domination. She ordered for you without asking, brushing off your mild protest with a light laugh. “I know what you’ll like,” she said confidently, as though there was no question about it. You found yourself eating the meal in silence, uncertain of how to assert your preferences in her overwhelming presence.

Throughout the evening, Gen played her role perfectly, appearing attentive and interested in you, though you could feel that familiar sense of control seeping into every interaction. You realized then that this wasn’t just a friendly dinner. It was another move in whatever game she was playing. Her eyes, sharp and predatory, lingered on you as you fumbled through the conversation, but instead of pushing back, you tried to keep things neutral, unaware of how deeply Gen was becoming enthralled with the power she held over you.

On the fourth day, Gen arrived at your hotel without so much as a warning text. You heard a knock and, when you opened the door, there she stood, a smile plastered on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She stepped inside before you could even greet her, as if your space was hers to claim. “I thought we could spend some more time together today,” she said, her tone laced with sweetness that made the hair on your neck stand up.

You stared at her, momentarily frozen by the boldness of her entrance. No invitation had been extended, but she behaved as if she was expected. Your discomfort was palpable, but Gen either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. She began to walk around your hotel room, examining the small details of your life here—clothes strewn across a chair, a book half-open on the nightstand. “You should really try to keep things tidier,” she remarked lightly, her fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt as though it were hers to touch.

Her movements felt like an invasion, each glance, each touch calculated to unsettle you. You tried to form words, to question her sudden intrusion, but Gen’s control over the situation was absolute. She moved to sit on your bed, patting the space beside her as if beckoning you to join. The weight of the unspoken command pulled you forward, and despite the unease bubbling within you, you found yourself sitting, albeit stiffly, beside her. Her hand drifted to your knee, a light touch but one that felt heavy with meaning.

As she began to talk, her voice remained that same soothing, artificial sweetness. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she admitted, her eyes watching your reaction closely. The way she said it made you feel small, like you were a possession she was beginning to covet. “You seem so stressed. I could help with that, you know.” Her hand squeezed your knee slightly, her touch lingering longer than was comfortable. You shifted slightly, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened imperceptibly, as if reminding you who held the power here. The subtle possessiveness in her actions sent chills down your spine, her words no longer a suggestion, but an inevitability.

The fifth day began with an innocent enough plan—another café visit. This time, Gen chose a quieter spot, tucked away from the city’s hustle. When you arrived, she was already seated, waiting for you with that same deceptive smile, the one that never fully concealed her true nature. The café was warm and inviting, but you could feel the coldness in the air between you two. Today, something felt different. Gen was more focused, her gaze sharper, as if she had decided to push past the boundaries you hadn’t even known she had set.

As you sat down, she leaned in immediately, closing the distance between you. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said softly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. Her tone was calm, but there was an undercurrent of accusation that made your pulse quicken. You shook your head quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “No, not at all. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.” It wasn’t entirely untrue, but it felt like an excuse you hoped she would accept.

But Gen wasn’t in a forgiving mood today. Her smile tightened at the edges, her hand reaching out to brush against your arm. The contact sent an involuntary shiver through you, her touch feeling more like a claim than a comfort. “You shouldn’t lie to me,” she murmured, her voice deceptively soft. “I can tell when people are holding something back.” Her fingers lingered on your skin, and it felt like she was testing you, pushing to see how far she could go. The intensity of her gaze locked you in place, making it difficult to breathe, let alone think.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the tension between you two remained. Gen’s words were carefully chosen, each one laced with subtle commands disguised as gentle suggestions. She asked about your day, your plans, but every question felt invasive, like she was gathering pieces of you to add to her growing control. The way she looked at you—hungry and possessive—made you realize that this was no longer just casual companionship. She was slowly wrapping herself around your life, tightening her hold. You could feel her drawing you further into her web, her obsession growing more evident with each passing moment.

By the time you left the café, you felt drained, her presence lingering long after she had gone. The weight of her fixation was becoming more than just uncomfortable—it was suffocating.

The sixth day marked a new level of control for Gen. You had tried to maintain some semblance of distance, but it seemed like she was always one step ahead, knowing exactly where you were and what you were doing at all times. That evening, she showed up at your hotel room once again, this time with no pretense of politeness. She knocked, but when you opened the door, she brushed past you without waiting for an invitation, her presence filling the room like a storm.

Her demeanor was different today—more demanding, less subtle. She paced the small space of your hotel room as if it were her own, her eyes scanning every inch as though she was sizing it up. “We’ve spent a lot of time together this week, haven’t we?” she asked, her voice casual but her tone heavy with implication. There was no real question there; it was a statement of fact, and you knew it. You nodded stiffly, unsure of where this was going. Gen’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile.

Without warning, she closed the distance between you, her hand gripping your shoulder with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You need someone like me,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You’re too trusting, too… vulnerable.” Her words felt like a trap, a carefully laid snare that you had walked into without realizing. You tried to step back, but her grip tightened, her nails digging slightly into your skin. “I can protect you,” she said, her eyes dark and unwavering. “But you need to let me.”

The possessiveness in her tone was unmistakable now. Gen wasn’t just interested in you; she wanted to control you, to bend you to her will. The atmosphere in the room felt suffocating, her presence overwhelming. You could feel the shift in her—this was no longer a game of subtle manipulation. She was making her claim on you, her obsession fully on display. Every word, every touch was a reminder that you were no longer in control. Gen had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

By the seventh day, you were nearing the end of your rope. Gen’s constant presence in your life had become unbearable. She texted you relentlessly, her messages veiled in sweetness, but the underlying demand for your attention was always there. That morning, she insisted on meeting you again. You could feel the weight of her obsession pressing down on you, but you reluctantly agreed, hoping to somehow manage the situation.

When you met her, Gen was already waiting, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching you with a predatory intensity that made your skin crawl. She greeted you with a smile, but there was nothing warm about it anymore. “I was starting to think you didn’t want to see me,” she said, her voice dripping with a faux playfulness. But the accusation was clear. You forced a smile, trying to keep things neutral, but Gen was already pushing past your defenses.

Throughout the conversation, she grew more demanding, her words laced with possessiveness. “You can’t just avoid me,” she said at one point, her tone darkening. “I’m trying to help you, but you’re making it difficult.” Her eyes bore into you, daring you to challenge her, but you couldn’t. The power dynamic between you had shifted completely—any illusion of casual companionship was gone. Gen’s obsession had consumed her, and it was suffocating you.

The breaking point came when she reached across the table, her hand wrapping around your wrist with a firmness that made you flinch. “I don’t like being ignored,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “You need to learn that.” The threat in her words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, you realized just how deep her fixation ran. Gen wasn’t going to let you go—not easily, not without a fight. And as you sat there, trapped under her gaze, you felt the full weight of her obsession crushing down on you.

This was no longer about companionship or even control. Gen had crossed the line into something far darker. The week had started with her charm and manipulation, but now, you were facing the reality of her true nature—obsessive, possessive, and dangerous.

On the eighth day, the world outside felt like a distant memory as you slowly woke up in an unfamiliar place. The walls were a muted beige, adorned with expensive artwork that only served to highlight how out of place you felt. Your head throbbed with a dull ache, the remnants of whatever Gen had slipped into your drink the night before. Panic set in as you tried to move, only to discover that your wrists were restrained, tied to the ornate bed frame. A wave of nausea rolled through you, a bitter reminder of how easily Gen had taken control.

As you struggled against the restraints, the door swung open, and there stood Gen, her expression a mixture of amusement and something darker. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she purred, stepping into the room like she owned the very air you breathed. The sight of her made your heart race—not with excitement, but with fear. “I hope you’re feeling better. I prepared your first meal.” She held up a tray, the aroma of food wafting toward you, tantalizing yet nauseating under the circumstances.

“Let me go,” you demanded, your voice shaky but resolute. Gen merely chuckled, a low, sultry sound that sent chills down your spine. “Oh, but where would be the fun in that? You’re my guest now, and I’ll take excellent care of you.” She placed the tray down on your lap, the clatter of the plates echoing in the silence. You eyed the food suspiciously, knowing full well that Gen had no interest in your well-being. “You’re going to eat, and you’re going to enjoy it. After all, I can’t have you wasting away on me.”

Your appetite vanished as you pushed the food away, the act of defiance feeling more futile than empowering. Gen’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. She leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear, her voice dripping with a chilling sweetness. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?” Her eyes sparkled with sadistic delight, and you could feel the weight of her control pressing down on you, suffocating any lingering hope of escape.

Every meal became a battle of wills, Gen meticulously serving you while you tried to resist. With each passing moment, the reality of your situation sank in deeper. You were trapped in her home, her possession, and no matter how fiercely you fought back, Gen was always one step ahead, her grip tightening around you like a vice.

A week passed in this twisted cycle, and every day felt like a struggle for survival within the confines of Gen’s control. You had learned to adapt, finding ways to please her in hopes of avoiding her wrath. Her laughter would ring out when you complied, a sound that should have brought joy but only served to remind you of the chains binding you to this life. Each time you did something to make her happy, a part of you died inside, but you had no choice. Displeasing her meant punishment, and you were terrified of what that might entail.

In this new routine, you had become more pliant, like a puppet dancing to her tune. Gen rewarded your compliance with moments of kindness—short-lived and always tinged with manipulation. She would occasionally loosen the restraints, allowing you a moment of freedom, but only to remind you of how easily she could take it all away. “See? Isn’t this much better?” she’d coo, her eyes alight with a wicked gleam as you shifted uncomfortably in her presence.

You learned the unspoken rules of her household: don’t question, don’t resist, and above all, please Gen. The fear of her disappointment hung over you like a dark cloud, forcing you into submission. Each day became a lesson in survival, your mind slowly warping to fit the confines of her expectations, and though you fought against it, a part of you began to wonder if this was all you would ever know.

Finally, the day came when Gen announced you were allowed to leave your room, albeit under her watchful gaze. “I think you’ve learned your lesson well,” she said, her voice silky smooth. “But don’t get too comfortable; your freedom is still mine to grant.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The world outside felt foreign, and you hesitated, dread pooling in your stomach.

“Let’s go to the living room. I want to show you off,” Gen ordered, her tone brooking no argument. You followed, heart racing, acutely aware of her presence behind you, the heavy weight of her obsession clinging to your back like a shadow.

You stepped into the lavish living room, decorated with expensive furniture and art that screamed opulence. It felt like a gilded cage, and as you took a seat on the plush couch, you felt the familiar pressure of Gen’s gaze on you. She settled beside you, her arm draping casually over your shoulder, claiming you in front of anyone who might walk in.

Just as the atmosphere began to settle, the door swung open, and there stood Reina, her eyes wide with shock. “W-What are you doing here…?” she stammered, panic flooding her expression as she took in the scene before her. The moment felt like time had frozen, and you could feel Gen’s grip on your shoulder tighten slightly, a warning of the tension building in the air.

“I work here,” Reina replied breathlessly, her voice tinged with confusion and concern. She turned her gaze to you, desperation etched across her features as she asked, “Why are you here too?” The question hung heavily between you, an unspoken understanding that something was horribly wrong. You felt your heart race as you searched for words, but all that escaped your lips was a weak, “You—You work for her…?”

Gen’s lips curled into a smirk, relishing the unfolding drama as if it were an entertaining play. “Oh, yes,” she drawled, her voice dripping with condescension. “You see, I’ve found another…” Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as she leaned closer, her voice low and mocking. “Unless you want to share, Reina?” The suggestion sent a ripple of tension through the room, a twisted game unfolding as you watched Reina’s expression shift from shock to a mixture of anger and disbelief.

The air thickened with unspoken words, a confrontation brewing as you glanced between them, caught in the crossfire of their conflicting emotions. You were the pawn in Gen’s twisted game, and as you sat there, the realization hit hard—you had lost more than just your freedom. You had become a trophy in Gen’s obsession, a pawn in a game you never wanted to play.

[natsaffection]

hey love 👋👋

could you right some nsfw were r is like a ray of sunshine, always nice, kind, joyfull and a little shy, so nat is aurorised how >>loud<< they are and what they like in bed, please 🥺🥺 also, mommy nat being very teasing.

i'd really appreciate it, thank you sm sweetie 😻💖💖

Hidden | N.R

MINORS DNI!! (18+)!

Summary: Natasha gets to know the real you.

warnings: Mommy Kink, fingering (r receiving), Strap on use (r receiving) Rough (?) sex,

Word count: 1305 k

A/N: Thank you so much for this one <3.

How grateful Natasha was. Not the fact that she got a second chance or found a new family. No, she was grateful for you.

If someone had told her that some fire in a coffee would lead to her meeting a sweet little someone like you, she would have given that person the darkest look ever.

You talked one night about how Natasha approached you, and you were so happy because you never dared to approach her yourself.

Not only did you bring a smile to Natasha's face every time, but also to her comrades. After seven months of dating, you decided to make your relationship public, and it was time to involve your friends. Since then, the Tower has been surrounded only by laughter and joy.

Someone drops their drink? No big deal, you laugh at how Steve's face was when he could feel his cup sliding out of his hand.

The power goes out again because Tony overdid it again? Don't worry, you'll be the first one in every room with candles ready to light.

Someone is sick? You're at their sides. Someone is sad? You've got tissues and Disney movies in hand.

Natasha was really lucky...Especially behind closed doors.

Damn, you have some vocal cords. And how Natasha loved it, "Gosh Detka..Now I have to ask Tony about the soundproof walls.." she said as she shoved her knuckles deep in you pussy. "I-I'm sorry..."

God, how Horny Natasha is for you..How fragile you are, how sweetly you try to escape her pleasures.

So she never would have expected the way you try to hide that you are discreetly excited by the scenes in front of you. It was Natasha's idea to watch a certain documentary for the night.

In fact, it was, but Natasha wanted to find out how far she could take you, and so now a documentary on the background of the female orgasm is playing before you.

"What's going on, Detka?" She knows what state you are in right now and wants to take it further. Only you don't like it at all. How embarrassing. Why are you..aroused?

"N-Nothing! I'm just sitting very uncomfortable..." Oh god, you have to get out of here- "Are you sure about that Y/n? It looks to me like you're enjoying yourself here..." Was she right? Do you get off on it? No, it can't-

"N-Nat?"

"Yeah, baby?" Natasha eyes widen..That look you have, she already knows from others Natasha has been with. That's why it surprises her that you, of all people, have it right now, "Um..you always said that I could..come to you, and so I wanted to ask if..you- if we-"

"You want me to be rough with you? Is that it, Malysh?" You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, so you nod frantically. You need her. Now.

And Natasha knew that too. She's on you like a gazelle, that haven't had anything to eat in a long time. With one hand she pushes you further into the bed and with the other she moves to your pants, "You don't know how much this is turning me on right now..." Fuck. You thought to yourself. Why didn't you open your mouth sooner?

As quickly as Natasha was on top of you, your clothes were on the floor and her fingers were already inside you. You groaned out and at that exact moment a groan also came from the TV you forgot to turn off, and it was followed directly by a "Mommy.."

"F-Fuck, Y/n!" You had also forgotten that Natasha's fingers were inside you and this..word tightened all your nerves in your pussy. "Mommy, huh? Do you want to call me mommy?"

"S-Stop..." You put your hands over your mouth to keep it from being more embarrassing for you, but Natasha was quick to respond and stopped you, "No, no, let me hear you. Come on, I won't hold it against you..."

Come on.. Natasha thought..She wants- no needs, to hear it. She made it her task and thus no longer held back. She rams into you full force and curled her fingers perfectly, "A-Aah, M-Moommy!!!" You both had the same reaction. Natasha had to moan out now too, "There it is..Fuck, who thought you were so dirty for me, hm?"

"Please, stop talking like that..." embarrassing, embarrassing, emb-- "N-No!!!" You were so close, so close! But Natasha pulled her fingers out and took them in her mouth. You watched her enjoy the taste of you, and when she looked back, you knew immediately that you were in for a long night.

But the spark faded when Natasha got up and went into the next room. You were puzzled and scared...Was it too much, after all? Crap, you shouldn't have-.

"I ordered this two months ago and was hoping we could use it at some point. What do you say?" She was leaning against the door with a bright pink- 9inch strap-on in her hand. You had to swallow and nodded again. "Would you turn around?" she asked and you do as she said. You now look at the wall in front of you, confused, trying to catch everything that is going on behind you.

Suddenly, you notice the bed buckling behind you and feel your lover's hands on your hips. "Tell me what you want, baby..." Natasha wants to hear you.

"Just..Fu— I-Im not gonna say this..." Natasha was already expecting an answer like that, "Okay."

You sigh out, glad that she's satisfied with that.

You take a deep breath as you suddenly feel the tip of her dildo against your folds and brace yourself, but the thrust never came. Instead, she just nudges it back and forth.

"Nat.." Natasha had to smirk. She had you where she wanted you, "What? Tell me what you want.."

"P-Put it in..." God, how sweet you sound..That's why she had to thrust in, but no more, "God, Natasha, please!!”

"You know what to do, Y/n.." she sang. Her most important person lying squirming under her and thirsty for pleasure.

And how you needed it, "Please fuck me already! Please, just- O-Ohh, yess!" Natasha was now desperate too, thrusting back and back into you with tremendous force. In, out, in, out it goes all the time and you and Natasha forgot everything. You had absolutely no backbone, "Pl-Please slow..d-down, I-" She rocks into you so hard that if she wasn't holding you by the hips, you would be constantly sliding forward,

"No..you take it, fuck..baby!"

You were starting to run out of strength in your arms, and before you fell into the pillow you suddenly noticed Natasha suddenly pull out, turn you around and fill you right back up. Her pace picked up directly, "You look so good when you're taken through..."

"PLEASE! I'm so close..so close..." You were in heaven and Natasha was close too as her thrusts become more erratic, "Look at me Y/n..I want to see you.."

You almost couldn't hear her, so fucked are you. Look at Natasha, look at Natasha, look-

"Natasha! I'm c-cumming!" She was already grunting too, "That's not my name, sweetheart.." You feel her thrusts slow down, "M-Mommy! No, don't stop, please!!"

"Then try again." She had to grit her teeth as she was about to finish as well, "Mommyyy, please let me come, please, please, please!!"

She picked up the pace again and shortly after, you both lapsed into endless release. Natasha fucked you through your orgasm, and you were sure you saw Jesus. As you both came down, Natasha laid on your chest, "That was fantastic..Who would have thought you would be so-"

"Please don't say it.." You put your hands back on your face and Natasha had to laugh,

"Oh Detka, I'm so grateful to have you.."

-

-

-

-

-

[anxiousthoughts365]

Broken

Trans!Reggie. Mildly NSFW - mostly just suggestive. Minors DNI.

'Fuck,' James hisses, his back hitting the edges of the pantry shelves as Regulus shoves him against them. The shorter boy smirks, but the teasing comment poised on the tip of his tongue dies when James wraps a large fist around his t-shirt and pulls him forward. Regulus staggers, but James catches him with ease, and then they're kissing.

Regulus feels like he'll never get used to this. How could he ever get used to the warmth of James' body pressed against his? How could it ever be normal for his own body to react the way it does whenever he catches a whiff of James' cologne, which somehow seems to be everywhere in the Potter Mansion? How could there ever be a time where James' mouth on his doesn't make his head spin and his insides melt?

He's so caught up in the feel and the smell and the taste of James James James that he doesn't realise what's happening until it's too late. James' hand is snaking down his abdomen over his shirt, heading lower, lower, until it finally comes to rest against the front of Regulus' jeans. James presses. And Regulus freezes.

He's been so careful up until now, so damned careful to avoid this, and in the weeks he's been here this is the one time he's let himself slip for a brief second, has been greedy, wanting to fully experience the feel of James' hands and lips on him without the constant background noise of his fear. And now look. Everything's ruined. He should leave, he needs to pack his things, to get out of -

'Baby?' James is still, too. More still than he's ever been in his life, Regulus thinks. His voice is gentle, achingly so, and oh so lovely as he murmurs, 'Reg, will you look at me?'

Regulus is surprised to realise that his eyes have closed of their own volition, but he can't do it. He can't make his lids lift. Can't see whatever devastating expression might be on James' face right now. So instead, he presses his lips together and shakes his head.

'Alright,' James murmurs, and he still hasn't moved, and Regulus doesn't know what to make of that. Everything shifts when James breathes, 'You know this doesn't matter, right?'

'Of course this fucking matters!' Ah, there it is. There's comfort in anger, in vitriol, and Regulus draws from the seemingly endless well of it inside himself as his eyes snap open and he spits, 'How could it not fucking matter? It means that this - this - whatever this is, it can't go on. I knew it, of course, but I had selfishly hoped for a little more time. Should have known better, really. Well, go on, let's hear it then. It's disgusting, and wrong, and fucked up, and you want me out of your house immediately and -'

James' hand finally leaves his crotch, but only so that the calloused, dark fingers can be pressed against Regulus' mouth, stilling his flow. Regulus blinks, pulled back from the brink of self-loathing by the set of James' jaw, the fire behind his hazel eyes.

'Alright,' the taller boy growls, the word slightly slurred from being forced through gritted teeth. 'Alright, then it matters. It matters, because this is who you are. It matters, because every time I hear how your family treated you because of it, I want to burn things. It matters, because I want to be able to make you feel good, but I need you to know that I have no expectations of you, no judgement for you or your body. It matters, but it changes nothing about how I feel for you.'

Regulus wants to believe him, but he's scared. And maybe James can see the fear, because his face softens. Regulus can see how he makes his jaw relax, how he pushes the tension from his shoulders. He's seen James do this before, when he adjusts his expression or body language almost subconsciously around Sirius, whenever his brother is stressed or frightened.

Regulus should be annoyed that James is treating him like he does Sirius. He should be, but he's not. At this moment, Regulus is grateful. Because with James' careful approach, he's able to drop his own defenses, is able to let logic filter through.

'You ... You don't mind,' he murmurs against James' palm. His reward for allowing James to soothe him is that the hand is removed from his mouth and moves instead to cup his cheek, James' thumb running over his cheekbone in a way that sends sparks shooting down his spine.

'No, Baby, I don't mind. You've already told me about this. I have never minded.' James frowns suddenly as a thought seemingly occurs to him, and he mutters, 'Although I'm annoyed that I forgot myself and didn't ask you before I touched you.'

'I'm not annoyed at you,' Regulus says quietly, making an effort to meet James' gaze so that the boy can see the sincerity in his words.

'You're not?' James sounds so unsure that Regulus wants to scoop him up, to reassure him and make everything better, make all of this goes away. So he does the only thing that he can think of in that moment. He steps closer, leaning in deliberately as he winds his arms around James' neck.

'I want you to touch me,' he breathes, and his heart rate speeds up as he watches James' pupils dilate.

'Yeah?' James chokes out, his cheeks flushing lightly as he stares down at Regulus. He nods, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and in no time James' hand finds its way between Regulus' legs once more, and he presses with the heel of his palm. The pressure and the pleasure make Regulus' head fall back, a soft sigh slipping through his lips, and James' resulting groan is almost sinful. But then he's pulling away, his fingers wrapping around Regulus' wrist as he moves towards the door.

'Wait, what -'

'I'm not doing this here,' James pants, and his eyes are slightly wild when he turns back to Regulus. He presses a brief but passionate kiss to the shorter boy's lips, before reaching for the handle on the pantry door. Regulus has to fight to stop his knees from buckling when James adds, 'I want you spread out on my bed while I take you apart.'

[soraviie]

he's not your bias.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━ masterlist

━ about: fluff ━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: requested and thank you for it! Please, like, reblog and leave a comment, you know the drill :]

NAMJOON: "It's Yoongi, isn't it?"

"Please, shut up."

"You shut up!...traitor."

Sighing, you adjusted your spine from where it was comfortably settled in the mattress and turn to the other side where Namjoon was grumbling, fingers tightly gripping the duvet and stare transfixed on a meaningless spot in the ceiling. His jaw was slowly working up into a full blown clench.

Cautiously, you reach to tug his hand into yours, rubbing slow circles on the back of his palm. Thankfully, he allows this and in due time the tension leaves his tightened body.

"Why do you think it's Yoongi?" you wonder aloud once more. When you accidentally let it slip that he wasn't the first one who caught your attention, he said he didn't care, tossing that remark over his shoulder but you should have known better.

"I don't know," he trails off, shrugging. "He's cool, quiet, determined, caring. A perfect guy, really."

"So are you."

You smile into the duskened air of the dim bedroom, hoping this will be the straw the breaks the back of his worried camel but then he turns up his nose, offended.

"Not enough to be your bias."

Your head slams against the pillow - exhausted.

"I'm with you not him. I admit there are a lot of admirable qualities he has but it's just that. To me he's an idol, but you're Kim Namjoon."

Tepidly, he takes the bait and glances at you from the corner of the eye, imperceptibly scooching closer, sheets rustling in the quiet.

"And is he so great? This Kim Namjoon?"

"The greatest," you press a soft kiss against his cheek. "Now be a good boy and go to sleep."

You place his hand firmly over your waist, relaxing once more and you hear him do the same thing as well. He did not need to know who you actually biased - that certain bandmate would get his ego stroked far too much than even a fan such as yourself could allow.

YOONGI: "I'm completely fine about meeting him! Now just pretend we don't know each other and be casual about it."

Yoongi draws a deep inhale, refusing to let your hand go.

"There's only two of us here," he remarks, pointedly glimpsing around his studio. The air was laced with the stench of paint whilst the canvas you both worked on dried away in the dark corner.

"So? I could be a new staff member."

"You're sitting in my lap."

You glance down to where your thighs rested on top of his.

"Perhaps you're a pervert," you state off-handedly. This offends him and rolling his eyes, Yoongi unceremoniously shoves you onto the floor. It was exactly in this moment when you fought to preserve your balance, the door cracks open and to your great mortification Jimin comes in.

The easy smile on his lips drops faster than your gut can and with gaze hastily flickering between you and Yoongi, he steps cautiously forth.

"Oh, hello," he greets, trying to mask the awkwardness streaming out of his very pores. "I don't think I've seen you around...?"

"Yes, I'm just..." you floundered, quickly growing breathless in the presence of someone shaped like a sheer perfection. The pixels truly did not do him justice.

"Your biggest fan," Yoongi concluded dryly from his seat. "So if you could be so kind and sign a scarf or something, I'd be grateful. This one is slobbering up all my studio."

You could only turn around with mouth wide open despite no sound falling out of it. Innocently, Yoongi meets your gaze, daring to be so aggravating and proceeding to flutter his unfairly pretty eyelashes.

"Oh," Jimin laughs brightly in the background. "I don't mind signing something..."

Whilst the blood in your head boils to the degree, a straying fear arises of it simply pOpPing off your head, Jimin so graciously loops his signature on the back of a ripped note containing your and Yoongi's grocery list. Once he finishes, he lifts his head, gives an absolutely paralyzing smile and...

...winks.

WINKS!

"Ehhhhheheheheh, thankyou."

You think that somewhere in the back of Yoongi's throat there rises a sentence of "that's just embarrassing" but as you whip around, murder in the eyes, he chooses to ultimately stay diplomatically silent.

"I just remembered, there's a thing I need to do," Jimin excuses himself, bowing politely and you try to do the same but it comes out as a bit too deep. More like you're ready to accidentally worship him. As he leaves, lingering for a second too long in the doorway, his gaze jumps curiously between you and Yoongi.

"Interesting," is all he says to himself before leaving altogether.

Deep silence veils the room, interrupted only by the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.

"We're breaking up," numbly, you announce.

"No, we're not," smugly, Yoongi remarks over the shoulder.

JIN: "Well, I can't say I'm surprised," Jin speaks over the rim of his steaming cup, overtly self-satisfied. "With a face such as this and my perfect personality to boot, you really stood no chance."

Personally, you have had a very, very long day. The kind of which leaves your brain leaking from the side of the ear and the soul from the bottom of the waterline, so hearing that coming out of his mouth, accompanied with a smug expression that just begged to be humbled, you slammed him down with no hesitation.

"I was talking about Jungkook. Jungkook is my bias."

The cup in between the saucer and his lips freezes halfway and you can even vaguely hear an error noise drawn from the depths of his perplexing mind.

"The sexy brunette, hitting all the notes with a grace of an angel..." he clarifies, closing his eyes. Does he think - see no evil, hear no evil?

"Is Jeon Jungkook. 190811 concert to be specifically."

The error noise grows louder.

"He was very sexy in that one. Absolutely mesmerizing. My core memory actually."

Calmly, Jin places the cup back onto the saucer, daintily pushing back a strand of unkempt hair.

"I see," he concludes and after a prolonged moment of stretching inaction during which you almost grow to believe he has entirely turned into a statue, Jin states with nothing short of cornucopia of attitude.

"Well, I raised him so by any good business model, 25% of affection belongs to me anyhow."

"Oh, only 25%?" you grumble. "How gracious of you."

"You're right," he leans his head to the side as though genuinely thinking it over. "Inflation. Make it 45%."

And to your surprise no fuss was made. He went to sleep and kicked you twice in his sleep - as per the standard rate. A year went by and the fact was never brought up, be it in passing or even when conversation was on the topic, he merely sat smiling politely in the sidelines. You assumed that the piece of this knowledge was so traumatic, he suppressed the memory of it altogether.

"Hey, Jin," you called out, rifling through the bedsheets. "Have you seen my phone?"

Over the sounds of his infuriated screams about losing yet another game, there comes a hasty "no, sorry".

"Okay, can I use your phone to call myself?"

"Su-AH YOU GODDAMN TOE BRAINED ASSHOLE-re, honey!"

The password on his phone - your birth year, not exactly hacker worthy. You hover over the contacts list not finding in the appropriate section. Babe? Nothing. Honey? Nothing. Annoyance? Not even that. You trail purposelessly throughout the small splattering of contacts - an outcome of being forced to change numbers every - accidentally stumbling on a particularly suspicious name.

"Traitor 💔"

"Drama queen," you mutter fondly, deciding to let him and the name be.

HOSEOK: "He's a sweetheart," Hoseok whispers in the vicinity of his elbow where you were using him as an impenetrable shield. "He's literally going to be happy to learn you biased him."

"Look at his face! He thinks I'm annoying!"

"That's just how his face looks, silly. As Tae-biased you must know that."

"But he's scary," you whimper. "I adore him as a bias but I also want to run away. I do not want to be perceived."

You shrink smaller the second those soulful, weary eyes glide over to where Hoseok was so suspiciously angled. You squeak and hide even further behind Hoseok's back, praying Taehyung doesn't come over.

"Get me out of here, please," you mutter and with a quick wave, Hoseok leads you out of the building. There, in the chilly air of the oncoming night, the awkwardness and, truthfully, no small amount of panic evaporates into the black sky. For a while, both of you are simply content in holding hands and watching them swing back and forth.

"Ugh, I'm so lame," you whine.

"No, you're not. It's natural to be shy around people you idolize," he scolds you gently. "You don't think I'm soaring on the ninth wave of confidence when meeting my stars?"

"Well, you're cool yourself so there's no reason why you shouldn't," you scoff.

"And you're cool as well."

There's that tone again - it's useless to argue. Hoseok was not here to entertain your insecurities, he made sure of that from the very start. You smile to yourself, gazing out across the slowly running river. Walks like these were precious. Treasured even as they were so rare.

"You're not upset by it, right?" you clarify cautiously. Partially knowing that of course such a minuscule thing as this would not upset him but...it just didn't hurt to make sure.

"No," he chuckled airily, before awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Actually I'm kind of glad about it."

"Glad?"

"Well, it'd be difficult to date you if you kept running away from embarrassment."

You chuckled, facing the ground as the streets and the river slowly molded themselves into a nondescript background.

JIMIN: "So...Namjoon told me you hung out?"

Easy. Casual. Even somewhat in passing. But you know him better than that and the second your sixth sense catches onto the lingering shadow in the background of his chords, you lift your head from the magazine and stray to where he was leaning against the countertop.

"I don't like him like that. Please, do not misunderstand."

"I'm just asking," Jimin defends, more so out of instinct. The very best and simultaneously the worst thing about the relationship you'd both cradled like a gentle flame is that by now you could read each other's mind. Despite not being there with him in person you know of the pang in his heart he'd felt when seeing a picture of you trailing next to Namjoon as you both were immersed in a conversation about art, one that'd surely make him bored quite easily. And despite Jimin not literally finding himself dug deep into your brain, he knows you worry, he knows you suspect, knows you're working overtime into scheming all possible future scenarios.

"Stop overthinking," he chides but there's no malice behind it and simply just as that the tension stretches and unwinds until there's only the soft ambient noise of life swirling all around.

"Does he know? You go rabid over him?"

Fully offended, you point the spoonful of yoghurt in his direction, a fat glob of peach splattering clumsily onto the tiles.

"I do not! Go rabid over him!"

Before you get the chance to reach for the paper towel, Jimin has already snatched a ply, wiped up the peach yoghurt and discarded it into the trash.

"Thank you. But I do not go rabid over him!"

Jimin pointedly stares at the your keychain where not one, not two but three Koya's hung limply around the metal circles.

"Of course, absolutely sane."

"Do not patronize me, Park," you glare at him but once geared to amuse himself in your miffed state, he shows no sign of stopping.

"You are so chill about it. Not like you spent hours creating TikTok edits of his dimples."

"You swore to take that to the grave," you growled underneath the nose, your clenched fist indicating you were extremely close to choking him. Which Jimin didn't exactly mind. In fact, such was his goal.

"Oh, make me take it there," he winked.

TAEHYUNG: "I'm not going to share Hobi with you."

"I'm your partner!"

"And? You're not getting Hoseok privileges."

You pouted the rest of the day away, grumbling about the unfairness of the whole situation. But secretly you felt your heart draw a heavy sigh of relief. It'd been so hard to get together with Taehyung that unwillingly it felt that even the smallest of things got inflated to magnitude you feared could drown you whole. But it was fine. If anything he seemed overjoyed in hearing that it was Hoseok who'd caught your attention first and kept a rather brutal chokehold over the course of these few years. Yes, it was fine. However, should Taehyung ever reveal you had drooled on yourself while watching "MORE", you would kill him and then yourself. A promise you'd made loud and clear to which he swore to obey.

And it wasn't like meeting Hoseok was something so necessary for you to live, feeling rather content watching him from the sidelines. In between life, Yeontan, Taehyung and all the secrecy that one had to accept came with him, your life was...full. So when one of these factors suddenly became absent, you grew suspicious.

Why did he sneak away before you woke up and came home when you were asleep? He couldn't be mad at you, could he? You think back, absent-mindedly tapping at the phone screen. "Daydream" blasts into your ears all too loudly and flinching you yank them away much to Tannie's disappointment. As of late, he appeared to be even more judgmental. You reckon the little rascal never grew to be quite okay with you taking so much of his dad's attention. But to be fair his dad's attention was on whatever third party that kept him away the entire day.

The slowly running anxiety prodded your eyes wide open so it's not like you planned to stay awake for when unmistakably Taehyung shut the front doors cautiously behind him. No, there was nothing for him to be angry about. He hadn't been home often enough for it to happen. As such, guided by latent curiosity, you pretended to be wholly asleep, cracking the barest sliver of one eye open to observe him through the dark.

Stumbling ungainly through the minefield that was your bedroom, it was no surprise he stubbed a toe against the dresser and choking on a series of half-withheld curses, collapsed onto the duvet.

"Good evening," you greet him smoothly. "Fun night?"

He yelps from the shock whilst you turn on the lights. Though you find him not with guilt gleaming in the eye or lipstick on the collar but rather brandishing two dozen of balloons and a photo album.

A photo album of carefully and might you say, artistically gathered collection of photocards, signed at the end by Hoseok himself.

JUNGKOOK: His eyes never left your figure, analyzing each and every interaction with a hawk-like precision.

Jimin? No, you were far too unperturbed talking to him. Jin? No, he'd been in your home far too many times drunk of his ass. Frankly, after he'd slathered your favourite plushie in the contents of his stomach, Jungkook doubted you could hold any sense of idealization towards the man, regardless if he was your initial bias or not.

Jungkook hummed to himself. Decisions, decisions. All of them wrong. His investigation was fruitless for so long Jungkook had all but abandoned it, resigning himself to sitting quietly by the stewing pot when at last something in you changes. Yoongi casually recommends a dish as he'd taken notice of your befuddled stare upon the cornucopia of the dinner table and you lover your gaze, bidding a very quiet, meek "thank you". As a year old boyfriend of yours, Jungkook could definitively say - you were not meek.

Ah, so it was Yoongi.

Why did he want to know so bad? He himself did not even know. Perhaps because you hid it away and the spitefulness of your action flared his own competitive nature. Or perhaps it was nothing at all.

Laying down in the sparse room of the lakeside guest house, he listened to you shower, weighing should he bring the matter . You loved him, not Yoongi. After all you were his partner, but...

No "but's", he scolds himself, turning to lay on the other side. You pad softly to the bed and with a drawn out sigh of utter content jump down next to him.

"Why do you keep sleeping with your hair wet?" Jungkokk nags, twirling a strand between the fingers. "It's bad for you health."

"I sleep better that way."

He gives a non-committal hum, knowing so much already. He briefly opens his mouth as though the words were already there - in the papillae of his tongue but then he closes it shut once more, leaving things unspoken

It doesn't much matter, he reckons happily, while you were still by his side, he would not doubt a thing.

© soraviii/soraviie, 2023

[circeyoru]

Gone Too Young = Collab

[Human & Demon!Alastor x Male BFF!Reader] - Platonic

Part 1 (here) — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4

I am SO excited to share this story with everyone! It’s like a first (successful) collab for me, very accidental start but love the progress we had! (hopefully not the end) There’s gonna be more parts to this. 

You don’t recall your parents. You knew you had them but their faces were blurry. All you remember was darkness, then there was warmth around you and voices so soft and caring that was directed at you. Your hands reached out and held something, it was warm too. Looking back, it was your small child form grabbing onto whatever affection sent your way

At the orphanage, you were one of the eldest. As a big brother, you cared for the little ones and the abandoned. You would wake up early then help set up breakfast with everyone and clean a little, after that it was school time, do a bit of helping out in town here and there for some food or penny or anything, then return home to where your brothers and sisters were waiting

It was a normal day at school where you were surrounded by friends that didn’t care about your orphaned background, friends you were grateful for. Just as they left early to grab a good spot for your lunch break, you stayed behind to help the teacher organize the homework that was handed in a messy pile

When you were done, you took your paper bag with your lunch sandwich inside and headed to your usual spot that you knew your friends were waiting for, as you saw them waving from the windows. You wanted to wave back, but your head turned in another direction to sounds of shoving and muffled hits. Your eyes widened at the sight. A group of bullies ganging up on someone smaller and weaker

“Hey!” Your serene and carefree expression turned to a scowl, taking heavy steps to the group. “What do you think you’re doing to him!?”

The bullies waved you off, threatening to hit you if you interfered. Even if you were the popular kid and liked by the teachers, you should not be sticking your neck in others’ business. Your eyes turned to the boy on the floor, even though his head was tilted down and his hair covering his eyes, you knew he was looking back at you with plead

You didn’t say anything and left the scene, ignoring how the bullies laughed and taunted the boy even more, saying that no one was going to help him. You returned quickly, this time with the disciplinary teacher next to you. You pointed at the group of bullies and told everything, coming to the boy’s aid to have him stand instead of staying on the floor

As soon as the teacher brought the group away to punish them, you brought the boy to the nurse’s office. In silence, you cared for the boy’s wounds on his exposed arms and legs. You noted him flinching with each touch and figured he wasn’t one for physical touch, so you made quick work. This scene was so familiar to you. When you were smaller, you wanted to help and got hurt then the staff would scold you while tending to your wounds, now you were caring for your little brothers and sisters in case they got hurt

“I would have helped you earlier, but it was better to get a teacher. Sorry for leaving you.” You apologized, you had noticed the newer wounds that weren’t there when you first saw him. He shook his head. Shy, you observed. You whacked your head around as you tried to remember which class and level he was from. Oh, that quiet kid at the back corner. “You’re… Alastor?”

The boy, Alastor, nodded. Before you could continued, the nurse door opened and your friends were rushing in. All asking you question after question, showing their concern to you after seeing what happened in the hallways from the outside. You reassured them you were fine, even introducing Alastor to the group

So began a wonderful friendship

To you, Alastor was like a hidden gem, he shined so brightly under the right conditions. He had a nack for speech, he was comfortable with expressing himself through art. He was even a fast running and knew all sorts of interesting facts about the forest near town because he frequents there

Everyone took a liking to Alastor just as they did you. Most would even joke that if one of you were a girl, then the two of you would be the perfect couple. You and Alastor both laughed it off, seeing it as silly

Though you did notice how Alastor was more clingy and close towards you. Sure the two of you were surrounded with friends and by now the two of you were the popular kids, but there was this unspoken close friendship that the two of you share. It was a good feeling, a form of affection that was only between the two of you

“I want to be the town mayor! Oh, or a doctor! Or a lawyer! They make so much money! When I do, I can give it all to the orphanage and get everyone a new place to live and new clothes to change too! Wait, but doctors and lawyers need to read alot… I prefer working, those are easier…” You paced around, your hands waving all over the place as you thought it over, the blank piece of paper flying around at each of your wave

Alastor chuckled, watching you with a soft smile while leaning against the tree. His own blank white sheet of paper next to him with two pens. “You can only pick the one job, silly. And you don’t have to think hard anyways, it’s just school work.”

You turned back to him, glaring down at him with a pair of narrowed eyes. “Well, I’m not wasting time thinking later! I want to help out now! Everyone takes care of me, I want to do something too.”

“But you are doing ‘something’, you’re the only kid that help out this much and not play.” Alastor noted out, rolling his eyes. He groaned as he slide down a bit, “I’m just gonna write whatever comes to mind, a hunter maybe? Or librarian? Something… I don’t know.”

When he looked up, his gaze was immediately met with yours, deep in thought. “Why not a radio host?” Alastor blinded, wondering why silently. “Did you know? You enjoy the spotlight and you strive in it. Plus your voice has this… Uhh… allure? That the right word? Yeah. Allure to it. I think you can hook anyone listening to your attention.”

It was Alastor’s turn to think as he mumbled, “A radio host. I don’t know. It’s a big deal and everyone listens to the radio.”

You sat next to him, careful to avoid getting into his comfort zone. But you don’t notice him shifting closer as you waved your hand once more while talking. “Exactly! I think you’re perfect for the job, just think Alastor, New Orleans’ new rising radio host! Loved and envy by all the enchanted listeners!” You smirked at your friend, “Has a nice ring to it, yeah?”

Alastor though it over again and shrugged, saying that he wouldn’t be able to make it anyways. Your chatting was cut short when the homeroom teacher came over the whack you both on the heads, lightly scolding you two to work on your assignments and not chat

The teacher even brought you away from Alastor to another tree so you wouldn’t interrupt him and he wouldn’t sidetrack you. You sat under your tree glaring at the piece of paper before asking the teacher if you could write a list of jobs you wanna do instead of doing just one, the teacher denied your request and firmly told you to pick one

All the while you were negotiating with the teacher, you didn’t catch Alastor giggling to himself at your childishness. He looked down at his paper and took the pen, in a neat cursive, he wrote, “Radio Host. The best in the state.”

Note: So this is labelled as collab cause ideas were joint and discussed~ Plotline and what to write has been decided, I just need to write them out in more detail.

My lovely collaborator is @blubugg13

Circe Y.

Taglist: (if you want to be added, specify if you want to be tagged for this series only or all my works)

@aconfusedwonderland

[sturnpov]

corduroy dreams | c. sturniolo

no warnings apply, just tooth-rotting fluff. also, consider this an introduction to indie singer!chris which is something i’ve wanted to explore for a while.

the low hum of the city echoed through the window of chris’s tour bus as he strummed absentmindedly on his guitar. he had just finished another show, the crowd still buzzing in his veins but unlike the frenetic energy of his fans, his mind was quiet— too quiet.

he’d been thinking about her again, the girl from the punk band. the one with the chaotic hair and an electric smile. the one whose voice was raw like broken glass, who didn’t care if people liked her music or not. he had no idea why she always managed to find a way into his thoughts, but every time he heard her laugh, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her like gravity. maybe it was the way she made him feel so small, like her world was larger than his. or maybe it was the way she never treated him as if he were famous because to her, he was just a guy who loved making music.

after a few moments, he decided to put down his guitar and scroll through his social media and of course, you were playing at a local venue only a few minutes away from him. he grabbed his jacket, shoved his phone into his pocket, and stepped off the bus to clear his mind. the cool night air in los angeles brushed against his skin as he made his way through the streets, the city lights flickering like a thousand tiny stars.

the venue was exactly how he expected it to be—grungy, dark, with neon signs flickering in the background. it was the kind of place where the music was always too loud and the people were always too close but there she was, standing at the front of the stage, her band thrashing behind her, a confident smirk plastered on her face as she belted out lyrics that felt like rebellion itself. she was different from everyone else in the room, her wild energy almost tangible in the air as he watched on with a starstruck expression.

when she saw him at the edge of the crowd, she didn’t skip a beat and nodded in his direction, her eyes flicking to his with a glint that said, “you know you shouldn’t be here, but I’m glad you are.”

after the set, he found her backstage, wiping sweat from her forehead, still riding the adrenaline of the show, but to him, she was the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on.

“you made it, chris,” she said, her voice rough from the performance, but there was a softness in the way she said it that made his chest tighten. “i was wondering if you were just gonna forget about me.”

chris smiled, leaning against the wall, watching her with an intensity that startled even him. “had to come see what all the noise was about. you’re not too bad for a punk girl, mama.”

she laughed, the sound grating but beautiful. “not too bad? i’m the best thing in this place.” she smirked, wiping her face with a towel before tossing it aside. “what about you, huh? still brooding away in your corner somewhere, singing your sad songs?”

chris couldn’t help but laugh at her words, shaking his head as he denied her claims. “not quite brooding, i’ve been working on something new though. it’s about a girl.” his voice was surprisingly quiet and a bit vulnerable as he spoke, his eyes fixed on his beat up converse instead of facing the woman in front of him— mostly because the song was about her.

she raised an eyebrow, her expression softening for a moment. “i’d love to hear it when you’re done with it, you don’t have to be embarrassed.” she was quieter now, the intensity of the performance still lingering in her voice. “i know i’m a lot to handle, but i don’t mind calming down for you.”

chris finally looks up at her, his eyes softening as he takes in her features and he felt himself falling more and more for her as every moment passed. “you don’t have to change for me. ever.”

[rqbossman]

Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

[kentochronicles]

The Way We Should’ve Been

Nanami Kento x Reader

A/N: here it is!! The much happier part 3 🥰 thank you all so much for your love and patience, the feedback has been amazing and I’m so grateful to everyone 🩵 enjoy 🫂 all likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated 🩵

Tagging: @empower-bi-women - ty for being my reader again 😘 and @itsafairytalekay 🩵

The familiar scent of the infirmary at Jujutsu High enveloped you as you sat beside Nanami’s bed. The soft glow of the afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm light over the room, which felt like a sanctuary after the chaos of Shibuya. You could hardly believe it—he was alive, healed by Shoko’s skillful hands, and you could finally breathe again.

As you held his hand, your heart raced with anticipation, every moment feeling surreal. Nanami stirred, blinking against the brightness as his eyes focused on you. “Hey,” he murmured, a faint smile breaking across his lips.

“Hey!” You nearly jumped with joy, squeezing his hand tighter. “You’re awake! I was so worried.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’m sorry for making you worry. You know how I can be.”

You playfully shoved his shoulder. “Yeah, but you can’t keep sacrificing yourself like that! You have to let someone else carry the weight sometimes.”

He winced slightly at the motion, and your heart sank. “Oh, I’m sorry!” you quickly exclaimed, concern flooding your voice.

“It’s okay,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Just let Shoko know that she’ll have to add ‘shoulder shoving’ to the list of things I’m recovering from. You could’ve warned me first!”

You laughed, relief washing over you. “I promise to ease up on the shoving, Doctor’s orders!”

Nanami’s gaze softened as he studied your face, taking in the concern etched there. “I didn’t want to leave you. I promised I would come back.”

Your heart swelled at his words, relief flooding through you. “You kept your promise. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He sighed, a deep and contemplative sound. “I’ve been thinking about everything while I was recovering… about my purpose and what I want.”

You leaned in closer, sensing the weight of his words. “What do you mean?”

“I want to retire from being a jujutsu sorcerer,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ve seen too much darkness, too many people I care about getting hurt. I want to focus on living and building a future—our future.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the gravity of his words settling in. “Retire? But you’re so good at what you do. It’s important.”

He shook his head, determination flashing in his eyes. “I want to prioritize what truly matters. I want to be with you, without the fear of losing each other to this dangerous life.”

Tears of relief brimmed in your eyes as the reality of his words sank in. “You really mean it?”

“Absolutely.” He took a deep breath, a serious yet tender look crossing his features. “And I want to make this official.”

With that, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple, elegant ring. “Will you marry me?”

You gasped, your heart racing as you took in the sight of the ring. It was beautiful—a symbol of everything you had fought for and everything you hoped to build together. “Yes! Yes, of course!” you exclaimed, tears streaming down your cheeks as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

As the ring settled into place, Nanami’s expression softened even more. He leaned closer, brushing a gentle thumb against your cheek before capturing your lips in a kiss. It was sweet and full of promise, the culmination of all your hopes and fears. In that moment, nothing else mattered—the chaos outside, the darkness you had faced—it all faded into the background.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and glowing, you gazed into his eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you whispered, still feeling the warmth of his lips against yours.

“Believe it,” he replied, his voice low and filled with love. “We have a whole new life ahead of us, one where we can find happiness together.”

Just as the weight of your moment began to settle, the door to the infirmary swung open, and in burst Gojo, his eyes wide and filled with a mix of surprise and excitement. “Did I just hear a marriage proposal?!”

Startled, you and Nanami quickly turned to face him. “Gojo!” Nanami exclaimed, his expression shifting from serene to annoyed. “Can’t you knock?”

Gojo ignored the annoyance in Nanami’s voice, rushing over with a wide grin. “I can’t believe you’re both alive and happy! This is the best news ever!” He dramatically threw his arms around you both, pulling you into an awkward group hug. “I’m so proud of you, Nanami! You finally found someone to put up with you!”

Nanami’s face flushed with mild irritation, but there was an undeniable softness in his gaze. “Gojo, please. We were having a moment.”

Gojo pulled back just enough to pout, his signature grin unwavering. “A moment? But I want in on the moment! This is like a romantic movie!”

“Yeah, well, the romantic movie is over, so can you please leave?” Nanami said, trying to keep his exasperation in check.

With an exaggerated sigh, Gojo held his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine! I’ll let you two have your lovey-dovey time.” He turned to walk away, but not before throwing a wink over his shoulder. “Just remember, if you need a witness, I’m the best!”

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the tension ease. Nanami shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “I swear he’s a child sometimes.”

You leaned closer to Nanami, wrapping your arms around him. “True, but at least he keeps things interesting.”

In the comforting embrace of the infirmary, surrounded by the remnants of your battles and the playful banter of your friends, you felt hope blossom within you. With Nanami by your side, the future was bright, filled with love, laughter, and the promise of new beginnings. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you would face them together, and that thought alone made you feel at ease in his arms.

[namjoonscoffeeshop]

Silent Truths | Drabbles

A part of DEEP series ✧ Pairing: Yoongi x reader ✧ warning(s): explicit language ✧ word count: 525 a/n: Something I had started but Ended up having to post pone over and over because my life is so hectic these days. Now that the release date for the next chapter is coming up this will be the last drabble as I focus on making sure the chapter is released on the promised date. but it won't be the end to drabbles before the story for sure. Wish me luck everyone index | askme!

"Are you sure?" Namjoon teases, but Yoongi keeps his cool, taking another puff of his cigarette. "We're just friends," he mutters, his gaze landing where you stood.

"So why do you care?" Namjoon's voice starts to grate on his nerves. Yoongi chuckles, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it underfoot.

His friends had been going on about how Y/N kept getting more beautiful, and when Taehyung joked about asking her out, Yoongi had told him to fuck off.

That’s when Namjoon asked the question everyone was thinking: did Yoongi like her?

"Simple," Yoongi replied, voice sharp. "I don’t want her first boyfriend to be an idiot like Taehyung, who only dates girls to use them and leave." His eyes flicked to Namjoon. "You all should keep that in mind."

Amused, Namjoon raised his hands in surrender.

Yoongi checked the time. "We should head out—"

"Does that include you?" Namjoon interrupted, smirking.

 before he could respond, Namjoon laughed. "Relax, I’m just messing with you." He gave Yoongi’s shoulder a light shove as he walked ahead. Yoongi made his way towards her, his demeanor calm and composed. The chatter between her and the group of friends faded into the background as he caught sight of her, the way she'd tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while laughing. 

Standing beside her a few steps behind, he let his gaze linger as you laugh with jihye and the rest. Realizing it was getting late he decides to intervene or you would both end up staying longer. leaning down slightly, he spoke softly, his voice meant only for you. "we should head out" he said, as if sharing a secret just between the two of you. 

she turns, her eyes widen in surprise at how close your face was to hers. without a word she quickly turned to her friends to say goodbye. 

placing his arm around her shoulders he guides her away from the group "let's go" he says. 

As Yoongi opened the car door for you, the familiar scent of his leather seats wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. You settled into the passenger seat.

Once he started the engine, Yoongi glanced over “So, since when do you have so many friends?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

giving him an awkward smile as you fumbled for a response. “Oh, they aren’t my friends. They’re Jihye’s... she just dragged me along,”you purse your lips as you confessed to being a outcast.

Yoongi's expression shifted slightly, a hint of irritation flickering across his features. “You don’t have to let her drag you around like that, you know. You could just stay with me at parties instead of hanging out with those girls.”

You fell silent, processing his words. After a moment, he glanced at you “What?” raising an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you always accompanied by someone at parties?” you said sarcastically

With a nonchalant look, Yoongi kept his eyes on the road as he drove, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “No, not when we come together,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Right,” you said softly, staring out the window as the scenery passed by. The conversation lingered in the air, leaving you with a bitter taste.

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